‘I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.’
-W. Somerset Maugham, "The Moon and Sixpence," Ch. L
I posted this quote in the beginning of the rollicking tour de force that is the Dunkin' Berliner Blog. The only thing I have to add is this: you can also remain an alien in whatever land(s) you settle in.. All you have to do is shut the fuck up and not talk to anybody.
Yes, I'm an anti-social fucker. I prefer the companionship of jelly donuts to most of the people I meet. Misanthrope? Maybe. I think 'we who have lived outside our native countries for many years' (expat, shmexpat--I'm a refugee, mutha fucka) are tired of other expats most of all. At least I am. I stumbled into the Prater biergarten last night around 10pm and the joint was hopping. Every table was occupied and you could barely hear a German word spoken. If Al Qaeda wanted to rain down any of their monkey religion savagery on "Western Infidels", this would be one of the places (only not when I'm there. If you read this and do that shitty thing you do in the name of your stupid fucking made up 'god' I will personally arrive in your afterlife and sew up all 72 virgins so you will have to remain a total jerk off for all of eternity. No Sand Monkeys in MY fucking biergarten. You've been warned.)
I digress. I joined a table with an expat friend. The Questions immediately ensued. Which brings me to the point of this blog post: What is the expat question you hate the most?
A) Where are you from?
B) How long have you been here?
C) What do you do?
D) And do you actually make money with that?
E) All of the above.
The winner of today's poll will receive my personal accolades, personal mention and I'll hit the like button on yer fb page, even if it is some hokey New Age Bollox like yoga n shit.
Word.
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