Finding Home
Hannah Martin (29) is the daughter of a British mother and an African American father who grew up in Los Angeles, California. Hannah never felt she belonged among LA's beautiful people and endless beaches. As an adult, she began a search to find herself and her home, which led her away from the sunshine and celebrity to the cool climate and sophistication of the Netherlands.
This story is for anyone needing the courage to look for belonging outside their comfort zone.
THE NOMINATION
Debbie Martin moved from Britain to the US in her twenties, eventually settling in Los Angeles and marrying an African American man from the Deep South. Now 68, Debbie is inspired by the courage and persistence of her daughter Hannah, the youngest of her two children, as she searches to find herself.
Hannah always had this feeling that she belonged somewhere else. But she’s also had faith that “I’m out there, somewhere.”
She wasn’t a blond stick insect; she had curves and wild, crazy hair.
From a young age, she had trouble fitting into Los Angeles. She wasn’t a beach person; she was a theatre person. She wasn’t a blonde stick insect; she had curves and wild, crazy hair.
And then there’s the whole race thing. Everybody wants to put labels on you in this country. Kids have to indicate their race on forms and tests at school, and LJ, Hannah’s Dad, would say, “Just put human race.” But Hannah found it hard to identify with others and struggled to find a best friend.
She was always looking for herself in other places.
She went to the Santa Barbara City College for a bit. She spent time in Arizona, Florida, and Tennessee. She was always looking for herself in other places.
My eldest, Sam, knew what he wanted and went after it: setting up his own business. Hannah tried to follow suit, but that wasn’t her thing either.
Sam moved to Germany with his girlfriend two years ago, and I could sense there was a part of Hannah that wished she could go too. Nothing was working out for her here.
Then I met someone whose daughter had worked on a yacht in the Adriatic. I went home and told Hannah about it. “You need to go do something completely different,” I said. And off she went to Croatia. Flew out there on her own. She was terrified. It was hard for me to let her go, but I knew she was never going to make it here. I just kept thinking, “Please God, make this work!”
HANNAH
When Mom came home with the idea of yachting in Croatia, I had been laid off from a good job and was doing odd jobs like dog walking and bartending. I love boats. I love cooking. They had a training week in April, so I bought a one-way ticket.
I was shaking in my boots at the airport. Mom grabbed my face and said, “It’s going to be okay.” And I managed to make it to the top of the stairs and wave goodbye without crying.
I was shaking in my boots at the airport.
After a layover in Munich, I arrived in Split, where I met everyone on the training course. There were people from all different backgrounds, and everyone was so friendly. I thought, “This is exactly what I need.”
We set sail for a seven-day training program, five boats and over 40 people, including a very loud Dutch girl named Vere, whom I connected with instantly.
Each day was more challenging. There was so much pressure to have everything presented in just the right way. Every day, we were tested on something. And the instructor was not easy to work with. She was quite cold and showed little compassion.
The training week wrapped up, and another girl and I didn’t make it. It was heartbreaking. I’d had this chance for a dream job, and I wasn’t good enough.
I’d had this chance for a dream job, and I wasn’t good enough.
I FaceTimed Mom and Sam that night. They were shocked, but I told them I was okay. I went to the celebrations in Split with all the successful candidates and tried to pretend I was fine. I woke up the next day, hungover and still trying to mask everything. It wasn’t until two days later, when I told my story to this Finnish girl I’d just met, that I finally broke down crying. What was I going to do now?
Celebrations after completion of the yacht training in Split, Croatia.
That afternoon, I called Mom and Sam again, still very emotional, and Sam suggested I go to Dusseldorf to decompress with him and Sina (his girlfriend). I was on a cheap flight a few days later. Seeing how Sam was living, exploring the city – it got my mind off everything that had happened.
The crazy Dutch girl, Vere, whom I’d connected with in Croatia, had told me I was welcome to visit anytime. I had this LA thing in my head that she didn’t really mean it. But I messaged her, “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” She just said, “Yeah, of course.” The next Friday, I arrived at Amsterdam Central.
Hannah with her “crazy Dutch friend” Vere in Amsterdam.
I immediately thought, “There’s something good here”. Vere’s Mom picked me up and took me to their beautiful home outside Amsterdam. It was 5 May, the day the Dutch mark their liberation after WWII, so there were big celebrations. Even though Vere’s family and friends had just met me, they treated me like family.
In LA, people were always asking me where I was from. No one could wrap their head around the biracial thing. Exploring Amsterdam, people just assumed I was Dutch, because there’s a large population from Suriname, and the islanders look a lot like me. It felt comfortable. I was in a good place.
In LA, people were always asking me where I was from. No one could wrap their head around the biracial thing.
Then Vere suggested I get on a dating app. I didn’t think I was in that space. I was still processing everything that had happened. But Vere said, “Hey, you never know who you’re going to meet.” I downloaded Hinge. This Dutch guy looked cool, and he was the only person who asked me about something on my profile. He lived in the Hague, but we made a plan to meet for dinner in Amsterdam.
I arrived at the packed tapas restaurant all hot and bothered, having missed my bus stop and sprinted to the restaurant. Luckily, he spotted me, and I gave him a quick hug. We fell into such a comfortable conversation. Not fireworks going off or anything, but like catching up with a friend after work. The next thing I know, three hours have passed. As he paid the bill, I thought, “Was I talking too much? Did I ask him too many questions? Did I not ask enough?” He turned to me and said, “Do you want to go somewhere else?” And I was so relieved. We went to an Irish bar and spent another two hours together before we noticed it was almost midnight and headed to the train station. He didn’t try to kiss me but gave me a big hug.
Was I talking too much? Did I ask him too many questions? Did I ask enough?
The next day, I was leaving for Germany and then flying back to LA to try and sort out my European visa. I didn’t want to go back. All these good things were happening for me in the Netherlands. But I had to be an adult.
I was glad to get rid of that giant duffel bag I’d been lugging around, but I wasn’t excited to be home. Mom said, “Give yourself six months”, but I was determined to get back to the Netherlands within three months. I found a 2-year visa called DAFT (Dutch American Friendship Treaty) for American entrepreneurs coming to the Netherlands. Mom suggested that I apply for my British passport as backup, which I did. All the while, I’m messaging back and forth with the Dutch guy.
Things started to come together quickly. It only took 20 days to get my British passport. But I still had doubts. “I don’t have a job. I don’t know the language. Who do I think I am?”
Then Mom found an ad on Mind My House, looking for someone to mind an Amsterdam home with two rabbits and a tabby cat for 3 weeks.
A few days later, the Dutch guy messaged me, “Do you think that you’ll come back to this tiny rainy country?” LA is sunny all the time. It’s beautiful, but it’s not for me. So yes, I was going back to that tiny, rainy country.
This time at LAX felt even scarier. I had no job and only a 90-day visa and a few weeks’ accommodation, and I was just so nervous about meeting the Dutch guy again.
The weather was beautiful when I arrived in Amsterdam. The cat was there to greet me. The owners had left me a lovely card and flowers. Three days later, I had a second date with the Dutch guy. This time I went to The Hague, and we cooked dinner at his house. It was a lovely evening, but on the way back the next morning, the doubts started again: “Is this going to work? Am I overthinking things? What am I doing here?”
…on the way back home, the doubts started again.
But things started to line up quickly. I found a place to live at a female-only hostel in Amsterdam. I got my visa paperwork together. The Dutch guy, whose name is Midas, and I moved to boyfriend/girlfriend status, and I met his family and friends. I made my own friends. I started a blog and then a podcast.
Hannah and Midas in The Hague.
Eventually, I moved in with Midas at The Hague. I found part-time work as a nanny and started to build my social media freelancing business.
A year ago, Midas and I took our first big trip together. When we came back, there was a letter from immigration. I’d been approved. I could finally exhale.
You’re always only one decision away from a new life.
It’s been a long time coming. For so long, I was searching and wondering if I was ever going to find my place. But it turns out you’re always only one decision away from a new life. There are still a lot of things I’m trying to figure out. But now Midas and I are mapping out our future together. I’m home.