Uncomfortable, it's a good thing to be.

As I reflect on my time in Brussels I find myself to be missing the things that used to inconvenience me. I would often lament my long walks to the metro station every morning, the lengthy ride to my next stop, and then the walk to work. After being apart from this commute, I realize that I miss the time to myself spent alone and moving forward. I miss watching the diverse and interesting flows of people getting on and off the metro, each person with a unique story. It was a time I had all to myself every morning, and now that I am quarantined with my family, having some time to myself can be harder to get than one would think. Even though my inability to understand what others were saying annoyed me at times, I miss the sounds of french, dutch, spanish and german. It was not unusual for Brussels to put me in unfamiliar situations that made me feel uncomfortable, but it is in uncomfortable situations I would find myself growing the most, forced to adapt.

I remember my first day in Brussels. After a long and sleepless flight, I had lugged my bags up a long flight of stairs at my housing complex. I had not eaten for a considerable amount of time, so my friend Jack and I ventured out to find some food. We stopped at a halal restaurant (they are extremely popular in Brussels) and nervously made out way inside. Belgian customer service is quite different from service in the United States. Workers tend to be extremely direct and sometimes unwilling to serve you unless you are quite persistent in obtaining their services, a very foreign concept to me. We ordered a flashy special we had seen outside and watched as he began to cook our meals. This is not the custom, he told us to take a seat to make may for the other patrons who may come inside.

(One of my favorite halal restaurants right across the street from my apartment complex)

As we waited for our meal, we watched football (soccer) on a fuzzy TV in the corner of the store and I realized how little I really knew about the sport, missing basketball and American football coverage. The meal was brought out by the one man working in the store and he uttered “bon appétit”, the standard salutation given when the meal is served. At that moment I tasted halal meat for the first time. I naively thought I had ordered a standard hamburger, and upon biting into it I was wildly surprised. It was quite delicious and much more affordable than eating out at other restaurants (although cooking for myself was always the cheapest option) and I would always feel satisfied at the end of every meal.

This first exchange at the halal restaurant may seem trivial, but in a foreign country where I had little understanding of many customs, basic interactions can feel daunting at times. I learned the hard way at my second visit to a halal restaurant that it- like many other places of businesses in Belgium- was cash only. Forcing myself into new and uncomfortable situations was a healthy practice that I wish to carry forward into the future. Obtaining new skills, meeting new people and visiting new places will undoubtedly be at least a bit easier after my time abroad. While I hate the way it ended, I am very glad I went.