I suppose I’ve more or less decided that I am here “hanging out” for 2 more months. Fall in Europe, there are far worse options.

I want to ask myself why I didn’t think I was doing this sooner. To realize it and accept it. It seems I didn’t allow myself to look at it that way, that maybe I would be judged harshly “You’re going back again?” I guess it was just easier to say that I was going over for work, to teach English. Fewer questions, less eyebrows or responses of shock or jealousy, and less questions. At the end of the day, I’m about less questions when it comes to small talk. KEEP IT SMALL. GO AWAY. In general, I take small talk way too personally. You know? I shouldn’t be affected by it, it’s supposed to be “small” after all. But you have to add up all the small conversations and it becomes Big Talk somehow. It becomes a pile tall enough to form your ideas about what “other people” are thinking, because it nearly mimics the size of an actual person, this pile. But really it’s just separate conversations you’ve piled together and thrown a jacket on, pretending it’s a person walking around telling you what you should think or be or do.

I don’t know, is this making sense?

But the purpose of this writing is about something else entirely, this is about refugees and white privilege so if you are looking for a lighthearted read as you sip your coffee, this may not be it.

I have thoughts. I woke yesterday at 8:30am (I’m killin’ it, this morning game, I tell ya) and I washed all the appropriate areas and got into the appropriate pants and made my way to the appropriate bus. I got to the bus 15 minutes before departure (crushin’ it, again I will say). I planned a day trip on a whim to fight off the voice that said “you are not making the right choices.” When you are abroad and you don’t know what to do, you plan a day trip to a new town for 18 euro roundtrip and you explore. It quiets the voices sometimes, at other times it amplifies it (if the bus ride is long) so it’s best to sleep while in transit, it leaves you less time for thinking.

And when I arrived to Hannover, which I know absolutely nothing about, I walked from the bus stop (15 minutes) to the middle of town, I searched for a thrift store I never found, and wandered through the other stores. I bought a donut when I first arrived, then a 1.5 liter bottle of water, deodorant for 77 cents and a pomade to make my hair look like less of a frizz show. In my experience, these are the best kind of souvenirs because they last forever and when you are back in normal circumstances, you are putting on German deodorant whose label you can’t read and you feel kind of like a boss.

And then you feel sad when it runs out and you recycle it and realize it never mattered. It was a plastic container which contents made your armpits aromatic.

But, to the story.

I woke up at 8:30am (winning) and trained to the main station. As I left the train station to find my bus, I discreetly observed the tents to my left that Nobie told me was designed to intake Syrian refugees. They were made out of wide tarps, white plastic and blue plastic sheets. They were makeshift seeming, but they kept out the rain and did the job. I saw people standing outside and just underneath the shelter of the plastic. To be honest, I have no idea what happens in the tents- food distribution, tents, Nobie said they administer vaccinations. It has occurred to me this is not something I’ve ever actually had to consider. I’ve never had to flee from anywhere, been at the mercy of another nation or imposing my basic needs on an entity that isn’t mine to claim. Can you imagine? I suppose that this is one of those thing about life that makes no sense. No kid dreams about being a refugee when they play with their toys, perhaps boys take hostages when they play elaborate war games but, I don’t know, this was never a word with legs. It was just an unfamiliar term in the background like the word peruse or gander. You know about them, but you don’t use them, they have no meaning to you.

And as this word has meant nothing to me, actually it almost sounded cool before, it reshaped itself and texturized as I sat across from what I assumed were Syrian refugees going to Hamburg from Hannover on the bus. I was returning from my day trip to Hannover, because I could, and I walked around snapping pictures and feeling crampy but managing, discovering cute streets, paying a euro to pee and enjoying the bits of near sunshine that shimmered over a castle I knew nothing about as I took pictures.

 

On the ride home, I sat next to people who are in the process of running for their lives. One was talking on a phone conversation on a tablet, which annoyed me, and there was a foul smell I was trying to source-identify. (This happened often over the summer in Europe- where is that B.O. coming from??- but it happens less in the winter when people aren’t sweating the same) but this was a haven’t-showered smell and it was offensive for this 2 hour bus ride.

I was becoming annoyed with how loud they were being on their cell phones and their tablets. Before you know it, the guy to my right is setting up a workshop on the shaky pull-down table from the seat in front of him. He is rolling something- a joint or a cigarette- he has set up shop and before you know it he has rolled upwards of 50 cigarette/joints and is parsing out his stash to his crony in the seat in front of him.

These guys annoyed me and I was annoyed that I was annoyed because they were probably escaping a very violent homeland and I was frustrated by their body odor.

In that moment, I thought “this is what white privilege sniffs like. It’s a silent gesture, but in that moment, it sets apart the top dog from the underdog.” I never had to know what a refugee meant because I’m in the majority, my life is safe, my culture has tailored its priorities to serve my kin, my people. And I never had to think about what “my people” meant because we were all comfortably on top. You know you aren’t aware of the parts of your car until it breaks down, and if your car always runs you don’t have to know what’s inside. This is the life of a privileged person, things work and things are easy and you don’t have to offend someone with your smell or wonder why things are easier for other people because you are those people and you don’t realize it because you are busy scooping up as many ounces of marvelous extras that you can out of this life.

I’m not judging the life of privilege, I am acknowledging it. It exists, it is real and it is relevant.