Heading Home

(Written 1 June)

I'm an hour away from Montreal. I left Belgium this morning, the plane leaving the ground at precisely 11:11 AM. That isn't a poetic detail I'm forcing; I swear I felt the wheels leave the ground at that moment, watching the clock of my iPod to see, like I did when I landed, the exact moment that it became real: leaving, staying, arriving. I flew over Gander, Newfoundland, the light of day so consistent as I travelled against time. We took off at eleven AM local time and here I am at eleven AM local time, my day starting over as I have fifty seven minutes before I land in Montreal and my entire life changes once again.

I left Canada two hundred and eighty days ago on August 23rd, 2010. It's now June 1st, 2011. I left at sixteen, full of ideas and expectations and with pink hair. Since then, I've changed many of my ideas, learned so much about life in the world at large, had brown hair, black hair and purple hair, and turned seventeen in Barcelona, Spain, an aspiration that would have never occurred to me. Now I'm an hour away from landing in Canada, a country I've missed every second I've been away, as a blonde.

Much more has changed this year than my hair colours, don't worry. I've become fluent in French, an expectation I've held and do hold for all Canadian Anglophones. Living a year in Belgium has taught me so many things. I've learned about monks who make beer, Carnival, European border control, fries and people. I've learned about families and about culture. I've learned, unfortunately, about racism and the division a mere language can cause within a country.

I will obviously write a huge post about all of the amazing people I met on exchange, how they've changed me and who they've made me, but I've just left everyone so the wounds are kind of fresh and we'll do that another day, when I'm a bit more used to the idea of not taking the 30 Anderlues bus to see my friends everyday.

As a Canadian, I always knew that somehow one day I would be fluent in French. It was the second official language of my country and even as a ten year old in grade four with a strict French teacher I didn't like at the time, I knew that it was a part of my duty to learn it. I think everyone should be bilingual; there is no downside to speaking another language. Even tho the grammar and genders of French annoy me so much I literally want to punch kittens, I never once considered dropping the course when it stopped being mandatory after grade nine. On the one hand, if you've studied language since kindergarden or first grade, why drop it in grade nine before you have a chance to actually be fluent? What a waste of time. Secondly, whether you are a francophone or an anglophone, you are a Canadian first. The country is united by the fact that we are mosaic. We don't melt in the way the States does. You don't have to be African-American or Irish-American or Chinese-American in Canada. You are a Canadian who is also Chinese or German or French. We don't melt your culture in Canada, we add it to our already impressive mosaic of citizens. You join Canada. To me, speaking both of Canada's languages always went hand-in-hand with this.

When I arrived in Belgium, I was well aware that the country, with the exception of a small German community, speaks either French or Flemish. I knew Belgians learned both languages in schools. I knew the vast majority of teens would probably hold the same opinions on language teenagers in America and Canada held: it was difficult, ergo we don't like it. I didn't realise they wouldn't want to learn the language because they didn't feel Flemish Belgians were real Belgians.

I arrived in Belgium in a seeming time of crisis. The government was, and is, at a complete standstill because of language and culture. The Flemish speaking part wants to break away from the French speaking part, and vice versa. At first, I assumed this was merely a political thing much the way it is in Canada: in politics, Quebecker politicians are constantly trying to secede, while I've never met anyone, not even in Quebec, who thinks that is a viable option or a good idea.

But as the year went on and I spoke to the Belgians in my areas, the exchange students in the other French areas of Belgium and the few who I knew in the Flemish speaking part: most of the people actually feel that way.

The lack of "Belgian"ness amongst the majority of Belgians I've talked to is kind of shocking. The French speaking Belgians vacation in France and don't like the non-French speaking part of Belgium. They don't consider the third- and forth-generation Italian families who are born and raised in Belgium to be Belgian.

What I mean by "Belgian"ness is a sense of being from Belgian, of being home in your own country, province and town. I'm a Canadian. I'm from Thunder Bay, ON, Canada and I don't think I'll ever not be proud to announce that. Every time I go away, I am proud to be a Canadian and I think I represent our country, our people, well. In Canada, we don't care if you're Muslim, black or francophone. You're Canadian and we are too. We are Canadian and that unites us.

Belgians don't really seem to have that. I asked what Belgians do to celebrate their national day. "Nothing" was the most common answer. I don't understand how someone from Belgium isn't proud enough of their homeland and their country to celebrate their nation. In Canada, we have fireworks and barbeques and celebrate the fact that we belong to this amazing community that stretches over nine million kilometres and unites everyone who shares that passport and citizenship.

This all sounds pretty critical; really it shouldn't be. I'm not saying that the Belgians are worse off or weaker because of this. I wouldn't try to suggest that. What I am trying to say is that while exchange makes some people think less of their home countries or makes people find new ones, it really just made me so proud to be a Canadian.