A cold evening

She wasn’t really sure. Where did she stand? Where was she positioned? How was she positioned in this great world? She liked it simplified. Her problem was that she didn’t know how to define herself. Not to identify her to others, but to herself. It mattered. She would like to be known as someone who was so and so. She wanted someone to define her like they define people in books or newspapers. Then she would know.

Her background was confusing to her. Was she upper middle class or rich? To the average European she was an immigrant from the third world. An immigrant looking for better ‘quality’ of life. Despite the fact that for the average European it might be difficult to believe, her family was ‘affluent’ back home. She had quite a comfortable living.

But then what was she doing here?

There she was. It was cold. It was drafty. She put her hands in the pockets of her heavy coat and squeezed them hard. It had been a hard day at work. She was still struggling with the new language. It was tough communicating with people at work. She felt stupid. Her co-workers thought she was stupid. What was it that made her stand muted as a stone when she was a little bit unsure of something?

She wished she could speak loud and be confident at work, as she was when speaking about things that inspire her in a language she was fluent in. She looked around. It was 5 pm and already dark. The crowd of white men and women.

She didn’t want to be an immigrant. It was such a damning word. She didn’t leave her country to be an immigrant. She left, or so she thought because she wanted to be a woman of the world or a global citizen. She wondered. How did she end up here? – A small railway station on the outskirts of a town. In Europe, she felt as though it was completely deserted every time you got out of a city. Was it because she was used to seeing humongous numbers of people everywhere in her own country? She didn’t know. As always she didn’t have the answer.


Art by P

She was becoming more and more unsure of things. Unsure of her goal, of what she wanted in her life or where she was going. She looked around her again. The average white crowd. For they were just that. And to them, she was the immigrant. For she was just that. You get what you give. She wouldn’t see them as anything more.

She wanted to blame someone. She needed to blame someone for the cold that was biting her toes through the shoes, for the stranger that she had become. A stranger in this strange land and a stranger in her own country.

No! She will not think this way anymore. It was too depressing. She told herself that it was her choice to be here, in this strange land, to stand in this railway station in this cold.

And so she stood.



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