Today is Emancipation Day in the Netherlands, a day on which we commemorate the abolishment of slavery in our “former” colonies. There is a march, a ceremony by the national monument, and a festival known for its danceable music, long lines for great food, and lovely market. I’ve taken the day off, and will be going to Museumplein with a friend to celebrate, and to hopefully score a new wooden afro pick.
Nothing ungovernable, it’s more like a hum. The hum of I’m not feeling at my best, of can’t get that argument out of my head, of what if, what if, what if; a hum that I eventually forget is there at all, even though it never ceases to soundtrack my every move.
I’m maintained and restricted by the ability to tune out whatever is suboptimal. By now I know it’s a common early-childhood survival skill that, while seeking to conserve me, grants me the capacity to self-destruct. When I was younger, I would only hear the quiet it gave me. These days, the hum.
