Footprints

I once got a birthday card saying 'many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart'. It's a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt.

I don't even remember who gave me that card, so I suppose it's more than obvious that person did not leave particularly big footprints in my heart. Nonetheless that quote got somehow stuck in my head. Maybe because of its truth. Maybe because of it's realism. And certainly because of the way it synthesizes in a few words the whole universum of the way we interact: we meet people randomly. At work, on a train, in an airport, on the street, in some club or in a bar. With some of them we get closer: we get to know them. Starting from a name, to sometimes ending up with their beliefs, hopes, views on life and maybe even their most dark secrets.

I sometimes wonder who those footprints-leaving-people really are. And I suppose I will never know for sure. I mean, I could maybe take a guess, I could indicate some possible candidates and see if their shoe soles would match the scars I have inside, but I would never be able to be completely sure. People come, just as they might stay or simply go. Friendships are born, just as they might die. Relationships rise, just as they simply fade away.

So what about holding on? Should we? Of course we should. As long as there are footsteps at least. As long as there are scars. As long as we feel like it. And as long it is physically possible.

The bathroom window

We often tend to forget. We tend to feel the urge to travel to distant places to see things we once saw on television. Or things we just never saw before, but only heard of. We tend to get blind or be blinded. We tend to get used too much. To what we do. To what we have. To where and who we are.

So stop. Just stop. Even if it is just for a second.
Open your eyes. Look.
You might fall in love again.

And at the end of the day home could really be a sweet home.


[Picture taken from the window of my bathroom - it's as simple as that]

Bittersweet

I used to be a dreamer.
And think of the future to come.
Think of the how, who and where of life.

But that's all gone.

I used to run through open fields.
Arms wide open,
Chasing the setting sun.

But that's all gone.

I used to make plans.
Design them, shape them, even put them on paper.
I used to build and tear down again.

But that's all gone.

I used to gaze away,
Watching clouds go by,
Making utopian shapes of impossible realities.

But that's all gone.

And still.
I'm happy.

At least I think so.
At least I hope so.

Go east!

I've seen quite some places over the years. I've traveled to countries nearby and far away. I've seen beaches and mountains. I've experienced cold snow and sand too hot to walk over. But for a strange reason, I've barely visited Eastern Europe. I've visited Prague. But as a little kid. And as we all know, kids are not particularly interested in culture or history. Recently I finally decided to do something about it and after a 4 day trip to Budapest I realized I've got quite some catching up to do.

The beautiful stewardess of the late night Wizz Air flight to Budapest seemed to be the precursor of things to come. Just as the 30 degrees at arrival were. Especially if you know that the arrival was at 1 am. Mix beauty with high temperatures and a breeze of intriguing feminine perfume and a guy goes crazy. Luckily I had an Hungarian friend picking us up at the airport, to save us from getting lost.

From the beginning it was clear that Budapest is the ideal mix between culture and history. It's a city thinking and moving fast forward. Nothing 'Eastern' is left about it. People have invested and still are investing in trendyness and modernism. In life. The city's past probably has quite something to do with that attitude. Having to live under terror for decades seems to have made inhabitants of Budapest stronger, with a greater will to enjoy life. Can you blame them?

It's a city where history thus has a lot to say, so you should take your time to listen to it. The House of Terror is probably the best reminder of how things can turn out if mad people get to do their way. But it's also a city of good food and -it just has to be said- gorgeous women, making it a city to go to with friends, rather than with your girlfriend. Don't get me wrong, it's just the looks I'm referring to, one night stands and sexclubs exist -as always- rather exclusively to satisfy those British who just do not know what going on holiday means. And again, do not get me wrong: I'm not referring to all British.

Anyway, I've already been checking the latest tickets to some other countries. Poland and Romania for example. We'll see. First I'll have to survive a reality check of work, stressed colleagues and bills to be paid.

To never forget

House of Terror - Budapest

Spaghetti en Samsonite

De pasta is nog niet gaar. En toch is het al over half elf. Had honger toen ik van werk thuis kwam en heb met een net iets te grote kom soep de honger gestild. Met alle gevolgen vandien voor de eetlust. En dus is het maar een avondmaal op zijn zuiders - zoals de oma het nog steeds doet - geworden. Met als verschil de zwoele warmte die je zou noodzaken om buiten te zitten. Het licht geruis van het heen en weer geflaneer op de lokale main street, gecontrasteerd met de luidkeelse uitbundigheid waarmee mijn opa de laatste roddels weet te verkondigen. Maar ook met als verschil de nacht met een zorgeloze zwarte hemel waar sterren zich wél nog thuis voelen. Waar dromen zich nog thuis voelen. En waar fladderende vuurvliegjes en tsjirpende krekels telkens weer zorgen voor een spektakel van licht en geluid. Geen dons om 's nachts onder te slapen dus. Geen paraplu om op straat te komen. Maar het verschil ligt waarschijnlijk in nog veel meer, met op kop de mentaliteit van het zorgeloos levensgenieten.

Boven staat de kleine Samsonite al klaar. Een puzzel van t-shirts, shorts, jeans, ondergoed en toiletgerief ligt uitgestald op het bed. De keuze van de schoenen nog. Ach ja, teenslippers zullen wel volstaan. En over truien spreken we helemaal al niet. Heb net op één of andere weer-site gezien dat het op bestemming momenteel 41 graden is. En ook al is dat cijfer misschien niet helemaal betrouwbaar, zal de werkelijke temperatuur zeker geen 10 graden lager liggen.

Alleen het vakantiegevoel is er nog niet helemaal. Maar ik ben een last-minute mens, dus maak ik me wat dat betreft allerminst zorgen. Dat komt dus wel, desnoods pas als ik de heilige vakantiegrond zal betreden en uitvoerig zal kussen. En ook al zal deze trip een eerder korte rush zijn, ook al zal het meer weg hebben dan een snelle kick, het zal de moeite waard zijn. De kick zal nog lang blijven nasidderen. Daar ben ik nu al zeker van. Maar kwestie toch maar het zekere voor het onzekere te nemen, zal deze dag straks worden afgesloten met een uitvoerige en goed gearticuleerde versie van het Wees Gegroet.

Maar dat is voor straks. Tijd om te eten. De pasta moet dringend worden afgegoten. Buon appetito.

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.