The Fear that keeps me Home

It's been over a month since my last day of classes in university, and it came almost three months ahead of time. "These are unprecedented circumstances". Everywhere. Soon enough, I felt the weight of the news on my shoulders. The threat of the virus became more real. Not only was it in the country, but it had taken hundreds of lives already. Until that day, I was still oblivious to it all, still trying to make the best out of my semester abroad. We all were, it is what exchange students are meant to do.

A month into my living in Amsterdam, I had more than one mishap. I had gotten lost on the trams, almost ran oven by a bike, fallen off my bike, and often got confused over my class schedule. However, I did not realize the comfort of being just one more student in the campus area, one more resident of my building. In a week's time since my last day of classes, the buildings were closed, and most of the people I was befriending left without warning. My building became quieter. My screens mediated reality. The city of Amsterdam was reduced to my apartment and whatever was close.

However, this sudden stand-still felt somewhat calming. I did not have to worry about making plans all the time, meeting people often. In my first month, I often felt out of sync with the typical exchange student expectation. I was too tired to party every Wednesday, I wanted to walk around as much as possible, I outgrew the taste of oud cheese, beers made me bloated, and often felt like staying in on my Sundays. I think I skipped most of the exchange student events, and not once did I enter a coffee shop.

The closing of school let some pressure off my chest, in a way. No longer did my experience have to be catered to my position as an international student who is ready to "go Dutch". In a way, this catering was like a spectacle. I did not want to be grouped with all the eager students who came to Amsterdam for some gezellig parties, because what I wanted was to find my feet in a new place, in a new culture. I wanted to breathe the air of a new city and explore how my body can be extended with a bicycle. I wanted to take electives, place myself with the challenge of new disciplines, go to an unlimited number of museums, and feel so local that I could know who was a tourist from meters away. Beyond learning about the Dutch lifestyle, I wanted to test myself and my ability to grow a lifestyle of my own, from a different location. I was taking my time to understand myself from my new position in the world, embracing the imperfect process of doing so.

***

When schools, and stores, and restaurants closed, it seamed as if I now had to confront the possibility of leaving the Netherlands, not only because most of my friends did so, but because my home university begged me to "go home, wherever that may be". I decided against it. "I have not yet fulfilled my purpose of being here", I thought.

Since then, I have progressively seen the sun come outside for a little longer. The wind has been gentler on my ears, the famous Dutch tulips have started to bloom, and it smells like sweet pollen on the curb. I put away my winter jackets, no longer use my gloves, and have been able to sit on the terrace while I observe the people sail along the canals. Slowly, I forget about the threat of COVID-19, and instead I start to appreciate the rarity of seeing a tourist-free Amsterdam, and its springing beauty.

Today, I left for a walk along the centrum. The canals greet my eyes as they reflect the beams of the sun and wait for me wondering whether I will turn their way today. I leave with my phone, my book, and my keys. My headphones set the mood as my music gets shuffled. I am observant of the people's new warm-weather attire, the way bikes are freer to wiggle their way into the next bridge, the few shops that are still open and the many which are closed. I see their peaceful glee as a mother sits in the grass and her four fair-haired children sing Dutch songs as they run around her, and I notice how a woman places her feet on the edges of her balcony as she reads the newspaper. The city feels anew with the change of the seasons. It also looks like the ducks and the swans are no longer a rare sight.

I sat down to read my book, the original Spanish version of "Love in the Time of Cholera" (very appropriately mailed from Canada by my boyfriend in the times of this coronavirus pandemic) by my Colombia's very own Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I have found a little secret garden on the edges of the Rijksmuseum, where a willow is bright with the young afternoon sun, and there are benches facing the canal. I can hear the bells marking 3:00, and I've decided to have a little rest from my long walk.

***

Whenever I leave my house, I am always very aware. I have always walked fast-paced, and although my mother says it is a healthy habit of mine, throughout my years of early adulthood, it has also evolved into a defense mechanism, especially in the times where I must walk with no other company. When you walk fast, you are more in control, and it looks like you know where you're going. Now that my Amsterdam support network has been significantly reduced, I know that when I step outside, I am more on my own than before. I no longer leave to meet a friend for lunch, or at a museum. I no longer leave to class, nor to a meeting. My ventures outside are more of a loop, where the trip itself is the main objective, and this means I will see no one at any end of my way. I must be wary of that.

Whenever I leave my house, I try to limit my touching other surfaces, and I try to walk to the other end of the street if it seams like I'll be running into people in this side. Without words, I negotiate with the other walkers and bikers of the capital, and we do our best to give each other our deserving 1.5-meter distance from each other, and this works very well most of the time. We are all usually moving, and so I am always quick on my feet (or on my pedals) to have my space and respect theirs.

However, whenever I leave my house, especially now that it is warmer and my skin begs to leave the tightness of my winter jeans, I am more aware of how I look when I stroll down the street, especially walking. It seams that as long as you follow the right bike lanes, you in your bike are minding your own business, and your fellow bikers will not hesitate to ring their bell to remind you they are as well. But when I'm walking, it's as if the frame of my bicycle can no longer protect me.

Maybe this explains the time I got whistled at when I was walking to pick up my order at the corner Pizza shop. Maybe this explains why I check the reflection on the closed window shops to check that nobody is following me. Maybe this explains why I am so reluctant to wear my shorts or skirts just yet. Maybe it is why I walk faster in the areas where too many men are drinking outside, or why I lower the volume in my headphones when it seams like a stranger is trying to get my attention. This is also why I usually avoid making eye contact.

But today it was a nice day and I found my secret garden, and I deserved a little reading break. I had walked around for over an hour and I wanted some quiet, some time to delve into a story. That was until I heard:

"Why so serious, lady? What are you reading? “...”Do you speak English?"

I felt my heart beat a little faster as I tried not to flinch a muscle. This guy had sat at the bench beside mine (about 2 meters away from me) some 10 minutes prior. "No big deal, we are all trying to enjoy some sunshine", I thought. But I could later sense he was staring at me over the trash can between our benches.

I did my best to keep following the book's storyline. I had set my mind up to finish this chapter before walking home, and I wanted to do this before the willow covered my whole bench in cold shade. I heard him move around on his bench a bit more. He had a dark-color backpack on the floor and I think he was wearing jeans. He finally stood up:

"Bye bye!", he said before forcing a "Have a good day, lady", and leaving for the left side.

I took a big but dissimulated breath of relief. I stated focusing on my book again. A few minutes went by and the bells signaling 3:15 gave their greet. A few moments later, I could catch the glimpse of a dark backpack in front of me. The man had strolled back to were I was sitting, now walking towards the right, and flirted:

"Hey lady. We meet for the second time today..."

In this instance, my eyes could no longer process the words on my page. I was struggling to focus, and I could only beg for him to keep walking. I was starting to sweat, and I knew my time at standstill was over. Maybe this is why I always walk so fast when I'm by myself and refused to wear an eye-catching outfit. Maybe this is why I considered sending my location to my friend in Amsterdam-West, or why I tried to call my boyfriend just so I could speak solely in Spanish. It is also why I looked around the area and could only see some people walking their dog obliviously or watching over their children in the playground, and decided to call my mother despite my personal policy of not wanting to worry her. As always, she picked up.

I was shaking a little bit as I put by book back into my bag and made sure my phone had enough data. I made frequent use of my peripheral vision scanning for dark-colored backpacks. I walked the main road and took no new shortcuts. I kept talking to my mother non-stop on my way home and she was glad I called:

"Recuerda que siempre estas sellada con la Sangre de Jesus Cristo", she repeated to me, in English being "Remember you are always safe and sealed with the Blood of Jesus Christ".

I took a deeper breath, "Amén, mami".

***

Note:

There is no national quarantine in the Netherlands, so people are encouraged to go outside every-so-often as long as they do so responsibly. If this is not the case in your country, please stay home and stay safe!