Almost Valentine,
I wanted to be so much more for you
offer my life on a golden plate
and serve you sparkling eyes and sunset skies
tickle you with caresses
of the butterflies in my voice
I wish I was your Sunday morning miracle
waking up with warred locks
unravel unspoken tenderness
be the sweet note in your pocket
the secret gift you find at a lonely afternoon
I wanted to be your angel
your creativity and cliché
maybe your inspiration (even though that would have been too ambitious)
your smile, your flashing light house...
when the world pushes you down
I wanted to be so much more for you
I wanted to be your poetry
but what you get is bad prose
and maybe you will even manage
to see ‘me’ shivering between the lines
vrijdag 6 februari 2009
zondag 25 januari 2009
Bloggerdebloggerdeblog
I give up... I am definitely not a resolution person, even though I make them every new year. I don't stick to strategies, so it's easy to tackle me. Please don't try, it hurts. While my body is resting on the smooth surface of a Brussels' Opera Hotel bed, my mind wonders what I am actually doing here. A seminar called 'blogging about the European Parliament Elections 2009"? Some people I met tonight seem to take the competition seriously, "better a tough competition than no competition at all". Do they really crave that I-Phone?
I feel I should be honest. No sir, I don't know anything about politics. Yes, I know Obama is the new USA-president and that the Belgian first minister is switched recently. I know the war between Israel and Palestine is one of unequality and horrible killings. They stopped the mass murder, but it is not over at all. I support the Palestinian victims and their families, but at the same time I remember Lital, Michal and the other Israeli people I met last summer. They become fan of 'their war against terrorism" on Facebook. I feel an alien in this world. I just don't understand. I feel I arrived in this world just a little bit too late, so I missed the basic instructions at the beginning. What I want is reading their minds, trying to understand the way they see the world. They. The people. The others. That is what I actually always would like to do. If I would move, I would move to other peoples heads.
People are so different and, in my opinion, very difficult beings. Everybody wants to be loved and liked. Everybody wants to make the world a better place. Nobody wants to get terrible diseases or become victim of natural disasters. But at the same time the same people still smoke in public places (even in the cafe Chez Bernard tonight), still take the airplane for short distances, still eat meat unless the bad consequences for environment, humanity, animal kingdom and the general case of empathy, people still prefer the car over public transportation, still pay more taxes for militarian than for humanitarian action, still write long blogs without really saying something new and still want to catch that brand new cellphone.. even if they already have a well-functioning one in their pocket...
Think about it...
I feel I should be honest. No sir, I don't know anything about politics. Yes, I know Obama is the new USA-president and that the Belgian first minister is switched recently. I know the war between Israel and Palestine is one of unequality and horrible killings. They stopped the mass murder, but it is not over at all. I support the Palestinian victims and their families, but at the same time I remember Lital, Michal and the other Israeli people I met last summer. They become fan of 'their war against terrorism" on Facebook. I feel an alien in this world. I just don't understand. I feel I arrived in this world just a little bit too late, so I missed the basic instructions at the beginning. What I want is reading their minds, trying to understand the way they see the world. They. The people. The others. That is what I actually always would like to do. If I would move, I would move to other peoples heads.
People are so different and, in my opinion, very difficult beings. Everybody wants to be loved and liked. Everybody wants to make the world a better place. Nobody wants to get terrible diseases or become victim of natural disasters. But at the same time the same people still smoke in public places (even in the cafe Chez Bernard tonight), still take the airplane for short distances, still eat meat unless the bad consequences for environment, humanity, animal kingdom and the general case of empathy, people still prefer the car over public transportation, still pay more taxes for militarian than for humanitarian action, still write long blogs without really saying something new and still want to catch that brand new cellphone.. even if they already have a well-functioning one in their pocket...
Think about it...
vrijdag 16 januari 2009
Te ver dus...
Disco is not what it was in my head. I forgot about the smoke, the danger of burning sigarettes, the curling bodies in extasis of false 'joy'. Look! We are drunk and have fun! Tomorrow on facebook! Tag me, please! Show me I'm alive, I was there...
Can't you just be happy for a moment?
Can't you just be happy for a moment?
zondag 11 januari 2009
Daens and the sledding
Ok, I changed my resolution. Let's write on an average of every two days. That still makes 182 entries a year. They can be as short as today.
A weekend of not-studying and quality-time in the snow (as long as it lasts). It felt nostalgic, sliding down the Mariaberg in Zutendaal surrounded by happy kids and their moms, dads, grandparents. We felt like little children again. It can be so relieving, just some moments without doubts. Just a sledge to take control of. We landed in the bushes anyway, covered in snow.
Yesterday Pieter and I got a free ticket to Daens, the musical. Breath-taking and goose-bumping. I can still sing all the songs in my head. Even though I know the story since I was a child and even based my first book on it, it still takes me away to the Flanders of 1888, the revolt of Socialism, the fight against child labour and injustice.
I really want to enter the NOHA-programme... Action's needed!
A weekend of not-studying and quality-time in the snow (as long as it lasts). It felt nostalgic, sliding down the Mariaberg in Zutendaal surrounded by happy kids and their moms, dads, grandparents. We felt like little children again. It can be so relieving, just some moments without doubts. Just a sledge to take control of. We landed in the bushes anyway, covered in snow.
Yesterday Pieter and I got a free ticket to Daens, the musical. Breath-taking and goose-bumping. I can still sing all the songs in my head. Even though I know the story since I was a child and even based my first book on it, it still takes me away to the Flanders of 1888, the revolt of Socialism, the fight against child labour and injustice.
I really want to enter the NOHA-programme... Action's needed!
vrijdag 9 januari 2009
Green lunchbox
Daily writing doesn't seem to be my thing. I didn't evenmanage to put some words online yesterday. Life's a mess, my mind confused. It's friday again... 4 oclock. My bus is leaving in 45 minutes.
The world is dangerous, radio-active, poisonous and most of all a deadly, but extremely deadly illusion. My portable telephone is ten times as radiating as my cellphone, he says. There are so many things we should have been warned about before. But everything in life doesn't come with manuals, instructions, step-to-step solutions, explanations... there's no protection at all... And nobody even cares.
I should write interviews. This morning I wrote one between 8:30 and 9:30 while having breakfast, morning talks with the last traces of sleep blocking my sight. I should write a letter to myself. Seeing things clearer. Other should do that to. But I don't try to force my good advice on other people, before listening. That's not the role of an interviewer, remember? No protest, no good advice, no ego-illumination of the interviewer, ... at least not during the interview. Once writing you can celebrate the pearls of your creativity, put yourself in some else's story. Mikyung, my sweet friend from Korea, once made me realize that every sentence, every word written has been thought by the writer. That everything written really passed the neurons of a particular person's brain, that they are born there and then re-experienced by the reader. I thought it was wonderful. Obvious, of course. But nevertheless wonderful. I want to travel around, interviewing people all the time. I love talking to others, hearing their stories, even experiencing them, but I lack time to write down the words that touched me, the storylines which could learn me something for the future, the message of sentences between the lines of bodylanguage. It would be a dream to live of writing down the things I want to remember, so it can be remembered for me and shared. Dela.
I will apply for a freelance journalist job. I will. Even though I don't have time at all...
The world is dangerous, radio-active, poisonous and most of all a deadly, but extremely deadly illusion. My portable telephone is ten times as radiating as my cellphone, he says. There are so many things we should have been warned about before. But everything in life doesn't come with manuals, instructions, step-to-step solutions, explanations... there's no protection at all... And nobody even cares.
I should write interviews. This morning I wrote one between 8:30 and 9:30 while having breakfast, morning talks with the last traces of sleep blocking my sight. I should write a letter to myself. Seeing things clearer. Other should do that to. But I don't try to force my good advice on other people, before listening. That's not the role of an interviewer, remember? No protest, no good advice, no ego-illumination of the interviewer, ... at least not during the interview. Once writing you can celebrate the pearls of your creativity, put yourself in some else's story. Mikyung, my sweet friend from Korea, once made me realize that every sentence, every word written has been thought by the writer. That everything written really passed the neurons of a particular person's brain, that they are born there and then re-experienced by the reader. I thought it was wonderful. Obvious, of course. But nevertheless wonderful. I want to travel around, interviewing people all the time. I love talking to others, hearing their stories, even experiencing them, but I lack time to write down the words that touched me, the storylines which could learn me something for the future, the message of sentences between the lines of bodylanguage. It would be a dream to live of writing down the things I want to remember, so it can be remembered for me and shared. Dela.
I will apply for a freelance journalist job. I will. Even though I don't have time at all...
woensdag 7 januari 2009
Sometimes life can make you dizzy, but don't blame life for it.
New years resolutions after one week. I wanted to start them yesterday, but even failed on my promised first day. So I postponed my starting date... from today on I will post blogs more regularly. To be even more ambitious: every day. Some days a shorter entry than on other days. I just think it's necessary in a way. I trust in writing that it will provide outcomes in the end. Answers maybe. Can it really work the other way around. Can words I write tell me how I really feel, think, even wish... instead of me putting into words what I already know. Does the computerscreen write to me or do I write to the computerscreen?
Can I get to an answer by circling around trivial things? The surprise of a human size freezer in the (almost as cold as the freezer) veranda when I arrived back to Belgium. It immediately captured my attention. And everytime I pass it on my way to the bathroom my fantasy gets alive... this freezer must be here for a reason! And not only keeping my vegan burgers cold... My father always wished for a freezer-grave so his body would be guarded for his descendants. Is this freezer Leon's investment for the future? So far the horror. Don't blame me when you read a strange story in the newspaper of 2025.
Should I write about the cold? Everybody is speaking about it. The endless complaints and newsitems make it hollow. The vaccuum of 'snow', the coldest winter in 25'years', 'skating on the lakes', 'minus 20'. It's the featuring topic in the news for a week now, leaving the mass murder in Gaza in the background. Snow in Belgium for 20 minutes, dead bodies, crying and bleeding children for 5 minutes, the consequences in Belgium (burning synagogues, protesting muslims in the streets of the capital, the head of a Jewish organisation trying to say some words which don't really say anything. Don't blame him for it.
University. Suddenly no time anymore for breaking your head about the war in Gaza, snow and love (yes, I know I didn't write about that topic, but you know). Programming in Delphi, units, buttons and labels, we start slow and easy. Schedule changes, overlaps, bureau onderwijs- bureau-cracy, bureau-crazy. So far psychology. I just can't see the psychology through the trees anymore, maybe it's the snow. No, don't blame it on the snow.
I think I am an interviewer. No, I am not a writer, not a poet, not a student, not a cat, a tiger, a girl, woman, vegan or (bad) daughter, torturing terrible girlfriend or 'homesick' ex-exchange student from UBC. Primarly I am an interviewing. Listegning is my life. If I reflect on the things I enjoyed in my life so far, I realize I loved these long talks, hearing someones life while sitting in a cosy couch, trying to see through the screen, sharing pieces of self-explaining silence. "To have a good interview", the lecturer-journalist told today, "your bond need to resemble a romantic relationship. You touch upon personal, intimate things, put the other in a vulnerable position of disclosure, but at the same time you give him the best gifr a person can get: a listening ear. Real listening. Two ears. "The interviewee is the star", still quoting the lecturer, "the interviewer stays in the shadow". Nothing more than almost not present, just a breeze of air stimulating the voice of the other, just temporal, but real. Don't blame the interviewer for that.
Tomorrow.
Can I get to an answer by circling around trivial things? The surprise of a human size freezer in the (almost as cold as the freezer) veranda when I arrived back to Belgium. It immediately captured my attention. And everytime I pass it on my way to the bathroom my fantasy gets alive... this freezer must be here for a reason! And not only keeping my vegan burgers cold... My father always wished for a freezer-grave so his body would be guarded for his descendants. Is this freezer Leon's investment for the future? So far the horror. Don't blame me when you read a strange story in the newspaper of 2025.
Should I write about the cold? Everybody is speaking about it. The endless complaints and newsitems make it hollow. The vaccuum of 'snow', the coldest winter in 25'years', 'skating on the lakes', 'minus 20'. It's the featuring topic in the news for a week now, leaving the mass murder in Gaza in the background. Snow in Belgium for 20 minutes, dead bodies, crying and bleeding children for 5 minutes, the consequences in Belgium (burning synagogues, protesting muslims in the streets of the capital, the head of a Jewish organisation trying to say some words which don't really say anything. Don't blame him for it.
University. Suddenly no time anymore for breaking your head about the war in Gaza, snow and love (yes, I know I didn't write about that topic, but you know). Programming in Delphi, units, buttons and labels, we start slow and easy. Schedule changes, overlaps, bureau onderwijs- bureau-cracy, bureau-crazy. So far psychology. I just can't see the psychology through the trees anymore, maybe it's the snow. No, don't blame it on the snow.
I think I am an interviewer. No, I am not a writer, not a poet, not a student, not a cat, a tiger, a girl, woman, vegan or (bad) daughter, torturing terrible girlfriend or 'homesick' ex-exchange student from UBC. Primarly I am an interviewing. Listegning is my life. If I reflect on the things I enjoyed in my life so far, I realize I loved these long talks, hearing someones life while sitting in a cosy couch, trying to see through the screen, sharing pieces of self-explaining silence. "To have a good interview", the lecturer-journalist told today, "your bond need to resemble a romantic relationship. You touch upon personal, intimate things, put the other in a vulnerable position of disclosure, but at the same time you give him the best gifr a person can get: a listening ear. Real listening. Two ears. "The interviewee is the star", still quoting the lecturer, "the interviewer stays in the shadow". Nothing more than almost not present, just a breeze of air stimulating the voice of the other, just temporal, but real. Don't blame the interviewer for that.
Tomorrow.
maandag 5 januari 2009
Back
The big clock in the UB-Link hall of the Psychology Faculty announces my first Maastricht lecture after more than 7 months. I got a long break since I was sitting in front of the university computers, my old, slow, bit and byte friends, who helped me give birth to endless blog-posts. And here I sit again, after a sangria holiday in Spain, after a 3 week Spanish language course in Andalucia, after the World Youth Congress in Quebec, after a completed wooden bridge in the Canadian forests, after siteseeing with Pieter in Montreal, after a happy reunion with Yasmine and her cute son Yahia in Seattle, but most of all... after UBC.
It feels like the morning after. Realizing the real world starts again and you even can't see the fun of the recognition. Things didn't really change so much, it seems. The Dutch system got more discriminating against Belgian student. Now we have to pay 3 euros to get from the busstation to the university, while the last 3 years we could use our Belgian Buzzypas for this 2 km-route. 3 euros, 5 times a week, for at least 6 more months. Bye bye 360 euros... How many flight tickets to Scandinavia could I buy for that?
Lecture is starting...
I write more soon, after the 'kater'...
Veerle
It feels like the morning after. Realizing the real world starts again and you even can't see the fun of the recognition. Things didn't really change so much, it seems. The Dutch system got more discriminating against Belgian student. Now we have to pay 3 euros to get from the busstation to the university, while the last 3 years we could use our Belgian Buzzypas for this 2 km-route. 3 euros, 5 times a week, for at least 6 more months. Bye bye 360 euros... How many flight tickets to Scandinavia could I buy for that?
Lecture is starting...
I write more soon, after the 'kater'...
Veerle
zaterdag 13 december 2008
Leave, leaf, leaves...
What is this now? I don't want to leave. I really really don't want to leave. My brain is saying I should look forward to it. Of course I miss home, especially the people who form home: parents, Pieter, oma and opa, Ankie, Jip, my friends, family, ... but still, I am leaving to much behind which I will never ever find again. Probably that's what hurts the most.
When I left Ecuador 2,5 years ago, I realized I was also leaving a lot of things behind: my host families including my lovely 'sisters' Gabucha, Claudia and Valeria, my brother David, Ecuadorian friends, Susana and her family in Quito, ... And of course there were the other exchange students who I saw during the Rotary trips. But it was different. The exchangies only saw each other for the organized trips, in Salinas I was all by myself: a white, strange, vegetarian (I was not vegan yet), European (Belgian sounded to abstract) girl with views that didn't always fit in the patriarchy of an 'unsafe' country, regardlessly riding my bycicle on a military base, being assaulted in the middle of the day on my way to baking classes, travelling without authoritarian permit. But after all, I liked the people I met there and leaving them I knew that I would find them back as soon as I would find the money to return. They would still be there, some years older, living in the same house, hopefully even the dogs will still be there in the house of the Sanchez-family (even though I didn't always like Mac). If I go back I can step back in the traces I left, pay a visit to my hostfamilies, attend a Rotary meeting on tuesday evenings, find my friends at the Malecon or in Guayaquil, ...
But here, my life in Vancouver is not comparable. The first time I experienced living on my own, together. Fairview is a real community. My best friends are living here. I had some midnight study parties with Petra and Mikyung this week (because we are in exams), we can just take 25 big steps to reach house number 2754 to learn some Swedish with a free sample of Physics. I can pass the bicycle reck and check if the lights are burning in Garrapitto's house, so I can disturb him in his cooking/intellectual projects or salsa practice. Mikyung in number 2770, offering me craftfood pasta (I think she is finally out of her family package) or in a smiling conversation with her boyfriend online. Daniel, who is going to leave very very soon, nor ro Colombia but Oregon. I will see them all leaving, one by one. Most of them will come back after Christmas, but I won't. Who knows if I will ever come back here. We cancelled Bowen Island today, I only realize now that this was my last chance to go there. I will probably never go there, definitely not in the same company. It scares me to realize that IF I come back. In some years, when I am older and feel nostalgicness in my veins, I will not find them anymore. Other people will be living in our houses. My small, but cute, side room will not be my room anymore. Another person will be sleeping in the bed in which I had so many nice dreams. So many memories hidden in my pillow, my dead flower on the windowsill, the turnable blinds hiding secrets for the neighbours, the shower which never really stops leaking, the bath room (wash room, as they call it here) I cleaned so vigorously about one month ago. I will never find them back here. My friends, they will be gone. There is no chance to be together in Beanery anymore, no vegan brownies in Sprouts for lunch, no chain of lights going downstairs to Wreckbeach. I will never find this again. I will never find back my exchange term again. It scares me. Counting the days and realize I only have 10 days left (normally only one week, but I changed my flight to the 23th), makes me nostalgic already. Or maybe it's because of the musical we went to watch tonight. Beauty and the Beast! It was amazing and the singing was goosebumpingly clear. The story was quite predictable, but that increased the entertainment level, as I could silently sing along with most of the songs.
Tomorrow I will leave to Vancouver Island very early in the morning, so I should better pack my stuff and go to bed now. It will be day soon!
Love you all and miss you (even the people who are here with me now),
A confused Veerle with a lot of sentimental musical songs in her head.
When I left Ecuador 2,5 years ago, I realized I was also leaving a lot of things behind: my host families including my lovely 'sisters' Gabucha, Claudia and Valeria, my brother David, Ecuadorian friends, Susana and her family in Quito, ... And of course there were the other exchange students who I saw during the Rotary trips. But it was different. The exchangies only saw each other for the organized trips, in Salinas I was all by myself: a white, strange, vegetarian (I was not vegan yet), European (Belgian sounded to abstract) girl with views that didn't always fit in the patriarchy of an 'unsafe' country, regardlessly riding my bycicle on a military base, being assaulted in the middle of the day on my way to baking classes, travelling without authoritarian permit. But after all, I liked the people I met there and leaving them I knew that I would find them back as soon as I would find the money to return. They would still be there, some years older, living in the same house, hopefully even the dogs will still be there in the house of the Sanchez-family (even though I didn't always like Mac). If I go back I can step back in the traces I left, pay a visit to my hostfamilies, attend a Rotary meeting on tuesday evenings, find my friends at the Malecon or in Guayaquil, ...
But here, my life in Vancouver is not comparable. The first time I experienced living on my own, together. Fairview is a real community. My best friends are living here. I had some midnight study parties with Petra and Mikyung this week (because we are in exams), we can just take 25 big steps to reach house number 2754 to learn some Swedish with a free sample of Physics. I can pass the bicycle reck and check if the lights are burning in Garrapitto's house, so I can disturb him in his cooking/intellectual projects or salsa practice. Mikyung in number 2770, offering me craftfood pasta (I think she is finally out of her family package) or in a smiling conversation with her boyfriend online. Daniel, who is going to leave very very soon, nor ro Colombia but Oregon. I will see them all leaving, one by one. Most of them will come back after Christmas, but I won't. Who knows if I will ever come back here. We cancelled Bowen Island today, I only realize now that this was my last chance to go there. I will probably never go there, definitely not in the same company. It scares me to realize that IF I come back. In some years, when I am older and feel nostalgicness in my veins, I will not find them anymore. Other people will be living in our houses. My small, but cute, side room will not be my room anymore. Another person will be sleeping in the bed in which I had so many nice dreams. So many memories hidden in my pillow, my dead flower on the windowsill, the turnable blinds hiding secrets for the neighbours, the shower which never really stops leaking, the bath room (wash room, as they call it here) I cleaned so vigorously about one month ago. I will never find them back here. My friends, they will be gone. There is no chance to be together in Beanery anymore, no vegan brownies in Sprouts for lunch, no chain of lights going downstairs to Wreckbeach. I will never find this again. I will never find back my exchange term again. It scares me. Counting the days and realize I only have 10 days left (normally only one week, but I changed my flight to the 23th), makes me nostalgic already. Or maybe it's because of the musical we went to watch tonight. Beauty and the Beast! It was amazing and the singing was goosebumpingly clear. The story was quite predictable, but that increased the entertainment level, as I could silently sing along with most of the songs.
Tomorrow I will leave to Vancouver Island very early in the morning, so I should better pack my stuff and go to bed now. It will be day soon!
Love you all and miss you (even the people who are here with me now),
A confused Veerle with a lot of sentimental musical songs in her head.
vrijdag 5 december 2008
Behaviour disorders, berry candles and self-made cookies
Artists, especially writers, poets and composers, are in higher risk for mood disorders. Yep, major depression, bipolar I and II, dysthymia, ... they are all on the path I try to wander. Maybe I should take a side way somewhere. Escape, get out of this place, these chains of personal expectations... Some people always want to be different anyway. Reading about mental problems from breakfast (euhm, brunch) till 2 hours after my midnight dinner (gnocchi), you would become depressed for less. Me? Depressed? No, I'm not. Maybe just slightly borderline personality disorder, in a mild and functional sense, experiencing mood fluctuations guided by distracted thoughts. Making loose associations in my head all the time. Does it make me leaning in the direction of schizophrenia? The disorganized subtype, while my 300 'friends' on facebook honor me as 'most organized'. They should know better.... They should... I make good cookies, vegan ones. One day they should honor me for that. Especially my new creation: cinnamon-apple-raisin-vegan delight!
Much has happened the last weeks. Is it really two weeks ago since I wrote? Is it really almost time to leave Vancouver and the people I love here? I have been studying for days now, my eyes getting used to nerdish strong glasses on my nose, the small letters of my textbook (with the suspicious looking psychopath hiding on the cover page), my ears getting deafened by the sound of silence. Fortunately there were Petra and sometimes Alex (and on sunday Marina) to keep me company in the dead house. Never heard such a silence in a student kitchen. And of course there was Whistler last monday. Touching the snow. Marina quite literally with her open shoes. We learned a lesson that day, reading 'wise sentences' on touristic magnetic gifts in one of the hypertouristic shops in Whistler Village. I'll tell you later about the sentence, it just doesn;t fit here. I should tell here about the expedition to the Whistler Public Library, about the two vegan wraps I got in a Greek fast food restaurant for the price of one, about the Korean highschool system which Mikyung explained me and appeared to me a terrible hell comparable to prison or army. And when I think of Whistler, I can't help it think of the hot chocolate we drank on the top of the ski resort, sipping whipped (soy)cream and gossipping about everything a person could gossip about. Is it already 4 days ago? No...
Time flies when you are having fun, says the expression I recently learned from a friend. That's a good one. What does that tell about me and my study? Or does it tell other things? Things about staying in my bed the whole morning, staying widely awake till at least 2 am... Does it tell things I should better be silent about? My distorted life, daily rhythms abruptlyinterrupted. My clock is not running like it used to run. It got stuck in a peculiar moment, a second, an eye blink. Warn me if I am talking nonsense. Analyze me, please, analyze me and bring the results to my postbox. I live in Fairview 2710 room 1, the small unsymmetrical shaped room on the third floor.
I just needed to write 'something' in order to fall asleep. Write the bad spirits away Kill them with the voice of my typing fingers while I am lying in the bed. The bed which witnessed my life in Vancouver without any subjective evaluation, without protesting, warning me, forcing me to sleep when I should. He acts innocent (my bed), but he knows the tears I secretly shared with his pillow. He knows the dreams that follow me at night. He knows what makes me sad, before I know it myself, but he doesn't speak a word about it. Beds don't sooth, they just make it softer...
Goodnight,
Veerle
Much has happened the last weeks. Is it really two weeks ago since I wrote? Is it really almost time to leave Vancouver and the people I love here? I have been studying for days now, my eyes getting used to nerdish strong glasses on my nose, the small letters of my textbook (with the suspicious looking psychopath hiding on the cover page), my ears getting deafened by the sound of silence. Fortunately there were Petra and sometimes Alex (and on sunday Marina) to keep me company in the dead house. Never heard such a silence in a student kitchen. And of course there was Whistler last monday. Touching the snow. Marina quite literally with her open shoes. We learned a lesson that day, reading 'wise sentences' on touristic magnetic gifts in one of the hypertouristic shops in Whistler Village. I'll tell you later about the sentence, it just doesn;t fit here. I should tell here about the expedition to the Whistler Public Library, about the two vegan wraps I got in a Greek fast food restaurant for the price of one, about the Korean highschool system which Mikyung explained me and appeared to me a terrible hell comparable to prison or army. And when I think of Whistler, I can't help it think of the hot chocolate we drank on the top of the ski resort, sipping whipped (soy)cream and gossipping about everything a person could gossip about. Is it already 4 days ago? No...
Time flies when you are having fun, says the expression I recently learned from a friend. That's a good one. What does that tell about me and my study? Or does it tell other things? Things about staying in my bed the whole morning, staying widely awake till at least 2 am... Does it tell things I should better be silent about? My distorted life, daily rhythms abruptlyinterrupted. My clock is not running like it used to run. It got stuck in a peculiar moment, a second, an eye blink. Warn me if I am talking nonsense. Analyze me, please, analyze me and bring the results to my postbox. I live in Fairview 2710 room 1, the small unsymmetrical shaped room on the third floor.
I just needed to write 'something' in order to fall asleep. Write the bad spirits away Kill them with the voice of my typing fingers while I am lying in the bed. The bed which witnessed my life in Vancouver without any subjective evaluation, without protesting, warning me, forcing me to sleep when I should. He acts innocent (my bed), but he knows the tears I secretly shared with his pillow. He knows the dreams that follow me at night. He knows what makes me sad, before I know it myself, but he doesn't speak a word about it. Beds don't sooth, they just make it softer...
Goodnight,
Veerle
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