1:20 (End of Part 1, "Can't take the London out of a Londoner") Adios to the 'Londoner'

Saturday marked my one-year Aliyah anniversary. On June 23rd 2005, I took a flight from Heathrow airport to Ha’aretz Yisrael to begin a new chapter my in life and to establish a life away from home.

So, I bet you are wondering how this year left me feeling. I guess the answer is: slightly settled, partially directional and somewhat happy. A month ago, I visited home in an apprehensive state and thankfully returned with triumph written across my face in realisation that the actions of the 23rd were the best steps I have ever taken. Do those feelings still stand? Well, I guess so. But as the next stepping stone of my life approaches and as I become a true Israeli, leaving behind my proud identity of the ‘Londoner’, insecurities begin to creep up on me. I have come to accept certain aspects to my circumstances in Israel, such as my tuchus will always be disproportionately bigger than the average Israeli, that people have chutzpah in this country and that everyone wants to know your business. Yet despite this resolution, I still battle on with certain doubts, such as accepting the absence of my friends and family, a western pay check and a proper cosmopolitan cocktail. Such doubts hold me back from completely letting go of all behind and dissolving into the transition process of a new identity.

Having a Picnic

I once heard that life is merely a journey of a constant search for happiness. Does this imply I will never be wholly satisfied and will be spending the rest of my life trying to search for true contentment, even though it will remain unachievable? If so, I guess I will be ending up in mental overdrive by the age of fifty. Maybe this is the reason why so many of us end up with depression or taking drugs … possibly it is our reaction to unrecognised happiness and the realisation of the inevitability of incomplete happiness.

Just before my visit to London, I visited a good friend, Deborah, for our usual chin-wag before leaving. As per usual, I ended up divulging all my anxieties of what lay ahead. I explained my fears of going back home, and the fact I cannot figure out what sincerely would make me feel complete. She simply answered in her heavy Mancunian accent, cigarette in hand, blowing out the smoke, in so many words:

“Nat, it doesn’t matter where you are. You will only be happy once you are happy with yourself. The place will not determine that, simply your own happiness with life will.”

I know she is correct. But, I truly wish my life could be like a picnic. If so, I could select the courses, or areas of my life, that bring me enjoyment and satisfaction, and arranged them on the picnic blanket. as I please. And the, I believe I would be complete and happy. My picnic would consist of starter: Israel, main course: Israeli lifestyle, dessert: friends; and, side dish: family.

One thing that has always left me feeling incomplete when I left London was leaving behind the love and ease of the company of old friends. In this stage of my life, the dessert is a crucial element to every meal. A social life dominates a large part of a twenty-something’s priorities, whether it is planning to go out for the night, or to meet for coffee during the day. And the crux of this enjoyment is with whom you spend this time with. I never did ‘social’ friends, having certain beings selected for specific occasions; I simply like to be around those I love and respect. Why would I choose sorbet or fruit salad for dessert, when I can pick chocolate cake or raspberry ripple. Unfortunately, my life isn’t a picnic. I have come to Israel and have had to create a new social life; and believe me, this isn’t an easy task for a women in her mid-twenties, and more precisely, Jewish women in their mid-twenties.

The Freckle-Faced Jelly Bean

The jelly bean culture of the Tel Aviv social scene came back to bite me in the tuchus (http://natalieshaer.blogspot.com/2006/03/human-nature-and-jelly-beans.html). This year, I faced the extremely difficult task of re-establishing a social network. It felt like all my defences and certainties, which I developed over the years, were stripped down. Since 23rd June, I have increasingly felt like the 12 year-old freckle-faced girl I was on my first day of high school, uneasy and unsure of who I was and of what defined me. Are these pent-up emotions a reaction to my absorption into the Tel-Avian Anglo jelly bean culture? Or, is it merely the consequence of working my way through the teething problems of starting over? It sometimes is just all too much.

So, my consensus with Deborah is that I will “flow”. A friendship is defined by time and experience. It has only been a year, or more precisely, six months in the T.A melting pot, and I suppose, therefore, time will pass and experiences will cement into my mental dimensions, redefining my outlook on life. And hopefully, the 12-year old freckle-faced girl that once defined me will go back home.

Back to the picnic, I never fancy lemon sorbet for dessert. But am I really in the position to be able to pick my courses? Ok, so I realise, my picnic idea is a crock of shit. And, time has brought me several servings of chocolate cake in my Tel-Avivan life, with those I get to chill with over coffee and those to giggle with on a Thursday night, so I guess I am doing alright for now. It is just I feel too old for this crap (the ‘twenty-something’ inside me moans).

Behind the Layers of the Freckle Faced Girl

A large part of feeling at ease and emotionally able to develop a life of happiness is largely dependent on understanding who I am in this world. I have a British and Israeli passport. I am a Jew, yet was brought up in a country that is built upon a Christian establishment. During primary (elementary) school, my mouth was kept tightly closed during choir practice, whilst my class mates sang about Jesus Christ; and yet I had one of the loudest voices in Sunday school, when reciting my Alef-Bet. In England, I would be celebrating Hanukah one week, and attending a Christmas bash the next. I now live in Israel, yet I continue to support England in the world cup in English fashion … with a pint in my hand. I also love to eat falafel followed by a cuppa tea. So, what does that make me? Am I Still the Londoner in Israel, or the British/Israeli, or the Jew returning to Israel?

People from home tend to question my ‘Israeliness’. Well, I am who I am. I am Natalie Sophie Shaer: I am still emotional, flawed, insecure, passionate, caring, I try not to bitch, I am trying hard not to moan, I continue to play the piano, I can still grind to R Kelly, and still hope to be a ‘Lois Lane’ one day. Since facing obstacles involved in moving away from ‘home’ (what I consider ‘home’ is somewhat questionable) , I have, to some extent, grown into the shoes of a mature women; I have learnt to chill out, I recognise my flaws, I realise I cannot change people and that cannot be friends with every ‘Tom, Dick and Harry’, that we are all so different and that I do not need constant approval from others,. I am who I am, you just have to like it or lump it.

I now realise a place or a post code does not play a large part in redefining ‘Natalie Sophie Shaer’. I do not want be classified by the country I was born in, by the country I hope to establish myself in or from my heavy London accent. The world is a small place and so who knows where I will decide to be in a five years from now PG. And, wherever it will be, I will still be Natalie Sophie Shaer, ‘warts and all’. Having reached this conclusion, I have decided that my identity is me, no city and no language. And so, this posting will be the ending chapter to “Can’t take the London out of the Londoner”. I am not merely a Londoner, or simply an Israeli or a Jew … I am everything that defines me, and that is far too complex to be placed in a single title.

So congratulations to me on my anniversary … woohoo! And, by the way, I have acquired a second-hand Fuji digital camera, so hopefully my next blog, whatever name it shall be, will be far more illustrated and accordingly, you will get to see my ugly mug a great deal more.