Amsterdam (or Home)

I’m going to make this as devoid of sentiment as possible.

As a writing exercise.

So much of how we feel about a place depends on our initial exposure to it. It’s why that place we call “home” will always be special. It will always incite a particular brand of nostalgia — even when we go through phases of hating it. It’s home.

If you know me, you know Amsterdam became a home to me very quickly. This is largely because of my first experience, that fateful summer of 2017.

Already too sentimental.

—

In college, there was this really cool program. A summer acting workshop. Seven weeks in Amsterdam. Doing a bunch of really cool things that I really, really loved. Immediately, I knew I had to do it. And I was lucky enough to do just that.

To this day, I’m not sure why I was so instinctively drawn to this program. Sure, it was closely related to my training and interests at the time. But it was more than that. I don’t know how to describe it other than just… knowing I had to go.

Lo and behold, it was as special as I imagined. I gained new confidence in my abilities as an actor. Formed some lifelong connections. And, for the first time in my life, lived in a city other than New York.

This is one concrete reason I can point to as to the origins of my Amsterdam Attachment. I had never before existed as a citizen of a city that wasn’t my own. Because I was not a tourist in the conventional sense of the word. I spent too much time in class to go to any museums or see anything of note. I simply existed, in a new place, doing something I loved. 

It was wonderful.

Yes, I know. I know. Sentimental. 

—

How to continue?

Well, my mom was also there that summer. She loved it as much as I did. A vital fact — as she decided to get an apartment there. That was last Spring.

Suddenly… I had a home. A real, physical home in this place that felt just so.

Sentimental enough?

—

I ramble. I reminisce. I write because I just left. And though I know I’ll be back in mere months, I’m a bit heartbroken. 

There are places that complete people. These places come and go. They change based on your life’s season. For whatever reason — for many of them — Amsterdam is mine.

I just really hope you find yours. 

ONWARDS,

Mag

A Sentimental Postscript

Because I am utterly overflowing with sentiment.

This is an ode.

An ode to the freedom of cycling. To apple pie. The morning light through my apartment window. Shitty Dutch food. De School. The ferry across the river. My Italians. Dutch humor — or lack thereof. Dusk over the canals. That exact moment the lampposts switch on. The Kimpton De Witt. My first tattoo. The Stayokay bar — and all the assholes there I’ve met. Vice Versa. The International Theatre Workshop. 

The abundance of people, places, and things, yet to be found and loved.

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

- Probably not A. A. Milne