A mid-degree year abroad (not, I hasten to add, treated with
the same social stigma as the infamous ‘gap yah’) is discussed by anticipants
with a great deal of clichés and repetitive tropes. Mostly, these relate the
themes such as self-discovery, the broadening of horizons, or a desire to
challenge oneself in a completely different environment from the university
with which, by the end of two years, you have thoroughly found your feet. A
cynical person (sorry England, some things have not changed), I always
considered these stock phrases as a little tired and was reluctant to head into
this year with such lofty expectations of existentialist rethinks and wholesale
personality stock takes! Largely,
I was right. Plonking yourself into another country, particularly a comfortably
Anglophone one such as the Netherlands, doesn’t suddenly trigger any huge
personal self-evaluations or prolonged soul-searching. Of course, the
unfamiliarity of the surroundings, people, voices, accents, languages and take
away condiments, forced me to begin adjusting and finding my own ways of coping
with the initial stress of the situation - considering ways in which I could
start making friends in an environment where my dashing good looks, charming
personality and unrivalled modesty may not hold the same cultural significance
as in the UK.
To say that this whole year has been a smooth ride would be a lie. The first symptom of this is that, regrettably for the overall well being of the internet, I felt the need to start a blog. Thankfully, this corner of the Prism surveillance to-do-list has remained derelict for the vast majority of the year. If I now see my initial undertaking of this blog as a way of rationalising (perhaps humourising, if you found it remotely funny) the unfamiliar, then the way in which it slowly petered out into the doldrums of my subconscious is surely a way of me telling myself that, eventually, things were going pretty fine. There have been a few rough moments throughout the year, more often relating to my musical meanderings than anything personal. I am heading home with a great deal of questions floating around my head regarding what I want to get from the rest of my studies, what the hell I want to do at the end of it, how the hell I am going to get there and how the hell I am going to get myself on the right track to get there at all. Although daunting, I don’t necessarily see all of these questions as a bad thing. I’d much rather have a hard time thinking about these things now and arrive somewhere, somehow, sometime at something I really want to do than stumble on, self-lobotomised, following a string of obligations as to whatever is most convenient. In a funny way, this year has been as useful to me in what it has made me realise I don’t want to do as it has been instrumental in helping me to grow as a saxophonist and musician (not that the two are mutually exclusive).
The past ten months have, by no means, been defined by these feelings of uncertainty and periods of self-reflection. And yes, I know. It seems the aforementioned clichés may actually be miserably true. Instead, my abiding memory of my time year will be of the people. Nothing could prepare me for the range of different nationalities, personalities, perceptions of punctuality (AHEM SPAIN) and mentalities that I have had the chance to share a lunch-break, rehearsal or cheap pizza with during my time here and what will remain with me is the constant feeling of openness and friendliness that everybody helped to create. I have never been the best at first impressions and spent much of the first couple of weeks eating lunch on my own, reading books whilst tucked away on benches. I regret this hugely, as now I know all too well the warmth with which I was welcomed by everybody once I started to settle down. There are too many people to thank personally, but I suspect you all know who you are; it has been brilliant to learn from, play, laugh, talk and drink (coke, obviously) with every single one of you.
To say that this whole year has been a smooth ride would be a lie. The first symptom of this is that, regrettably for the overall well being of the internet, I felt the need to start a blog. Thankfully, this corner of the Prism surveillance to-do-list has remained derelict for the vast majority of the year. If I now see my initial undertaking of this blog as a way of rationalising (perhaps humourising, if you found it remotely funny) the unfamiliar, then the way in which it slowly petered out into the doldrums of my subconscious is surely a way of me telling myself that, eventually, things were going pretty fine. There have been a few rough moments throughout the year, more often relating to my musical meanderings than anything personal. I am heading home with a great deal of questions floating around my head regarding what I want to get from the rest of my studies, what the hell I want to do at the end of it, how the hell I am going to get there and how the hell I am going to get myself on the right track to get there at all. Although daunting, I don’t necessarily see all of these questions as a bad thing. I’d much rather have a hard time thinking about these things now and arrive somewhere, somehow, sometime at something I really want to do than stumble on, self-lobotomised, following a string of obligations as to whatever is most convenient. In a funny way, this year has been as useful to me in what it has made me realise I don’t want to do as it has been instrumental in helping me to grow as a saxophonist and musician (not that the two are mutually exclusive).
The past ten months have, by no means, been defined by these feelings of uncertainty and periods of self-reflection. And yes, I know. It seems the aforementioned clichés may actually be miserably true. Instead, my abiding memory of my time year will be of the people. Nothing could prepare me for the range of different nationalities, personalities, perceptions of punctuality (AHEM SPAIN) and mentalities that I have had the chance to share a lunch-break, rehearsal or cheap pizza with during my time here and what will remain with me is the constant feeling of openness and friendliness that everybody helped to create. I have never been the best at first impressions and spent much of the first couple of weeks eating lunch on my own, reading books whilst tucked away on benches. I regret this hugely, as now I know all too well the warmth with which I was welcomed by everybody once I started to settle down. There are too many people to thank personally, but I suspect you all know who you are; it has been brilliant to learn from, play, laugh, talk and drink (coke, obviously) with every single one of you.
For a sarcastic grump like myself, it has been humbling how quickly I witnessed the kindness of strangers turn into the pleasant conversation of acquaintance and then the firm familiarity and dependability of friends. I will do my very best to stay in touch and look forward to watching what you all get up to when you return after disappearing off to, literally, all ends of the world for your summer/winter break! You are all welcome to visit in Newcastle for just a very negligible fee, and I hope that I will be able to pop over and see everybody again sometime next year. If I do, the Raging Bitches are on me.
Dank u wel, en tot ziens!
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