Gay Circus

Enough was enough, and I left. I have been locked inside for the whole day, trying to cram 63 lectures from the last four weeks into my brain in preparation for the four hour exam on Monday morning. It was enough, and I had to go do something else!

Anyways, a few days ago I saw this brochure advertising that the circus was in town. Not just any circus, but the Gay Circus! What immediately attracted me (besides the halfnaked people) was the following:

In the same way we can talk about the existence of a pop, rock o hippie culture, there is also a gay culture. We identify certain colors, music, lifestyle, mentality, amusement as genuinely gay. Only this would be reason enough for staging a show.

But Gay Circus goes beyond. Very often the circus has translated the partner dance to the trapeze, acrobatics or contortion. We frequently attend to circus performances that present a love story as the common thread of the show… but this is always between people of different sex! The acts in Gay Circus shows with pride homosexual love with the hope that one day future generations will be able to attend a “conventional” circus and find there, with normality, acts that now belong to Gay Circus.

Barcelona is probably the most 'openly gay' city I have ever been... surprising, since the vast majority of the country is devoutly Catholic. Men walk around holding hands, girls kiss on the streets in public, and nobody blinks or stares. And coincidentally the (Gay) Eurogames is being held here this weekend, so on the metro were these butch-looking women with short dyed hair, next to well-trimmed and sophisticated gay men.

You do not see something like this in the Netherlands, despite the fact the Netherlands was the first country in the world to 'legalise' gay marriage. It makes me wonder, how can the Netherlands still claim to be a liberal country when gay people walking hand in hand in the street are beaten up regularly? And today I just read that the Amsterdam Gay Pride this week will be "toned down", because the mayor is scared of offending the Muslim population... Talk about the progressiveness of the Christian right wing.

Anyways... at first, I weighed the options of whether I should go or not... On the one hand, the exam will be an assessment of my learning in the past few weeks, but on the other hand, I really have not been doing much 'fun' lately besides go to lectures and seminars....And though studying is important, eventually this afternoon I got so fed up of studying I just put on my clothes and headed down to the beach where the big tent was set up.

I would have told other people where I was going, were it not for the fact that most people were buried deep in their books and notes. Plus, the idea of a circus full of gay men and lesbians may not be everyone's idea of entertainment.

And it was an amazing experience, of lights, movingly choreographed music, and artfully crafted by sturdy muscles and trained athletes, fully displaying the imaginative and inspiring ways to portray the endurance and beauty of the human body. It was a display of open human sensuality between men and men, women and women, something I have never seen so openly and closely before. When you see what wonderful art these men and women can create with their bodies, you cannot but be proud. Suddenly the kissing straight couple in the corner became the minority, and it was somehow comforting to be part of the majority.

Well, it would have been nicer to have someone next to me besides couples that snuggled up together as they enjoyed the spectacle before us.

Exhausted

Almost one month into the course, and I feel exhausted already. The constant and daily barrage of information, facts and lectures that we are exposed to, and then herded off to seminars and extra curricular events. All in the name of knowledge, which I cannot deny is a bad thing and I really am learning so much news that I never knew before, but then there does not seem to be time to rest, time to breathe.

Mum left Europe today. I called her just before she boarded her flight, the long, long journey home. I think it is easier to say goodbye on the phone... you don't have the urge to run after the plane, or to watch as the shadow of the person disappears into the distance. It is just a voice on the phone, which cuts off after the connection dies. But being easier does not make it easy.

When I sleep, my brain often does not. And my brain seems to often drift off into different places. A psychic once said that my soul drifts away every time I sleep. Which may be true, since I feel tired, even though I sleep for a long time. So, early this evening, I lay in bed to take a little nap in order to regain strength for another group meeting, I had a nightmare.

I saw mum's face, and she was smiling... but then her hair had fallen, and she was almost bald... The fake hair on her head did not sit right, and underneath that fakeness were the thin and fragile strands of her original hair... no longer the shiny black that smelt good when I drew close... but grayish, listless and thin. Mum looked tired, though she was smiling...

It was a powerful image, and so very painful too... Of course I wish it will not be a premonition, and by all the faith I have, I hope that mum will be safe and happy and healthy... But seeing that image made me literally shock awake. I lay in bed, grimaced in pain, and closed my eyes, wishing that the image would quickly go away....

I wish I could share it with someone.

But surrounding this lonely island is a vast, open sea.

Paris, je t'aime

It was nice to get away for a little while. And even nicer to see mum again before she leaves Europe, because who knows when or where I will see her again.

So we agreed to meet, and this time of all places in Paris. I made sure I arrived earlier than mum, so that I would be able to greet her at the train station as she got off the train. And greet her I did, with a big hug. It has been a week since I last saw her, and the time between seeing one another will only grow after this encounter.

No matter, as our two days together just started. But then again, looking back the time went by all too fast. We made our way to Musee d'Orsay, a luxuriously decorated former train station, which today houses magnificent marble scultures and the great works of Impressionist painter like van Gogh and Monet. I was dead exhausted, after having to wake up at 5am earlier that morning to catch my flight, so at one point when I sat down to rest, I actually dozed off in front of the portrait of a courtesan...



Paris is such a romantic city, whatever the season, and whatever the reason you visit it. This must have been my fourth or fifth trip... I guess I lost count since every time is a different experience altogether. So rich in history, and all around are sturdy blocks of 19th Century buildings with artfully decorated windows and balconies that align the Parisian bolevards and squares. And that mighty Seine flows throw the city, dividing it into two, in a city that is made of more than a dozen arrondisements, each with its own charateristic, each with a story to tell, and each with alleyways and parks waiting to be discovered. Underground is a whole network of tunnels, alive with the sound of grinding metal, as trains snake rapidly from one station to another to bring people of all backgrounds and cultures to their destinations. And the food... simply exquisite find cuisine, unparelled elsewhere in Europe, in bistros and brasseries overlooking the bustle of passerbys on the busy pavement of a crowded street.

Two days is just not enough for Paris, and is certainly not enough to enjoy the company of mum again. Early this morning, I took her to the station to bid her farewell. It was hard to see that train door close, and to see only a faint image of mum through the darkened window. The train departed, and pulled away slowly at first, then as if mercilessly, quickened its pace as it sped out of the station. Left behind are the family and friends, some still waving at the train in the distance, others trudging slowly home. I was one of the latter.

I had a number of hours to spare before my flight in the afternoon, so I headed for the Imax theatre to catch an episode on of the Alpes. They say when you are emotional, anything can make you teary. And so it was with this documentary on the epic journey of a mountaineer who sets out to conquer the mountain where his father lost his life decades ago. When he finaly made it up that mountain, despite all the odds of the bitter cold, of the steep and treacherous heights and falls, I could not but cry, especially as Queen's "Who wants to live forever" played lowly in the background, while before me the white snowy landscape of awing towering mountains stood.