Brussels - A Farewell
3 MINUTE READ
In 2017, I left Brussels, the city I was born in, the town I’d lived and worked in for 10 years, the ghetto that raised me, the barrio where I finally became who I truly am. Typically I avoided saying goodbye to my friends and family, and wrote a letter to myself instead…
Brussels - what can I say? The city where I began my life, where I found my career, lost my innocence, found my wife. City of the absurd, where good service is rarer than the steaks in Les Brassins; where almost everyone feels like an outsider; where 'solutions' is a synonym for 'problems'. This is not goodbye, nor au revoir, but tot ziens. And still, it feels like a door is closing.
The memories come flooding back. The fresh-faced lad I was in 2006, an internship (a learning curve of sorts), multiple visits by U.K. mates, starting work as an Assistant in the European Parliament, the 14th floor social network, Thursdays on Lux, shooting low scores at pub golf, a litany of rugby injuries, the annual dip in the Lesse, the odd Party Conference (and were they odd!), cooking lessons with Herr Kirkhope, flat-buying (and a frankly crazy house-warming), Suzy's Christmas Quizes, the MEP videos (Anna, Jane and Olenka and, come to think of it, everyone else- I'm sorry). And then the slow-motion, inevitable car crash that was the UK in the EU. And finding The One, Femke Beumer, the joy of new love, the 2014 European elections and the jump to Braskem, a new challenge and new colleagues...
A vaguely sanitised summary of roughly 10 years in Belgium's capital city. So much more happened. If you were to boil it all down, how would it look? Well, imagine a guerrilla film-maker collaborating on an am-dram pantomime extravaganza; curtain up on a slow-burn song and dance intro, which smoulders into a pretentious series of MTV jump cuts of office scenes, backstage chats with Marcus Mumford and Brussels-to-Strasbourg cycling scenes... which lead to a docu-style middle section (narrated by a low-grade Alan Partridge impersonator) on how MEPs fiddle their expenses, padded out by West Wing-inspired walk-and-talks, which eventually takes us to some kind of grand revelatory sunset-imagery denouement.... And as the endless KTV-style credits roll, the piano chords build into epic riffs, tinged with some brooding moments, ending on a hopeful note. Think La La Land crossed with Spinal Tap... It shouldn't, by any acceptable standards, work. But it does. And some.
Brussels is a great place to live and work. I'm sure the European Institutions have launched many high-powered careers. If it's good enough for Clegg and Boris... And yet, Brussels bristles with weird juxtapositions. Ironically for a lawmaking city, Brussels is a city that constantly punishes you for following the rules, especially when you're at the wheel of a car. Contradictions fly out of nowhere and hurtle at you like the capital's crazy drivers.
Exhibit A: the eurocrats and their first world problems jar completely with the city's third world feel. You can be walking along, and suddenly, as if you've unknowingly entered a wormhole, you're in 1960's East Berlin. There are parts of Brussels which could easily serve as a film set for a Cold War spy movie or a documentary on Eastern Europe.
Exhibit B: Brussels is a city of diplomacy, serving as, at the very least, the symbol of European people and nations coming together to TALK to each other and DISCUSS shared interests and how to resolve the challenges we face. It's democracy on a grand scale. It's amazing seeing it from the inside, but it's also a little repulsive - a glorious sausage factory. Many people are critical of this process and I don't blame them. BUT, I don't see a better system for making people's lives better - in the end, I'd prefer to live in Europe than anywhere else in the world. Vote for people who are going to listen to you, engage with you, and really represent you. And don't switch off after Election Day - keep asking them (and their Assistants) to answer your questions.
Part of the ugly side of politics might be down to tribalism, i.e. the desire to stick to one's own kind, whether conscious or not. The Brits are particularly bad at this. And many admit it openly. Some of the English Assistants genuinely didn't believe it when I told them I was Belgian. They'd go away for a few days, and then they would seek me out excitedly, and one by one, they would proclaim to me: "Well at least I know a real Belgian now!" They seemed to be saying: "I can tick that off my "To Do" list. I've met a local! And I quite like him. You know, he's not odd. Most of "the others" look funny and smell weird." Once, the UK Assistants began an email chain which encouraged people to air their grievances about Belgium and Brussels. What might have started out as a kind of group therapy session quickly descended into rather nasty slurs. It seemed like I'd been cced into something I probably should have never seen, but it was tricky not to take it to heart. Not all expats are like this: the enlightened ones have usually married a person with a different nationality. Just a little tip to the rest: if you're going to live in another country, you should really try to embrace it, flaws and all. I'll try to remember that one myself.
Femke and I got married at the Maison Communale on the Grand Place on 9 July 2016. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I well up a wee bit when I think back to it, because it was pretty much perfect. Our church ceremony and party a month later in Haarlem was beautiful too and turned me into emotional and joyful mush, but there was something so special about the Brussels one. Could it have been the feeling that a circle had been turned? Could it have been the look in my parent's eyes? Could it have been that the sun blazed and, for once, I thought it was just for me?
I look back at these 10 years and I can't help feeling very lucky. Lucky... to have a friend like Tom, who knew how to give me the best advice; lucky to have met such a fantastically fun bunch of extraordinary people; lucky that so many of the things I tried actually came off.
And so, a "farewell" always means there's a "hello" just around the corner. So, hello Den Haag. I promise to treat you with the utmost respect. You can trust me with your secrets. If you're half as fun as Brussels, then I think we're going to get on pretty well. Hello, en hoe gaat het?