Cause she had a bad day...

Some people say they write the best words when they're feeling sad. I don't want to confirm this stereotype, because that would mean I'm in a waive of inspiration right now (even though i don't feel like writing at all).

I feel like...
I feel like... crying out loud (maybe), who would it bother in this lonely house? It would wake up my dear 'diertjes': Jip would lift one ear and continue his running dreaam, Ankie wouldn't even make a move. What do they dream about? I know they feel lonely too... Would they feel the same as I do? Living a day full of missing just with the hope for one moment... seeing (or in my case: chatting) the person they love back in the evening? That would mean I am the person they love. But some times this week I felt a stranger for my own pets. When I had to provide them with food (Why do all these dog- and cat foodindustries, produce such a stinky, horrible and distastefull meat for man's best friend? If course, I sprinted to the Bio-Store as soon I heard there really exists something called 'Yarra's Vegetarian dog Food'. Anyway, the store didn't have it in stock, which made me wait for 2 weeks (still 1 week to go now).
But no, I don't feel missed at all, while I had one of the worst missingweeks ever. Especially on this own moment, it feels like the world is slipping through my hands. There's a wall between me and the people I miss. A wall called 'voicemail' and 'offline' between Pieter and me, a wall called 'Leon' (my father) between me and my mother far away in Turkije. I heard she sounded hidingly sad on the phone, but then the connection failed. Calling again made it worse. The Turkish guy on the reception desk was surprised by hearing me ask for room nr 230 two times on a row. Room 230 didn't bring more information about my mom, only an annoying dad asking irrelevent questions which answers I had to repeat at loud voice (because he didn't really listen). I can cry if I want, I can shout... and that's what I did on the phone. But shouting didn't work either. Leon still didn't listen and forced me to repeat... just as long till tbe connection broke again...
Why Pieter? Why aren't you there when I need you so badly?

I miss a secure life. I miss friends of who I know I can 'really' call them in the middle of the night (if you consider 12:58am the middle of the night). A friend who accepts you when you cry, but also when you just want to be silent together. I have more than 200 facebookfriends, but at this right moment, I feel I lost everything in this barefooted world. I'm shoeless in a field of glass pieces. Of course I trust my friends, but I'm sure they would be to surprised (and tired) to hear my voice through a static mobile phone speaker. I would feel annoyed because of my own silence... making a fool of myself. Because I don't have real reasons to feel as sad as I do right now. Actually I have to feel great because of my nearly-totally vegan diet. I almost succeed in the promisses I made to myself. But in the evening I fail... looking forward to that little lovely chat before night begs for sleep. Looking forward to these little carefull and soathing words... but end in 'ok and offline'. The food is okay, but my emotions explode in the atmosphere of loneliness.

At the moment you discover life makes no sense, you have two choices (at least that's what my tutorial manual says about postmodernism): you can wish to die or color in the black-and-white drawing of your own by yourself. At the moment I don't feel like painting... just wanna cry and sleep forever...

Alleen in dit grote huis

"Ik weet alleen dat ik je nu al mis..."

klaagmuur

Hoeveel dagen en momenten voor het slapengaan heb ik al uit bed willen slenteren en achter de computer willen neerploffen om al die ideetjes even af te schudden en keurig op papier (lees: computerscherm) te zetten. Maar nee, Veerle was te lui, te bedderig voor het slapengaan, te bang voor boeven op het gelijkvloers, te geen-zinnerig om de computer op te starten en lange verontschuldigende inleiding te schrijven, die niet half zo goed of lezenswaardig uitgespreid wordt als dat ie in mijn hoofd al bestond.

Komt het door die paar warme groentjes die ik vandaag at? Of heeft raw food een omgekeerd effect op mij en halen noten mij echt helemaal 'down'...? Feit is dat somberheid me vandaag achternazat. En ie was snel. Vanochtend zong ie schrijnend schertsend in mijn oor "geen zin, ik heb geen zin... niet voor tutorial of college, niet om in het zonnetje naar het bushokje te wandelen, niet om lang op de bus te wachten in het gras met een leuk artikel over de gebarentaal van chimpansees op schoot, niet om aan te komen in een huis vol koffers in de veranda, om mijn ouders te zien vertrekken met de trein naar Turkije (met een paar gevleugelde tussenstappen), niet om in Bilzen Centrum een interessant bezoekje te brengen aan de natuurvoedingswinkel en daar een aantal vega-blije ontdekkingen te doen (no-egg, vegan chocopasta, veeeel nootjes, zonnebloempitten, stroopwafeltjes en een pak besteld vegetarisch hondenvoer), niet om een lekker fruitsapje te drinken met oma op een Bilzers marktterras en al helemaal niet om te wachten op de journalistiekles in Syntra (vanaf het park met zicht op konijntjes en een markerend inhaaltekst), niet om nog op het laatste moment een artikel te schrijven om de leraar goed te stemmen, niet om daarna lang in de auto te zitten... ùaar waar ik echt geen zin in had was thuiskomen in een leeglijkend huis (zelfs Jip en Ankie maakten geen aanstalte pù wakker te worden toen ik binnenkwam. En toch... toch heb ik me door de dag heengeworsteld, gelachen, gelezen, afscheid genomen, genoten, soms zelfs vergeten dat de somberheid me weer vlug zou overvallen als ik niet snel genoeg liep en mijn tijd moest 'doden' met wachten. Wachten op bussen, op lessen waarbij niemand opdaagt, op een begrijpbaar Engels woord tijdens een postmodern college, op Godot, op een lieve jongen die online komt om me uit mijn klagen te verlossen en me weer tijgertje maakt...

Gelukkig was er in het midden van de dag dat telefoontje... Ik hou van 025-nummers!

xxxxxxx Ik heb meer te melden, maar doe het niet omdat mijn pas gemaakte 'planningskalender' me zegt dat ik over precies zes en half uur mijn bedje moet verlaten...

Slaapwel mensen en dieren to whom it may concern...

Inspiratieloze groetjes,
Veerle

EuroMUN

Did I ever have so little sleep? Probably I had... think of Ecuadorian and Scottish nights, they were short too. But the last 5 days were different. EuroMUN 2008, months and months I could only think of it in terms of fear and postponed the prospective of being in charge of an entire journalist team. Would they like me, would they accept me as a chair, even though my English fails on crucial, nervous moments? But I my fear had no ground. These 19 journalists formed the best team I could barely wish for. They worked their heart out, respected their task and most of all they were lovely, hardworking and very gifted writers! I'm so proud of them...

But I have to go now... My bus is leaving in some minutes. Never try to write a tribute in a few minutes...

Coming back tonight,

Veerle

Back to irrationality

As a tribute to my small international audience (yes my dears from USA, Pakistan, Ghana, Chili, Portugal, Indonesie, etc. I'm watching you ;) )I'll post my first log after one month of silence in English. As you know I still feel ashamed about my poor vocabulary, about my hesitations in grammar and the lack of any British nor native accent. In my curriculum vitae you will find a proud note that I'm a fluent speaker of the language of 'angels' (In Dutch English is 'Engels' while our word for angel is written like its singular form 'engel'), but when you meet me, you encounter a soft blending of European Spanglish with a huge Belgian taste in the throat. Future employers, please do note take not of this...

I have too many things to say. Maybe even too personal to formulate in proper English. How can I announce what happened the day after my last log. This log will appear as directly after the 18th of february, a day that brought me doubts and blue thoughts. But for what? What was my right to think about my own existential never-ending question marks on that single day, the day before. You never know what will happen next. Maybe it's easy to write from the point where I stand now in my life, in time. Seeing it all as a story, because you know the rest of the storyline. There exists a name for it, which I can't remember... I shall call it the ...-error. What would I have done if I had known it the day before? Would I have been writing clumsy weblogs about my miserable studentlife? Probably not. And now? How can I write now about the way I miss my future-brother-in-law Geert since he's been gone. Pieter is able to find the right words to express his feelings, even during Canadian chat sessions. And it makes me jealous that his chatfriend comes across with the right words too. At least he perceives them as the precise words to console him. This kind of moments make me feel as a thin young tree, strong in appearance with potentials to grow, but weak and breakable when the wind blows too roughly one day. She will nearly loose her balance in her attempt to support the bowing branches of her beloved ‘tree friends’ who woke up in the centre of the storm and saw the most protected and cared member of their own little forest broken in the hands of the bare earth.

It’s still surrealistic to write about the days before and after the funeral. Pieter returned from Groningen directly after the bad news. That same Tuesday he was lying in my arms for some moments. His father brought him all the way and stayed calm but with broken words he told us the story which he had to repeat over and over again the following days.
I felt guilty because of the days before. On Friday I wanted to catch Pieter by surprise and pick him up at the railway station. That morning Geert was taken to the hospital because of some unusual, but small epileptic attacks. I got the news of the hospitalization right on my way to the railway station His mother kept repeating that the epileptic disorder was a family trait and she was afraid she passed her worst genes on her son.
My first reaction was one of shock. An epileptic attack did sound very dangerous in my ears. But because his mother was almost sure it was the outbreak of a family disorder already shimmering under his skin for 24 years which could be taken under control by daily medication, I was slightly relieved and started to mourn because the surprise for Pieter needed to be cancelled. Instead we went to the hospital, where we made him smile by our company. He greeted us with the same enthusiasm as always. You would say he was alright again, that the hospitalization hadn’t been necessary and as he himself assured me he would leave the hospital to go home maybe even the next day (with some medication). On Saturday Pieter stayed at our home, just like any other week. We watched a movie (I believe it was Ghandi) and we went to the last sale of the town library as a morning surprise. We stayed in touch by phone with Pieters parents, who told us Geert had to stay one more day for some observations, but on the first scan there was apparently nothing wrong. On Monday we still had some chat talk about daily quandaries and the next day I got a terrible phonecall from Pieter. I could hear his voice trembling as he spoke: “something very sad happened, Geert has died suddenly this morning.” One moment I thought I couldn’t breath. I didn’t want to think about psychology, but in my heart I felt the different feelings come by: denial, anger, grief and a long way to go to acceptance. No words would do during that phone call and I kept repeating ‘oh no’, while searching for just some words which could bring some … something.
I don’t know what more I said, probably practical things (the cause, what now?; the funeral, …) The show had to go on. The next day I still had to go to school for some hours, just to not get behind. Anyway I couldn’t concentrate and counted the minutes to be close to Pieter.
What can I call that weekend? On Thursday and Friday everybody came to greet the body, which was placed in the living room. On Saturday was the official funeral. Except from a poem, written for Geert, I felt like I couldn’t offer more. What could I give them? Pieter and his parents? Someone to speak to, someone to hug , a shoulder to lean on, to play and feel free for a moment? But did Pieter want my small support, just an empty grasp of hugs and tender caresses, but no solution… Impossible. Just on that day we celebrated in whispering silence our 4-year love-anniversary. It’s strange how it all comes together: love and grief, expectations and endings; special day of love and date on the graveyardstone, tears and the first rain of early spring…

Since the month that passed, I feel even more connected. When I fondle you, the magic feels irrationally real. You’re touchable close sometimes and I love the confirmation you’re still with me. As long as you don’t leave me, I know we’re safe together. But just understand that I sometimes have to follow the signs, that my fate begs for scaffolding and Shall-I-Call-It-God helps me to foresee which direction to go. Please don’t think I’ll run out of sight… I’ll just take you with me.. in my backpack.

Good night and take care of yourself and the others,

Love,
Veerle

Silencio

Even Kant aan de kant schuiven. Soms voelt het alsof ... Ach Veerle, probeer geen woorden. Ze schieten te kort. Tekortschieten, en dat terwijl ik niet in uitdrukkingen en cliches wil vervallen. Vervallen... volgens de hindoes is de huidige tijd er eentje van verval De tijd is een cirkel... zo origineel was Malika Oulad Chara niet in 1999, ze las waarschijnlijk ook over de cyclische tijdsvisie van onze Indische vrienden. Ach lieverds, het gaat me even mijn blond-bruine hoofd te boven. Ik heb geen blad om op te staan, zo wappert het papier. Metaforen vatten wat niet te vatten valt, maar waar heb je dan wel vat over. En waarom is liefde zo onuitspreekbaar en klinkt "Ik hou van jou" zo onjuist triviaal op een zondagochtend bij zonnekierschemer? En waarom was ik zo snel uitgepraat terwijl ik zoveel wilde zeggen en omringd was door het stof van bibliothekische woorden.

Even geen woorden meer. Genoeg en uitgesproken. Stilte... sttt... dichter bij God... misschien... mystiek.... zwijg dan.... nu?..... ja.... ok dan.... slaapwel...

PS: Let vooral op de drie puntjes, daar schrijf ik nog het meest.

Mis je.

Brugge collages carnavalkou, vliegers in de cinema en gratis Mobistarhartjes in de zon...

All we need is lightning... Ik kan niet helder denken met Lordi door de boxen van mijn middernachtelijke pc, maar het overstemt tenminste het gekweel van vaderlief die er op dit uur nog lustig op los tokkelt in de keuken. Geen Vlaamse schlagers voor mij, noch Vlaams Belangen (wil degene die het reclameblaadje in mijn brievenbus heeft gestopt, hiermee ophouden? Een politieke partij die vreest dat de Nederlandstalige spreekwoorden met Islamvarianten uitgebreid zullen worden en het dan vergelijken met een soort gecensureerde 1984-Newspeak. Alsjeblieft... Wil er nog iemand zich met politiek bezig houden? Sinds de Euro zeggen we toch nog steeds dat onze frank valt.

Een vakantie van zalige knuffelheid die ik vooral aan één persoon te danken heb... of moet ik hem otter noemen? Ik mis hem nu al... en dan bedoel ik niet alleen de vakantie.

Liefs,
Veerle

3 jaar en 11 maanden en 3890 woorden

Proficiat aan alle Pieters die dit lezen :) (omdat de bezoekersopkomst op deze site vermoedelijk niet zo groot is en het me zou verwonderen dat er meer dan één Pieter dit berichtje leest, kan ik het me permitteren om me tot alle Pieters te richten en alleen jou te bedoelen. Indien zich toch een andere Pieter op deze site begeeft en zich verwondert over de felicitaties, weet dan dat de bovengenoemde felicitaties gericht zijn naar de jongen met wie ik al drie jaar en 11 maanden woorden, zinnen, knuffels, steun en respect deel. Ja, aan al die andere Pieters die dit lezen, deze Pieter is de creme de la creme. Een roomsoesje, een ottertje, een schatertje, een klein denkertje en piekeraartje, een grote opvrolijker (met een soms averechts effect) en liefste allerliefste telepathische liedjesdeler.

Op Jipkes 8ste verjaardag vieren wij de laatste stap naar de vier jaar...

Nog 510 woorden en mijn essay is klaar!

Veerle

Schietgebedje

dat statistiek
correleert met vroegere prestaties
en het essay ruimte vindt
in de kieren van overvolle dagen
dat dieren rechten krijgen
vegetariers de wereld veranderen
dat mens-dier relaties vredig zijn
en tennisballen vrolijk botsen
dat ik me ooit de naam van de hond van de tennisclub in Romershoven opnieuw herinner
en mama niet inzakt in de meters sneeuw in Zinal
dat vrije vogels niet langer sier- of zang- hoeven te zijn
in te krappe kooitjes...
in zo'n krap kooitje, voel ik mij...
de deadline wurgt...

Dank je voor dit weekend,

Amen

Veerle