Where are you from?
These days it’s a question fraught with social perils, and yet it’s a good conduit to get to know both yourself and others
I have just spent a few lovely days during the holidays with my wife’s family. They are a really nice bunch, without exceptions. Which is something one hardly hears about in-laws!
One evening, my wife’s mom proposed an unusual after dinner game. Each of us was asked to write a short poem answering the question “Where am I from?” I was a bit surprised. Did she not know that these days even to ask that question may be considered a micro-aggression, whether purposeful or accidental?
In certain quarters it is thought to be rude to ask about someone’s origins, because the question itself may be interpreted as judgmental, or may cause embarrassment, as sometimes there is no straightforward answer. A first generation immigrant, for instance, might consider herself to be both “from” where she was born and from where her parents came.
I get the potential issues. But the game proposed by my wife’s mom also very forcefully reminded me that we miss out on a lot if we are unwilling to answer what used to be one of the most basic (and, usually, innocent) questions posed to people in order to get to know them better.
At any rate, that night the whole family (twelve people) got into the “game” and sure enough in the process of answering the prompt two things happened. On the one hand, each of us discovered something interesting about ourselves, on the basis of what sort of answers came to our mind, and why. On the other hand, everybody learned something new about each respondent, again on the basis of what they chose to write about and how.
The rest of this essay is an elaboration on my personal answer to “Where are you from?,” not in poetic form, because that is simply not how I express myself. The point of this exercise is for me to embark on a short journey of self-discovery, as well as to introduce myself to readers in a somewhat novel and unorthodox fashion, one that might be more interesting than perusing a standard academic bio.
“Where am I from?”
I am from western Africa, though I don’t remember anything about the place, because my parents moved back to Italy when I was a few months old. My father had spent ten years in various African countries, supervising road construction and getting into bizarrely dangerous situations—like taunting rhinos with a Land Rover until they would charge. Because what else does one do for fun in the middle of the savannah?
I am from a small apartment on the periphery of Rome, where my brother and I were loved and taken care of by my grandmother and her companion, since my parents divorced and neither was willing to take on the responsibility of raising us. We turned out okay, really.
I am from the Eternal City, a place where you breathe history and beauty every day of your life. Where as a kid your adoptive grandfather regularly brings you to visit a huge bookstore right across from Marcus Aurelius’s column, and where you get to pick any book you like and then sit down in a café to enjoy a delicious chocolate and cream pastry.
I am from the Bel Paese, which is not just the name of a pretty good cheese, but the apt nickname of a country featuring so many beautiful places that, almost six decades after having born, there are still lots such places I haven’t had a chance to explore, yet. Oh, I don’t feel proud of being from there. Just lucky.
I am of an elementary school on top of the Gianicolo Hill (not one of the Seven), where a stern but attentive teacher of French origins was kind enough to allow me in her class even though I had skipped a grade. And where I would play outside in the afternoon, right below an imposing equestrian statue of Anita Garibaldi.
I am of a high school in the periphery of Rome, where the police had sprayed bullets in response to students’ protests just a year or two before I arrived. Where I met people with whom I’m still friends, over forty years later. And where I benefited from the patience and skill of some of the best teachers I’ve met in my entire life.
I am of a university entitled to wisdom, where a kind and perceptive professor spotted me in his class during my first semester and approached me to offer a spot in his laboratory. And where another professor, who was teaching an evening course that could have been the epitome of boredom instead made the study of the history of life on Earth both endlessly fascinating and quite a bit funny.
I am of the nutmeg State, where I truly did experience some of the best years of my life—just as they advertised to incoming students at the entrance to campus. I spent endless blissful hours at my desk there, or in the greenhouse, laying the foundation for my first academic career.
I am of the volunteer State, about which I knew nothing other than that’s where they make Jack Daniels. And yet I managed to make lifelong friends there, to develop an appreciation for what it means to live in a “red” state, and to grasp a serendipitous opportunity to switch career and become a philosopher. It is there that my daughter—a major reason I feel so lucky in life—was born.
I am of the Big Apple, where I decided to go to live because I was sick and tired of suburban America. Where I met more friends. Where I fell in love with my wife, yet another reason I consider myself so favored by Fate. As the song says, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. Perhaps that’s why I keep feeling on top of the world, though I realize that Fortune had a very large part to play in all of this.
I am of a yet unfolded future. I do not know how long such future will be. Could be decades, could be days. Hopefully the former, assuming I can manage to get there in decent mental and physical health. It’s a future that will bring its share of joys and sorrows, as always. It’s a future that I treasure precisely because I know it is limited. It’s a future that I endeavor not to waste.
And now it is up to you, gentle reader. What would be your answers to this deceptively simple question: “Where are you from?”?
I'm posting this on a special day for me. I was born 20962 days ago. The first 10481, I've lived in the Netherlands, the second 10481 days I've lived as an expat in Luxembourg and Belgium.
I was born to relatively young parents who still lived in their university town, Leiden, where my parents had studied chemistry (my mother gave up after her bachelors, my father has completed his masters, started a PhD but gave up when fatherhood made teaching a better plan, at least for the short term).
We moved to The Hague, my parents' city of birth where my father taught chemistry at secondary school until his retirement. My brother was born in The Hague as well.
I went to a primary school in the very south of The Hague against the dunes and a stone throw from the beach. My secondary school was a strict place with a reputation for good education (*). We learned Latin and Greek for at least some years as well as modern languages and sciences.
(* for what it's worth: two former Christian democratic ministers of justice among its alumni; a daughter of a liberal minister and future princess among my peers, and when I was there, an alumnus won the Nobel prize in physics. I disliked the place)
I went to Rotterdam to study economics. I became active in the youth wing of a political party and learned to play bridge rather well.
During my student years I taught microeconomics mostly to second year students, a nice half time job that provided me with an income for four years.
I eventually specialised in monetary economics and my professor, Eduard Bomhoff employed me for a while as his assistant in economics courses. Bomhoff was by far the best teacher I had encountered at university and it was a pleasure to work for him. He was a prominent member of the Labour party and a columnist in the country's best (second best?) newspaper. It was a complete surprise when the man joined the extreme right LPF party in the early 2000's and became the vice prime minister. That government turned out to be a disaster, lasting for less than three months. My once beloved professor left for Kuala Lumpur where he still is a professor and occasionally writes grumpy comments on national politics.
At graduation I was asked to join the PhD program but I regrettably didn't try - the pay was terrible and I needed to provide for a family of two. After jobs at my university, at the Ministry of Finance and in parliament (as the assistant of an MP of my political party - I loved that job), I passed the competition for a job at the European Commission.
On 1 August 1995 (10481 days ago) I started in the European Commission's statistical office as the person responsible for the statistics of R&D, innovation, Science and Technology, patents etc. Interesting but living in Luxembourg isn't easy for a 30 year old and even less for a recently divorced one..
One aspect of Luxembourg was great. I had learned to play bridge well and was asked to play the 1989 European Communities championship for the Netherlands junior team (at the time there were both European and EC (*) championships but the latter stopped when it became clear that the European Communities and Europe would overlap to such a large extent). At that 1989 tournament I had to conclude that I was no more than "good" at the game and that there were players with a so much better understanding that the idea of becoming a pro was pointless. Fast forward to Luxembourg: there weren't many players and they weren't great but within weeks they asked me to play in the national team so that I went to the world championships in Rhodes, the last ever EC championships in Salsomaggiore and the European championships in Malta with five other Lux residents. A great experience. (* European Communities, European Economic Community, European Community for Coal and Steel this would all be called the European Union as from the coming into force of the Maastricht Treaty in 1993)
I've left for Brussels where I first worked as a macroeconomist and then for almost seventeen years in competition enforcement and policy. I've brought two cartels to justice (and pushed standing case law in an obscure corner of competition law a bit), helped to finish off many others by taking part in dawn raids and assisted in the saving of a bank during a crazy over-the-weekend rescue.
In the meantime I got married and divorced again becoming the father of a now 21 year old boy - a good looking and smart business school student who's bachelors took him to three different European cities who's fluent in three or so languages and gets by in two more.
I've also managed to get into the Belgian backgammon team, playing not very successful European and world championships but mostly waiting for my turn to play. Mercifully, these events are short.
And now for the big question: where am I from? I'm partially man-of-the world (many global issue feel personal, I've been on most continents, I read the NY times for breakfast), and even more European (or rather "EUropean") having been shaped through three decades of work here.
But in the nationality sense, I've remained Dutch. I'm a paid subscriber to two national newspapers and have been member of one political party and then another without interruption since 1991. What happens in the Netherlands matters. A murder in a Dutch town where I've never been feels like a disturbance of the way the world should be, a feeling that I never have with respect to an event in Belgium or Luxemburg (countries where I have not only lived but who have embraced me as their adopted son by having me in their national team in, admittedly, obscure endeavors), or in Estonia, Germany or Portugal (where some of my ancestors are from) or in France (my son feels more French than Dutch) or in Italy (the nation of my wife, destination of many holidays, probable residence of my retirement).
I am from Hamburg, Northern Germany, but I reply to that beautiful post because I honestly envy you a bit for growing up in that wonderful city, my wife and me are visiting very often (not that I lack anything growing up in Hamburg) and just November 2022 we walked by this Marcus Aurelius column and the Ms. Garibaldi statue on the Gianicolo (what a serene view on Rome !)...good luck to you !