December 26, 2005

From Denmark

Alexandra Amarotico

Feeling out of place, a snowfall provides relief

In Denmark, the fourth Thursday of November is exactly the same as every other Thursday in November: cold, dark and entirely insignificant.

The Danish people wake up early, eat their morgenmad and head off to their routine work place or school, just like any other day of the month. As a Rotary International Exchange Student, I follow suit despite all of my programmed American instincts screaming to sleep in and stuff myself with rich foods.

At school two people say “Happy Thanksgiving” to me: my American friend Mike and my English teacher. After Spanish class I ride the bus home in the rain to start single-handedly cooking Thanksgiving dinner. As I mix and chop and grill and bake I find that for the first time since arriving I feel quite alone. This unwelcome emotion causes me to pause. I set down my mixing bowl and brush the flour from my apron. I lean against the counter in thought.

Although I love it here very much, I do sometimes have temporary out of body experiences where I find myself warm and comfortable in my own bed, with my own mother tucking me in and my own father cooking Thanksgiving dinner instead of me.

“Dreams (only) last for so long…” Jewel once said, and she is right. The dream is wearing off now. Denmark has become normal, predictable and unexpectedly more unfamiliar than ever. Although I understand more language I still am sad to not understand stories that my friends share excitedly. I am disheartened when, inevitably, jokes are not nearly as funny after being translated and retold.

I anticipated this and prepared for it. I know that I must push the blundering limits of my mind and start believing in myself. No one else can learn Danish for me. I can do this. I can’t go home yet, but I also cannot live without being home much longer. That is why Denmark has to become my home. Picking up my mixing bowl once again I determinedly begin to think on the bright side. I am a vegetarian; I never liked turkey anyway…

After eating my delicious (not to boast) dinner, my stuffed host family and I sit around the dining table to laugh and share stories and photographs. Rikke, my host mother, hands me a photo of their house and garden covered in a thick shimmering blanket of snow. A Christmas tree twinkles in the front window and lights sparkle on the rooftop.

I stare at the photo in awe and ask hopefully, “Will it snow for me this winter?”

“Ah, maybe,” my host father Keld replies smiling and we all drift into daydreams of Aarhus painted in glistening white. When I climb into bed I pull the curtains shut against the cold and snuggle deep under my blankets, busying myself by counting snowflakes until I fall sound asleep.

And then incredibly, while I and all of Aarhus sleep snug in our beds, the first Danish snowfall of the winter begins to whirl outside, covering the city in a soft white blanket. In the morning I awake delighted and amazed and arrive at music class 45-minutes late (since my bus never came and I fell flat on my back twice on my hastened walk to school) and emerge into the classroom to learn that I am a starting soloist in “The Christmas Song”. Quite taken aback I thank my teacher and shyly begin to sing.

As I belt so quietly as to be almost inaudible, my eyes momentarily glance out the window. They catch there, frozen in awe at the sight lain before them. The soccer field outside is a meadow of glistening white and all around the perimeter the white-capped trees gleam in the early sunlight that peeks through the chilly morning air. The only thing disrupting the calm is a man and his dog, leaping with delight in the middle of the snowy field. My stomach tingling with joy and excitement I grin. I may be far away from home during these holidays but I have snow, and friends, and people around the world that care about me.

I will be just fine.

Resolute and with newfound happiness in my heart, I raise my voice confidently. “And though it’s been said many times many ways, Merry Christmas, one and all, to you.”