The Life and Times of the Curious Cockroach

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“I’m convinced that there’s a little cockroach in all of us. The part of us that is determined to survive. The part of us that adapts to new surroundings and circumstances. The part of us that stays hidden during routine life, but springs to action when there is a disturbance…”

The Inner Cockroach,
April 28th 2009

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Location: Brussels, Belgium
Emotional state: pensive/amused

I attended a rather curious dinner party yesterday evening. The guests weren’t jolly as they usually are (or pretend to be) during dinner parties. They weren’t wearing colourful clothing, and there was not one seductive cocktail dress in sight. Wine was being poured into elegant glasses, but the lips that sipped the wine were not relaxed, they were tightened — some were even trembling.

When I arrived, the guests were all sitting in a circle in the middle of the living room. They looked up at me as I stood at the doorway, clearly offended by my bright floral-print dress and the bag of chocolate pretzels in my hands. Smiling awkwardly, I reached for the party invitation in my pocket and gave it a quick glance:

“Our journey in Brussels is about to come to an end! Come celebrate and say goodbye, before we’re all gone!
Dinner, drinks, and games!
May 29th, 19:30, #1697 Rue du Pain Perdu”

So I was at the right place. And I did actually know these people. The look of doom on their faces simply made them difficult to recognize at first. I pulled up a chair beside my South African friend Margaretie, and wrapped my black shawl around my shoulders. The dinner party conversation resumed.

“I feel like I’m being kicked out of this country. It’s completely unfair!” Margaretie said to the group.

“They can’t do this to us!” said Margaretie’s American boyfriend, crumpling his napkin into a pulp, “sure our student visas are almost expired, but that doesn’t make us criminals! All this bureaucratic jungle we have to get through, just to sleep a few extra nights in Brussels. I’ve tried all sorts of things. I’ve tried internships. Got one at the European Commission. But even that had to end…”

“And the black market won’t get you too far, either,” piped in a curly-haired girl that I did not know.

“This is our home. They’re exiling us from our home,” Margaretie said with great sorrow in her voice.

A heavy silence descended on us all. We sat huddled in a circle, looking down at the floor for what seemed like a very long time. Then the host must have had an internal panic attack because he stood up abruptly and started offering everyone food in a nervous (and somewhat violent) manner, saying “now, now everyone! Have some olive skewers! Or pumpkin pudding! Or parsley pastries! And remember, dinner, drinks, and games, people!”

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Walking home that night, I realized that I had just been in the presence of a very special batch of exchange students. The kind who are very much in tune with their inner cockroach.  You see, just ten months ago, they arrived in Brussels from all corners of the world. They looked completely lost, they had forgotten what brought them here. They wandered around Brussels like exiles, trying to find some sign of familiarity… when, behold! Their inner cockroach woke up. It started bustling around like mad, creating familiarity where there was none before. First came the favourite grocery store, then the favourite laundromat, coffee shop, food market, park, even the favourite park bench, and finally the favourite people. Somehow Brussels grew cozier. Like Margaretie said, it became home.

Now the year abroad is almost up, and these poor souls are to be exiled once again. Never underestimate the power of the inner cockroach, dear Reader. It can help you, but it certainly can pinch, too!