Yesterday while innocently sitting on the bench on the patio, enjoying the sunshine and reading a book, I felt happy and content. A couple of school girls approached along the path by our house. They were nonchalantly chatting away. I didn't pay them much mind - until one of them chucked an empty drink bottle into our yard.

They didn't see me until they'd taken a couple of steps further onto our street. I harrumphed loudly to get their attention and, in Icelandic, asked her to pick up her trash. One of her arms was in a cast. She sighed, but did climb through the brush and picked up the bottle.

Then she asked why I didn't learn Icelandic. When I'm upset, my vocabulary becomes very limited, and my accent very strong. Therefore, I replied in English and reiterated what I'd said before, that this was my home, not a trash dump.

In effect, she ruined my day and my mood. What I wanted to say to her was that I knew more Icelandic than she did manners. But I was so upset that it took the rest of the afternoon before I could remember the word for manners!

As a result, I felt very much a foreigner in a strange land, and one who's home and peace of mind had been broached and trampled upon. Neither is a nice feeling.

Unfortunately, the feeling lasts. It makes me want to go home to where people can understand me and I can express myself, whether upset or not.

It doesn't matter that I have lived here most of my adult life. It doesn't matter that I am a citizen. It doesn't matter that we've raised our family here. What it comes down to is that I am and always will be a foreigner, and some native Icelanders feel free to be disrespectful of me for no other reason than that. I shall always be here on sufferance, tolerated but never quite accepted. And at times such as these, I bemoan the fact that my own family is so very far away.

I shall always be a square peg trying her hardest to fit into a round hole. And it always makes me wonder and ask myself if it is worth it. The answer changes with circumstances. How sad.

Life can be very hard.

I know that I should be able to just brush this off - be a duck, in other words. But the feeling runs too deep. And it is not the first time I've been treated so. Each successive event, though the times between are long, reinforces the hurt and just makes me cringe and want to go somewhere else, somewhere where I can be me and be treated respectfully and like a human being, not some sub-species, i.e. a foreigner.

[ permanent url ] [ ]