whimsyperegrinations-blog

[whimsyperegrinations-blog]

where is home?

home is in there somewhere, where the bangladeshi forgot her card - again

home is in the sing-song voice of the tall blond dutchie with a heart of gold 

home is in the shameless eyes of the spaniard/belgan/dutch/american and the salvadoran after telling a joke that went too far

home is in the friendship of the Spanish girls, both so different yet they complement each other perfectly

home is in the smartness of the vietnamese, he is a god with that computer

home is in the way the portuguese speaks, it sounds like a lullaby that I never want to stop hearing

home is in the laughter of the sxm girl, who will laugh even if nothing is particularly funny

home is in the arms of the spaniard and the guy  from east-timor - even when you told them you didn’t want a hug (but who can resist those hugs?)

home is in the words of the mexican that flow seamlessly (and shamelessly), never missing a beat and always up for a challenge

home is in the free spirit of the (very very) tall dutchie, her personality (and outfits) were breathtaking

home is in the sass of the kenyan, sierra leonean and angolan, queens that always slay (even when in a questionable pink robe)

home is in the laughter of the american and the dutch/lybian, recognizable anywhere and often joined because its so catchy

home is in the fiery personality of the portuguese red haired girl, lovely beyond words 

home is in the intriguing personality of the artist from kosovo, she will always be a mistery I want to solve

home is in the passion of the syrians, both talented and admirable in their own ways

home is in the (sometimes) irritable loudness of the arabs, most specifically the Lebanese one that was almost always up for a good conversation

home is in the kindness of the armenian, who can’t be mean even if she tried

home is in the “morning” that can be heard anywhere at any time, usually said by the slovak

home is in the calm manner of the tanzanian/zambian who you never saw break a sweat

home is in the happiness of the malaysian and the nicaraguan, always smiling even when trying to be scary

home is in the energy of the german and the slovene, both extremely loud and way too close

home is in the pettiness of the namibian, despite her trying to deny it

home is in the melodious voices of the indonesian and the norwegian, one heard consistently and beautifully, and one not heard enough

home is in the banter of the irishmen, both ridiculously talented and kind

home is in the bossy commands of the dominican, who will probably fight you for calling her bossy and almost never shies away from speaking her mind

home is in the fast arabic of the hijabis, both so different and yet constantly confused (probably because they’re always with each other and have such kind hearts)

home is in the eloquence of the canadian/indian and the botswanan/indian, so graceful with words carefully chosen

home is in the smiles of the tibetan girls, so warm and engulfing 

home is in the attitude of the chilean, ready to be the next revolution leader

home is in the friendship of the venezuelan  and the colombian-american, a reminder of how it is possible to find someone so in sync with you it makes others jealous 

home is in the dances of the chinese, the czech, and the russian, leaving us always wanting just a bit more

home is in the cooking of the nepali, always smelled the second you entered her building 

home is in the blue eyes of the talented estonian, always mesmerizing (like the girl and her art)

home is in the silent resolution of the kind salvadoran, never mean and always has her arms wide open but will defend what she believes in with all she’s got

home is in the (bad) jokes of the intelligent girl from belarus, that always manage to make someone laugh

home is in the tardiness of the dane, who dashes people with his smile and his not-so-slick dance moves 

home is in the sick shoulder moves of the ethiopian, moves that we didn’t see enough of

home is in the baby faces of the swiss and the dutch/english, both wise beyond their (12) years

home is in the confidence of the red-haired dutchie and the thai man, always so sure of themselves (or at least that’s how it appeared)

home is in the endearing nature of the belgian twins, so different yet both so easy to love

home is in the gray hairs of the pakistani, a charming guy with a big heart

home is in the laughing/crying at the same time only the dutch/brit does and how she looks so cute doing it (and so scary also)

home is in the comments the tall dutch man with the tan jacket will not shy away from leaving, always ensuring we have considered the other side of what we’re saying

home is in the fashion sense of the slim dutchie with pouted lips, the black-haired american with flawless makeup, the tanzanian/dutch with rock-hard abs, the dutchie with the big glasses and a love for photography, the iranian and the israeli both with big hair, always with outfits that portrayed who they are

home is in the way the pakistani girl talks about physics, I hope I’m as passionate (and as good a dancer) as you one day

home is in the fierceness of the sudanese girls, both extremely beautiful and wonderful story tellers

home is in the questions of the polish guy and in the endless interruptions, it is wonderful to see how your mind works

home is in the passion the chinese and the bulgarian girls, along with the egyptian man put into everything they do

home is in the delightful accent of the frenchies, so endearing (much like their personalities)

home is in the humor of the hong kong ladies, both hilarious in their own way

home is in the way the dutch/brit, the libyan, the dutch who lived in qatar and the bulgarian were always so in sync

home is in the easy nature of the tall slim spaniard, such a kind-hearted guy and always fun to be around (the scooter looked pretty sick too)

home is in the silence of the mauritian, his body language spoke when his words didnt

home is in the pieces so perfectly played by the japanese and the polish girls, both making it look so easy (when it is most certainly not)

home is in the eyebrow movements of the italian and the norweigan, both using their facial expressions to convey messages their words couldn’t

home is in the goofyness of the moroccan, loved by all, understood by few

home is in the will of the tiny american of indian descent, I swear that girl can do anything she sets her mind to and that is admirable beyond words

home is in the blinding passion from the israeli - his passion is moving and his unwavering beliefs are something I had never seen before

home is in the strength of the turkish, his decision to be so open about his struggles is admirable to say the least

home is in the (crazy) study habits of the guy from côte d'ivoir, the lithuanian and the tanzanian, your strength is admirable

home is in the comforting smile and innapropriate jokes of the guatemalan, who is smarter than he looks and inspires me to be the best version of myself I can be

home is in the unique bond between the belgian/iranian, the british indian and the brazilian, the bond between the scotish/brazilian, the belgian/american, the dutch/ghanan, the polish, the italian and the australian, and the bond between the sudanese, palestinian/swiss, greek, italian, and australian/dutch/canadian, proof that friendships are made to last and that we’re stronger together

home is in the child-like excitement from the two tall dutchies that reminded me its okay to be who you are - unapologetically so

home is in the love the dutch girl with fair eyes and peculiar(ly beautiful) nose puts into everything she does

home is the determination of the dutch/irish girl who has the kindest smile and the loveliest personality

home is in the calming nature ofthe rwandan and the nigerian, who’s deep voice and personality had everyone they met love them instantly

home is in the cheerfulness the tiny dutch girl and dutch/english blond quiet girl somehow always had

home is in all the bromances that were basically relationships

home is in the failed roomie nights, and promises to not miss the next one

home is in the romantic relationships, both short and long lived, as well as the platonic relationships, the ones that almost-but-never-quite-were, the unrequited love ones and the soul depleting crushes

home is in midnight trips to McDonalds, and promising that that will be the last time

home is in late night conversations with the most unexpected people

home is in sneaking out and praying Satyadeep won’t catch you

home is in the culture weeks and conferences, both to portray wonderful things and to drive crazy those who organize it

home is in the pictures of poetae lucis, capturing moments so craftly albeit the constant drama

home is in our second years and our first years, two clumps of people that walked alongside us each year and helped us become who we 

home is in uwc maastricht class of 2016, where all these wonderful people came together almost by magic

home, at least to me, is in all of you.

~~~

UWC Maastricht

Alumni

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