Heroes

Been watching a little bit too much of Heroes lately.

Two nights in a row, five episodes per night, 420 minutes of hoping the cheerleader will survive, Hero will make it back in time and Peter will finally find its way. Still quite a way to go to find out if the world will actually be saved and a bunch of other questions will be answered, even if in view of the apocalyps the latter might become as irrelevant as dust in a desert.

Luckily we have them, our heroes. Luckily we have the Petrellis and Bauwers making this world a better place, and saving it day in day out from its inevitable end. Or should I say: "Luckily we have our heroes we think will save us when things go wrong". It's all about believing. It's all about hoping. And most of all: about not being alone in this big -sometimes scary- world.

Have to go, the dvd is ready to play to next episode.

The saturday night drunken dream

Saturday night fever. The girls are choosing their outfits. I just went for jeans and t-shirt. The clock ticks. The fever grows bigger. I can almost hear the crowd go wild. Patience, patience, just a few more minutes.

-"Still some make-up, we're almost done here... ."
-"Yeah, yeah, take your time, we'll just go for another mojito".

I really like mojitos, especially if I make them myself...or if the dark-haired girl of the Villa Ernesto makes them. Just too often the flavours are not blended like they should. The equilibrium between sweet and bitter can be hard to achieve. And please, what the hell are all of those bartenders doing with Bacardi, when there is Havana Club at our disposal?

Anyway, by the time we can go, the party already seems to be half over. In reality it still has to start and the main act probably still has to arrive. But the home-style mojitos can be a pain in the ass if you don't pay enough attention. And it's not that I don't know it. It's not that I haven't experienced it before. The temptation is just too much I suppose. And let's blame the waiting for the girls to choose their outfits. Let's blame it on the make-up. But then, let's be honest: a dark sky without stars and a big full moon can't be called a moonlit sky, can it? So we'll just have to live with it, it's part of the fever.

[...]

The clock kept on ticking. But this time we did not really notice. Too much time to think about enjoying. Enjoying the groovy sounds. Enjoying the friends and the people. Enjoying the flirty moves moving around. Enjoying the time of our lives.

But tomorrow is waiting. Have to get up early. So maybe we should just go on chasing stars under our sheets. The stars of the night left with the coming of the morning birds. Singing. Making you feel even more tired. And making you realize the morning after experience is just a footstep away.

Q & A-session: "Are you happy?"

-That's a good question.
-I really don't know.
-I wish!
-Of course I am.
-Never.
-Yes!
-Should I be?
-Ask me tomorrow.
-I used to be.
-No, I'm not.
-I try to be.
-That's a difficult one.
-Am I happy?
-It depends.
-Always!

Slow food for fast people

The cupboard is empty. I really need food. I'm thirsty. An empty fridge too. Still 23 minutes to go before the grocery store closes...and I'll need at least 20 to get there, maybe 15 if I'll turn it into a deadly joyride, if the constellation of stars will send traffic in the opposite direction and if I would just find my damned keys in time.

No keys. No car. No 20 minutes. No food. Nothing to drink. It'll be once more a fast food evening. Fast food. I really don't like that term. My origins forbid me to like it. I'm a disciple of the slow food movement. You know: food as joy, not as a simple necessity. Not as an unbearable burden to keep on living. Slow food. Slowly. Taking your time. A properly set table. Candles. The right atmosphere. The right company. The right wine for every dish. Taste as an impossible voyage through the world. Through cultures. Through a mix of colours.

But not tonight. It'll be a fast one. I will make up for it tomorrow, the day after and the rest of the week. It's a good friend's birthday. A party is waiting. And I'm sure it will be a party to remember.

In the summertime...

Got up with the sun hitting my face this morning. Summer´s here, even if I´m not completely convinced yet. Still too many grey clouds interfering. Still not enough t-shirt temperatures. "It will come, it will come", is what I keep repeating myself time after time, morning after morning. Especially when you got up feeling it was summer. Feeling warmth on your face. Feeling happy to get up...until reality confronts you once again.

We had summer in april. And then it was gone. It took off to more exotic destinations. To places where there´s enough summer already. But at least we had it. Did I complain too much? Should I not have been talking about global warming and stuff? Is this my fearful punishment? Let´s hope not. I´m sure not...

For now I´ll just keep enjoying the rays of sunshine hitting my face. Lifting my head up towards the blue parts of the sky. Dreaming away in bits and pieces. Waiting. My t-shirts are ready to go. It´ll take just a minute to get changed.

Opdracht nr. 1

Zomerse temperaturen zijn weer in zicht. Helderblauwe lucht, fleurige t-shirts of wulpse kleedjes, romige ijsjes op overvolle terrassen en een hoop vrolijk optimisme om de dag door te komen. En toch zou ik hier over niemand minder dan de Goede Sint en drie - geen twee, geen vier - Zwarte Pieten moeten beginnen schrijven. Waarom? Lang verhaal. En eigenlijk mijn verhaal. Laat me hier gewoon stellen dat het is bij wijze van opdracht. Bij wijze van het spelen van de Barmhartige Samaritaan om de mensheid eens te meer een glimlach op het gezicht te toveren. En eigenlijk ook gewoon bij wijze van verzoek of...opdracht.

Waarom ook niet? Het is het proberen waard. Al weet ik nu al dat de Sint/Piet combinatie aan de vooravond van een beloftevolle zomer weinig - lees: geen - steek houdt. Maar toch. Misschien is het gewoon kwestie van de knop om te draaien en de hersenprocessen even in omgekeerde volgorde te laten verlopen. 'Reverse Engeneering" noemen ze dat in meer wetenschappelijke contexten. Met andere woorden: waarom uiteindelijk altijd bij het begin beginnen?

Het verhaal eindigt zodoende ergens aan de zoveelste zwarte schoorsteen. De laatste schoenen werden gevuld en de laatste bestelling werd op het bestelformulier aangevinkt. Gedaan voor vanavond. En gedaan voor dit jaar. Americo (blijkbaar de naam van het vermaarde wortel-etende witte paard) heeft er genoeg van. De pieten puffen. Hun rug doet pijn van het dragen van veel te zware zakken. Ze zien zwart. Zwart als roet. Zwart van vermoeidheid. De vraag die ik mij daar altijd al bij heb gesteld is de volgende: die Pieten, zijn die gewoon zwart of zijn die zwart van in al die schoorstenen te moeten kruipen? Met andere woorden en misschien een beetje sarcastischer: zijn die Pieten echte knechten of ronduit slaven?

In dat laatste geval zou het verhaal van de Goede Sint die vreugde brengt aan de kinderen over heel de wereld (hetgeen ook niet waar is, maar gewoon beter klinkt) uitmonden in een verhaal met een wel heel erg bittere nasmaak. Een smaak van wreedheid en onrechtvaardigheid, van cynisme en achterbaksheid. En misschien vooral, van onschuldige onwetendheid. Maar laten we nog even gelovig zijn. Laten we nog net niet te ver denken. Laten we niet over de schreef gaan door onze gedachten op verkeerde sporen te brengen. Laten we gewoon geloven en gelovig zijn. "You're a non-believer", wist een vriendin mij ooit te zeggen. Hopelijk is hiermee het tegendeel op zijn minst een beetje bewezen.

Maar goed. Ik zat aan het einde van het verhaal. Ik ging naar het begin ervan evolueren. Maar misschien is het, gezien de zomerse toestanden, beter om de Sint gewoon te laten vertrekken. Terug naar huis. Terug naar Spanje, Turkije, Aruba of waar dan ook. Terug naar de mythe. Die van vrolijkheid en vreugde. Die van geluk voor alle kinderen van de wereld.

The burden of being upright

Should I say it? Should I tell? Maybe I should. But do I really want to? Do I want to risk the consequences, the risk of change, the risk of being brutally slapped in the face, even if it would be what I deserved.

Deep down we probably all know when, how and why we should just tell. We all feel it's time to be confronted with reality, with honesty, with truth. We all know relief is just a step away. But at the same time we know this might be a rather unpleasant confrontation. One we'd rather avoid and replace by a different reality: the one we were building inside our thoughts, inside the web in our heads where we got stuck in, but at the same time feel comfortable in. Comfortable in a new world where we will be able to live happily ever after. As long as we can live with it. As long as other people do not get hurt. As long as we know what we're doing.

Telling the truth is a noble thing. It should be something to be proud of. It's what distinguishes heroes from cowards and reality from fraud. But being upright is a hell of a burden. It's the fight between angels and devils. Just as living reality is. Just as being a hero is. Just as not running away to chase other realities is.

But let's be honest for once: at times we all want to be a bit of devil.


[Post inspired by "The burdens of being upright" by Tracy Bonham]

De liefde overleven en het overleven van de liefde

Liefde kán mooi zijn,
Het kan verstikken, verdringen en doen vergeten,
Het kan vragen, verlangen en eisen,
Levens, gedachten en gevoelens,
Het kan blind zijn,
En verloren lopen,
Het kan vergaan,
Maar gelukkig ook weer komen,
Om terug vrij te zijn,
Om weer mooi te zijn,
Tussen bitter en plakkerig zoet,
Tussen nu en oneindig.

Voor Sylvie en Sven

Moments

I feel I'm starting to be repetitive. I feel like I'm writing the same things over and over again. Maybe it's just an impression and maybe it's even a wrong impression. But it's the way it feels. It holds me down in surfing to this blog and writing things without thinking too much. Because if I think when I write it just does not feel right.

I'm thinking now. But I'll try not to bother too much. I'll try to suppress what is in my head, letting myself go with what comes out of the movement of my fingers, rather than out of the grey mass inside my head. But then...nothing. I'm waiting. The way too high temperatures of the last few weeks have lowered to the season's average. So I can't blame the weather this time. Something has to come, since the former hot, nearly breathable air is no more. Only grey skies and sporadic drops of rain.

I start thinking again. And actually I see I did manage to write something. So maybe it's not about thinking versus just letting yourself go. Maybe it's just a matter of the moment. Moments. That's what it is all about. And right now I can say I feel happy, relieved. I'm freshly awake to start a new day after the last few weeks of chasing impossible deadlines, of searching for light in chaotic darkness. So even if the sun might not be shining up there, it's shining in here again. At least for now. At least as long as the trance of having a much more quite period in front of will last.

So let me hope to be able to come back here a bit more often. To think. To just do, write and tell. To be.

Too much sunshine

Don´t worry. I would probably be the last one to start complaining about an overdose of sunshine. Especially if you live in a country where the sun is said not to show itself that often. And even more if you have to deal with raindrops all the time. But that is like it usually is. That is the average. And we all know that the average is just a figure. We all know the average is something that just never is, a plastic doll in the middle of an endless variety of difference.

So there is no sunshine overdose. Even if I tend to start asking questions. We all know about global warming, we all know about the ozone-layer, we all have seen documentaries on how the earth will look like in a decennium from now and we all know we should not be moving to Amsterdam or Venice due to danger of high water. But as all people, just knowing how it is does not seem to be enough. We are a peculiar kind of living beings: somebody tells you something, you might believe it, but as long as you do not really sense it, as long as you do not really experience it, it´s just something. It´s living in the void, it´s there without really being there.

The way too early summer, way too high temperatures, and way too little amount of rain seems to bring us to reality. We already knew we have a problem, but we seem to be realizing we really have a problem. Politically, socially, psychologically.

It´s time. Or better: it was time. Let´s start doing something about it.