Lilac Colored Glasses

Maybe you’ve noticed that I’ve been really sticking to themes when I blog lately. The latest theme that I was going to attempt was music in Belgium, which was recommended to me by CB. Because he thought it would engage my readers more.
Funny, I recall a time when I could engage my readers well enough on my own but that was back when I had a job I loved and things were actually happening day to day in my life.
As of right now all I’ve been doing is sending out some spontaneous job applications to daycares in the area (none of which have responded) and visiting one or two interim companies a week. I suppose I could do more than that but a string of four or more rejections in one day makes me want to  step out in front of a speeding bus is a little depressing.
Oh and I do the laundry and dishes and grocery shopping too.
And I attend lectures once a week  pertaining to topic matters on Flanders that I either already know or don’t consider very interesting.

And every day I try really hard to not look too sad or upset or depressed. I bite my lips a lot because most of the time when I open my mouth I just want to say how homesick I am and how hopeless so many things feel nowadays. But then I’ll see the hurt in CB’s eyes because he seems to equate homesickness with a failure to love me or take care of me enough. He sees it as me giving up on us even though it’s really me giving up on myself.

See, most of the expat blogs I read are from people who left the US for a job or some other reason pertaining to goals in life, philanthropy, or school. Perhaps along the way they met someone, stayed and had a family. Or perhaps they brought their family along with them.

I left for love. I left so that CB and I could have a chance at our relationship and I suppose that is one of the few things I’ve accomplished by moving here. I have plenty of love in my life, but that’s about it and it’s really starting to feel like a weight on my chest, but it’s a weight on my chest that I just don’t have the motivation to push off.

I keep writing about shallow contrasts and comparisons between America and Belgium here to keep things light, to hopefully inform and pretty much to keep myself from bleeding out my frustration, rage, sadness and hurt all over the pages of this blog. Every time I attempt to type something real and heartfelt I can feel all my negativity trembling on my fingertips, about to spill over like acid or poisonous tears.

So I stop and think about something else. Anything else.

Otherwise you’d hear stories of how CB ended up making a scene on a bus because the driver refused to accept a 20€ bill from me to pay for a ticket, despite the fact that I have every right to pay with a large bill as long as it’s not a 100. How CB is pretty sure that the driver refused to give me the ticket because I was a darker colored immigrant with shaky Dutch (in other words he assumed I was a Turk) as opposed to a cutesy Aryan tourist. Or how I went to an interim specifically for foreigners and was told I was overqualified for them but the rest of the interims pretty much tell me that my Dutch isn’t good enough for them to bother, although they’ll “try.” Or how any time anyone hears I’m American they look at me quizzically and ask “why are you here?” in a way that’s almost insulting…although I can’t tell if they’re insulting me or themselves.

You’d hear about all my fears regarding our wedding and how I’m terrified that everything I choose will be considered tacky or cheesy or stupid or silly or cliche by CB’s family. That when they come to the wedding they’ll disdainfully look at the people I love and deem them “typical Americans.” How I watched an episode of “Bridezilla” that was shown over here to see how American weddings are portrayed on television and was horrified to see that one of the awful brides had chosen the color I have for our wedding and how seeing that almost made me vomit and how even now I’m feeling anticipatory shame rather than the excitement I’m supposed to feel when I think about my wedding.

But I can imagine you all have better things to do with your time than to come here and read about my troubles. This is supposed to be about my grand adventure across the Atlantic, right? So here…I’ll share Belgium’s grand contribution to American music. The only Belgian song to ever top the charts in America: