Regie

De clan van nonkels, tantes, neven en nichten wist even met zichzelf geen blijf. De grootmoeder was op de kast geklommen. De mater familias van 95 had het gewaagd om de ramen boven de keukenkastjes te poetsen.

Ze moest hen nu toehoren.
‘Dat is onverantwoord gedrag’, zei een vrouwenstem.
‘Je moet begrijpen, als je valt’, voegde het nichtje toe.
‘Trappen en hoogtes zijn taboe. In de tuin werken mag’, concludeerde de oom met het hoogste diploma.

De oude vrouw zei niets. Ze zweeg en keek naar al diegenen die er nooit geweest zouden zijn zonder haar. Ik zweeg ook. Het was net om wille van de trappen en de taboes dat ze het zo goed had gedaan.

‘Misschien is ze nu oud genoeg om zelf te beslissen wat ze wil’, probeerde ik nog.

Even later waren ze allemaal weg. Alleen wij twee zaten in de zetel. Het bleef een tijdje stil.

Mijn grootmoeder zuchtte diep en keek uit het raam. Ik zag een traan opborrelen in haar linkeroog. Ze was oud, waardig oud, en had een lange sliert nakomers. Je zou kunnen zeggen dat ze een reden had om te blijven. Voor even toch nog.

Het bleef stil, maar ik knikte, omdat ik het begreep. Zette me zelfs schrap. Voor het altijddurende eeuwige morgen.

Het leven heeft zijn eigen logica.

In Love (< Deathly Hallows I)

Harry (to Hermione about Ron): Are you still mad at him?
Hermione: I am always mad at him.

Comfort

'Don't rely on what he says. Most of the time, they mean something different anyway'.

Sarah slammed the car door close before I could ask any further, leaving me perplexed and curious in front on the wheel. We had just finished an inspiring night out, and I felt ready for the world again. That was one of her talents, getting my confused thoughts straight, putting my rambling thinking in perspective. She wasn't aware of it herself, but she was a saint in disguise. Some more details to her last phrase would have been useful though, as a kind of back up for difficult times - a tape you can replay whenever some brainwashing needed to be done.

I saw her hurrying towards the main street, so I pulled up and started to drive next to her. My car windows were down.
'I need to know more about the nothing is what it seems', I shouted. 'Why would a man say the opposite of what he thinks?'
She looked at me and smiled.
'I don't know, I just noticed they do it all the time'.
'So they say they love you, but actually they don't?'
An agonizing despair started to take hold of me. There should be something one could take as a starting point.
'No, it depends. Sometimes they do talk sensibly. Often they even say things they wish were true. But then they feel the opposite'.
For a moment I didn't know what to say. How come she took it so lightly? How did she move through the day?
By now she had reached her tram stop, and waited patiently on the side of the road. I stopped the car and continued talking to her.
'I'm sorry, Sarah, but how then do you know what he thinks of you?
'I don't', she said. 'But that's fine. I just know you can't figure it out. Ever'.

So far about about saving some time.



image taken from http://www.biteycastle.com/blog/woodblog.html

Wind

(image taken from http://pascalcampion.blogspot.com/)

The cafe was the new hidden place in town, only known to the (very) cool people. Some young girls next to us were eating bad pasta but didn't seem to care. Huge plates of white tagliatelle with slices of raw zucchini went back to the waitress. They all seemed happy for this skinny moment, and continued sipping their glasses of wine. I drank some hazy apple juice and ordered extra crisps. (My coffee order I saved for later- always good to know you still owe yourself one, it makes it all more bearable).

My friend and I hadn't seen each other for a long time and we were now digging through facts and decencies. 'How are you?', 'How have you been?'. Tiring necessities - I thought. But then: forget your tiredness.

I had special plans for that evening. I was going to forget. I was going to forget that I was sticky glue to many things that were bad for me. Especially to male things.

On the next table a guy lit a cigarette. Above him on the wall there was a macro sign saying 'No Smoking'. We started to like the place and ordered beers. It was Thursday evening and things were nice- which can sometimes be difficult to accept.

After five beers and two more bags of crisps I decided to stop the frivolities.
'See, it is that I can't let go. I just can't. I'm worse than chewing gum'.
He looked at me and then said with a firm voice:
'What you never really got hold of, you can impossibly let go'.

It seemed I had to stay sticky for a while. Not that I minded.

De ander

'Ik ben je nieuwe leraar', zei de wilde man. 'Ik kom je bijbrengen wat vrijheid is'.

Ze sipte van haar thee. Het was, om het zo te zeggen, iets nieuws. Die kundigheid zag ze wel zitten, maar dan eerder met haar kalende overbuur. De wilde man hield ze liever vast.

'Het gaat om de oefening', vervolgde hij, 'de oefening van de vrijheidsspier’. Daarop leidde hij onmiddellijk de eerste sessie in. Misschien dacht hij wel dat ze ja had geknikt. Hij leek erg bedreven te zijn in het vrij zijn. Zelf raakte ze een beetje achterop.

‘We hebben voldoende praktijk nodig’, zei hij, ‘De resultaten komen niet zo snel’.
‘Ik snap het niet’, riep ze, ‘hoe komen we zo nu los van elkaar?’, maar hij hoorde haar al niet meer. Achteraf dronk ze een glas melk aan de keukentafel, dat hielp om na te denken. ‘Alles of niets is makkelijker’, dacht ze terwijl ze een koekje nam. Zo vaardig als de wilde man kon ze voorwaar niet zijn.

Op een avond gebeurde het dat ze aan de dokken liep. Het late zonlicht weerspiegelde de vogels tot onder het oppervlak. Ze hinkte, haar spieren waren stram. Misschien moest ze ook maar eens de vliegende man ontmoeten. Of die met de zeeblauwe vingers. De resultaten kwamen toch niet van de grond.

Het was iets dat ze alleen zichzelf had verteld, maar voor haar was het een meevaller om in vrij zijn te falen. Ze wist dat het vooral de wilde man was die wilde leren, en zij hielp hem nu op weg.

Hij is weg.

En iemand is teruggekomen.

Ondanks mijn dralen loopt hij aan de sofa voorbij. We zitten nu aan de keukentafel.
Ik zet thee en huil terwijl dikke tranen voor hij die weg is.
'Hij kan nog terugkomen,' zegt hij.
'Dat is lief', antwoord ik, 'maar iemand die weg is, komt niet makkelijk terug'.
'Ik ben teruggekomen', zegt hij.
'Ja, dat is zo', zeg ik, 'maar waarom ging je dan eerst'?
Hij zegt niets. Misschien is het een moeilijk onderwerp. Weggaan is voor de meesten een heikele zaak.
'Wij moesten allebei nog wat doen. En jij zwerft graag, Isa. In uw aders en huidcellen'.
Ik huil nog harder. 'Ik wil zo niet zijn. Dat doet teveel zeer'.
Onopvallend trek ik de fles wijn in mijn richting.
Hij zegt niets.
'Ik drink nooit alleen', lieg ik. 'In laten gaan, daar wil ik goed in worden'.
Komen gaan komen gaan komen gaan. Het stopt toch nooit.
'Jij mag zelfs gaan nu', zeg ik nog.

Alles verandert altijd (blijkbaar). Vergeet dat nooit.



(image taken from http://pascalcampion.blogspot.com/)

About something else

We were screaming at each other from across the kitchen table.

'You are late', I yelled.
'I told you it would take this long'.
'You didn't. You DIDN'T'.
'I did'.
'I want to leave right now. I am waiting for you for ages'.

To stress my firmness I closed the buttons of my jacket and walked towards the door.

'You are insane. You are becoming a madwoman', my sister said.
'Yes I am. And I LOVE it. Finally I can be myself'.

I had the feeling she was close at throwing herself at me physically.
Then she did. It was unexpected.
In a way, violence works.

Calmly she looked at me and said:
'So,let's leave in five minutes'.
I just nodded agreeingly.

So far for anti-stress remedy.

music man

Today she has too much bottled up love.
(for someone in particular)
(don't say it's desire)

You could call it a challenging situation.

She starts out by quickly handing it out, throwing whiskey parties and distributing chocolate dessert. The free coffee is just a casual extra.

But it only gets more. So it goes.

'Use it on us', the other inhabitants advise.
'Save it for later', her heart says.
'There is no way out', the mind complains.

Then it happens the stomachs are full. The rank and file lies drunk under the table. The love starts to flood the house. It becomes a constant mopping the floor.
No comfortable living anymore.
In the end it might have been her wet feet. Or the tiredness in her arms. The difficult wading around. Suddenly she knows: ‘It is time’.

So she undresses, moves down into the streaming water. Lets her body soak it up. And it goes.

Always first it hand it to yourself.
(and now you are allowed to call him)

Letter

angel,

wow. your letter is pretty shocking. how can a young and beautiful person with a life full of opportunities be sad all day? how? or why?

darlings. i know you are more fragile than other people. even more fragile than some birds and vegetables. it is true.

but believe me: even fragile people, birds and vegetables can be happy. especially if they have plans and ideas and talents and friends and such a love as ME.

do you trust me?

me

Independence

Today I was wondering whether it is enough to know a certain person exists.

To know that, a few miles away from you, he pours milk in his coffee. Starts the day with an angry thought. Or an inspiring one. Or at least you assume he does. Everyone needs to perform some basicalities. Everyone eats, sleeps, and moves around. Most human beings work like that. That information you have. At least.

Quite surely he is struggling, doubting and trying too. Cashing in a little victory from time to time.

It is not unreasonable to expect that, once in a blue moon, he thinks of you.

So there you have it. You don't need to know more. Because you already know everything. -it's all the same in the end.

But then again, like the advocat with your coffee, the effect goes to the brain. You start longing for the details. Suddenly you're figuring out whether today he is at the club-sandwich or the mushroom omelet. At a latte with love or on the go. Checking out the main roads and the hours online. The long city walks are a fortunate side effect. A bit like Sherlock Holmes in disguise. It starts to cost you precious time, and a sense of direction.

But don't feel bad. We're all a bit like that. The exceptions are just the lucky ones.


picture from http://pascalcampion.blogspot.com/

Unexpected

Something 's off the hook.

Normally I don't like fish. I can't even stand the taste.
Ok, it is acceptable to look at. When it's alive. Swimming in the aquarium.

But don't let me eat it.
The fiddly structure makes me nervous. Too much detail.
The taste is too fishy. As if something is wrong.
And these damned eyes always seem to smile at you - while there is nothing funny. Only bloody serious things.

But still, I like this particular fish. Very much. It makes me light in the head. And it tastes so fresh. I wonder how it ended up on my plate, how it decided: 'Hey, let's go there'. There must have something, someone, intervening. Anyone?

But for now, forget that I've said something, because I am going to devote myself to my meal. And I don't wish to be disturbed.
After all, soon I'm expecting pay-back time.