As Brussels comes to life after the summer yet again, I am not among those returning to work. Still, here I am, making sense of my evolving place in this city.
Why am I still here, if I no longer work for the European Institutions? Isn’t that the only reason to stay? The short answer is that – despite all its problems – I love Brussels because I feel most alive here. The long answer begins when I first arrived eight years ago.
After having lived in New York, London, and Paris – the world’s great metropolises – Brussels felt like a step back. In addition, I was moving there shortly after the notorious Brussels terror attacks, which – temporarily and for all the wrong reasons – elevated Brussels to a media fixture. It certainly made me think twice about following through with a five-month traineeship offer I had from the European Commission. Why risk moving somewhere unremarkable and unsafe?
And yet, there I was on the eve of my traineeship, putting down my one suitcase in a short-term rental on a certain Rue Bosquet in the municipality of Saint-Gilles. Since none of them – Saint-Gilles, Etterbeek, Ixelles – carried any name recognition, I went with the one dwelling that was within walking distance of my future workplace (avoiding the metro still seemed wise). Far from choosing between Soho or Brooklyn, Saint-Germain or Marais – clear concepts in my mind before ever setting foot there – Brussels’ districts held no space in my cultural imagination.
It turned out I was in luck. Saint-Gilles proved to be everything a newly arrived “young professional” could hope for. There were enough bars to go around, and enough interesting and ambitious young people to fill them. Belgian beer often doubled as dinner.
Whatever stature Brussels lacked, it made up for with the quality of its social life. Discussing the future of the EU – and how best to be part of it – with fellow Europhiles felt like membership of an elite club. This was especially precious to a late twenty-something me whose life back home was slowly closing in on the domestic sphere. Brussels gave me a chance at a second youth.
I was not the only one. Brussels and Belgium have always been sanctuaries for free spirits in exile, from Karl Marx to Marvin Gaye. I met people who came chasing a better life. Then I met those who fled great but predetermined lives back home for a chance to make their own mark.
Whatever we were running from, we were united by our desire to become our true selves. In this process, Brussels was our fairy godmother, watching over us benevolently from the sidelines. It didn’t impose on us to become investment bankers or consultants, as London might, or actors and writers, as New York can. It merely offered an empty page on which to write our own stories. These could be as simple as permission to step outside in sweats – shocking to my Parisian housemates – or as profound as finding one’s tribe after a lifetime of forced belonging. Freedom was healing in all its forms, and Brussels stored it aplenty.
I once saw a tote bag that read, “Where will Brussels take you?”. It was not so much a question as an invitation. I threw myself into its arms with abandon, trusting a soft landing. Through jobs at the European Commission, Brussels took me through the corridors of power and back out the door again.
Somewhere along the way, it led me to my Belgian husband, expanding my expat horizons all the way to the country’s coastal rim – but only after the obligatory detour through the graveyard of previous relationships. It taught me what it costs to take the road less travelled – and what can be gained. It took me down the streets where wildflowers bloom out of crooked pavements, and all the way home to myself.
Eight years later, my romance with the city has solidified into a steady partnership. We can now go for months passing each other by, each irked by the other’s eccentricities. I can get upset at its refusal to bend to my ingrained notions of sensible behaviour; the city pushes back against my refusal to accept it as it is.
And yet, as in every good marriage, it only takes one long look to remember why we fell in love in the first place. Through all the ups and downs, Brussels remains one of the few things I have that I keep wanting. And that, to me, is the greatest gift.
"Alors que Paris vous rend parisien et Londres londonien, Bruxelles ne vous rendra pas bruxellois, elle vous permettra d’être vous-même."
(Belgian playwright Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt)
And you, why are you still here?
