It's hard some days.
Those days when he's made too much food and wonders if just this once he could just throw it out.
He never does.
That would be a waste.
Norway can't bear to let things go to waste.
It's a habit left over from years of being poor. Years of struggling and working his fingers to the bone.
Years of not really knowing if he'd be able to eat. Because if he could eat someone else couldn't.
He used to leave food at his neighbours door and still the hunger in his own stomach with what he could find in the forest.
Norway is good at knowing what plants make at least a filling meal – albeit far from tasty or satisfying.
These days everyone around him tends to have more than enough to eat.
But habits are hard to quit.
There's always that nagging little voice telling him that all this wealth won't last.
His people these days barely remember the hard times.
But Norway does.
His body and mind does.
He remembers being able to count his ribs, remembers that he hated physical affection because hugs gave away just how thin he was.
No layers of clothing could hide his sharp hip bones.
His basement is filled with canned food and preservatives.
Denmark once asked if he was preparing for the apocalypse – Norway jokingly told him he was and Denmark didn't really ask again.
Denmark hasn't know the same pain he has.
And Norway doesn't blame him.
He wouldn't wish his fate on others.
So he just continues as he always has.
Storing leftovers away.
Eating them a few months later when he realises his freezer can no longer hold any more things.
And then it's leftovers for dinner and lunch for about a month.
Norway who hides behind expensive suits – a feeble attempt to show others he's no longer poor.
Yet, there's more logic than money behind his clothing choices.
After all, a good suit will last him many years. A cheap one has to be replaced.
He could buy anything, but he can't bring himself to do so.
What if the money is needed later?
What if bad times come?
Save it all, the voice in the back of his mind whispers.
Store it away.
Leave it till a later date.
Using it now is a waste.
So he listens.
Hides it away.
Pretends it's not there.
After all, if his home-made sweaters kept him warm for centuries, why wouldn't they continue to do so?
No need for new ones if the old are still free from holes.
Norway still twitches when people throw things away needlessly.
So what if the sell-by date says it's gone off?
He knows the food is still edible for another day or or two – if not a week or more.
He still wants to steal Denmark or Sweden's shirts when they throw them out because a button has gone missing or the edges of the sleeve is looking a little worn.
"It can be fixed," Norway tries to remind himself, but receives laughs in return.
"It's old and tatty."
"Not really fashionable either."
The words make Norway's stomach sink.
Such stupid details to become fixated on.
Clothes are clothes.
If they keep you warm and comfortable, then why does it matter if they're old?
He doesn't say that – he just grumbles and leaves them too it.
Habits are hard to break.
Too hard at times.
But while for his people it is a fading memory, it's still fresh in Norway's mind.
He may be climbing the list of richest country.
He may right now be able to afford what he wants.
But it wasn't always like that; and no amount of riches can erase his past struggles.
So one krone there or another there. They shouldn't matter.
But they do.
And Norway is painful aware it's not healthy to live like this.
Not any more.
But some habits are simply too hard to kick.
And maybe, just maybe: the little voice is right.
Maybe, just perhaps maybe: bad times will come again.
And if they do, Norway wants to be prepared.