# 7. In-Between Two Homes

Embracing life between Portugal & the Netherlands

Portugal did me good, as you may suspect from the peachy bum photo above. I spent the longest streak there ever since I moved abroad: 35 consecutive days spread between September and October 2021, my birthday included. I soaked up the sun, traveling from the North to the South; I traveled solo, and I traveled with a dear friend, and I traveled with family too. After almost ten years away, I'm feeling increasingly comfortable in my homeland. I gained a sense of ease navigating Portugal that I never had before. It did feel like the inauguration of a new phase. If my life were a book, this chapter would be called: Portugal & The Netherlands: In-Between Two Homes. 

When I moved to Amsterdam in January 2012, I had all sorts of issues with the country where I was born. They ranged from the political to the personal. Inequality was rampant in Portugal, further exacerbated by a right-wing government that was suffocating an already impoverished working class. I felt bitter about the lack of opportunities for anyone who didn't have a degree in medicine or economics. I hadn't been able to become financially independent from my family after graduating, despite working full-time 40-60 hour week jobs. I felt despondent because my talents went unrecognized and undervalued by society at large - "What were you expecting with that degree in Theater, anyway?" As a woman, I was patronized. On top of it all, my family constellation was messed up in more ways than one. So I ran away from everything. And I must say: I escaped with conviction. Except for that annual weekly holiday by the beach, I didn't want much to do with my country of birth. I distrusted it. I stopped reading the Portuguese news for the sake of my sanity (there's just so much of petty discussions and scandal-after-scandal that a person can take.) During the first months living abroad, I didn't even want to speak Portuguese. And I had decided: if I didn't like Amsterdam, I'd move to Berlin. If I didn't like Berlin I'd find someplace else. Now that I was out, going back was out of the question. 

Growing up I was either too sensitive, or not sensible enough; too artistic, or too naïve to navigate "the system." I was definitely, too critical of the status quo too. My brother used to call me "the protector of minorities" in a rather scornful tone. I was either too much or too little. As a young professional, either it felt like I was non-existent or like I was a burden. The break-up with Portugal was akin to a break-up with a toxic partner. And I resembled a 40-year-old single man: slightly desperate to jump on a new relationship. Amsterdam emerged in stark contrast with everything I had experienced before. It treated me with kindness from day one. Or maybe it was me, ready as I was to start from scratch. Perhaps it's just easier to reinvent oneself in a place where you have no past. 

Making friends in my adopted city proved seamless because there were so many young internationals in the same situation as mine. Jobs that elevated me above the poverty line were available too. And - a revelation! - my background in Theater was something that sparked conversation, instead of bovine looks. Wow. I was now able to, not only pay my bills but also save some. I could still enjoy the Portuguese coast, but on holiday, and with cash in my pocket. Jobwise, I had options, and I got paid all the extra hours I worked. A miracle. And I was respected at my job! And I didn't receive intrusive remarks about my appearance nor unwanted attention on the streets for being a woman! The brave new world.

The years passed, I learned to speak fluent Dutch, fell in and out of love a number of times, faced a potentially life-threatening illness, started making a living from meaningful work. At last. I love Amsterdam. I love the Dutch (yes, intimate relationships with the locals can be exasperating, but still.) I connect with the culture in significant ways. Ten years after being here, however, something has shifted in the way I feel about Portugal. It was fairly recently that I low-key started craving the sounds and smells of my childhood. I didn't know that I craved them. The longing manifested in a very subtle way. And once I was there, by the ocean, inhaling the iodine scent and eating a queijo fresco sandwich, I knew. I knew it, also, after spontaneously engaging in conversation with an old lady on the streets, who had made a random comment about the weather. I knew it while laughing at mischievous jokes with my mother and grandpa at lunchtime. I knew it while I took someone I love to my happy places by the sea, during summer. 

I'm fully aware of Portugal's frailties, you know, but there must be something about genes and ancestry that softens you in ways that words can't quite translate. So I started looking at it through a more compassionate lens. Above all, the romanticism, the emotionality, the warmth, the expressivity, the poetry I carry inside are so very Portuguese. The language. Oh, the language is music to my ears: at first, I wrote my morning pages in English, now my notebooks are filled with my native language. The ease with which someone helps you on the street, taking you by the arm, showing you the way. The small talk between strangers (Lisbon is mostly a city of tourists now, but it still happens there too.) The excitement when conversing with friends, the speaking over each other, the high-pitch, your loved ones shrieking when you arrive at a gathering, hugging you, feeding you, taking you by the hand. And the flirtation, my friends? The Portuguese way of flirting gives me life: pun intended inoffensive jokes, playful shy looks but, at the same time, oh-so-very-ready. Portugal is home again. I rephrase: Portugal finally feels like home, but, surprisingly, it's not my only one.

Back in Amsterdam at the end of October, the cold season hit me like a rock. I had no time to adjust. I miss the sun, I miss the Atlantic Ocean, I miss the mellow ways of people, I miss flirtatious men with overly sweet perfumes. I know, however, that living in Portugal full time is not something that would make me happy. I am a tender Portuguese heart with a Dutch rational mind. A Dutch ex used to tell me "Ja, je hebt een Zuiderlijk temperament maar je bent voor reden vaatbaar." This means that yes, I can be temperamental, but I will "listen to reason." A big compliment coming from a Frisian man. To briefly summarize, I learned not to lose my temper when discussing hot topics. I try to always reach a consensus when solving problems, and hear all the parts involved. I became so much better at not taking things personally. I learned about how compromise is important, as well as finding a common denominator when managing different people's interests. I had the opportunity to practice autonomy a lot more and take initiative, not only in business but also in love. I developed my teamwork skills and a lot of patience. I will congratulate you on the birthday of your lover (an underrated local habit.) And yes, I love logic.

In Portugal, I occupy the comfortable space of a native who's also an outsider. It's wonderful to feel like an outsider, and not like an alien. It's a balmy sensation for the person who grew up feeling like they didn't fit. Ana from Amsterdam. That exquisite city where everyone has been to once (but of which trip they seem unable to recall.) The country where people are a bit nuts and like tulips and earn generous salaries (pretty much what the average person thinks about Amsterdam, apart, you know, from drugs and sex work.) It's comforting to understand the ways of my homeland, but also be able to retreat whenever I crave a voor-reden-vatbaar society. It's great to not depend on Portugal: not its mercurial governments, not the constricted job market, not the meager subsidies for the arts, not my perfectly imperfect family, not the approval of my peers. I wish people didn't have to leave the country in order to be appreciated, but that's ingrained in our culture, I guess. And I hope that, with the emigration en-masse of all those millennials like me, things can start to improve in Portugal. I hope that everyone who wants to go back can do that and live with dignity. I know that the vast majority of us really love the country. We just need to take that distance, earn that dollar, heal those hearts. And then we can hopefully do better for our homeland. For each other. Healing never happens in isolation, you know. It creates a domino effect. Slowly but surely.