On Sickness, and the Comfort of Art

It might be the gloom outside or the shocking newness turned into routine, but the rush I’ve felt since the beginning of the semester has dulled. And I feel that this is important to say, because not everything lasts forever. 

In such a homogeneous city, it's hard to walk around and not see anyone who looks like you. I mean, it’s much, much harder than I was ever expecting it to be. There’s nothing inherently “wrong,” but it can put a serious toll on you mentally. You feel alien, even when you know you aren’t.  

During one of my LLC events, we played a game where we answered yes or no questions by walking to opposite sides of the room. One of the questions that I can’t stop thinking about is this: I have felt welcomed by locals in Denmark. 

I chose the yes side. Everyone chose the yes side. So why, for a moment, did I feel like breaking away from the group? On a surface level, I feel that everyone I have encountered has been very nice. Nothing overtly bad has happened to me.

Still, I felt internally conflicted about the answer. We weren’t allowed to talk, so I didn’t have the liberty to explain the hidden exceptions in my answer. To say, yes, I suppose I do, but I can’t quite account for the feeling I get walking into the Black Diamond Library and feel like I’m intruding. Or why, when I walk down the street, I feel both unfairly exposed and invisible. 

It’s a creeping feeling that’s followed me. I guess I’ve felt like this since the beginning of my time here, but I’ve tried to ignore it, pushing it down, hoping it would go away. After getting sick, though, all of the time sitting around has forced me to think about it. 

I’ve been excused from class twice; to lie around, try to get enough rest. My illness is beginning to pass; I can feel it, but the lethargy is taking a little longer to shake. Because it was not just the physical sickness, but the physical weight of being some sort of symbol or representation of something I couldn’t possibly be. 

So instead of bearing this self-inflicted weight, I’ve been forcing myself to do something very simple: what I enjoy. To make myself a person again. I go to museums, see good art, walk aimlessly down the street, take pictures. Assure myself that I do, in fact, belong here as much as anyone else. 

Some days it feels more true than others. But the important thing is to reiterate that – to myself and anyone who is like me. And as the sunshine has begun to crack through the grey clouds, I find myself feeling that much lighter.