The best things in life are layered.
What comes to your mind when I say the word "layered"? Indeed, it's a very layered word. Here are the things I think of:
The Opera cake that I once helped Sarah make in Calgary.
Onions.
People. You can learn so much more from layered people. There's something unnerving about people who lay all their cards out right away. At first you feel special. Then you realize you're more like a microphone, an object that people whisper their deepest feelings to, then walk away from. I feel better around people that I know are hiding something from me. It commands respect and patience.
Bed sheets and clothes. I used to have dark blue bed sheets, and going to bed was like diving underwater. Deep layers are dark and safe.
Erosion. See picture.
Art. Any masterpiece was once nothing but a few blobs of colour. The colour you choose for the background of a painting can make or break it even before it's made. And certain media are impossible to master if you don't learn to layer, e.g. watercolours.
Flavours. You wine connoisseurs know what I'm talking about. And enough has been said about the importance of aftertastes – "the scent lingers on the palate," "he left a bad taste in my mouth," etc.
Layer 2.
Expecting me to say something a little deeper?
I'm finding that the experiences gained from living abroad come in waves.
At first there is that giddy nervousness that comes with facing the unknown. Then there is empowerment and a sense of ownership. Nobody can tell you where to go or what to do. You know better than everyone else because you've been there and done that.
Then there is the sheepish humility that surfaces when you realize you don't know anything about anything. You're just another foreigner trying to feel special in someone else's space. Once you've absorbed that wave, you feel motivated to adapt. You want to fit in, so you try to learn the language and the lifestyle in order to re-integrate yourself into society. Empowerment comes from belonging.
You ride that wave for a little while. You're doing good. Then all of a sudden you realize you're miles from the shore. People back home are either straining to see where you've washed up, or have given up on following your course altogether. Serves you right – you forgot to look back when you drifted off, and you have no idea how you got to where you are. You want to grip onto something familiar, but you're lost at sea and ain't nobody coming to find you.
At this point any big impetus is useless. It's also useless to give up. You have to take it slowly, pick a direction you think is at least roughly right, and aim for it. Maybe this is the hardest time – you need more confidence and optimism than ever, and yet you have every reason to believe that even if you make it back, everyone will have packed up and left. On the bright side, no matter which way you go there's something new to learn. You also begin to appreciate home in a way you never have before.
Layer 3.
Down here it's warm and cozy, like I promised. It might seem that reality is pretty far from here. That's ok. Here is the place where you tell stupid jokes and boogie to really loud music in your room (hey tikitakirikiraka macarena, hey lakalikarikiraka macarena. Hey rakarikalakataka macarena, heyyyyyyyyy macarena!). Here is the place you stick your tongue out to falling snow and goose your friends. You probably pick your nose when you think no one's looking. Here is where you laugh so hard that you snort, and then laugh harder because you're snorting. Things are simple. Everyone loves everyone. You know where this is. Yes, you do. And it's not that hard to get there.
