Patriot, Misfit

(Written in my first week back in the States)

In the last 24 hours, I have been told four times that "This is the best country in the world," by women who insinuated that to feel otherwise just makes you darn stupid and, well, an evil socialist. I feel like a traveller in a foreign land, like an observer of some foreign culture: American patriotism.

But why? I'm glad I was born in the U.S. I loved growing up here, and when I am here I am happy. I'm proud of some of the things in our past, and some of the things we have contributed to the world. I'm fortunate and I know it. I loved showing off my country to my Norwegian friends last year, to my South African boyfriend this summer. Yet sometimes I'm wondering if I'm setting myself up for the life of an expat, because in a way I feel like I don't belong. Because I believe, more than almost anything, that nationalism should never supersede humanitarianism.

I know that's foolish. There are plenty of people here who feel the way I do - and plenty of people there who don't. (BNP, anyone?) Maybe it's just that two out of the last three years have been spent overseas. And the fact that during Bush's presidency, Americans abroad spent so much time apologising, trying to prove that we ARE great people.

But why is our nationalism and patriotism any different from that of my Greek friend, or my Belgian friend, or my Brazilian friends who love their countries? I suppose it's just more... loaded.

2008-2009: year of the bran flakes, natural yogurt, sweaty bike rides to school, trains to London Victoria, overnights at Goodenough, beachside jogging, dinners at 28 St Martins Place and South Downs hikes… To end in utter dissertation desperation.