Post-materialistic view on work

It's a working day. But it doesn't particularly feel like one. I have a big meeting coming up this afternoon. But there is no stress. No stress at all. I feel completely confident. Confident that everything will work out just fine, that everything will be alright.

Maybe it's the sun, the sunglasses laying next to my laptop and the yellow t-shirt I'm wearing right now. Maybe things will change as soon as I'll change into my 'meeting-outfit'. As soon as the phone will start ringing again and my inbox will start getting stuffed with problematic e-mails again. Maybe. But just not right now. Now is the time to realize the nice side of life, even during a working day. To realize things could be different if you want and everything is about the way you look at things. We don't do that very often. All the contrary. We never do that. But starting from today I will. At least I'll try to. If only the sun would be shining every day. For me, that would be already a big help and an even bigger step forward.

Sette

Vladi stava per arrivare. Giuseppe ed io ci eravamo messi sul balcone con pronto un secchio d'acqua da versargli addosso appena sarebbe arrivato. Ed infatti...lo scherzo, uno dei tanti, riuscì alla perfezione. Tanti ricordi di estati magiche. E alcuni di questi vivranno per sempre.

È il 1996. Fine agosto. È l'estate di Ginosa. L'estate dei sette amici. L'estate di Pablo, Francesca e Noelia. Ma anche l'estate di Cristina. È l'estate della casa della nonna di Fabio. Della chitarra ed il Millenote. Dei 'tanta voglia di lei' e le serenate. Delle penne a mezzanotte. È l'estate degli amici di Michel anche a cantare. Anche a cucinare.

A San Chirico Nuovo le prime serate fresche sono già lì. 'I sette venti', diceva sempre Michele Mucci. Di sera si esce con la maglia. Si va in giro in macchina piuttosto che farsi le passeggiate su e giù per la via principale. Si va a Tre Cancelli. Si chiacchiera. Si scherza. Ogni tanto si balla. Si ricorda. E in quel fine agosto i ricordi sono soprattutto quelli delle tre settimane appena passate sulle spiagge di Ginosa.

Lo avevamo detto tante volte. Ci avevamo pensato. I piani erano già quasi fatti. Ma a San Chirico Nuovo il cratere tra il dire ed il fare è enorme, quasi impossibile da superare. Quell'anno invece no. Deve essere successo un miracolo. Devono essere scesi sette angeli dal cielo per mettere finalmente insieme quei sette amici. Per trovargli una casa non troppo lontana dalla spiaggia. Per metterli in macchina dei genitori disposti ad accompagnarli. E per convincerli a finalmente andare oltre le chiacchiere, alla scoperta della vacanza indipendente. Alla scoperta delle ragazze. Alla scoperta dei panzerotti fritti. E alla scoperta della vita a Ginosa Marittima. E così fù. Per me, ma anche per Nicola, per i due Michele, per Samuele, per Fanelli e per Giuseppe.

Il miracolo non si sarebbe più ripetuto. E gli angeli non sarebbero più scesi dal cielo. E così negli anni a venire ogni uno di noi andò per la sua strada. Anche se si diceva che l'estate a seguire saremmo tornati. Anche se si pensava che gli angeli magari ancora sarebbero venuti. Si sapeva che semplicemente non sarebbe stato così.

E così ci ritroviamo con memorie dimenticate forse troppo in fretta. Nicola con il costume da bagno forse un pò troppo stretto. Fanelli che cerca di aggiustare il gommone senza fine, senza mai riuscirci. I due Michele incantati dalla bella Francesca. Giuseppe ed il beach volley. Samuele e l'abbronzante. E Fabio ed il letto volante.

Memorie di sempre e per sempre.
Magiche.
Da non dimenticare. Mai.

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.

How it all began

This is a flashback.

Maybe I've been watching a little bit too much of 'Lost' lately. But luckily I won't be telling about some island in some ocean where some airplane crashed upon and where some survivors have to deal with some other people.

This is about realizing I never started off properly with all of this writing, publishing and opening up to the cyberworld and beyond. I never managed to explain my why's, when's en where's. I never spoke about the who. Not that I feel the need to open up and elaborate on my most intimate details to a world for me too big to handle. No, not at all. A fundamental rule of someone who tries to tell something should be not to go too far. Not to forget that part of him- or herself the world should not be interfering with. There is a chance that one day nothing of that 'self-being' will be left, wasted in too much publicity. Dreams will be gone. And we will just belong to emptiness, to everything, to everybody and especially to nothing.

Anyway, we all do what we want with our secrets. And most of all, we all deal with the consequences of those secrets ourselves. Let's just not pretend not to have secrets, since that would mean not to be living. It would mean not to experience seconds, minutes, hours and all other indications of time set forth by the never ending ticking of that huge clock we sit on. So, secrets aside, this is a humble description of a journey we like to call 'life', brought together in one big soulsearch between words, thoughts, feelings, ideas, expressions, smiles, tears and all the other things coming from a place we like to describe as our 'heart'. A description however limited. To limits of life. To boundaries we set out, hoping never having to cross. To boundaries we'll never want to jump over. The barb-wired fence with a hungry big tree-headed dog at the other side is a nightmare we just do not want to encounter. So be aware of limits. Of limiting. Of being limited to where I want to go, to what I want you to know. Telling everything would mean giving up curiosity, mystery and willingness to keep on reading and to get to know more. Or am I just kidding myself?

It doesn't really matter. At least not for me. I like playing with that feeling. Just as you probibly like to play with the idea to know. So let's meet somewhere in between. Where we all can sit together underneath some big oak on a sunny day. A picnic basket. Some music if you want. I'll bring the wine, if you'll be willing to listen.

Almost back

I've been away a while. Away from thoughts and inspiration. Away from daily business. Away from same old same old. You've got to see different things, you've got to give your eyes a chance to see difference and your hands to sense that difference. I thought a trip to New York would have been a nice way to do so. And actually it was. Without having to elaborate on the where, when and why. Just saying 'New York' is enough. I've you do not already know, just trust me, or go and see for yourself.

But still I'm not completely back. Time just is not at my side lately. So still some work to do. And some more traveling, without having to sit on an airplane for more than 8 hours this time, 'cause Barcelona is no more than 2 hours of flying. See you soon, more stories to come. More tales to tell. More feelings to share.

Legoland

Ik zag mijn buur net passeren met twee enorme dozen lego onder zijn arm. Neen, niet voor zichzelf. Dat denk ik toch. Want als ik hem was, dan was de kans groot dat ik er mijn handen toch niet helemaal van zou kunnen afhouden. Kleine blokjes in alle kleuren en geuren die op één of andere manier bij, in en op elkaar weten te passen, en de sleutel vormen tot een wereld van fantasie, van wegdromen tussen ridders en feeën.

Er ging geen dag voorbij zonder lego. En lego was waar een dag uit bestond. Zolang het pubergehalte nog niet voldoende was ontwikkeld, kon zelfs het blonde buurmeisje met de diepblauwe ogen niet in de weg van mijn heiligdom staan. Inderdaad, mijn heiligdom. Mijn wereld. Mijn kleine wereld waarin hooguit 30 mensen woonden, 10 auto's rondreden, er een trein was, een vliegveld, een politiekantoor en een veredelde brandweerkazerne. Van woningbouw was niet echt sprake, daar er niet meer was dan een paar schamele huizen, een middeleeuwse burcht die als ruïne fungeerde en een boerderij met paarden, een paar stalknechten en de nodige accessoires. Er waren wegen met verlichtingspalen en zelfs echt werkende verkeerslichten die ervoor moesten zorgen dat auto's het spoor niet zouden oversteken bij een passerende trein.

Maar die beperkingen, die kleinschaligheid, hoge staatsschulden en waarschijnlijk hoge belastingen maakten allemaal niet uit. Het was mijn droomwereld waarin ik de werkelijkheid kon bepalen zoals ik dat graag had. Een goede tiran die alles over had voor zijn volk, daar waar het volk zelf niet veel te zeggen had. In de echte wereld zou ik waarschijnlijk niet graag gezien zijn, maar dat maakte toen helemaal niet uit.

Het was mijn wereld.
Ik was koning.

Signs of pleasure: 59 things I like

Trendy bars.
Havana Club. Red wine. Orange juice.
Bubbles.
Slow food in fast times.
Cooking.Being the naked chef.
Hot showers.Long ones.
Swimming pools.
Music.The good vibes.
Silence.The best music around.
Freedom.Peace.Justice.
Sharing.
Friends.Family.
My fantasy.My imagination.My inspiration.
People.Everywhere.Always.
New York.
Stockholm.Rome.Berlin.Barcelona.
Cold.Winter.Mountains.
Hot.Summer.Beaches.
Sand between my toes.
Blue skies.The big, even more blue sea.
Laughter.Smiles.Happy faces.
Being a bit crazy.Sometimes a lot.
Sunshine.Sunglasses.T-shirts.
Yellow.Green.Red.A little bit of black.
Rain.Only if it brings a rainbow.
The unknown.To try to know.
Adventures.
Love.Making love.Loving.Endlessly.
Forever and ever.
Amen.

She.Life.

And you? What do you like?