Expat Journal.

In this column, I share my life as an Italian immigrant in the Netherlands, with reflections, changes, and small daily achievements. 

Today, I was preparing an Italian lesson for the A1 group. I used AI to translate a text into Dutch (it really does great translations!), and once I got the result, I decided to copy it into my notebook with pen and paper. Yes, I still do it to practice handwriting and to cement the concepts (at least, I try!!).

There's a combination of letters in Dutch, "ij", that appears in many words. The Dutch write it as if it's a single letter and, almost without realizing it, I did the same. I traced a sort of elongated "u", added a little tail, and then the two dots. It was at that moment that I had a strange feeling: perhaps, for the first time, Dutch really felt like my language.

A feeling that was both strange and completely natural.

Strange, because after six years I had hoped to be fluent, but I'm still not. For a long time, I was ashamed of it, until I accepted that, in addition to managing daily life, I was also learning and improving my English in the meantime. Learning two languages at once is not easy, not for me.

Natural, because my life is here, in the Netherlands. It's hard to explain. When I go to Italy, I don't "return" home, I go on holiday abroad. I no longer consider my "abroad" to be here, but all the other countries, including the one where I was born and whose passport I still carry.

It's not just about the language. In my daily gestures, thoughts, and ways of relating to others, I feel I've absorbed much of Dutch culture. Punctuality, a more detached approach in less significant relationships, I've stopped (almost entirely...) yelling when someone cuts me off in traffic or when the cashier chats with the customer while the line gets longer. I haven’t simply "endured" these changes: I’ve adopted them, because they reflect the person I am today.

I believe the real turning point was when I started teaching Italian.

On one hand, this helps me keep my connection with my culture alive – and why ciliegia in the plural becomes ciliegie! On the other hand, by confronting local habits, I’m able to better explain "our" quirks to the Dutch. Teaching has become like a mirror, reflecting not only what I convey to others but also what I am learning myself.

Perhaps this is the beauty of living abroad: you are always in motion, a continuous exploration of who you are, balancing what you bring with you and what you choose to become.