Among the Internationals

"Twee-en-een-half jaar?!"

I nod, and I see in her eyes a mix of scepticism and slight admiration as I have just confirmed that I really have lived a two-and-a-half years in Sweden. It probably feels like an eternity to her. 

Bbq in my international house, 2013. 

The international corridor in which me and her coincidentally have ended up on the same couch, reminds me a lot of the one where I once lived myself. While me and the friend that I'm visiting have been eating a most delicious Iranian egg-plant dish, the kitchen has been taken over by a group that has decided to eat self-made gnocchi for dinner. It takes them three hours, the kitchen is covered in flour, but the result is super yummy and anyone coming in is offered a plate.   

It's the kind of house where the dörren ska vara stängd sign has received a translation ("Fire door, should always be closed!). Without any result, it has been propped open anyways. The kind of house where one person decides that it's cooler to drink from empty jam jars than to buy new glasses when all the old ones have broken and everyone follows along. The kind of house where you hear French and Spanish spoken at three meters distance from each other, and where people ask you to translate a sentence for them as they have discovered that you know Swedish. And the house where a guy says: "Aren't you Dutch? My neighbour too. Have a chat with her, she's sitting on the couch in the living room."

"Hoi", I say and we exchange the standard stuff: where-are-you-from-what-do-you-study-where-do-you-live-here-what-brought-you-to-Lund. She is from Amsterdam and arrived about two weeks ago. The choice for Lund was made because she wanted to stay in Europe, to study in English and because she had never been in Scandinavia before.

Her face when I say that this is my third year in Lund, is telling: to leave for like six months is one thing, but how did this happen? “Well,” I answer, “I applied for a two-year MA program and I guessed they wouldn’t accept me anyways. Then they unexpectedly did, and I felt kinda forced to go even though I never thought I would. Then I was late with finishing my thesis and I didn’t want to leave anyways, so I’m still stuck around.”

But that’s not the real truth. If I’m honest with her, I should say that this is just how things go, at least for me. You know, the thing about time that flies: one day you arrive at AF Borgen with your life in a few bags and nerves in your stomach and before you know it, you have a Swedish bank account, a wallet filled with SEK and your parents catch you when you’re using a Swedish expression in your Dutch.

You have to make that first decision to leave yourself, but after that there’s a lot that just happens to you.

And I tell her: "It can happen to you too. You wouldn't be the first exchange student to stay another term, or to later come back for a second exchange". “And,” I could add, "you wouldn't even be the first one sticking around for the rest of your life, if you fall in love with a nice Swede". 

She still looks sceptical, and I understand.