23 September 2006

New website with my writings!


Some of you may know I've been writing a story called "Loving you, loving me" for some months now and posting it on Gay Authors.

A couple of weeks ago I was upgraded to be a shared-author, which allows me lots of exciting new possibilities to publish and publicise my writings. One of these is a forum for people to discuss my works, as well as a website, which thanks to my webdesigner's hard work and dedication is now up and running! thumbsupsmileyanim.gif

Please take a look, and I hope you'll enjoy it!
Have a great weekend!

Happy worker


Seven hours it took me to do the post round today. And part of it in the pouring rain.

The number of mail I have to deliver varies...there are 'good' days, with relatively few mail and which means I can be done within a four hours or so...and then there are 'bad' days, like today, which could total up to over a thousand pieces of mail, and take as long as it did today.

Suddenly this week there was tonnes of post, and most annoying of all were these tiny little booklets of advertisement (from a famous department store) wrapped in a plastic packaging which kept on slipping out of my hand and messing up the order I sorted the postage.

Usually I go in at ten on Saturdays, and arrange the my mail chronologically in even and uneven numbers and by the street. I'm responsible for a very long street, and three smaller streets as well as a number of houses around a square. Since there's only so much I can carry with my bike each time, so I usually let the courier deliver my post to a retirement home on my post round and pick up the rest from there.

I'm so glad that I'm finished for this week. Really, being a postman is hard work, and doing it myself I realise how much people who deliver our mail have to endure to ensure that each mail gets into the right postbox. They have to put up with the weather, paper cuts, bear heavy loads, run the risk of having your finger snapped by the mailbox, grumpy dogs that won't stop barking, and whatever things that might be in the way in people's gardens. They, and other manual labourers out there, should all be recognised for their hardships and be treated with respect and smiles.

Which brings me to something I just can't understand . Why do people get angry because the mail is late? One lady today sarcastically asked whether I came on the night train, and slammed the door on me. A couple of others just stared at me and demanded to know why it was so late. All I could do is apologise, and try to explain that we were overworked today. Be nice, smile, and realise the customer is always right...that's what I was told to do as a 'representative' of the mail service. Frankly, I don't understand why people need to have their mail at a certain hour, especially when it's Saturday. Getting upset because the mail is late is just a bit too much.

But then again there are small rewarding things that comes with the work. Often people are extremely friendly and so grateful to me for delivering their mail. Some even chat with me and say Just seeing a smile on their faces makes it all worth it. There was this one lady today who helped me steady my bike when it tipped over at a crossroad. Before she walked on she told me to take good care and be careful. How heart-warming when your hands and back are aching from hours of running up and down stairs...

Well, I guess at least the pay is not too bad. And today when I got home I found a pleasant surprise from my employer. I received a gift package, with some sweets and a discount voucher to a number of great places for a day out. Maybe it's not much, but it's nice to get home after a hard day of work and receive some appreciation.

17 September 2006

What friends are for


We sat in silence by the sea. It was almost one in the morning. The wave was roaring, and the tide was high. The horizon was covered with a thick veil of fog, broken at regular intervals by the light from the house that swept across the dark night.

The six of us, who two weeks ago arrived from far flung places of this world, but met by chance at uni. It must been a good hour that we sat there before we decided it was getting chillier everytime the wind blew in our faces. I don't know what went through their minds, but as I sat huddled next to them, my chin resting on my knees, with sand in between my fingers and toes, I thought back on the wonderful day we had together.

As usual, I had to work, but met up with them later in the afternoon. They came over to my place and we relaxed and lounged around, before heading over to Clingendael to visit the former Nazi high-command centre turned international relations institute, geese, ducks and doggie graveyard. Chop, slice, stir, boil, grill and dinner was served. Tomato creme soup, grilled salmon, Chinese cabbage with shitake mushrooms and shrimps, aubergine and mushrooms, chicken with tricolour pepers...and to top it off blueberry cheesecake with rasberries, red and black currants. Delish!

We ate in silence, perhaps a good sign that the food was so good...then when we realised we'd been sitting there and munching for some moments, someone decided to get conversation going by playing a game of word association. It's one of these games, the other being truth-or-dare, that really reveal how someone thinks, and what's going on in his mind. 'Desire', followed by 'sex'...'Louis Vitton', associated with 'bourgeoisie', which in turn is linked to 'Marx'... And of course, being lawyer-wannabes 'court', 'crime', 'vicarious liability', 'grievous bodily harm', 'gown', 'wigs', 'law of the sea convention' had to appear somewhere. The true colours, deepest toughts, political inclinations, and secrets are revealed one by one, followed by bouts of laughter and comments on our nearly uncovered personalities of each other in own gradual but firm consolidation of our bonds together, solidified by good food, music, sweet wine, and silent winks and glances at each other, insider jokes and even more bursts of laughter.

Flashforward, to the empty beach, well past midnight. We, the three guys, dipped our feet in the crashing waves, and daredeviled the sea by going closer as it pulled away, only to run and be flooded as the wave suddenly and verociously slams against the shore. Our trousers were wet, our clothes splashed with salted water, but we were giddy, from the alcohol spinning in our heads, and the fun running through our veins. The girls sat and enjoyed the mysterious calm that hung over the beach.

It was late when we decided to call it a day (actually, it was night). Living in other cities, they were too exhausted to have to have to take the hours of travelling to get home. So in the end we all ended up sleeping in my room. A bit crowded, but we just about fit together. My queen-sized bed could fit two, and I had two spare mattrasses. I chose to slept on the floor, but the others said it would have been alright for me to squeeze me in. The two girls offered, but I said I'd be fine on the floor. The cute guy offered too, on the single mattrass he was laying down on. I wasn't sure if it was a joke or meant seriously, but as much as I wanted to, I (stupidly!) said it'd be fine on the floor. We laughed and giggled a bit more, as one by one we were knocked out by tiredness...I lay awake a bit, listening to the growing sound of echoing heavy breathing, thought about the night and some of the 'little' things that made it so unexpectedly wonderful...

"I'm trying to keep myself straight," he said, sitting up on the couch after having slouched and sinking into its comfort ever since he sat down on it.
"Sorry?" I asked, even though I heard what he said the first time. I turned and looked at him deeply.
"I'm trying to keep myself straight," he repeated again. He looked at me, I looked at him. There was a moment of silence, and all the other things that were being said disappeared instantly in the silence between us as we looked at each other. I thought of what he meant by that, what he really meant by that besides the obvious act of sitting up straight on the couch. I tried to decipher what was going through his mind, and mine, as we looked at each other. My mind went numb with surprise, not only because of what was said, but also by the way it was said, and what it might just imply.

Yes, little things that made it all so unexpectedly wonderful... maybe I'm imagining and hearing things because of the way he makes me feel inside when I steal silent, secret glances of admiration at him from the corner of my eyes... Maybe I put meaning where there is none, in the very accidental brushes of our shoulders as we stood and walked side by side on the beach... Maybe I read too much into what cannot be read in the depth of his eyes and subtle smiles and expressions directed at me...Maybe he wasn't looking at me when I opened my eyes today to see him already awake, his head resting on his arm and glancing in my direction...

I think I'll just curl up in the blanket he covered himself with... and dream.