Life as a migrant
I don't live in the country I was born in. I left that country voluntarily and never intend on moving back. For the longest time I've taken it for granted, but it occurred to me to think about it and perhaps write about it.
Leaving
After the UK voted to leave the EU, there was a window of time where I could still just find a job and move visa-free. I had been teaching myself Dutch for a few years, but had met exactly one Dutch person in that whole time; we exchanged some words at a house party, once. Besides her, I realised a customer from work was Dutch; a couple of times we exchanged some emails in Dutch in a support ticket he raised, and I think I had him on the phone once. If I wanted to make any use of the language I had learned, I'd need to go somewhere people spoke it.
With that motivation in hand, I decided to do it. I didn't have to convince myself, though historically I have been quite impulsive; I am an Elite member of Seat of Your Pants Airlines. To some extent it didn't feel real. I hadn't given it much thought and only once the decision was made did I start to really consider it. But it wasn't long until I had a job offer and accommodation.
Whilst I had motivation to go to the Netherlands, I did not have much motivation to leave the UK. Okay, Glasgow doesn't have everything; in fact some places have nothing. But I had things quite good; decent job, a home, routine. Family nearby, but far enough to have my own space. No war. No persecution.
Mine was a migration of choice. Looking back, I realise just how much of a privilege that was. Not only did I have the right to migrate, I had the means to do so. Many want to, but cannot. Many don't want to, but must. I can't imagine how different an experience it must be for them. Reflecting on this gives me a feeling of gratitude.
Arriving
My first few weeks and months were the most impactful. Many of the practical differences are interesting, like the infinitely superior public transport and digital government services, but the cultural differences were the most impactful. (Somehow Dutch still feel the need to complain about trains being 2 minutes late; British trains often don't even show up).
In Scotland, we write between the links. If someone smelled bad, you would never dare tell them. Dutch culture is the opposite; you will soon find out if you reek at work. Back home, people are generally considerate of others and many will go out of their way to help strangers; in Noord-Holland, we more or less do what we want, and if during rush hour you want someone to move their bag off the seat so you can sit down in the train, well, be sure to ask. Back home, if you did something to inconvenience someone, you would say 'sorry', even if just to be polite. Dutch people don't say 'sorry'. Ever. I think it might even be illegal.
These differenced were quite jarring once I realised just how concrete they were. I had always taken the behaviours I knew for granted. It took a while before I realised, people were not suddenly breaking all social norms en masse; I was the strange one with the unrealistic expectations. These two nations are very close: geographically, linguistically and culturally, yet even for me, in some respects they felt miles apart. What must it be like going between much different places, where you don't even look like most of the people around you?
Staying
When I left, I made no plans for how long I'd stay away. I think I implicitly thought 'forever', but I don't think I ever said that. My quality of life here is better in nearly every way; not in all and not always by much, but still. I have no desire to go back and no one backens for me to do so. The parts of my old life that I occassionaly do miss, would be over by now anyway, even if I stayed.
Bseides, I have integrated. I gave myself a head start with the language. Bridging the culture gap did not take too long. Things like directness and pragmatism I really embrace. Previously, if people were blocking the pavement, I would just walk onto the road briefly; now I just give a clear 'pardon' and keep walking. But that doesn't mean I need to start leaving my bag next to me on my commute. I can both continue to be myself, and integrate; 'normaal doen'.
After some years, I asked to naturalise. I paid some money to ask the king it he would let me be Dutch. Eventually I got a letter saying yes. Soon after I swore an oath to respect our rights, our duties and the constitutional order. The local official shook my hand, gave me a bag with some stroopwafels, some seeds, a certificate and a flag. For whatever reason, the first moment I was Dutch, I had legally been Dutch for some weeks already; the start date of naturalised Dutch citizenship is the date the royal decision is made, but it's not 'valid' until you attend a ceremony some time later. Regardless, that was it. I was a member of the kaaskopclub.
Being
Being a migrant had given rise to the question 'who am I' before, but being bi-patriate has been the start of a small crisis. I have felt for a while unsure where to call my home, where to say I am from, where I belong. But having two nationalities makes things even less clear.
Nationality is such an interesting part of modern identity, and here I am with two. Am I any less British, or not Scottish any more, for having left? Did I go to Europe or did I leave the UK? Who even gets to decide?
I realised, I do. It seems silly now that I realise it, but there is no one answer. I can either look to others for an answer, or give myself an answer; an answer I like. The Netherlands will not be my final destination, and may not be my last nationality. Who I decide I am today, may not be who I am tomorrow. And that's quite exciting.