Obtaining My Dutch B2 Diploma
- Author
- Jul 21
- 8 min read
Updated: Jul 22
I have finally obtained the B2-level diploma that I have been studying for. B2 is considered an upper-intermediate level within the CEFR, the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages, and is said to be the level required for entry into university or other higher education institutions.
I passed the listening and reading sections, which I took last November, and the writing section, which I took in March this year. Then, in June, I also passed the speaking section. In fact, I had already taken the speaking exam in March, but I failed by three points, with the passing score being 500. I took it again in June, achieved the required score, and finally obtained the diploma.
Before this, I passed A2, the elementary level, in 2019, and B1, the intermediate level, in 2023. So it may look as though my Dutch has improved steadily. I think that is true. At the same time, I moved to the Netherlands in September 2016, which means it has taken me almost ten years to reach B2.
Is that really a long time, or is it actually quite reasonable, given that I am now well into my fifties?
Leaving that question aside for now, I would like to look back over those ten years and reflect on what it means to live and work in a foreign country while developing a relationship with the language spoken there.
How My Relationship with Dutch Changed
The first time I lived continuously in the Netherlands for a certain period was in 2011, when I came to Leiden University to pursue a Master of Laws degree. I was studying while raising my daughter, who was then a baby, so I had neither the motivation nor the capacity to learn Dutch.
After completing my degree, I returned to work and spent several years in Central Asia. When I came back to the Netherlands in September 2016, the circumstances were different. I had the intention that, “I am going to build my life here,” and I also needed to pass the civic integration exam, which was essentially a Dutch-language exam, within three years.
Even so, from 2017 to 2021, while I was working at the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons, the OPCW, I spent most of my days using English among expats, meaning foreigners temporarily posted in the country. At least for my work, I did not feel any real need to learn Dutch.
Meanwhile, my daughter was still only five when we returned to the Netherlands. She joined Group 3 of primary school, equivalent to the first year of elementary school in Japan, and cried during her first two weeks because, as she said, “Nobody speaks English to me, so I cannot understand anything.” Yet Dutch quickly became her first language. At home, before I knew it, my partner and daughter were speaking Dutch together. I felt some sense of urgency and also a little sadness, but once I passed the civic integration exam, I treated it as a milestone. After that, I used the fact that Dutch was not necessary for my work as an excuse and did not think very seriously about continuing to learn it (although, I joined classes here and there and got materials as well).
Things changed after I left the OPCW in August 2021 and became a lecturer at The Hague University of Applied Sciences. Although I taught in English and spoke English with the colleagues around me, it was still a Dutch educational institution. Dutch and Dutch society suddenly felt much closer. I began to feel strongly that I was living in the Netherlands and building my life here.
Until around that time, whenever someone said, “Dutch is difficult, isn’t it?” perhaps trying to reassure me because, looking back, my progress was so slow, I would rather arrogantly think to myself, “Are you joking?”
The reason was that the first time I had properly tried to study Dutch, or even opened a Dutch textbook, was while I was still struggling with Russian in Kazakhstan. The Dutch on one of the first pages looked so similar to English that I was, quite literally, almost moved to tears. I think that was when the misunderstanding formed in my mind that Dutch was an approachable language.
But after I began studying Dutch again from around 2021 onwards and my relationship with the language became completely different, I started to realise:
“This language is actually very difficult...”
Only in the past year or two have I really begun to feel the depth, nuances, interest and beauty (?) of Dutch.
Language Is More Than Language
It is often said that a language reflects the society in which it is spoken. Over the past 25 years, I have lived and worked in more than 12 countries, including the Netherlands. Through those experiences, I have also come to feel that language cannot be separated from the culture, society and ways of being of the people of that country. Of course, there are only a few places where I knew the language well enough to experience this directly.
Since I began engaging seriously with Dutch over the past few years, I have thought much more deeply about what it means to live in another country and to build a life within that society. Not only has my relationship with Dutch changed, but also the way I relate to Dutch society and the people who live here.
As a result, experiences from much earlier in my career have also started to look different.
Working in the Field Without Knowing the Language
When I worked in the humanitarian and international development sectors across different countries and regions, I can say with certainty that I could not have done my work in the field without the support of colleagues from those places, often referred to as local or national staff. I have always said that the great appeal of fieldwork is the opportunity to engage directly with the people who live there. But that would never have been possible without the colleagues who helped me to do so.
Of course, I always felt frustrated that I had to ask someone to interpret for me, whatever I was doing.
But looking back now, I cannot deny that there was a kind of unconscious arrogance in me. I think I believed that, as an international staff member, it was inevitable that I could not speak the local language, that it was natural to have an interpreter present, and that local colleagues interpreting for me was simply part of their work.
Whenever I remember this, I feel deeply ashamed and sad.
Interpretation was necessary, and I needed to accept that working through interpreters was part of the job. But I should not have treated it as something I was entitled to. I should have remained grateful to the colleagues who supported my work and worked alongside me, continued asking what I could do myself, and made an effort to reduce their burden, even slightly.
I still regret that I did not have that attitude.
When I think about that part of my past, I often wish that I could do it all again and apologise to every colleague I worked with in the field. At the same time, while acknowledging that feeling, I think about how I can use it now and in the future. That is what I can do now, and what I probably should do.
And I think this, too, is a question of leadership.
Language and Leadership
This may seem obvious, but professional growth is not only about gaining and deepening knowledge, developing expertise, or accumulating years of experience.
What may be even more important is recognising what we can and cannot do at a particular point in time. When we cannot do something ourselves, perhaps it is about approaching that limitation with humility, being grateful to those who reach out to help us compensate for it, and building relationships with them as colleagues and as one human being to another.
How do we relate to the language of the place where we live and work? What attitude do we bring to our colleagues, the people around us and the wider environment?
Reflecting on ourselves in relation to these questions is, I think, extremely important when working as a professional in another country.
Looking at the Netherlands, where I currently live, I sometimes hear highly skilled international professionals expressing frustration and disappointment because they have not been able to find the employment they hoped for.
They may be fluent in English and experts in their field, and therefore feel, “This job does not necessarily require Dutch, so shouldn’t I be the one who is hired?” They may also start wondering whether they are not being hired because of their nationality, gender, background or other characteristics—in other words, whether some form of discrimination or unconscious bias is involved.
I understand that feeling painfully well.
But even when we read a vacancy and feel that the work could be carried out in English, or that expertise matters more than language, if the required languages include Dutch at “business level”, or even at “native level”, then I think that requirement has meaning.
Because this is the Netherlands.
Living and working here means having the mindset that we want to contribute in some way as a member of this society. And to do that, we do need to know the language of the place.
Learning a language is not simply about memorising words. It is also about trying to understand how the society works, how people think, their values and tendencies, and the history and culture of the country.
Dutch society is often described as a society where English is widely spoken. As I once thought when I was studying at Leiden University’s law faculty, it is possible to live here with the feeling that, “It is completely fine not to understand Dutch”—apart from letters from the tax authorities or immigration service, although even those may now be easy to understand with translation apps.
But if we remain in that mindset, I think we can only understand this society to that same limited extent. I have recently begun to think that there will also be limits to what we can contribute and to the possibilities available to us.
Precisely because this is a country where English seems to be enough, it can be difficult to notice how shallow our relationship with the society may actually remain if we live only in English.
I increasingly feel that living only in English can mean floating above the society without truly engaging with it, as though living inside a bubble.
Of course, it may be fine for someone to decide, “I am only an expat who will be in the Netherlands for a few years.” Even then, however, I think it is important to recognise the limitations of that position and not to forget our gratitude towards local people who help us understand not only the language, but also the culture, social structures and ways of thinking beneath it. This includes the many Dutch people who may appear to speak English effortlessly.
From Here
Obtaining the B2 diploma is a significant milestone for me, but I am still only partway through the process.
My Dutch is still at a level where I sometimes think, “Am I really B2?” When someone asks me, “Nederlands? Engels?”—“Dutch or English?”—I still tend to lose confidence and say, “Engels, beter voor mij, dank je”—“English is better for me, thank you.” Reading newspapers still feels like a burden because there are so many words I do not know, and I often do not understand the distinctive expressions used in television news.
And then there's the everyday, colloquial Dutch spoken by my neighbours! Whenever I hear it, I feel there is still a long way to go.
Of course, I will continue studying. But now that I have obtained the diploma, I feel a sense of freedom and excitement that I can move away from analysing past exam papers and practising specifically for the test, and study in ways that I enjoy even more.
What I Will Write About Next
I would also like to write about what I now want to say to younger people about learning a foreign language in one’s fifties, and about how language learning can be done alone, while encounters with other people can also become a source of strength.
Comments