Notes from Amsterdam
The communities I want to explore and know are the communities that understand what it means to be othered. They are the most beautiful, the most bright, and feel like home.
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April 5, 2024 — economy plus
I order my usual, a glass of sparkling wine with a shot of campari and generous ice. Three plates of food satiate the appetite I accumulated throughout the day, strategizing how a visit to the AMEX lounge could leave behind more groceries in the fridge for my partner. Even when I am a multi-millionaire who flies first class (never private, because that is environmentally unethical), free food still triggers some survival aspect in my brain: if I refrain from eating the food I have at home and overeat at the free lounge, I am saving money. Perhaps this is a trait inherited from my immigrant ancestors or my coupon-mongering mother or my past self that strived to save every penny I could in New York.
Two glasses of my usual and I am nearly drunk, or maybe just buzzed. These days I can’t tell the difference between the two (does that mean I’m a skinny b*tch?). Or maybe I am seeing the airport lights in a more romantic light than usual because I am going to Europe for two weeks: Amsterdam, Ghent, Bruges, Luxembourg, and Paris. Despite my lack of awareness around the current scaffolding hellhole that Paris is (according to the internet), I am extremely excited.
I am going to Amsterdam for a work conference and staying a bit after to travel to nearby places. When I reach the gate, it hits me: I am going to Amsterdam! I am going to Amsterdam! The excitement I feel is familiar to that of a child trying a different flavors of ice cream.
Even though I have traveled a lot over the past ten years of my life, the feeling of travel never gets old: specifically, boarding a plane to a place that has no shape in my heart, knowing that when I leave, it will mold its own meaning, angular or soft, large or small, bright or dark. The electricity of knowing a place and its people reminds me that many of our experiences were once new: the walls of our home, the streets of our city, working a job we longed for with vigor, seeing our children and our mothers and our fathers, dining at a busy restaurant, hearing the sound of rain, treating ourselves to a cookie on a Sunday afternoon or losing the hour of the day in the arms of someone we love. And yet, the rate at which we live our lives conditions us to become rubber, immune to the electricity.
This is the first flight that I purchased an economy plus seat for, and when I sat down and noticed the extra leg room, I wanted to scream: I am in economy plus! I am in economy plus! The amount of legroom I have is suffice for a shiba inu to practice yoga and then some.
Walking past the sea of mute expressions in first class, it became clear that the richness of life has no sustained correlation to the depth of one’s pocket. In fact, privilege may be a ghost disease, a virus that saps away the joy in things we might otherwise appreciate with gumption: The water I drink is clean, the neighborhood I live in is safe, the six dollar coffee I drank this morning does not trigger a narrative of scarcity-related stress, and the bed I sleep on is soft and supportive, a miracle to my ancestors who once slept on hay. If allowed to run its course through the mind unnoticed, planting seeds of entitlement around our subconscious, our privilege can leave us lifeless, swirling in the grey speck of an otherwise colorful canvas.
April 5, 2024 — i did It!
Something I’ve realized since traveling to Denver and Amsterdam (two places where the population is primarily White) is that I’ve finally done it: I’ve de-conditioned myself. I am not attracted to white men simply because they are white. I think a lot of people are conditioned to covet whiteness without even realizing it. Now it has the opposite effect, if I am being honest. Except for one construction worker I saw on the street who looked like Brad Pitt, but Brad Pitt is a universally loved yt man, so that seems like an exception.
April 6, 2024 — cat-phobic
I am allergic to the cats in the AirBnB I rented and am wondering if this is how I die. If my lung were ever to collapse, it would be because of the ugly gray ball of fur that I had to chase and retrieve after it scurried out the door. A part of me wants to give the host a one-star review out of spite, like: Why am I paying $400 USD to chase your f*cking cat around this sh*t apartment building in Amsterdam? F*ck you and your cat.
But I am not that kind of person, so I sent him a nice message, asked him for a partial refund, and found a mediocre hotel to stay in instead. We talked through our options to find a resolution that allowed the both of us to save some money (considering he thought he would have the income from my entire stay). In total, I got half of what I paid back, even though I only stayed for one night, which I am writing off to good karma, considering I did not want him to lose his money either. Although, charging that much for a single room in a shared apartment makes me wonder if he was just playing the part.
ANYWAYS. Lessons learned: Never book an AirBnB with a harsh cancellation policy. Never book an AirBnB with pets. Never book a shared AirBnB in the first place.
It occurs to me that I haven’t had an allergic reaction of that nature since I was a kid and spent the majority of my time around my best friend Michael who had two (or three?) cats at his house. Throughout my entire childhood, I had horrific allergies. Maybe this entire time it was the cats, the hairs that I got all over my clothes and backpack every day I went to his house. It’s silly to think that maybe I had allergies for 10+ years because I always hung out with cats. I think I hate cats.
April 7, 2024 — jetlag
I keep waking up at 2AM, stirring in bed for two hours, and then falling asleep again. My stomach grumbles even though I’ve been eating more than I usually do. Obviously, this is jetlag, but a part of me still refuses that fact, because I have never struggled with jetlag before. I am getting older! No!
Just kidding, I can’t wait to be eighty years old playing video games every day and doing tai-chi at 6AM in the park in a fur coat and a diamond necklace.
I never know what to do though when I wake up at 2AM, like, should I read? Masturbate? Listen to a meditation? I just lay there, restless, until I fall asleep.
April 8, 2024 — yt ppl
I’ve been posting more on TikTok and it’s funny to me to read comments from white men who don’t like what I say, which is practically anything related to my experience as a POC. It is interesting how they self-sabotage their own goals. In my opinion, this is how it goes: A white man is triggered by the only instance they’ve ever had in which they feel unsafe (seeing someone talk about whiteness, seeing someone not adore them or consider them the all-knowing, the all-deserving), so they say ignorant sh*t, which adds further proof to my observation.
The more I speak about and contemplate whiteness, the more I am challenged by white people to explain my experience and defend my existence, which makes me recognize its pervasive nature even more, how it not only oppresses anyone who is not white but convinces white people that they are entitled to everything, including experiences they have no stake in. And so I become even more aware of it, more disturbed by it, and more vocal.
If these white people were smart and really wanted me to believe the things they said, e.g. “you don’t experience racism, you’re just sad you’re rejected by white men,” they would refrain from saying anything. They would show up as a person who does none of the things I talk about, someone who pretends to actively listen, and then convince me that my experiences in the world had more to do with my personal shortcomings than societal design.
What I am saying is: These white people do not even know how to gaslight properly. They are not only ignorant, they are messy. That kind of gives me hope, because it’s like: Wow, these white people are not threats, they are just a product of whiteness, puppets within the design.
And what do we do with puppets? We laugh at them!
April 8, 2024 — the european illusion
I was walking around Amsterdam bloated with dairy, disturbed by the amount of trash on the streets and in the canals, and nauseated by the lack of diversity in the city when it clicked: Maybe Europe isn’t it, that’s why they left to find cultures that they could colonize across the globe, because they realized their own were mid.
While I am mainly joking, I think I’m a bit “over” Europe as a travel destination.
When I was younger, the concept of Europe was so enticing, probably because I felt less of a connection to my own culture and lacked the awareness to resist the westernized education that washes the brains of Americans and Europeans everywhere: the Western world is the best! America! Europe! Power! Freedom! Cheese and meat and pigment-less people! And then I grew up.
Now I realize that I have little to no interest in being in places that I do not see myself, my friends, or our stories. I have no interest in walking around European museums, as most of these monuments and texts are glorifications of colonialism. Also, I am spoiled, living in Mexico. The food, the people, and the culture in Mexico could never…
Of course, traveling is not about comparing one place to another. I am trying as many local beers as I can, indulging in all of the Dutch snacks (even if I’d rather go on a kale cleanse), and have been meeting a handful of bright, lovely people who live here. Coincidentally, I met a friend at SOHO House the other day, a Chinese-Dutch woman who grew up with Dutch parents and went through a similar “cultural awakening” that I did. We both talked about our experiences as Asian people in the United States and the Netherlands, both of us originally trying to belong to Whiteness and eventually claiming pride around our cultural identities. Almost all of our thoughts and perspectives paralleled one another.
Honestly, if there is anything I’ve loved about being here, it is A) meeting other people of color and B) realizing that certain parts of Europe are no longer areas of personal interest. In addition to my friend from SOHO, I met a Lebanese man who shared a bit about his experience living in the Netherlands. He told me that he identifies more with his family’s ethnicity and culture than being “Dutch,” considering most Dutch people do not accept immigrants as a part of their own society. All of these conversations came up naturally, without my own prompting, which makes me feel like the universe is pointing me towards the right people.
The communities I want to explore and know are the communities that understand what it means to be othered. They are the most beautiful, the most bright, and feel like home.
Whiteness aside, there are things that I like about Amsterdam, e.g.:
The biking culture goes HARD (more bikes than cars, a dream come true!)
(Mostly) everyone I’ve met so far is sweet and friendly
There’s a plethora of cute coffee shops and bars
It is extraordinarily safe; I biked around five miles at 10PM in the middle of the forest and right when I started wondering if there was a serial killer nearby I realized that there were a handful of other people biking ahead of and behind me, including an elderly couple and some kids
The craft beer is yummy
April 9, 2024 — loner travel
I think I am getting better at doing things alone, which is something that I am proud of. I’ll write more on this next week!
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With love,
Your favorite capybara ~ AKA Travis Zane
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