Dad?

I awoke, my eyes were still closed. In the background, the radio was still on. It must not have been more than a few dozens minutes after I lay down. In my mind, images floated and haunted.
"Dad?"

I saw dad. What he looked like or what he was doing, I cannot remember anymore. All I can remember was that yesterday night, I felt this intense pain and sorrow suddenly. The pain and sorrow woke me, and I could not contain my tears. They spilled out of my eyes so suddenly. And it has been a long time since I last cried.

I closed my eyes, and I remember calling out "Dad... Dad.... Dad...." desperately.

Then I was lost in that mysterious world of sleep once more.

Welcome home

The Saint-Laurent flowed alongside the plane, like a gilded path reflecting in the afternoon sun. The land lay lazily outstretched, having a week later put on the Autumn attire of what I now understand is colourful coat of an Indian Summer. There was not a cloud in the sky, and dusk light reflected off of the land , adding a golden tint to the beauty below. Montreal lay before us, as the plane silently and smoothly decended.

My second time going to Canada, and like the first, I was filled with excitement. It was well-deserved, because after 4 months of waiting, I finally have a letter from the Canadian authorities saying that I am permitted to study here, even though I have been attending classes for the past four weeks already!

So I proceeded to the passport control, and a friendly face welcomed me and referred me to the Immigration Office. There, I was led into an office while they processed my papers. The officers too were friendly, and asked me only a few questions about my status in a not at all intimidating way, and even started to joke that with a study permit I am free to enter and leave Canada as I wish, provided I do not kill anyone or do anything criminal abroad. "Good luck with your studies, and have fun here," the officers wished me, and showed me the way to collect my lugguage. Within a matter of only 5 minutes I was transformed from being a mere visitor to a legal status to stay. Finally, and hopefully, the final act of settling down in Canada is complete.

I exited the terminal building, and thought back at what I had just experienced on the way home. Here I was, in a totally foreign country where I have only lived for a short four weeks, but somehow leaving the plane and entering Canada felt like homecoming. I was welcome, genuinely welcomed by kind people and words, and made to feel like I am already a part of a society renowned for its multiculturalism and acceptance of people of all origins.

I thought back, ten hours ago, back in Europe, where my passport was scrutinised not once, but twice at the airport. The man in front of me flashed his passport as if he were doing a magic trick, and he passed through the passport control without any problems. Of course. He was white.

I hate to play the race and selfpity card, but when it was my turn, the passport officer interrogated me like I was a criminal (or worse), asking me how I obtained my citizenship, where I live, what I was going to do in Canada. She held my passport against the light, flipped through it again and again as if looking for some incriminating evidence of my visit to some impoverished primitive country. She examined the passport again through the light, scanned it again and typed in a number of words in a scene that reminded me of the worst excesses of the Israeli border police. And believe me, it is not pleasant. I replied the questions bluntly and coldly, showing how I did not appreciate this tone of voice. She handed back my passport, and dryly said "Just asking".

Inside, I was reminded once again the reason why I do not belong in the Netherlands, and never will. And this after having lived almost 15 years of my life there as an honest (I even have a certificate from the Minister of Justice to prove this!), tax-paying citizen, who wishes nothing more than to get educated and perhaps someday contribute to society at large. These wishes are now no more than distant memories from a time I told myself I could belong.

A country (or perhaps even the continent of Europe) that does not fully accept part of its citizenry and has reason to doubt and suspect people because of their skin colour or race is at war with itself. A self-destructive war, a war of contradictions, with severe consequences for a large minority of people born and bred in the Netherlands, but yet are made to feel foreign and alienatede at every moment of their lives.

One day, the ghost of hypocrisy and ignorance will haunt the Netherlands and the very principles of tolerance and equality that the Dutch love to preach about. Or perhaps that day has already come. The blacklisting of the Netherlands by Human Rights Watch recently as an anti-immigration and intolerant country is very well deserved.

But I have left the Netherlands, like the Netherlands has left me long ago.

Back in Canada, I opened the door to my apartment, and for a rare moment in my life, I felt I was home. And welcome.