The Birth of a Hurricane

A year into my Dutch adventure, I wasn’t really thinking about the fact I had successfully completed my first year of study by obtaining all my credits. Apparently though, this is a big deal. I was invited, to attend the ‘graduation’ ceremony. I hadn’t realised quite how important this certificate was, it would allow me to change university or study program, if I so desired. I never miss a celebration, at least. When the day came, I was quite intrigued to see how the ceremony would unfold. From my class, four of us had acquired this certificate. We all sat, squashed like sardines in a tin, on the sofas wedged into the back of the room. It was comfortable, but challenging when called forward and we all tried to launch simultaneously. Elegance was absent. We clawed at each other and wrestled with total strangers until, somehow, we were all standing in front of our career counsellor, Joyce, with grins on our faces. As she showed the crowd of people a word map she and fellow colleagues had made of us, Joyce cleared her throat: ‘So, try and guess, who is the polite one? The sociable one? The hurricane? Any ideas yet’ I elbowed my class mate and sniggered ‘Well, I’m the polite one, who on earth is the Hurricane? Weirdo!’ Each slide contained an old picture of each student and some describing words about our personalities. Eventually, mine appeared. ‘Emma is definitely our hurricane, one minute she is there, the next she is gone and has left a trail of destruction behind her’, Joyce laughed. My class burst out laughing, in agreement, and thus, Hurricane Holmes was born.