Today

Today isn't a good day. Today is a bad day.

Been awake all night. Tossing around. Turning from left to right and back to left again. Putting my head under my pillow. But that doesn't help at all. It takes away your breath. So head back ón the pillow. No staring at the ceiling. The dark was just too dark for that. Just staring into the dark. No dreams. Just cold foggy winter. The hope for some sunshine was already gone by 6 a.m. You could hear the raindrops on the window. You could hear the street was wet as a lost car driving off to probably Brussels or Antwerp passed by.

Today is a bad day. Still morning. Still a long way to go till weekend. A very long way. A deadline is waiting. No weekend before that. Should I drink coffee? No, no thank you. Some sun would help. If I only could order that...and maybe a big ice cream, lunch in the park, a t-shirt and some sunglasses. But not today. Still some long hours ahead. So let the games begin...knowing that today I will loose anyway.

The spring-mode

Time to push the button. Time to hit the switch.

Time to take a deep breath and feel your longs getting filled with clean, fresh air. Spring is there. At least it seems to be there. Maybe it's just one of winter's last jokes. But we can't deny the blue sky, the cheerfully signing birds, the feelings of butterflies and maybe even the smell of the first sun crème.

Let it be said. It's spring. So bé spring. So féél spring. Take a look around. You're probably not the only one. Teenage girls in short skirts. Teenage boys looking at the girls. Huge tiramisù ice creams in the park. A cold beer under the sun on some terrace in the city centre. Even a working day becomes pleasant. Even your deadline does not seem to be chasing you any more. Feelings to bring you back in time. Memories free of worries and full of life. Just for now. Just for a few hours and maybe days. So let's enjoy it for now. The deadlines will still be waiting tomorrow. Will still be there chasing you just as they did before.

Label: 'In English'

I started this blogging adventure with the idea of writing in Dutch. It seemed the most logical thing to do. The daily world turning around me speaks Dutch, words just come easier in Dutch and the grey mass of my brain rather tends to use Dutch as the main means of communication between the different entities. As time passed by however, first needs and signs of having to tell the world things in a different language started showing up. English at first, but also some Italian and even some Spanish. French? Maybe. Probably not.

So Dutch was how it started. If I would write in Italian, I'd put 'In Italiano' underneath my post. For English it was just the same; label: 'In English'. By way of exception. Because it was occasionally. Just now and then. But as time went, more and more English came into that daily world. It became the rule, while Dutch became the exception. If you want to reach people, English just seems to be the better option. The better tool. The better microphone. And at the end, Dutch listeners probably won't bother too much, since English for them should be just as understandable. But then, I'm worrying about something without even knowing if there even are Dutch-speaking listeners. Somebody there?

So I'll drop the label: 'In English'. Just like I'll drop all the other language labels. Why? Because at the end it's all and always the same: words forming sentences, telling stories, living life. And life is not to be restricted to some Dutch, English, Italian or Spanish outfit. It does not matter. Just as it does not always have to be the easier way.

Sleepy train

I always tend to fall asleep whenever I'm on a train. I managed to wake up in terminal stations where I was not supposed to be. I managed to miss my connections. I even managed to have my cell phone stolen due to having my eyes closed.

Maybe that's why I don't like trains too much. And it's not only because I may have encountered some misfortunes. It just makes me tired. It wears me out. I mean, you get on a train fresh and bright and you get off all fuzzy and tired. Even if it only is for like an hour. Even half an hour. Even if you just got up and are completely awake or if you come back from work and can't wait to get home, can't wait to go to have a drink with friends or just to go couchsurfing in front of your tv for the rest of the evening. That excitement doesn't translate to falling in sleep, does it?

I don't know what it is. Often you hear people say they see the train as an excellent place to meet people. To make conversation. With or without a hidden agenda. With or without looking the good looking blond girl into her deep blue eyes. With or without getting off with a phone number or an email address. For me it's all the other way around. The person in front of me always seems to have a grey face. Always seems tired of having to have to sit there. Always seems to be fallen asleep. So, what do I do? Just the same.

Is it me, you could say? Is it the person in front of me? Is it the train? Or do I just happen to choose the wrong seat all the time? Maybe it's exactly that. Maybe I should take a walk through the whole train to pick the right spot. But then. That spot might be taken. That spot probably will be taken. So, once again, I'll end up in front of the person with the grey face. The person being tired to have to be sitting there. The person with the tendency to fall asleep.

Unreasonable behaviour - 5 a.m.

No, this is not about some episode of '24'. This is about the fact that once again it was 5 a.m. this morning. 5 a.m. when my hand got lost searching the light switch of my bathroom. 5 a.m. when I had to dig up my last energy resources to squeeze some toothpaste on my toothbrush. A shower would have been nice, but my body just said no: 'Bed, that's where you will go right now'. So I solemnly obeyed.

The second time this weekend. And once again my body seems to have quite some characteristics of something coming close to a zombie. Sleepy eyes. A bad taste in your mouth that just does not want to go away. Water. More water. Liters of water. A constant desire of going back to bed. Some soft pillows and maybe a bunch of dreams to try to at least regenerate a part of what has gone lost in the past 48 hours.

Actually it's funny how we manage to have a good time going out, while having to deal with the consequences a bit later. And having to endure the same experience twice in one weekend was something I thought was not meant for me anymore. Maybe it isn't. Maybe I should hope it isn't. And maybe this weekend indeed was the exception confirming the rule. But on the other hand I should also admit it all was worth wile. At least as long as I won't think about the clock radio that will be playing with my ear drums once again tomorrow morning. Not for fun. Not to dance upon. Not to bring you to a higher level. Not to escape reality. All the contrary. All real and reality.

[To Katrien and Fre]

+32

Terug thuis. We zijn geland. De steward heet ons welkom in Brussels International Airport. Het is 22.45. De vertraging valt uiteindelijk nog mee. Het is 6 graden buiten. Ja, inderdaad. Goed dat ik mijn winterjas bij de hand heb gehouden, ook al heeft het me een hoop meer sleurwerk gekost. Ook al heb ik ervoor het zweet op mijn voorhoofd moeten trotseren. Het is al donker. Een lichte bries die eerder iets weg heeft van de restanten van een zware storm. Een paar uur eerder was er ook een bries. Een zeebries. Een warme zeebries. Band 4 voor de baggage claim. Niet dat ik heb moeten stoppen om even naar de monitors te kijken. Gewoon de instinctieve kuddegeest op de menigte loslaten: 'ah ja, die zat ook op mijn vliegtuig...en die ook: het is band 4'. Waar stond de auto nu ook weer? Was het G45 of J414? Damn. Even denken. Waar ben ik drie dagen geleden ook weer langs gelopen? Wat heb ik mezelf toen nog gezegd? Ah ja, die loopbrug. En het derde zebrapad. Even friemelen in mijn portefeuille. Mijn parkeerticket. Neen, niet in de portefeuille, in de auto. Eerst naar de auto. De bagage kan al gerust worden ingeladen...ook al zou ik in mijn verstrooidheid in staat zijn mijn bagage nog eens heen en weer mee te nemen. Ben het geluid van die kleine rollende wielen nu toch gewoon. Geen file vanavond. Denk ik. Hoop ik. Komaan, toch niet op zondagavond? Wel? Neen, toch niet. Misschien dan een flitser op de E40? Neen, ook niet. Denk ik. Hoop ik. Toch niet op zondagavond?

De garagepoort smakt dicht. Mijn ogen zouden dat precies stilaan ook willen. Maar neen, nog even. Eerst de honger stillen. En daarvoor de bagage uit de auto halen. We zijn weer thuis. Even geen Spaans, Italiaans, Engels of Frans meer. Gewoon Nederlands. Gewoon een grote friet en twee kaaskroketten. Of toch liever stoofvlees? Laten we voor beiden gaan! Uiteindelijk zal ik in de drie gevallen sowieso teveel hebben. Uiteindelijk zal ik sowieso met een volle maag onder het vertrouwde donsdeken kruipen. Maar het doet er niet toe. Ik heb thuis. Mijn douche. Mijn zetel. Mijn warme choco. Mijn bed. En zo dadelijk mijn dromen. Die zijn er misschien wel altijd. Maar thuis smaken ze toch altijd net iets beter.

I'm from Barcelona

At least I was...just for a tiny while. Just a few pages of my own book of history. Just the time to sense magnificence and colours giving shape to what has none. Endless varieties of tastes, mangling together to experience something coming close to paradise. Not to forget the dreaming away amongst the best of the Gaudi, Dalí, Miró and Picasso repertoires, even if without the 'Persistence of time'. The presence of sunshine, sunglasses, the first t-shirts and some home made Italian style helado (or should I write 'gelato') making the setting even better, could be the why of this declaration of love to a city of life, to be rediscovered time after time, visit after visit. And maybe at the same time it explains the bits of exaggeration to be found in this hymn to the things in a way or another probably are also to be found in other places.

So yes, I'm from Barcelona. At least I was...just for a tiny while. If it's not reality, at least let's dream it, let's wish it. I need an excuse to escape the rain I have to face day in, day out, from morning to evening, and further till dawn again. It's like we haven't been paying our electricity bills to get access to the biggest natural energy resource. Global warming, they say. Yes, indeed. But we only get rain.

But ok. We still have Barcelona. A two hour flight. Maybe some extra delay due to heavy air traffic between Brussels and Luxemburg. And that's it. It's like we do not even have the time to dream about it. So maybe we should not mind the rain too much. Only our bank account could be complaining. And hey, even then...would summer really be that far away?