Go Texel!

A boy in the water.

The waves roared, and winds howled chillingly. We strained our eyes and tried to look more carefully. Were our eyes deceiving us? Shivers went up my spine. A black figure, standing up straight, surrounded by white foamy water, stiff and still.

We ran towards our bikes, sand sinking into our shoes, but all we could think of was getting away from the pitch dark beach, and getting away from this mysterious figure standing there all alone in the water. Who stands all alone with crashing waves at his feet on the beach at night? A boy? A suicidal person? A... the word and thought too spine-shivering to spell out... ghost?

Moments later, two travellers strolled along the dark stretch of beach. We made peace with the waves, and were no longer much bothered by the piercing winds. We made peace with our minds, and were laughing and relieved that our minds, tainted by ghosts and whatever junk is fed through modern entertainment media, was merely paranoid and overly imaginative. Wooden poles stood, braving the waves as the waves ebbed and flowed, riding out the restless winds that seemed to get even fiercer as the night crept forward.

An low overcast sky, air salty from the North Sea. I strolled with my friend into the night, further along the beach. Destination unknown, led by our steady steps and curiosity, accompanied almost comfortingly by an endless stretch dunes that seemed to offset the rage of the sea that now and then tried to suck us in with its foamy palms of waves. The sea sizzled, the rays of a lighthouse far, far away swept across the sky. Sand carried the markings of our footsteps temporarily, before they were swept clean by the winds.

We clambered up the dunes, anxious to find out how far we could go, how far we could look. Grass beneath my feet tickled my skins through my jeans, the sound of stems snapping joined the howling voices in the wind. The night and the unique landscape had made adverturers out of us, and even in the cold and darkness, it was as if we tried to challenge nature. Grass tossed their heads, and dances in waves as gale force winds blew across the island. We stood our ground on top of the dunes with silent admiration. Perhaps the bowed bodies of the grass around us was a gesture of respect. Here we were, on an island we set foot on only hours ago, but already I seemed to feel its rawness and barren beauty take over and free us from mundane thoughts back home.

Corrals of sand felt soothing on my toes. The fresh, natural, salty air filled my lungs. Before us, a stretch of darkened land lay, quiet and mysterious. Here and there, faint glows of light illustrated where settlements were, but they were sparse and far in between. The beams of the lighthouse continued to sweep across the land and sea, while I admired the contrast between the roaring sea and a sleepy land that was separated by a column of mere dune formation.

And so Texel would continue to amaze in many ways, even though my stay there was little over a day. As the biggest of the five Dutch Waddenlands, Texel has a little over ten thousand souls, and sheep, cows, horses and wild birds that combined more than outnumber the islanders. Its size is just a little smaller than Singapore, but unlike the island-state, the surface is not scarred with buildings. Instead, its vast stretch of beach and sand dunes has recently become a National Park, whereas its sprinklings of pine forests, and vast open polders and fields are left relatively undisturbed, and mainly used for agriculture and grazing.




In addition, the island hosts Ecomare, which is the Center for the Wadden Sea and North Sea, and which provides shelter to injured and lost birds and seals. Looking into the dark eyes of a seal, and seeing that innocent expression on its face, you wonder how anyone could have the heart to club them to death. Seals are often said to be a measure for the health of the environment. With increasing human recreational activity, extensive drilling for gas and oil in the North Sea, and the explosions of bombs and rockets of the Dutch military which uses parts of Texel as a training ground, the seals are defenceless and losing their natural habitats. A small grey stuffed seal I 'adopted' at the souvenir shop will serve as a constant reminder of how cute these creatures are, and of the small donation contributed to saving these and other natives who were there before people came.


We travelled the length of the island along its many cycle paths, coming across colourful wild pheasants, empty nests on barren tree tops, waving to the uninterested sheep that grazed in the fields. Even in wintry weather, Texel-sheep are kept outdoors, and that is perhaps the reason why they are especially treasured by those who sleep under warm duvets stuffed with their wool. Like me.

People told me it was crazy to weekend in the middle of winter on an island that is traditionally only brimming with tourists in the summer sun. But my friend and I are travellers, not tourists, and the more unconventional the journey, and the less crowded the place, the more it seemed to be enticing. And besides, it was cheap(er) off-season, and you get the added bonus of having feeling like you alone have the privilege to enjoy the nature all around. With the exception of the odd gaggle of geese and grazing crowd of sheep, that is.

The cold was indeed at times unbearable, and whenever the weak January sun revealed its face and warmth were precious few moments. Rhythmic cycling movements together with the light humming of the wheels against the paved paths led us from one place of beauty to another place of stunning scenery... through dense woodlands, criss-crossing through dune landscapes that resembled a foreign planet, along the coastline, up to the northern-most tip of the island, where a red lighthouse stood out perched atop a little dune. The bright red was such a stark contrast to the grey skies, light blue hue of the sea, and the ever-moving and shifting grains of soft sand that silently flew at the command of the gusts like a thin, long veil across the beach.

The grains of sand flew as the winds blew, onto destinations unknown.

Long, long journey

City lights shine on the harbor
Night has fallen down
Through the darkness and the shadow
I will still go on

Chorus:
Long Long Journey
Through the darkness
Long Long way to go
But what are miles across the ocean to the heart that's coming home?

Where the road runs through the valley
Where the river flows
I will follow every highway
To the place I know

Chorus:
Long Long Journey
Through the darkness
Long Long way to go

But what are miles across the ocean to the heart that's coming home?

Long Long Journey
I don't know where
Long Long way to go
But what are sighs and what is sadness to the heart that's coming home?

Chorus:
Long Long Journey
Through the darkness
Long Long way to go
But what are miles across the ocean to the heart that's coming home?

Long Long Journey
Out Of Nowhere
Long Long way to go
But what are sighs and what is sadness to the heart that's coming home?

Letter

I tried to write a letter to my parents, almost immediately after hearing the 'news' on Sunday. I began... but I am not sure how to finish it. For once, perhaps, I am lost for words, and not sure what to write.

I wanted to write to them, to console them, to tell them that things will be alright. But somehow I feel like if I do that, I am sort of lying through my writing, and that is the worst kind of writing.

I want to write to them, to tell them that they should not be afraid, to somehow make up for me not being able to stand by their side as they undergo the chemo therapy... but no words, not even all the metaphors, similes and flowery language that I can splash across the page can ever compensate for the touch of a hand when you are afraid and needing to be held.

I want to write to them, to tell them about my life, and how great it is going, despite the ups and downs, so that they will not worry and have to think about whether I am eating well or dressed warm enough. But somehow my letters in the past used to make them cry, because they are that powerful and filled with emotions. And the last thing I want to make them do is cry.

So I am facing a half-written, or perhaps half-finished however you look at it, letter.

A letter that is missing and longing for the other half.

Cancer

I could have cried when she told me. Burst out, emotions and all. Probably could have yelled out, in pain. But I held my tears, because once they fell, she could hear me crying on the phone, and I would not be the good brave boy who stands up after falling.

Dad has been hospitalised. Xrays reveal gray dotted areas have spread on his liver, and are now reaching his lungs. But he continues to smoke, and pretends as if he is strong enough to take it. I imagine his face, his eyes... I remember the way he used to rock me to sleep in his arms, as he told me stories he made up on the spot...

He is weak, mum said, sometimes even having difficulty walking especially with his worsening diabetes... And they have to restart the chemo again. Hair might fall out. They dare not put too much dosage, for his body may not be strong enough to take it... He is moody, and doesn't like to be told that he shouldn't smoke at all. I remember the smell of cigarettes on his fingers, and the sound of his sometimes coarse, but at the same time soft, voice which I have not heard in many, many months....

My hands shivered, and I closed my eyes. To stop the tears falling, and falling. I remembered the nightmares that I often have at night... scenes of me watching dad suffer and choke from his coughing... scenes of him dying, and me, helpless and weak, and unable to stop it...

Mum's voice continued, sometimes wavering, sometimes weak. She was afraid to tell me, afraid I would worry too much about then, afraid that I have enough stress from my work. I told her I can take it, and that I'd prefer if she told me everything.

Dad is not the only one who has to undergo chemo again. Two new lumps were discovered. The doctors had said that this would be a possibility. "I'm so sorry," she said sadly, "I had made plans to come see you and stay with you in March, but it wasn't meant to be..."

It wasn't meant to be. I swallowed and as bravely as I could sound, I told her not to worry about that, not to worry about my ungrateful, selfish brother or his girlfriend, or about the house here. "Please just take good care of yourself," I said slowly, "And please just tell dad to take good care of himself. I can handle the rest. I really can." Because I always have.

Two bombshells within the timespan of five minutes. Outside the winds howled, and barren trees danced lifelessly to the sorry tune against a bleak gray sky...

I had expected it, I had known it was simply lurking around the corner, trying to entice me whenever it could, trying to taunt me, however it would. But I never realised it would be this hard to hear it, to really hear it, and know that it is happening.

The sanitised smell of the hospital hallway. The clean white linen of the ward that somehow never seem, and never can be, clean enough. And somewhere, out there, is my dad.

I wish I could take away his pains, his fears, his tears deep down inside, and just tell him that it would all be alright, that it will all pass like all things in life. Tell and reassure him, as he told and reassured me, when I was little and hurt. But between us spans the distances of time and oceans. Soft little words, so difficult to say, so hard to hear.

Take care, take care...

Rat and mouse

I received the plea for help early in the afternoon, and within the hour or so I was at ground-zero: The kitchen of my friend which had been accordingly quarantined due to mice infestation.

There was at first not much to see but cupboards once filled with foods and pots and pans, now empty and bare. Then something moved. And shifted again. A little head, beady eyes. Disappearing into a small gap. My first encounter with the culprit. Little black bits lay on the floor here and there.

I opened my backpack and took out my expert mouse catching device. Two plastic tupperware boxes that only the day before contained home-made soup and stirfry vegetables I had brought to work with me. Now they were to serve as the mice's temporary prison hold.

That is if they could be caught. My friend started seeing them around her feet a few days ago. Five, or more, little mice, fur still gray and fresh, but nonetheless already cunning and ever so hungry. It is a real nuisance, a mouse in the house, as I only know too well from my own encounter with Musco Mousovic exactly a year ago. And at first my friend wanted to go buy mouse traps and poison, but I offered to help, hoping perhaps a little suffering could be averted. After all, as a Rat myself, I feel for the predicaments of my fellow rodent-kind. That, and plus I had nothing planned on this rainy Saturday.

At first I left the cupboard doors open, and lured the mice with bits of chocolate, croissant, and even sweet smelling stroopwafels. Later they would be treated to bits and pieces of MMs, and we wondered whether the mice go wild from the sugar high. But an open door was no invitation to dinner, I realised, as the mice would not come out, even though I could hear them squeak and scurry behind the wooden boards. So I closed the doors and left them to be.

Moments later, a mouse came and stayed. It had somehow burrowed and fallen its way into a cupboard where the only way out was if it could climb up the vertical walls like Spidermouse. Effectively, it was trapped, and I could see it, sniffing away, chasing its own tail in confusion, perhaps unaware a pairs of eyes were watching.

I sneaked up on it, and swiftly covered the little mouse with the semi-transparent lunchbox turned up-side-down. Gottcha! The mouse sniffed the box, and hurried around it bumping its little head against all four sides. It even stood up and seemed to be trying to gnaw and scratch its way out. I tried to close the lid by sliding it under the box, but the mouse was smart, and squeezed its agile little body through the gap in that instant as I was trying to seal the lid. It leapt and ran, and vanished.

Disheartened, I closed the doors and hoped it would come out to play again. And it did, not long thereafter. Again, I repeated the procedure, and this time with help I used a thin board to slide under the box and cover it. We watched it as it leaned against the side of the box, eyes seemingly filled with sadness.

But when the path of man and mouse in house built for man cross, the mouse must yield. I wanted to push the mouse out the window, but was realised that it would be a painful and horrible death, which would have defeated the purpose of me catching them. The black beady eyes begged for mercy. In the end, I took the mouse out to a grassy area in front of the house, and released into the shrubs. It was drizzling, and the droplets kissed my skin as white fog escaped my lips with the words "Goodbye little mouse." Soon thereafter it would be joined by one of its darling sibling.

Legend has it that there was once a race between animals in all the land, and the Emperor announced he would classify the years according to the first twelve animals that arrived. The Rat crept into the ear of the Bull, and rode all the way to the finish line, only leaping forward to win at the very last moment. So it came to be that the Rat is first in the Chinese zodiac.

It may not be warm, or be filled with ample rice or dried fruits and pungent sweets and biscuits outside, but they will manage. They will manage, I know, because they ingenious, cunning, cute and ever so inventive creatures. They will find a way to live, because they have a strong will and sense of surivival.

That I know.

Storm

I cycled to work, but walked home. Almost as soon as I got to the office, it started to drizzle, then rain, then pour and storm. By the evening, the pavement in front of my office building was a puddle, and I had to jump and hop to avoid being splashed by showers of water coming from rushing cars.

Weekend already. Originally I had wanted to go for my 'Friday Night Swim', but because of the bad weather, I just decided to go into town and grab something to eat. I didn't feel like cooking... in fact, I don't feel like anything, except that I feel myself falling ill with a runny nose. Not good, and certainly not helpful to my already down mood these days.

I actually dreamt of my work yesterday, and sometimes even when I'm not at work, I feel my thoughts wander towards the things that are waiting to be down at work... The organisation is going well and according to plan, but the problem now is the money. So far we've only managed to raise around ten thousand, but need around 5 or 6 times that amount to make sure that it is success, and that we don't go into debt like last year. I feel like since I'm the main person, I'm responsible for the finances, and I really feel the pressure of having to make sure that the budget is sound.

But it's so hard to ask people for money, and even harder to get it! I've already tried mailing a number of law firms, but only three replied, and gave only a couple of hundred. Compared to the thousands of Euros we need, that's nothing. And other organisations that we have approached seem to be not interested, or at least, have not replied. Frustrating.... frustrating that you write to people, but they do not reply. The waiting is the most frustrating of all.

Besides this, or maybe because of this, I feel really disorientated and distracted lately. I feel like I'm losing touch with myself, losing that sense of inquisitiveness and that sense of inspiration that has carried me through all these years. And that too is frustrating, and there is not really anyone I can talk to about it...

The reason perhaps why I don't write as much these days, because my mind is a fuzzy mess, and I'm not sure what to write sometimes.

Except rambles like this one.

Change

We cook separate meals and eat at separate times. I used to cook for everyone, do the shopping and make sure there is enough food in the fridge. But why? I realise that is just foolish, because the other two who live with me don't care. So I stopped cooking, stopped doing any housework except clean up after myself, and started coming home just to have dinner and sleep, before I head out the next day. True, like my brother lamented once, I treat this place like a hotel. A hotel he seems to own and run. So more reason for me to treat it as such: a place I don't care much about, because it's occupied by him and his girlfriend, even though they should have long moved out.

And now there seems there will be some changes soon. My mum called my brother and told him (for the nth time) to move out. And this time it seems he'll actually do just that, because my mum wants to come to Europe and stay for a while to have some rest and take it easy. Just a week or so ago she started having complications with her bowels.... and it was where she was operated on to remove a cancerous section... When she was here back in September, I had encouraged her to take a break from her work, and now it seems she'll be doing that.

I guess there are a number of reasons. One is to make sure my brother moves out and stays out, and the other is for my mum to spend some time with me.... because frankly, she still can.

I've set in motion a number of things that will ultimately mean that the chances are high I'll be moving overseas very soon. This means, after almost 15 years of living in Europe, my time has come to an end here. Time to go somewhere else, more promising, and more accepting of people with a different skin colour. Europe has declined in the last few years, disappointingly become somewhat intolerant and xenophobic, and thereby with its decline taken away any of my plans of staying here. Shame, because I like the living environment, and every one that I know and have come to care about and love are here... but I just don't see a future here for me for some reason. So, time to move on to the next best alternative.

I don't want to 'jinx' anything, so I won't mention any details. A lot still depends on my applications for a study and also applications for a fully-paid scholarship... I sent all that out a few days ago, and as I was standing at the post office, and watching the documents being sent, I felt like that (could have been) was a life-changing moment... like it was my ticket out of this life and onto a freer and happier life elsewhere, away from the miseries with my brother, away from feeling like a 'stranger' a lot of the time even though I grew up living in this country.

We'll see. Whatever will be, will be.

"Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen,
Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!
Fühlt nicht durch dich Sarastro Todesschmerzen,
So bist du meine Tochter nimmermehr.
Verstossen sei auf ewig,
Verlassen sei auf ewig,
Zertrümmert sei'n auf ewig
Alle Bande der Natur
Wenn nicht durch dich Sarastro wird erblassen!
Hört, Rachegötter, hört der Mutter Schwur!"

The vengeance of Hell boils in my heart,
Death and despair flame around me!
If Sarastro does not through you feel the pain of death,
Then you will be my daughter nevermore.
Disowned may you be forever,
Abandoned may you be forever,
Destroyed be forever
All the bonds of nature,
If not through you Sarastro becomes pale! (as death)
Hear, Gods of Revenge, hear a mother's oath!

The Kite Runner

I read the book, and I went to watch the movie. The Kite Runner is an extremely moving tale about friendship, betrayal, and the hauntings of the past that return to haunt. As a line in the movie simply puts it, the longer you do not deal with a problem the worse it will get.

Set in Afghanistan, you follow the childhood and adulthood of a boy. Kite flying brought him much joy, and was a reminder of a past in which the snow was pure, and the streets still filled with the smell of kebab. The invasion of the Russians, the grip of the Taleban, and Afghanistan was changed. And so too was the life of the boy. He left, to start life in the promised land, yet images and bonds of the past were not so easily cast away.

Touching, moving, tear-jerking. Not only because it deals with the struggles within each of us to be honest and brave even in times of fear, but because it reveals the truth and the its forcefulness to transcend lives, times, and places. The truth tears people apart, but also eventually serves to bring strangers together.

And it reveals another truth too. One that too often this sexist world is unwilling and unprepared to face... that boys, and thereby men, for men are but boys of bigger growth, can be rape victims too.

I came out of the cinema, eyes still somewhat moist from the end scene. Awed, and taken aback. And taken back...back to when...

"Wow," my friend said, "What a great movie."

I agreed with her.

"It's horrible... Sodomy. How could people do such a thing... to kids?"

"It can happens," I said, "It happens a lot."

"Yes, and the sad thing is it's not talked about. It happens a lot more than we realise, but men just have a hard time talking about. Society just cannot see men as victims."

"True. It's hard to talk about. You're looking at a victim right now."

No word spoken

I have been home already four days, but not a word was spoken with my so-called housemates. I know they are home, they know I am home, but we seem to pretend that the other is not home. If one hears the door open, the other does not go out of the room until the other is out of sight. I can hear where they are, and when I do, I do not go out of my room. If they are in the kitchen, I simply cook an hour later. Home sweet home.

As I came home from swimming this evening at around half past eight, I saw a silhouette walk in the same direction as my house. I cycled closer, and realised it was the hunched back of my brother, who looked tired and beaten. I got home first, and left the door open. Moments later he came through the door. I greeted him, and spoke to him. He just stood there, stared at me as if I were the most vile creature in the world, and said nothing.

I chuckled deep inside, and turned to walk up the stairs... how petty! How disgustingly petty and childish! I have not seen him for two weeks during Christmas and New Years, and he looks at me as if I am some sort of viscious criminal trespassing in his house.

But believe you me, I live here, I pay the mortgage, and I have more right to be living in this house than he with his precious little girlfriend. Of all the many ways I have helped him, helped them when they needed my help, this is the way they treat me... I could easily kick them out, I could easily make them homeless and force them to find a place of their own, which they should have done years ago, but I tolerate their presence, and let them enjoy the luxury of the house and let them occupy the whole house as if it were their own. And so ungrateful, so loathing of my parents just because my parents told them a few months ago to go find a place of their own. They are the occupiers, but this is the kind of treatment I get... to be treated as if I am the unwelcome occupant who should not be there to ruin their wonderful petty little lives. They do not know what is coming for them. And they have been warned.

Anyways, in the past few days I have set in motion a number of things that will perhaps fundamentally change my life. Finally, after all this time of pondering and wondering, I managed to fill in my application to study another degree this coming September. There were more than ten pages of application forms to be filled in, and a number of motivations to be written.I had been procrastinating and putting the task off, but somehow after I came back from my holidays, I felt such a sudden urge to write the application.

And now it is done! Not only that, I am also applying for scholarships, which will hopefully, hopefully, hopefully be able to cover all my expenses of studying and living. It will be a real adventure if all my plans go through, and I will be able to get a new start to life in another country, and get away from petty little things and people like my brother.

As I was filling in the application forms, I was feeling really giddy and happy with myself. If there is one thing I can do, it is write, and I somehow have a way to write motivation statements that even flatter me. The crisp language, the clear choice of words, the subtle rhyming and smartly structured sentences... I get such a kick out of writing it!

Now, let's hope that whoever will be reading it and assessing my application will be just as, if not even more, impressed as I am.

Home again...

I pulled away from Strasbourg as the day began to dawn. Slight drizzle followed by rain, greeted with sunshine as the train snaked through frost-biten hills and mist-veiled valleys.

Two weeks already. To think then I was so looking forward to taking a break from life and work, so looking forward to see my friend(s) and baby Aslan. Hard to believe that that time has already gone by, and a new year has just begun.

I entered their home to be greeted by a beautifully decorated Christmas, dazzling with lights, and spreading the house with the scenet of fresh pine. Yesterday as I took off the decorations, the needles have browned and some have fallen, as the tree looked a little tired, from the almost constant feasting, laughters, and wonderful memories now captured in my mind, and fleetingly snapshotted with my camera.

I never thought much of Christmas, other than that it was a commercialised hype hijacked to make people buy and buy. And I never can understand why people can get so excited about a new year, or how some can get so crazy to attack passerbys on the streets with fireworks, or even set cars, if not themselves, on fire. But once again, I was taken into a home, and my friends showed me the spirit of sharing and caring that makes this season of lights, Gluhwein, carols and tasty home-cooked delights worth all the while.

And Strasbourg is such a romantic place, such a magical town decked with lights and tinsles, as if the entire (old) city were one big Christmas tale brought to real life. The bitter cold in those few days, and even a shower of snow, covered the land in a chilling white, but somehow gave it a warm, homely feel.

Now, back home, back to the rain and windy climate of the Low Lands. Tomorrow, work awaits, and schedules, and deadlines, and appointments too. But that is tomorrow, another time and another place.

Now, the pictures and short little clips will be able to relive the moments and memories of the weeks gone past.

Museum of Children’s Toys and Little Trains

In the Museum of Children’s Toys and Little Trains live the forgotten fantasies of us adolescents. The bobbing motion of the white rocking horse, the colourful pieces of a jumbled puzzle, the scratched paintwork of little cars and little buses that have long lost their tires, and the whirring and clanking of metal wheels against little railway tracks compete with flashing planes suspended from the ceiling for the attention of buried memories. Memories buried beneath under the surface the realisations and worries of adulthood as we each grow older.

Aslan ran around the museum excitedly, his screams and babble audible throughout the museum. There was a time when I played with little model railways, and imagined myself taking long journeys to lands far, far away as the trains sped around and around along the same tracks. Each round taking me further and further away from the real world, and into a world of my own that is where everything is pretty and where imaginings are real. On Christmas Day when I was twelve, I was told that I am too old for toys. And I have never seen them since.

But Aslan returned the toys to me, and in a number of different ways. Ever since he appeared in my life, I would venture into toy stores again, even if it is just to look and see what kids play these days. And at times I would think to myself what I could possibly buy him that would capture his wandering little mind for more than five minutes. For the past week or so staying with him in his little bedroom, I am surrounded by baskets and baskets of colourful playthings that sometimes unexpectedly make funny music and queer little noises when you accidentally step on them. Aslan does not seem to be too interested in his toys, even though he is only 18 months. He seems to have more fun with the buttons on the DVD player, and with taking out the shiny discs and putting it in again. And then taking the disc out again, playing around with it with his pudgy little fingers, before dragging it on the floor. Of course, he does not yet understand what scratches can do to a DVD.

Joy is also to be had when he presses the on/off button while you are trying to vacuum. On. Off. On. Of. Again. And again. And again. I get annoyed and tell him to stop, but he does it again and again. I want to raise my voice, but seeing his big inquisitive eyes staring back at me, I cannot but think to myself that it is his nature to play, and try to find another way of getting on with my ‘adult’ tasks. The washing machine with its electronic display, dials and buttons is also fast becoming another one of his favourite ways to pass time. The wet floor that has soiled his trousers and sleeves, and the washing powder in his hair does not seem to be cause for concern for him. Was I as curious as he was at his age? Was I as intelligent as he is, or is sure to become?

And how Aslan loves to bathe! Getting wet is his gift to anyone who has the fortune of having to bathe him. And I have willingly accepted that fortune, knowing very well that my clothes will be soaked and my hair drenched after he has had his fair share of splashing and rolling around the bath tub like a fish in water. Seeing him enjoy sponging himself as he watches his baby shampoo bottle bob up and down in the bubbly bathtub makes it all worthwhile.

Who would have thought that he has grown so big? And his voice so loud, his screams so penetrating? More and more, he has a temper of his own. And when it pleases him, he can throw a tantrum by rolling around on the floor and crying his tears out one minute, and the next he can climb back on his pudgy little feet again, and run around the bedroom as if the hideous fit moments before were all a planned and well-enacted scene.

But strangely, when his mother is away, he becomes ever so quiet, ever peaceful. As if his fits of baby fury were all meant to torment his poor mother who’ s not had a good night of unbroken sleep ever since he was born. A mother’s consolation of hearing from strangers and friends that the boy in her arms is so cute and so beautiful. And that Aslan certainly is. And a mother’s joy that overshadows whatever havoc and (dis)stress the baby can possibly cause is in watching the child’s eyes slowly close as he rests his head lovingly on your lap.

It is a sight that even angels would vie to catch a glimpse of.

Stille Nacht, Sainte nuit...

Normally, I am not religious. And I would certainly not call myself Christian.

But on a day when people are suddenly so pleasant to one another and when peace and hope seems to reign everywhere, if only for a day, or a fleeting moment, I attend mass with the masses. Haulicinents loose their effect on me fast, and for many others even faster.

The night was dark, bitter and shrouded in mist, and not a person was in sight on the streets of Strasbourg. It seemed like all the lovely lights and decorations were for me to enjoy, as I walked the almost half-an-hour journey towards Cathedrale de Notre Dame. The trams have long since stopped, as people hurried home earlier to enjoy the warmth of celebrations and loved ones however they can. After a (ful)filling dinner of goose pate, freshly-made tomato-garlic soup, rat-atouille, roasted duck and little pancakes with my friend and my godson, Aslan, I needed the long walk to the Cathedrale to walk off the calories.

As soon as I walked out the door, I could feel the cold hug my face. Thankfully, just yesterday I had bought a cosy hat at the Christmas market from a Quebequois who told me he happens to study at the very university I am hoping to go to, hopefully, soon. Or perhaps there are no coincidences, especially on Christmas Eve.

Il est ne, le divin enfant
Jouez, hautbois, resonnez, musettes!
Il est ne, le divin enfant
Chantons tous son avenement!

It is good to remind yourself the meaning of Christmas. And it is even better to realise that behind the lure of capitalist consumerism, beyond the shining wrapping paper and ribbons, and away from the hordes of stressed shoppers, that I have unfortunately also become part of at times, there is a deeper reason why this season is so specially seen and celebrated around the world (or at least a large portion of it). Indeed, if you were to sum up the two-hour ceremony praising the Lord, exhalting the sacrifice of He who died for our sins, and emphasising the chastity of the Virgin Mary, it is that peace, brotherhood and love for one another is what binds us around the world, in a world that is too often torn by conflict, hatred and divided between 'you' and 'me'. Temporarily, in the hall of Strasbourg Cathedrale, and in the depths of many churches, chapels and cathedrales the world over, people are united, for one day in a year, in prayer. Temporarily, people forget all the colours, the races and religions, and reach out to their neighbours, as the priest told us to shake the hands of our neighbours and wish them well.

O du froliche, o du selige,
genadevrubgebde Weihnachtszeit!

I stood in the crowd, as the Archbishop of Strasbourg waved his staff and preached to his flock below. Unique to its history and location, this is perhaps the only place where hymns are sung in two of the local languages, German and French.

Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht... Tout s'endort au dehors.
Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar, holder Knube im lokkigen Haar,
Au ciel l'astre luit, Au ciel, l'astre luit...

A beautiful combination of languages and culture, united in song and music, and a symbol of how faith and soothing voices know no barriers. The old, the young, a crying baby next to an annoyed devout Christian deep in prayer and the restless little boy who seemed to have been dragged to Midnight Mass, we all huddled together with curious tourists and flashing cameras in the great big hall of one of Europe's most impressive cathedrals.

I stood there, awed by the sheer size of the structure, surrounded by massive red Alsatian limestone pillars and by hymns that I hummed along to at times. Now and then, I could pick up the odd words and sentences from the priest's sermon to decipher what was being said, as the crowd occassionally answered in unison with a low echoing 'Amen'. It was hard to imagine that there I was, standing in the hallowed bowls of gigantic tribute to Catholicism that took countless manpower and resources as well as more than 4 centuries to complete. In a darkened corner of the Cathedral, where the Nativity scene is recreated with wooden puppets and a bed of hay, one is ironically reminded that Christ the devine and graceful Child was born in a humble stable alongside sheep and donkeys. The cathedral bells rang, and the organs sang, the children prayed, and the crowd was blessed, as wooden baskets were passed around, chiming. Amen.

Gloria in excelsis Deo,
Gloria in excelsis Deo!

I lit a candle, and made a wish. A simple wusg ne that I make every year, and one that will most likely be made every year to come.

May there be peace on Earth...
May all beings be free from all hatred and suffering.

A troublesome, and at times testing year behind me. Of depressions and disappointments, and of feeling lost and lonely as with so many other years in my life. But then also a year of new beginnings, of strong friendships being built, and of new experiences working. And a year when I look forward to new possibilities and opportunities in the next few months, which will hopefully change my life.

Leaving home

Two o'clock in the morning. Just came home from a dinner reunion of friends from university. We enjoyed a lovely dinner, and cherished each other's company next to a warm open fire. Outside, the land froze.

It sudden became very cold, the cold of a winter before talk of global warming began. The kind of cold that clears your lungs as you breathe in deeply, because it is so fresh and so very fragile. So cold that the dense fog condensed on barren branches of giant trees and turned them into frost coated towers that glisten under the yellow hue of the street lights. Grass put on a white wintry layer, as shrubs and bushes wrapped themselves with white tinsels.

Christmas is just around the corner, and the new year is waiting to be ushered in. After work tomorrow, I will be taking the long seven hours train journey, leaving home to go see my family in France. Leaving this house I live in with my brother, who is supposed to be the closest family I have for thousands for kilometers, but with whom I have no contact or communication at all. Needing to go somewhere else where I feel warmth and love, where I feel warmed and loved.

It's sad, in a way... that I can't enjoy the holiday season in my own home, and that I feel like escaping this place whenever I have the chance. But I feel rewarded and grateful, that I have friends and a baby boy who will be happy to see and receive me. Christmas, this season of gratitute and of love and care is magical see through the eyes of a young one.

Crimes

I cringe from the shock. The shock of reading horrendous accounts of terrible crimes. It's for my internship, which I've just gathered enought courage in the past week or so to do some work on.

...detained at Dretelj Prison, HVO members, including the prison warden and members of HVO units not attached to the prison, subjected detainees to beatings and cruel treatment, including constant fear of physical and mental abuse. Bosnian Muslim detainees were sometimes forced or instigated to beat or abuse other Muslim detainees. Muslim detainees held in the isolation cell were particularly brutalised. Muslim detainees were harassed, subjected to ethnic insults and humiliated.

I cringe from the descriptions. The descriptions of rapes, of children and elderly people detained in concentration camps, of men wilfully and arbitrarily taken away and shot, of death and destruction... descriptions of the worst excesses of human inhumanity toward fellow human beings. Of hate, and the actions that flow from the consequences of hate.

...soldiers repeatedly raped and sexually assaulted Bosnian Muslim women and girls detained at Vojno Camp. (Annex) Such episodes of sexual assault were often preceded or accompanied by beatings or threats that non-compliance would result in the woman's child (or children) being killed.

And I sit here in my room, sipping tea, listening to Christmas songs on the radio, occassionally munching on chocolate... but elsewhere so many have died and suffered in vain... and elsewhere, many more ar undergoing the same.

...regularly mistreated and abused, and allowed the mistreatment and abuse of, Bosnian Muslim detainees, both at the Heliodrom itself and at various locations where detainees were taken for forced labour or other purposes. There was regular cruel treatment and infliction of great suffering, with HVO soldiers and guards routinely beating detainees, often to the point of unconsciousness and severe injuries. Muslim detainees lived in constant fear of physical and mental abuse. Passing HVO soldiers often fired their weapons indiscriminately at Muslim detainees held in crowded areas. Other detainees were attacked by HVO guard dogs which were released by the guards for the specific purpose of inflicting injury and fear. Muslim detainees were often humiliated in various ways...

Someday at christmas men won't be boys
Playing with bombs like kids play with toys
One warm december our hearts will see
A world where men are free

Someday at christmas there'll be no wars
When we have learned what christmas is for
When we have found what life's really worth
There'll be peace on earth

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at christmastime

Someday at christmas we'll see a man
No hungry children, no empty hand
One happy morning people will share
Our world where people care

Someday at christmas there'll be no tears
All men are equal and no men have fears
One shinning moment my heart ran away
From our world today

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at christmastime

Someday at christmas man will not fail
Take hope because your love will prevail
Someday a new world that we can start
With hope in every heart

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at christmastime
Someday at christmastime

One day... someday.

Remember to enjoy yourself...

"This is supposed to be such a happy time of year, so why are you
stressed? Stop putting so much pressure on yourself and remember to enjoy
yourself."

Stressed... I really am. Really!

Been so tense lately, unable to sleep well at night, waking up late in the day, not eating well, and thinking a lot about work, so much I even dream about it in my sleep. And worse was that in the past few days, I had one of the worst stomach flus I have ever had in my entire life...

A large reason for my stress is my internship that I'm doing... or better said, not doing at all. Officially I've been 'working' for two months, but only two weeks ago did they give me the means for me to login and do work. For so many weeks, when I had time, I couldn't do any work... and no suddenly there is this big assignment, but I really have no time to do it, because of my other job... I really feel like quiting the internship, but I'm not sure how to tell them, especially since I've not done any work at all. And it seems the assignment they gave me is crucial to their trial... which makes me really feel guilty for not being able to deliver what I promised...

...and then there's work. Besides the lack of appreciation, and being told I cannot go to the Christmas dinner if I want to bring a date who is not a "partner", there's just so many little things that need to be taken care of. I have four assistents, but two of them have not shown up for some time, and this is the time when I need them the most. I understand they have exams and are busy with their own lives, but the worst is when you write to them and ask them to come, but they don't even bother to reply... Which means I have to pick up the work I gave them to do, and also do the work that I have of my own... Stress!

The last few days have been so unbearable, because of a serious bout of diahrrhea. It all started last Friday, when I felt really unwell. I thought it was the flu, and so I drank lots of juice and ate lots of fruits and vegetable. But I think I had an overdosis of vitamins, and my body simply couldn't handle it, so it all came out. I really had to go to the bathroom six, seven times a day, and evertime, just masses of liquid comes out, it's frightening. Evens so, my stomach feels like it's about to explode, because it seems to be filled with gas. My friend was really kind to me and bought me some medicine, and even cooked me some fresh home-made soup... but it turns out vegetable makes my conditions a bit worse, and for the last two days, things that came out of me were... green!

Only today did I start to feel better... and I cheered myself up a bit by going to buy a train ticket for next Friday.

One more week, and I'm going to France for Christmas... something to look forward to. Something to take away this stress, and hopefully let me enjoy myself in "such a happy time of year".

Christmas dinner at work

I have seen and heard many a ridiculous, and outright laughable, things at work. People politics, power and pompousness. But this is one has topped it all. At least for now.

About two weeks ago I was invited by 'The Management' (with capital 'T' and capital 'M') to a Christmas dinner. The purpose is to "express appreciation for all the good work" that has been done by the employees. Further, it will be "pleasant gathering [...] to strengthen collegial bonds", especially since getting to know your colleagues "on the homefront" is important "for a pleasant and balanced working environment". Of course.

I was enthused. Until I received the official invitation.

Apparently, it has been decided by 'The Management' that it will be chique event. The Management commandeth the dress code be "tenue de ville, gala, cocktail, tie-and-coat", everything under the motto "dress to impress" or "over the top". Already a turn-off for any (literally and metaphorically) red-blooded SOAS graduate indoctrinated to distrust petty little bourgeois exploits.

Then I realised you could bring a 'partner'. If someone I knew well was there, it probably would just be bearable. And perhaps, I thought to myself, it would not hurt to do a little personal PR and get to know my colleagues a little better. Besides, for all the work and time I put into my job, I deserve more than what I make.

So I rang the people in charge of organising the Christmas dinner, and told them I would like to attend, and bring a girlfriend along. I was asked whether there were any special dietary needs, and what our names were. I put down the phone, thinking I would be engaged on the evening of December 20th.

Moments later, I was called. "Is she the girlfriend, or a girlfriend?"

Curiously, I replied, honestly, "Just a girlfriend."

"I'm sorry, then you can't bring her. It has to be a partner."

I was surprised at the response. Since when are you only allowed to attend a Christmas dinner organised by your employer when the person you can bring along is a "partner"? "Sorry," I replied, expecting to feel the ridicule rise, "may I ask what the reason for that is?"

"It was a decision by The Management," was the explanation. As if the revelation of an untouchable supreme being is accepted and respected without questions. What is a partner anyways? "Someone with whom you have a deeply committed relationship". Ridicule peaked, and I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Outrageous.

I listened to the secretary on the other side of the line explain the reasons why, and I felt she was not too happy about the decision either. A "deeply committed relationship"... the words echoed in my ears, like the annoying buzz of a mosquito while you are trying to sleep. I wondered to myself what that meant, as the image of a table seated with single-tons, surrounded by lavishly dressed and pompously made-up couples parading the room with glasses of champagne and polished silverware appeared before me...

Discriminatory.

Since when did my workplace decide who I can and cannot bring to a dinner party, the very purpose of which is to show appreciation for the hardwork I have been doing throughout these months? By what sacred decree is the hallowed definition of a "deeply committed relationship" stipulated? Are they going to probe into your private life? Are they going to ask how long you have been going out? How many times you have slept with one another? Or interrogate you on what the each person's role is in the relationship, just to decide whether you and your partner fall into the classification of what is "deeply committed"? Perhaps there will even be hired bouncers at the door trained for this purpose.

I regretted a little at my honesty, for if my friend and I were to just pretend that night we were (so-called) 'partners', no one would possibly know. But then again, why should I jeopardise my own personal integrity to play with their lovely little fabricated rules? I thought to myself the shocked and awed look on people's faces should I elegantly waltz in there hand in hand with a boyfriend. The Establishment frowns upon all that is unconventional and challenging to the established rules and present order.

I smiled. At the ridiculousness of the situation, at the absurdity of the justifications, at the firm determination not to go.

It was the kind of boyish smile that smiles itself when you know you are not stupid enough to submit yourself to such humiliation, when you know you are much better off without having to play along with their little fancy dressing-up games.

Phone call

I wish there was someone close I could talk to, some so close I could see and touch while I talk to.

Just called my mum on the phone, our usual phone conversation on a Sunday afternoon. At first, when she asked how I was doing, I was I was pretty alright... but somehow, the voice of my mum drew the truth out of me...

I'm not doing all that great after all... at work, I feel like I do so much and spend so much time and effort on what I do, but nobody seems to appreciate it at all... and then there's this internship that I'm 'doing', even though I've not done any work in the last two months at all...

I told my mum how terrible and down I feel sometimes, even though before I called her I promised myself I shouldn't bother her with my problems, because that's just selfish dumping all my problems on her...

But my mum was so caring, so understanding, and her voice drew tears out of my eyes... "Don't worry, son", she said, "It'll all pass, and it's not as bad as you think..." I tried to say things without giving the impression that I was crying, but it's difficult...

I try not to think of the distance between us, I try not to think of the illness and the stresses that she has at her own work... but it's difficult...

"Go for a walk, go clear your mind," she said softly, "You'll feel much better. And don't forget to dress warmly, because it's cold out there. And you need to take good care of yourself, especially when there's no one there to care for you." It felt painful to hear those words, even though they were soothing and healing...

No one here, that is correct. But there is someone far, far away.

Dream II

Yet another dream, or perhaps you could call it a nightmare. What is the difference between a dream and nightmare? Yesterday's seems sweet and romantic, but it was haunting too... a deep reflection of my innermost fears and anxieties.

And so was today's. To be honest I can't remember what really happened now, but I do remember waking up from the intensity of the dream in the dark of the night, and being really struck and awed by it all. I remember repeated saying "I miss you, dad. I really miss you..."

Indeed, the dream was about my dad. Ever since the beginning of March, when dad left after a troubled and tense visit here, I haven't heard anything from him. I regylarly think of him, and wonder how and what he is doing. But there is absolutely no communication at all. Before, he would speak to me on the phone from time to time when I call, but for the last nine months, nothing... nothing.

Sometimes I have terrible dreams with him in it... sometimes it's scenes of him suffering unbearable pain, scenes of him dying in front of me, or scenes of him arguing and shouting with my mum... Never positive or sweet things or images, only these terrifying thoughts and pictures.

And so it was the same tonight.

I wake up from bed, after a number of hours already being awake, but feeling unable to face the world, and feeling completely exhausted and drained even though I've slept for much too much.

And it leaves me wondering... how is my dad doing?

Dream

Yesterday afternoon, I felt my body start to ache and my head start to spin. Being around people who cough and cough make the chances of getting ill high, and I was sure that I was falling prey to illness.

Leaving work, I went to the supermarket and bought a lot of fresh orange juice
and lemons. Earlier in the day, I had bough tonnes of vegetables at the market, and I promised myself I'll treat myself to a big treat of vitamins. So I cooked a big pot of freshly ground tomato soup with ginger and garlic, and drank large doses of echinasea, the wonder cure against colds and flus, and I wrapped myself under the blanket and stayed in bed all night, watching the three hour long epic 'The Last Samurai', and then putting myself down to bed.

I woke up by the sound of my alarm radio, but I slept as I listened to the latest news and talk shows. In this half-state of sleep is when I'm most vulnerable to dreaming, and dream I did...

A dream full of passion and eroticism... involving someone I've had a crush on for sometime, and someone who I think has mutual feelings, but the feelings never got any chance to develop further. Let's randomly call this person R. In the dream R. and I do many sweet things together, like go on long walks, have heart-to-heart talks, look into each other in the eyes and feel the warmth grow and envelop us, and feel the connections grow closer. Our hands much touch once or twice, but never do we kiss or do anything more intimate.

Dreams are random, and the next scene we are in bed, lying next to one another... watching each other as we slowly fall asleep... Strange thing is, there is another person beside me,
so basically I'm sleeping in the middle of this bed, with R. on the one side, and this other person on the other. Then I realise who this other person is... it's this boy I had deep affection for while in high school. In real life, he never showed interest in me, because he's not (?) gay, and used to be really religious. Let's call him L.

But in dreams anything could happen, and things did happen. Even though I was more interested in R., and was facing him, L. kept on enticing me and speaking soft little words into my ears... L. started to touch me intimately, and the eroticism was overpowering, as the feelings I had for him before began to rise from deep within me. R. just lay there and watched, and did nothing, as L and I slowly and passionately pleasured one another...

The next moment, L. suddenly disppeared, and it was just me and R. in bed. R. stareted to cry, but I didn't know why. He started to cry and say I hurt him, say that I hurt him like no one has ever done, but I still didn't understand why...

"Because I love you... you never knew I love you... It was all a test, I wanted to see how much you'd wait for me, I wanted to see how long you would stay with me, if I pretended to show no interest... But look what you did..." He was crying like a boy who lost the most precious thing in his life, and was not consolable.

Indeed I never knew, never knew how much he cared or loved me... but how long do you have to wait, how much patience do you have, what do you have to go through to have to find out?

The letter L

Like any other boy who believes he deserves a little treat in life, I put a piece of cucumber and a few red and white seedless grapes into my dirty little trainer. I laid it to rest for the night, where it would sleep next to the fireplace in the office building along with many other shoes.

But unlike other shoes, mine had a little note on it for Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet.

"I have been very well-behaved this year! Heartfelt thanks! " I signed with a big "D", the first letter of my name, and put a smiley next to that.


I left the office, on a night of rain and wind.

The next morning, what ho, behold! My shoe was filled with a little package, with beautiful, colourful wrapping paper. And there was a scroll too, with a sweet poem. The kind-hearted and wise Saint Nicolas and his black slaves servants were here last night.

Carefully and excitedly, I tore open the wrapping, to see the expected chocolate letter. But when I saw what letter it was, it was as if someone took a pin and pricked through my excitement.

It wasn't letter I was expecting, and I even asked myself where in my name the letter "L" appears. I wrote my name in my mind, in full: David Kuan-Wei Chen... last time I checked, there was no L. I smiled at the irony, smiled at the fact that perhaps it was a joke. Or perhaps Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet were so busy they mixed up my letter with another. But still, I wondered what I should do with a letter "L".

Not that I'm not grateful for receiving a little surprise at work, even if simply as a simple token of appreciation.

But such carelessness shows just how much they... care.

Alles is liefde

Sinterklaasavond is the eve before Sinterklaas returns back to Spain. On this night, the Holy St. Nicolaas pays every household a visit, and leaves a gift for those good people who deserve the best things in life.

Even my office closed early today, and by 4 pm the streets were packed with cars as people rush home on this Dutch version of Christmas Eve. The tradition is that you put your shoe next to the fireplace, and by the morning, surprise, surprise you will get goodies. By 4pm, everyone had already left the office, but I stayed behinda bit longer...



I had bought some sweets and chocolates letters, and tip-toed around the office and putting it on the desk of my colleagues. It's something I do every single year to friends. I secretly give them a chocolate... sometimes simply by putting it through their mailbox, or placing it in a place they'd find it, or by sending it to people who live in another country anonymously. I don't really want anything in return, and I don't expect anything either... To me it's just good fun, and I like to think of the pleasant sweet surprise people get when they receive an anonymous gift. Spreading the love, if you will...

Yet, stil, on this evening when family gather around a warm fireplace, when dreams and wishes are made and fulfilled, when loved ones thank one another for all the happiness and warmth they give one another, it is lonely being alone.

After I delivered a gift to a special friend who has helped me a lot in the past year, I wasn't sure what to do next. It was around seven, and the streets were deserted, and cold. And it rained too, making it seem even more dreary. I went into a restaurant and had a cheap meal of Indonesian food, and then wandered the streets a bit more...



Then I saw something as I walked past the cinema. A poster for the movie "Alles is liefde" (Everything is love). I've heard about it for sometime, and knew that it was a Dutch movie based more or less on the original "Love Actually", which is a romantic comedy based around Christmas, when miraculous the most miraculous consequences occur, and strangers find one another and find love. The big difference with the Dutch version of this movie is that it has a gay couple, who kiss a number of times and even get married. Thanks to Dutch open-mindedness...

To be honest, at first, I was a bit uncomfortable going to the cinema alone, especially watching a movie that is about love and falling in love. All around me in that cinema hall, where around a hundred people, couples, families, young and old, and it seemed like I was the only one there all alone. But when the movie started, I blended into the dark and didn't mind too much any more.

The story-line is simple. Set in Amsterdam, around the time of Sinterklaas, and random people meeting by chance find one another, while others rekindle their love and rediscover one another's feelings for one another.... about families coming together again after troubles, and about a long lost son who discovers his long lost dad... It's sappy and romantic, the kind of things that you can easily lable 'movie magic', and the kind of coincidences that could only occur on a big white screen... Even so, this movie made me wipe away tears from the corners of my eyes. It was so touching for some reason, even though it was stereotypical, it touched me so much, because it embraced many of the dreams and ideas I live and long for...

"When you're young, you'll believe anything. Spinach will give you muscles, your father is the strongest man in the Netherlands, and Sinterklaas is real. But there will be a day that you look at the man's shoes and think... wait a minute, those are my fathers shoes. You always suspected something like that but it's all getting through to you now. It's nonsense to believe there's a man with a long white beard in Spain who takes the steam-boat to the Netherlands every year to put something in your shoe. And another thing, spinach won't give you muscles, The Netherlands will never win the world cup and you won't marry your teacher.

You will get older and more miserable. The only moments in life that you feel the same like you did back then are the moments you love someone. Truly love someone. Everything that is stupid or hurts falls away. Love is all and we have to keep believing that. So what if we all together decided; Sinterklaas is real. We'll still know that we'll have to buy the presents ourselves but it's the thought that counts. That we keep believing that it can still work out for us, with love. Because love is like Sinterklaas, you have to believe it, because else it's all lost."

It sums up my thoughts very well... and the actors, many of them famous, bring the dialogue and comedy and romance alive. Love is out there, to be found and unwrapped, like a special gift you have been waiting and wishing for, and will eventually receive. Even after disappointments, even if people let you down or don't give you the same in return, you have patience. Little gestures, little words, little glances, little moves... not just the love between lovers, but also between friends and family, between strangers too.

Because love is everywhere, and everything is love.

"If it's about love, then sooner or later we're all too lat. It's about those tiny happy moments in between. Moments when everything just about then fall precise into their places."

Issues

I was at work today, and suddenly a friend called. Within minutes she was in tears.

I guess like my horoscope says, I'm a caring person, and so people come to me with their personal problems. She's been having a lot of health issues, and because of the pressures of her work, she's been putting off going to the doctor. But now she decided it must be done, before things get any worse.

Sometime ago I helped her choose a good health insurance. The way it works here is you pay close to 100Euros per month, and most of the basic health care and emergency dental care is covered. It's a lot of money, and a big burden for example for people on low wages. And to be frank... the health standard is pretty mediocre, often having to wait a long time to get an appointment, and often doctors are so overworked they have no patience or the time to really deal with your problems carefully.

So my friend went to the doctor, and her doctor told she was being paranoid and actually said he had no time to make an appointment for her. She went to the hospital to see if she could see a specialist. When she arrived, she pulled a ticket to wait in line. When it was her turn, she walked up to the counter, and the assistant said it was the wrong ticket, and told my friend to get another ticket. So my friend did as she was told, and got the correct ticket. There was no one else waiting. And she was told to the very same counter where the lady said to her less than a minute ago that it was the wrong ticket.

This is bureaucracy, pure and simple. Apparently the assistent didn't see there was anything wrong asking my friend to get another ticket, even though there was no one around, and even though the assistant was responsible for the same tasks! This reminds me of this famous commercial by this insurance company.



The mother and daughter lost the purple crocodile yesterday, and returned to pick it up at the swimming pool. The crocodile is just behind the counter, but the man asks the mum to fill in a form... and the back side of the form. When she hands the form in, the man says to hand in the form between 9 and 10 tomorrow. Mum points out the crocodile is just there... the man agrees, but does nothing.

Hilarious, but so very true. Bascially it's very typical of what kind of useless and meaningless bureaucracy Dutch people come across when they deal with 'official' business. Papers to sign, forms to fill in, declarations to file... even though some things can be done so easily and more efficiently.

Pisces!

pretty accurate...

Caring and kind. Smart. Center of attention. Messy at times and irresponsible! Smart but lazy. High appeal. Has the last word. Good to find, hard to keep. Passionate, wonderful lovers. Fun to be around. Too trusting at times and gets hurt easily. Lover of animals. VERY caring, make wonderful nurses or doctors. They always try to do the right thing sometimes get the short end of the stick. They sometimes get used by others and hurt because of their trusting. Extremely weird but in a good way. Good Sense of Humor!!! Thoughtful. Always gets what he or she wants. Loves to joke. Very popular. Silly, fun and sweet. Good friend to other but need to be choosy on who they allow their friends to be.

Dine and wine

I had a really laugh-filled night tonight. I've been trying to arrange a dinner with the four assistants I work with for a while, but every time it was cancelled because someone couldn't make it. And finally, tonight was the night we could all sit down together and do something 'social'.

I've been working with them (or actually, they've been working for me!) for a couple of weeks now, and I feel like we don't yet know each other that well yet. I try to bring them together, buy little snacks and drinks to treat them, but still between some of the team there's still very little connection. There were even a number of incidents that caused some misunderstandings, but thankfully that's more or less resolved.

I feel kind of bad, since, well, I'm the 'boss', and I'm supposed to bring them all together, because that's what a team is about. It's kind of difficult, because some of them come only one day a week, and don't get to see the others. And I really treat them as equals, and told them also that no-one is above or under any one at all, because we're all around the same age, so there's really no way to act as if we're pompous and sophisticated office people. We're students, but with a part-time job!

So the dinner plan was supposed to 'socialise' us all, and it really worked. We got together at a nice Italian restaurant. It was really unique, because you go in and they give you an electronic card, and every time you order something, it's cooked in front of you, and you pay when you leave by giving back the card. I treated them to some 'bruchetta', and bought drinks too. And I guess the food and drinks brought us close(r) together, and soon enough we were making jokes and really feeling more comfortable around one another.

I had a bit to drink, and soon was feeling really tipsy, as were the others. One glass of wine, a large glass of strawberry frozen margharitas... and David starts to talk about anything and everything! Preferred positions, how big and firm, how nice and juicy etc, etc. Before I start sounding like a pervert, I really am not. Just, when you put together a number of tipsy students together, you are never too far from the topic of sex. And we laughed so much I could feel my cheeks really hurting!

Who would have thought that an evening of bonding between us would have turned into such uncontrollable bouts of laughter and fun!