Greta Haskell Short Story

“I don't want to move! This is so stupid I don't care what you say, I’m staying here with my friends. I'm almost eighteen I can take care of myself!” I don't like yelling at my parents, but this is an exception. They want me to move to Denmark. Sure, Denmark is pretty and I guess it would be fun for like, tourists but I don't want to move there! Permanently. I don't speak Danish. Or German. Or anything close. I'm a seventeen year old white girl. I speak english and spoiled brat on occasion. Now is one of those times.

I don't want to sound spoiled but I just can't go there. I have plans for college, I have friends, I have a boyfriend, I just got my drivers license and a car. There's just too much here for me to leave. I can't just pack up my life and bring everything with me.

The worst thing about moving is that my parents speak Dutch but never bothered to teach me when I was little because they thought “It would never be useful”. Well guess what? They were wrong. Now i'm going to be the only one in this stupid country who can't speak their language and everyone is going to laugh at me.

After a long, worthless fight with mom and dad, I didn’t get my way. I was moving to Denmark and they didn't care what I said. They tried to compromise with me as much as they could but nothing can make me feel better. “We’ll move your car by boat! We’ll homeschool you!” But I don't want any of that. I want to be a normal teenager, in America.

After a month of saying goodbye to my friends and a couple of failed Dutch lessons, it's time to get on the plane for Denmark. After a ten hour flight we finally arrived. The minute we stepped out of the plane I felt out of place. The airport employees were greeting me in their weird language that I didn’t understand. Even my parents started babbling in Dutch. I felt like the smallest person in the world.

It was like a totally different world. There was different fashion, different smells, and obviously, the different language. “Mom, I’m really hungry.” I tried to tell my mom but she wasn't listening, she was too busy soaking up all the amazing sights. “Mom!” I yelled louder.

“Oh, sorry sweetie. I didn't hear you the first time. What did you need?” she said. I could tell she was not too enthusiastic though.

‘“I’m hungry.” I was annoyed but I just wanted to get some food in my stomach.

“Oh lets go to that hot dog cart over there!” my mom always talked about how good the hotdogs in Denmark are so good. I guess it can’t be any worse than an american one. Mom and dad had to order for me because I obviously couldn’t read the menu. I felt like a three year old. I was so oblivious to what was going on around me. I couldn’t understand anyone, speak to anyone or get any of my points across. I really felt like an idiot.

In america I could have ordered whatever I wanted. I would have no trouble at all. I didn't even like what mom and dad got me. It was gross so I just gave it to dad. We got into a taxi to take us to our new house. I didn't even know what it looked like yet.

We pulled up in front of a little row house. It was cute I guess but I want to go back home. I just can't imagine myself living here. As soon as college comes, I'm going home. The rest of the night consisted of me unpacking and not talking to my parents. Who, by the way, still sounded like weirdos speaking in Dutch. I was so used to being home and seeing tourists and not understanding what they're saying. Now I was the one out of place.

I stayed at the house, it's not home, for a couple of days but on Monday I was enrolled in the closest Danish high school. I am definitely not excited. Danish school is different than american school, we get there earlier and leave earlier. I still had a little bit of jet lag so waking up at 5:30 was not an easy task. I always wake up an hour earlier than i have to leave so that I can get ready. The school was really close so I just walked a couple of blocks and I was there just on time. I went to the office and they didn't speak very good english so they just wrote down the room number i had to go to on a piece of paper.

When I got to the room everything was strange. I felt like the ugly duckling in the room. I found a seat in the back corner and sat there alone. When I looked around no one was talking they were just reading their books. they all looked like weirdos to me. None of them were wearing makeup or cute outfits. Like, does appearance mean anything to them here? I had all my makeup and stuff on, I looked so out of place.

The teacher finally came in and acknowledged me so I guess he knew I was here. He pointed at me and everyone looked while he started speaking in Danish. Introducing me I guess. But here comes the worst part. When he introduced me he said my name like “Kahreen”. “It’s Karen.” I didn't have the patience for this. But I don't think he understood me because he still said “Kahreen”. Whatever I can't speak Danish so I’ll just fail all of my classes and become an american loser who lives in Denmark with her parents for the rest of her life.

After a couple of days of hell at my new Danish school I couldn't do it anymore. I felt so alone I couldn't communicate with anyone, my parents spoke in Danish, the people in school spoke in Danish and my friends from home were in a different timezone than me. I had no friends and no one to talk to. Home wasn't even comforting since my parents didn't even seem american anymore. I felt like an exchange student instead of their daughter. I gave up trying to be a rebel and started to take lessons on speaking Danish.

After a couple lessons with my tutor, Koenraad, I was getting a little better. He was pretty nice and kind of cute so I guess the lessons aren't that bad. I guess once I get better I’ll feel more at home in Denmark. I guess spoiled brat wasn't working out for me, so I have to replace it with something else.