Ge ziet da van hier !

For all the times I have been homesick for my native language of Flemish, in the past and just the other day, there are those happy times like today where remembered conversations from the past rummage about pleasantly in my head. Parts of conversations, like many colored pieces of scarfs bumping about in the suitcase of my language's memories. I hardly ever get to speak Flemish anymore these days since the disintegration of my family 8 years ago, except for the few times, 3 or 4 times a year at the most, with my aunt Lieve in Oostende, and cousin Marc in Koekelare, in Belgium. Other than that, the Flemish conversations I have are in my head. Either imaginary conversations with people from the past, or imaginary conversations with myself, and people I imagine are still in my life, alive and well. Often, the conversations are humorous, recalling jokes and light hearted banter, like the expression " ge ziet da van hier!", meaning "well obviously !" In my mind I recall running into friends and relatives on the city streets, and the exchange of casual conversations, from the latest local political mishaps to the latest divorce or other local gossip. As a child it seemed to me adults had this ability to make conversation out of the slightest material. The memory of their laughter and chuckles and the various Flemish colloquial expressions stuck. And on a day like today, hazy and cold and quiet, those memories of innate conversations in Flemish feel warm and soothing like a hot cup of tea or coffee, if you will. It is hard to be isolated form your native culture, not by choice, but by circumstance, but memory is a wonderful thing that way. I may be deprived of those connections now, but they are a part of me, a part of my past, but a part of me nevertheless. A kind friend of mine recently got back from a whirlwind tour across the US for his job as university president. He is a native speaker of Tamazight, and of course learned Arabic and French as a child in his native Morocco, and English in graduate school. As a university president, he uses Arabic and French and English on a daily basis, and it just occurred to me that there must be days he longs for his native Tamazight, reminding him of less complicated days, of closeness to his ancestral roots, in spite of his appreciation of all the heritage Arabic and French brought to North Africa, or his comfort with English as a tool to reach out globally in his large educational network. That realization made me feel less alone. Often it is not so much what happened or happens to us, or not, but how we view it, and today, thank the Gods, the absence and lack and the holes, feel painless, interesting, and even all right. Well, obviously! Ge ziet da van hier!