I imagine I would feel comfortable among the Somalis. A gun here, a knife there. At least you know where you are. Similarly, I would feel comfortable among the Swedes. A wink here, a smile there. At least you know you are safe and sound most of the time. But I am confused among the Croats. Where are the winks and smiles? And where are the guns and knives? Stuck someplace between the Somalis and Swedes, I never know where the hell I am. A wink here, a knife there. Or a smile here, a gun there. Nowhere, of course. Which is why I am cursing my luck every single day among the Croats.

Addendum I (February 26, 2018)

So many years later, I am still confused among the Croats. Even though this is my fifteenth year in their midst, I am none the wiser to this day. In fact, my confusion is gathering strength year by year. And I cannot but wonder about my luck. I have lived in many a country over a bit more than seven decades, but I have not felt as foreign in any one of them as in the country I can call my own. There is only one solution to the riddle that crosses my mind every now and then: I knew I was a foreigner in all other countries, but this came as a surprise to me in the country in which I was born. In addition, my ancestors hail from Croatia for quite a few generations. My confusion comes from this apparent contradiction. And apparent it surely is. The only contradiction in this case is that it has taken me so many years to come to terms with my everlasting homelessness.

Addendum II (August 24, 2020)

As the first addendum argues, my discomfort among the Croats is squarely with me to this day. But why? I have no trouble admitting my misanthropy, which applies to all races and colors of skin (see, e.g., “Unblemished Misanthropy,” August 24, 2020). Thus it is hardly surprising that it also applies to the denizens of my country of birth. The trouble is rooted in my ill-conceived belief that there is such a thing as home. As well as homeland. And this is the only reason why I do not feel comfortable among the people who are actually my own. But I should have returned to the country of my ancestors without any delusions. I should have expected no surprises from the country’s denizens, either. They are humans and nothing but humans, after all. And the only way around this conundrum is to accept my fate. Homelessness is here to stay, and it should be greeted with joy rather than sorrow. More important, I am a human being, and there is no way around my predicament. I will remain a member of my species till my last breath, as well. Behold, the confusion of being among the Croats is gone as if by magic. Whoosh! And all it took was to admit my own error. Phew!