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Coming Home Again

21. oktober 2014
Sist oppdatert: 21. oktober 2014

A well-known understanding among most Americans: homecoming. For me, as a born Dutch-guy, the first association I made with the Facebook invitation I received was the track from Kanye and Coldplay’s lead singer Chris Martin. With that sound playing in the back of my mind I dragged myself to the party.

The aftermath from the Welcome Week that still ran through my veins made the beginning of the party in need for some adaptions from my side. That, and the fact that there was barely anybody at the time I got at in. Based on the Welcome Week, which until now was my only reference point, it would have been good to inform myself about the fact that parties here, just like back at home, don’t start until twelve.

The adaption that I had to make however was easily applied, mainly due to four first-year bachelor students who I got in contact with. And the vibe from the Welcome Week directly took its place in my mindset. With a craving hunger I gently sneaked away from the still way too quiet party to get some food at Statoil.

Once I got back at eleven the party seemed to find its rhythm, and the crowed picked it up nice and slowly. Before I knew it I got involved, and saw myself standing in a nicely balanced audience of, what I thought, first-year bachelor and master students. The crowd loved the flow that the music was producing, and although it sometimes didn’t run as smoothly as it should, nobody really seemed to care about the small details. The overall atmosphere, that was bonding all the different nationalities and ages, truly got a hold of everybody present on the dance floor. At the point where an over enthusiastic girl showed me how to move on a song that did not quite belong within my musical repertoire, I decided to take a step back and mix in with the sitting part of Klubben.

The openness of the international and national students, which surprised me during the first week in Bergen, was again present, and there was barely any time for a good conversation with myself. As I sat there, watching a bunch of people go wild on the music, I realized the party was far from my ideal picture. The music, which luckily still depends on preferences, was nothing like I normally listen to, and the present drinking spirit was something I left home in Amsterdam. But funny enough I came to the agreement with those people on the dance floor that these kinds of parties are not there for the details; it’s the overall picture that matters. And for that sake Homecoming pulled an amazing party. It gave me the opportunity to meet loads of new people, and I didn’t have to worry about either the music or the fact that I ordered my fourth glass of water at the bar.

For someone who moved from an exciting yet comfortable environment in Amsterdam to an unknown and fluctuating place as Bergen, I am determined that after an evening as tonight there are only four words that apply: ‘I’m coming home again.’

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