Belonging

(Sunday, 20^th September, 2015)

When leaving for Spain, I did not consider even for a minute what people will think of me or if it matters where I am coming from. I have never lived abroad. I know only from friends that these details might influence your interactions with others.

I have never felt ‘pride’ nor ‘shame’ for being Bulgarian. After all, it was not my choice but the Universe’s, if such things as fate exist.

‘Patriotism’ is a word whose meaning I have only found in dictionaries and textbooks but never in my heart. It is true for a fact that the environment shapes our mind-set and worldview. Yet, I was never interested in where people came from but rather in their personality, ‘despite’ or ‘owing to’ their origin and culture. Therefore, I see myself as a cosmopolitan citizen and a human being with dreams, fears, hopes and doubts like anyone else in this world. It does not matter whether I read Marques, Chekhov, Baudelaire or Edgar Allan Poe. I understand the pain of people from all ends of the world. What then? What defines my belonging and to what exactly?

I had not thought about this too much before I found myself on the Road to Santiago. And it’s not like I expected it to happen then. I thought that people on that Road are united by aspirations to something bigger than individual egos and maybe have the same feeling of belonging to something greater.

Overall, this was the truth.

And yet again, in my encounters with people from all around the world I gradually started to find traces in me of something that only they could label as foreign, or even Bulgarian.

How does it happen that when you tell a joke and the response is: ‘Oh, you must be living a pretty hard life.’?!

‘No,’ I reply, ‘I actually have a lovely family, nice home, genuine friends…’

‘No, no, it’s noticeable. It must be very difficult where you’re coming from’.

Hm. Yes, I was using dark humour but the joke was not that horrible. I, personally, was in a great mood for the most part of the journey. What made them think I was that burdened? Maybe the things that make us laugh are the same ones that made us stop crying. To not run ourselves down with grief at the end of each day, we have shut our eyes to the things around us and have dull our senses to the universal pain.

Another question:

‘Why are you so insecure?’

‘As in? Are you being serious? I have never been as confident as I am right now. I have been walking alone for two weeks now, on the other end of the world, inspired by what I have witnessed and heard. I know that everything is ahead of me, that I can do anything, and that there is a meaning. What do you want to say when you are calling me insecure?’

‘No, no, I can feel you. Generally. You don’t believe that some things can happen to you. You just don’t consider them possible. Why? Who was it that told you it was ‘impossible’?’

Okay. Pause the game. I need to think about this.

Is it coming from me? Is it personal or inherently national? Am I beaten down, are we beaten down? Why? What is it that is not enough? Who is it that is not enough? And so on.

I would have defined it as a personal problem by default, had I not looked more into the people around me. Yes. Indeed. Whatever other country they were coming from, the others who were walking with me had the confidence that they can and know everything. They were in search for their own answers but they didn’t question for a minute whether they’d be able to find them.

I make a record of this.

…

An Irishman stopped talking to me the moment he learnt I was from Bulgaria.

‘Do you mean to say you are part of the EU? It’s not your place, there has been a mistake. Such bullshit’.

That’s it. He was not interested in anything else related to me.

…

‘Your French is so good, I can barely detect your accent. When are you going to leave Bulgaria and move to live elsewhere?’ A French guy, 30 years old, Geography teacher.

…

The inherent sense of superiority. Some german people are commenting how it is the Spanish’ fault to be having a crisis since they are the ones who refuse to work. No one owes them anything, they better buckle up. Some Koreans agree. Some Americans, too. Maybe they are right. What about us?

..

And many other numerous encounters and conversations where it turns out that your origin matters. And you realise that it is inescapable. There is an entire different world inside you that you need to be aware of. In the others, too. Although we all dream of the same kindness and beauty somewhere deep within.  

I couldn’t but hear myself singing Bulgarian folk songs when I was alone. Or the anthem. I had never sang it alone or aloud before. And it had never seemed that much greater than another country’s one.

.

I am making a slight opening to the thoughts and feelings, which stormed inside me on the topic of belonging. It is like writing the first sentence to a 5000 pages long novel, just to give it direction. There is no way I could finish the novel here. But I thank Camino for encouraging me to start it.

It’s a strange thing. I have been a part of different projects, exchange programs abroad, I have communicated with foreigners here and there and it was as if I’ve always remained in the comfort zone of clichés. There you go, this person is from a certain place, so he is what he is and we are what we are. Or even ‘This one is different than the others like him’ etc.

Something that resembles nothing.

‘Ask me and I’ll tell you’ is what we say. No, ‘Ask me so I can ask myself’ was my state of mind during the Road to Santiago. And up until now.

Last thing about belonging.

I am not religious. I used to skip Religious classes because I didn’t like the teacher.

I knew ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ but I felt uncomfortable praying.

‘This institution is a lie, I do not love it, do not talk to me about it. Priests, services, they are not for me, I don’t want to have anything to do with them’.

But I did enter all cathedrals in Spain. I got excited, although I could almost feel a physical pain because it was not my place. I was craving the smell of candles and the familiarity of an Orthodox church. Why?!

This is another topic. Another belonging. There is time for everything.