Dulces sueños

Com la cançó de l'último de la fila.
I wish these days off were the reflection of my life. I spend too few days getting it all nice and organized to destroy it on my working days. I can't combine life with work.
See if I can follow my schema, and not undo it.

I start recovering from the work during my previous holidays

The right to be happy

This is a bit boring reflective crap. These days I have been realizing that when there are expectatives of things going well I always look for something to worry about, and if not, I am reminded of it. Probably I created that energy and attracted the perfect person to bring me down. It's like having a magnet to give someone that chance.
The key person didn't throw you the rope when you were at the end of the hole. Once on the surface you remember how fresh the air can be, and I am thankful I could crawl out alone. Can't help but wonder, why once out I am being denied a hand to guide the way ahead. Words didn't help, actions would only be seen on the negative side. Of course a vicious circle tells you you might not be worth the effort after all. I keep the hope. Maybe keeping silent and letting the one process all is the solution. Doesn't look too much like that. Some people just see the problems of all.
I gave up expecting a knock on my door and the helping hand... At least there is no foot pushing me into abyss...

Maybe I just need a holiday. But so far, I am just going to sleep again to live the wanted reality in dreams.
I have been composing things lately I hum on the way to somewhere. As usual. Being here is like being stuck, but I am secluded for a while. The release will make it a very long journey on the way to nowhere.

Best things always happen on the way to somewhere

Left Brussels with the sense of finding a spot where I can recognize smart and witty people. Sometimes it is hard to be a linguist and be able to have a conversation without analysing the discourse or going around in words trying to create the most coloful one after the previous one. In such circles you stop feeling like a freak and simply enjoy the beauty of words per se.

I am thankful you asked me to take the bus to the station when I left.
There I sat in front of a couple, an elder man and a woman. Out of the nothing they started talking to me: The conversation was a mixture of French and Netherlands. They told me both their age. The woman was a Balonne and the man Flamish. I want to yield them my seat, but they share a double bank. She has that rosy healthy roundness and he is a thin and why not mention, as it is what I thought, in an excellent shape.
Their image sharing a bench transports me to how I wanted to see myself in about 40years.
They almost steal my thoughts while scanning them with tender eyes and what could be glasy eyes of emotion.
She asks him: and how old are you? I am 84, he is 82. Look at us.
They noticed they stole my heart on our casual encounter and will make sure I leave the impression with me wherever my next destination might be.

They share their secret for their longevity and great shape: not to smoke, eat little and work.
Although when he was in the war, he did smoke a lot, a lot, veel! 100 cigarettes a week at least. 100 sigaretten! But those were other times and now it is a bad thing to do.
He explains me stories of the war, says in German: the Germans told me: willst du essen, dann arbeiten! My smile is almost drool, I am kinda falling in love with the opa.
Now he doesn't smoke, or drink. It is bad. She replies: only wine, one glass a day.
And hits him with the elbow to remind him: parlez a la mademoiselle en français. He had spoken to me in Dutch so far, and the few words I reply, as far as I am concerned were somehow Dutch as well. Wherever she took I could be a Balonne, I won't spoil the fun.

So she talks to me in French, and I reply in my poor French. And he goes on in Dutch and I feel like the referee in a biligual chitty-chat tournament.

- A glass of wine is bon pour le sang. Zhat is nothing! C'est pas trop!
- And beer, he replies. If there is no wine, we drink beer. He mentions a brand I
should buy. Beer contains quinine. Quinine is good. (I wouldn't dare to put that
in doubt)

I look at both and want to know more, but I don't really know what to say. Nothing about me, please. Any reference to my life would now break their perfect balance and the beautiful triangle of casual bus-talk we had created. They don't ask me anything, they talk about themselves and the war. They notice I have hungry eyes to know more.
They are all laughs and sweetness, I want them to adopt me!

I forget I have my camera and that I find their image so sweet I would have loved to keep it somewhere else but my mind. I was just too amazed by them to think of taking pictures, they were too sweet to spoil it.

I am sitting on my way back and recording random conversations while snoozing and savouring the first bit of freedom I enjoyed in Brussels. I made the first step to what Yoyo calls my "masterplan" and it feels a bit closer.

I left the Brussels flat feeling closer to a future I want to make mine.
I try to delete the bits of sadness and mornings awaken in despair, although I somehow live with them, and they remind me to look ahead and learn from mistakes I made in the past.

I repeat and dream my masterplan and get anxious to have it all yesterday, but no big changes will come without a transition.
The hope is there. And it is the last thing you loose. It auto-feeds itself when you abandon and leaves you on standby to gain some room and lift you up again. It's hope and me hand by hand.

és tope!

Could not find the group who sings that or the song anywhere, but I have it stuck in mind.
The Halloween weekend was a weekend of pleasing and succumbing to a night out, to forget those things I would have rather done and for which I can't find the company.
Only needed to remind myself I was playing the idiot and it was less of a drag.
They took me to a room where one of the best DJ's there is played. I missed my earplugs. Among the noise I went upstairs and my eyes where wetting when looking at the human mass consuming noise. And me being part of it.

But we went to another room where there was no mass, music wasn't that noisy (at least to my dinosaur ears). Dancing with a music or an environment I am not fond of I started humming the song:

"It's great, it's great to pretend you are an idiot hey! I tell you tell you it's great is great I tell ya it is the max!"

There is a Catalan song that just goes like that, with an ear-fucking beat. I thought it was a genious satire when I first found some group that displayed what I think in such a brief tune, that I wanted to publish and I can't find... Merda
That for a Sunday night.

The following Friday I had a Halloween party. Mingled with a bunch of strangers and felt somehow good. Only I had went too far on my imagination and my idea of scary.
I had no budget but I love dressing up, I love acting. I went on the process at work and came half dressed up to go to the party when getting off, at 23:00.
lots of the guys took pictures of me. Before putting a rubber skirt on, a balck tooth a wig and my paiting my sifilitical scary touch I heard from different sources that I was looking smashing.
One for the records: dramatic make up, exaggerated parfume, glittery top and colors galore on nails, eyes and lips. My idea of a slut in progress... guys found it sleak!
Whether I am wrong on the concept of what a woman should look like or be I had to conclude "guys you like sluts!". They nodded. So they do.

In the end stating that shoes I can't walk on, jewels or parfume don't rock my boat tagged me as weird.
I want to add to: boys and their toys - what I didn't know is that they also like to play with dolls.

reflection on good and bad

I once did a donation. What kept me thinking is that I was giving away genetical information and that women are born with a limited amount of eggs, they are predefined by birth. we loose an egg every month and it stops when the predefined number has reached its peak.
Keeping that concept in mind and transmitting it to goodness and evil I woke up today absolutely convinced that there is a limited renovable amount of goodness and evil. The Ying and the Yang.
My thought was that we all have our good and bad sides, and some people are predominantly bad. I want to believe is a minority but it makes me wonder how some of them make it to leading positions. That is scary, good and more capable people are going to yield to them to avoid being bad (or unethical, or unrespectful).
I was wondering why have we got the bad in nature, when we all have been raised to know that we should be good.
I think we are genetically conceived to be born mainly Ying or mainly Yang. That's why you can't imagine a world full of good people.
If there were too high a number of good people, the number would rebalance, by birth or a person would develop his/her mean side when a bad person would leave this world. The inheritance of Yang or its development when the numbers drop.

That for the reflection. I arrived to the conclusion there will always be mean human beings and lots of them will reach a high charge.

I wish it would work like that with happiness. If I have used up so much sadness I must have only a whole bunch of hapiness left, no?
Then... bring it on!

Toegh, in memoriam

I have been looking for pictures of her and I finally found this one, when she still was a fatty (well and me in my teenage splendor):



When I first heard of her death I couldn't quite get her out of my head. Some weeks have passed and now, specially after a hard day, when I think of home, her bony figure comes again to my mind ad her helpless face stays in my thoughts until bedtime.

I would probably not think so much about her if I wouldn't have seen her degrading. Once having been quite a chubby cat she turned into skin and bones. Shaky how she walked and sad how she looked.

I took care of her on her last 2 days of life.
The thing that called my attention was her expressiveness. Once a very independent "leave me alone" kind of cat I could see her following me around, just standing there, and looking in despair. She was like a silent figure that would stand a few meters from you. Probably making sure that you would be close if anything happened, scared as she was of all the funny things going inside of her.

I won't get into the ugly details of her slow killing disease. I also have had my reflection on euthanasia, a theme I have thought so much about. I don't know if I would have taken the step myself, it might have to do with the character and I have always thought I can deal with pain, with suffering. I don't like it, but I'd rather decide myself when to stop with it. Having someone else decide for me wouldn't be fair.
So if I ever go on a coma, I wouldn't like to be switched off, I know I would be struggling, I know myself.

That aside, my family is now missing a member.
The news of her loss was as if a link to many memories had became already a ghost. In any occasion at my parent's place she has always been there, any lunch, any get together... She was part, I picture her. It will be strange not to see her again in all those gatherings I always expect her.

We will miss you. I hope you found your rest now.

what, 3 months?

It has been a sweet time coming to an end in Barcelona. Not enough time to write (thought I would have it) and too many things have happened and many changed.
Although not being someone comfortable with changes, in this city and my neighbourhood -where everybody knows your name- things needed a change.
I have been enjoying giving my cat endless care and dedication and I hope she enjoyed the classical music in exchange of the ongoing TV buzz, maybe I am too boring for her. Maybe this is our goodbye and it is sad to see her so helpless.

Wonderful how we have managed among friends to have a taste of yesterday and how also the near future is linked to an effort of acceptance. Things do change.
Great to have seen my crazy sis and cousin (and the hurricane of laughter they create wherever they set foot somewhere), friends from childhood, to be seen and recognized, neighbours and the mild sunny mediterranean Indian Summer.

Not ready to go back to NL under any circumstances, I have been here almost 10 days and kinda connected as if I had never left, some 12 years ago.

I have figured out a masterplan and to sweeten the return I am being awaited back in A'dam by my lovely ex- new- ex-flatmate and flatmate again. You know the one who makes me smile and the one who always gives me a good night kiss.
Have to catch a flight in a few hours.
Kiss tot zo.

I am definetely sure that the average lifetime of a blog is around 6 months. This blog was to organise thoughts in writing, but I don't sit in front of the computer that often any longer. I won't change the world, but I will still try, with or without a glass of red.
Though I still hope to be able to throw some thoughts, it will come a time again soon I will be more prone to divagate or share in this format.
Pity, really wanted to bring some enjoyment much more often, oh, all those unregistered thoughts, where do they go?

Todays's feelings:
the one you know you are tired but afraid to sleep too much