From Amsterdam, with love
When I was about 10 years old, my parents, my sister and I moved from the outskirts of Rotterdam to the countryside of The Netherlands. This area, also known as the Dutch Bible Belt, is -as the name indicates- incredibly religious. Growing up in a city, I had to suddenly immerse myself into a school of merely 100 kids who had been friends since when they were born. And before that, their parents were friends. And before that, their grandparents were friends. And so forth. I was clearly the odd one out, leading to a multitude of confidence and identity issues in the future, one of it being a stubborn eating disorder I still struggle with today.
Breaking Free
After spending 8 years in high school (2 years more than necessary due to being in and out of hospitals and loony bins for my eating disorder), I was faced with my first experience of absolute freedom when it came to my future and where I wanted to live. Being fed up and borderline traumatised by living in a cult-like religious area, I decided to pick the biggest city The Netherlands had to offer: Amsterdam. I signed up for a bachelor degree in Media Studies, due to a lack of inspiration. I just wanted one thing: get the hell out of the countryside.
With Amsterdam came the struggle of finding affordable housing that would provide both stability and not empty out my savings within mere months. The introverted shy girls as I was back then, I had to face the nightmare of what we call in Dutch “hospiteren”. I still have to meet a single person that likes the idea of having to present themselves in front of a bunch of strangers before getting rejected, over and over again. Being aware of my shyness, I knew that it would probable take me a few tries to get picked as someone’s new housemate.
However, my second try proved to be unexpectedly successful. And before I knew it, I had 30 housemates added to my social life.
Zuiderzeeweg 42-44
The drive from my parent’s house to the open room in Amsterdam took me about 60 minutes by car. My anxiety was crippling, but I couldn’t drink a sip of alcohol having to drive there and back. The knowledge of having to be my actual true self in front of 30 people I had never seen before brought my expectations so low, that during the drive, my nerves were already settling to a more comfortable level. I had nothing to lose other than a few hours of my life. Rejection wasn’t an issue, since I already decided for myself that I would get rejected.
As I arrived at the property, I stood eye to eye with a worn down building with graffitied genitals and skulls on the walls, ceilings, and floors, resembling an illegal squat more than a home where students lived. The long hallway smelled like stale cigarettes, weed, and an utmost pungent wave of incense escaping from various lined up rooms. Needless to say, my prudeness was being challenged, and I was struggling to envision myself living in a place like this. There was no way they would choose a little wallflower like me to live here, anyway.
It turned out that most of the candidates cancelled, increasing my chances of being picked as a new housemate. Although I desperately needed a room in Amsterdam, the idea of having to wake up in a place like this every day for the coming few years made me panic. There were two other girls applying for the room, heavily drinking along with the rest of the residents and joining in the blow-up pool on the roof terrace in their underwear. I was playing a losing game, and I pushed myself to stay for two hours before calling it a night and taking my leave.
After what must have been the two most hopeless hours of my life, I said farewell and stepped in my car back to my parents. Somewhat relieved, I laughed at the image of me living in a place like that. The only reason I wasn’t fully relieved, was the fact that I would probable need to go to another few of those awkward evenings. Halfway during the drive home, I received a call from an unknown number. Hesitantly, I picked up, trying to remember if I accidentally left something at the house I just visited, apart from my dignity. The other side of the line was filled with voices excitedly chattering, before screaming “WELCOME TO THE HOUSE” in unison.
Italian obsessions
I couldn’t believe it, they picked me? But I left early. And I couldn’t drink. And I didn’t strip down to my underwear to join them in the pool. I felt weirdly honoured and immensely relieved, before panic kicked in. There was no way I was going to decline the offer, as I needed a room before my classes would start next week. But how the hell was I going to survive in that house? I didn’t. Or at least not up until one and a half year later, when I fell head over heels with an Italian sub-renter.
Never in my life had I felt like that, completely infatuated with a guy I barely knew. On Christmas eve I made Italian cookies for him, in a heart-shaped box I coincidentally found in a dusty corner of the house. For weeks on end, I settled myself in the kitchen we shared with 31 messy students as much as I could, just to see him every once in a while. Funnily enough, my outright obsession with him caused me to slowly develop a deep appreciation for my other housemates, whom I suddenly saw all the time.
He never liked me back, and I am sure that the only reason we had sex once was because I blackmailed him by making cookies for him on Christmas eve. It was pity-sex, but I didn’t care. And his eventual rejection got completely overshadowed by the fact that, over the weeks before Christmas, I had made about 30 new friends that were to become my family for a solid 5 years.
ZZW Shenanigans
I have been wanting to write about my adventures in Amsterdam for ages, as it has been the most ridiculous time of my life and shaped me into the person I am right now. However, as I am writing right now, I realise that one blog-article is nowhere near enough for these stories to get the stage they deserve. That’s why it’s probably better to split them up into separate articles. I know it has nothing to do with Japan, but since it has been such a character-shaping experience for me, it indirectly brought me where I am right now. This winter, the legendary house on Zuiderzeeweg 42-44 will be destroyed to make place for new buildings, lacking all the characteristics of the Green Mothership. So I guess these articles will serve as some sort of appreciative memorial in between the adventures of Japan.