First time I saw her, we were in a café.
I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me, yet it felt as if we did.
We shared glances, had the same sense of humour.
We connected. And from that point forward our lives were intertwined.
Thoughts began to coincide and somehow it seemed a perfect fit.
We never became lovers, but that wasn’t necessary, we already shared an intimacy that is mostly reserved for young lovers.
In some way I think that the lack of romance in our relationship strengthened our friendship even further.
At some point she became me and I became her.
And ever since that first meeting at the café, almost four years ago.
She is the person I see myself growing old with, growing wise with.
She is what I need when I need it and who I love when there is nobody else to love.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Life in cyberspace
Internet, it has become so vastly incorporated in our lives that it is difficult to pull away from its powerful embrace. But why do we cling on to something that is basically just ones and zeros or emptiness in cyberspace?
Studies show that within the next five years, there will be more Internet users than television viewers. Within fifty years the technological gap should become a distant memory. Six billion people all united in cyberspace, the ultimate peace treaty. A world without boundaries, without end. Nothing but endless amounts of megabytes waiting to be filled up with people's hopes, dreams, experiences, tragedies, facts of life, etcetera.
In a world where people can't seem to tear away from their ever-growing screens what happens to communication? What happens to face-to-face contact? Will it evolve into screen-to-screen or webcam-to-webcam? It would be a shame to see society devolve into a social network of digital friendships and email accounts.
Anonymity is what draws people to the world wide web. From the moment you open up the Internet you can become whoever you want to be. You can start all over again; invent the family that you never had, the friends you always wanted or the love of your life that always seemed to slip away.
Yes, the Internet undoubtedly has countless benefits, but people seem to forget that there is a world out there in between chat sessions and status-checkings. And that world doesn't care about your life in cyberspace, it will go on, with or without you. The only question is if you will even remember the world when you finally shut down your already overheated computer.
Studies show that within the next five years, there will be more Internet users than television viewers. Within fifty years the technological gap should become a distant memory. Six billion people all united in cyberspace, the ultimate peace treaty. A world without boundaries, without end. Nothing but endless amounts of megabytes waiting to be filled up with people's hopes, dreams, experiences, tragedies, facts of life, etcetera.
In a world where people can't seem to tear away from their ever-growing screens what happens to communication? What happens to face-to-face contact? Will it evolve into screen-to-screen or webcam-to-webcam? It would be a shame to see society devolve into a social network of digital friendships and email accounts.
Anonymity is what draws people to the world wide web. From the moment you open up the Internet you can become whoever you want to be. You can start all over again; invent the family that you never had, the friends you always wanted or the love of your life that always seemed to slip away.
Yes, the Internet undoubtedly has countless benefits, but people seem to forget that there is a world out there in between chat sessions and status-checkings. And that world doesn't care about your life in cyberspace, it will go on, with or without you. The only question is if you will even remember the world when you finally shut down your already overheated computer.
A surprise visitor
Eden had been coming to the diner every day for almost five years. She didn't quite know why she kept coming back to it, she has just never been able to find another place that gave her that sense of comfort and security. Today was a day like any other so why would today be the day that Eden's whole life changed?
It started with the ringing of the bell and the slow, but steady footsteps of someone walking into the diner. Normally Eden would just go about her business and not even look up, but today was different. She turned around and looked at the man who had just walked in. He was tall, had dark hair and something quite mysterious about him. He had his back turned towards her, but then he suddenly turned around and looked right at her, as if he knew she was watching or that she would be there. He smiled.
The man started walking towards her and the way he walked revealed that he was someone who had a great deal of confidence. Eden braced herself and quickly wiped some of the crumbs off the table. The man had now reached her table and was standing right beside her. Eden looked up at him and she couldn't help but smile. There was this sense of familiarity about him, had she seen him before?
"You don't remember me, do you?" He said.
"Actually," Eden said, "I think I do. But I can't seem to remember. Would you mind joining me?"
"There's nothing that I would rather do", he said, and now both of them were smiling at each other.
It was as if no time had passed at all.
It started with the ringing of the bell and the slow, but steady footsteps of someone walking into the diner. Normally Eden would just go about her business and not even look up, but today was different. She turned around and looked at the man who had just walked in. He was tall, had dark hair and something quite mysterious about him. He had his back turned towards her, but then he suddenly turned around and looked right at her, as if he knew she was watching or that she would be there. He smiled.
The man started walking towards her and the way he walked revealed that he was someone who had a great deal of confidence. Eden braced herself and quickly wiped some of the crumbs off the table. The man had now reached her table and was standing right beside her. Eden looked up at him and she couldn't help but smile. There was this sense of familiarity about him, had she seen him before?
"You don't remember me, do you?" He said.
"Actually," Eden said, "I think I do. But I can't seem to remember. Would you mind joining me?"
"There's nothing that I would rather do", he said, and now both of them were smiling at each other.
It was as if no time had passed at all.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Review (draft)
Bye bye Newton
Almost two years ago the world was stunned by the awe-inspiring Batman The Dark Knight at the hands of Christopher Nolan. The movie grossed about 1 billion dollars worldwide and has been the most successful movie in the Batman franchise. Fans are still waiting on a worthy sequel, but Nolan has decided to throw us a different kind of bone: Inception.
Inception is described as a sci-fi action movie that will erase the lines between reality and our imagination. It starts with DiCaprio's ominous intro: "What is the most resilient parasite? An idea." Judging from the trailer, this might just be the movie that puts the Laws of Newton to shame.
For those of you who are practically foaming at the mouth, I suggest you check out the trailer on the official website, in one word: phenomenal. We see a city being folded up like a madman's origami dream, a glass of water that is behaving most unnatural, a train that is cutting through street traffic and two men fighting in a hallway that defies gravity. Interested yet?
So far, Nolan hasn't released a lot of information regarding the movie, which is undoubtedly a power move, considering the massive media attention it will garnish in a few weeks. Still there is a small synopsis about the story: Cobb (DiCaprio) plays a CEO-type whose mission it is to steal an idea that is so powerful it could change the entire world. Saito (Watanabe) portrays the villain and is blackmailing Cobb. Now, we don't know a lot about this idea, but by the looks of the trailer it could very well be the end of physics as we know it.
Inception promises to cause a lot of raised eyebrows, dropped mouths and heavy headaches, but it's a small price to pay for a movie that will most certainly completely blow you away.
Inception, July 2010,
Director: Christopher Nolan
Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio (Shutter Island), Ken Watanabe (Memoirs of a Geisha), Ellen Page (Juno), Marion Cotillard (Public Enemies), Joseph-Gordon Levitt (GI Joe).
This is my first draft for a review for the school paper. Don't know if it's any good of if it will even be incorporated in the first edition, but here's to hoping!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday night drinks
Thursday night. Party night in the city of Louvain. A time of senseless partying, abundant consumation of alcohol, outrageous dance moves, incredibly shallow and unbelievably deep conversations, ... I'm telling you, Thursday night is a night of opportunities. The stress of the day is cast off like a heavy load that has been riding on your back all day and that you can now throw away into a corner and never look at again - that is, until the dawn breaks through. But between sundown and sunrise everything seems possible.
Now I won't say that a large part of the ambience is due to the gentle and soothing touch of alcohol, but I also won't deny it. In my experience, I've learnt that the right amount of liquor can unveil the true nature of the person. The higher the percentage, the higher the level of trust and the closer you get to that person. Forget ethanol or temazepam, if you really want to get to know someone, I'd suggest a few shot glasses and an unlimited supply of "I never" questions. Guaranteed personal growth and sincere conversations with unvarnished tongues and unwavering honesty.
People have said that I have some sort of problem with alcohol, but I really don't. I know when to get out, but sometimes it just feels good to succumb to the madness and the obliviousness. To not care, if only for a few hours, is total bliss. To be shielded from judgement, to be totally and unconditionally out of it, can be someone's salvation. Not that I condone irresponsible drinking, but there is always a fine line between sobriety and decadance. It is a dangerous yet seductive way of flirting with transformation. On one hand you can be responsible and down to earth, but on the other hand you can let go for a while and ride the comfortable wave of intoxication.
Intoxicated, what an amazing way of saying you're completely shit-faced. The known symptoms for alcohol intoxication are: slurred speech, impaired balance, poor coordination, flushed faces, reddened eyes, reduced inhibition and erratic behaviour. To the untrained eye this screams after-school special, but to worshippers of the bottle, this sounds like a pretty damn good deal. Slurred speech, fine, who needs it when you've got body language? Impaired balance, totally unnecessary, if you're gonna get hit by a bus, ain't enough balance in the world to protect you from that. Poor coordination in turn, is a trait that some people are given at birth (up to this day I still have trouble distinguishing left from right). Flushed face? It's called shame and we all gotta deal with it. Reddened eyes? Sounds like hay fever to me. Reduced inhibition and erratic behaviour? Seems to be a hell of a fun way to spend an evening, free from social constraints and conformity!
As for the youngsters reading, it's probably wise to quickly mention that alcohol is bad and if you drink it you will go to hell and mommy and daddy will be very upset, but who am I kidding? If that were the case, hell would have been booked solid since the day people started squashing grapes together and calling it wine.
Realizing that I have wandered far away from my original subject, it's best if I now focus on what I was actually trying to say. Thursday night = drink night.
I've been studying at the HUB for quite some time now and yet I've never been out with the people I met there. So I suggested we go drink something in Louvain. It started with a shot of Goldstrike in café Giraf, for the ignorant, Goldstrike is propably one of the greatest beaverages you will ever consume in your entire life. For god sakes, it contains actual flakes of gold foil and the delicousness reeks of cinnamon and sweetness. So after we had taken in this divine drink, we set course for another bar.
Being more at ease there, we started playing "I never". In normal circumstances I'm already a pretty open guy, but with a few shots in me I really loosen up. The same goes for my company of the evening. We quickly shared intimate details about our sex life and other personal things. I don't get why people are so uptight about it sometimes. I have this good friend of mine at school with whom I can genuinely and openly talk about sex and it doesn't bother her. Considering the time and age it's hard to think that a well-known subject like sex is still considered taboo.
As we learned more about each other, I also saw a whole other side to them. A side that is reserved for life outside of school, free from social supervision. We were able to talk and act freely which is a wonderful feeling. In the past, getting to know this other side of a person has served me well.
One of my best friends couldn't stand me before, but at one of my parties I got to ask him about the reasons why and ever since that moment we've been best friends. Although I like to think it all happened quite natural, I know that alcohol somehow functioned as a lubricant to smoothen the rough edges that divided us.
This is why I truly love Thursday night drinks. It is an almost magical time of day when boundaries are surpassed, ancient grudges forgotten and new relationships are formed. So if you have a friend that isn't really your friend, but you still want there to be some sort of connection, I highly recommand having a drink with him. And it's perfectly fine if you decide to have some coke (the drink, not the drugs) with your liquor, there's no rule that says you need to be inebriated to forge a bond, all it takes is a little nudge - or sip.
Now I won't say that a large part of the ambience is due to the gentle and soothing touch of alcohol, but I also won't deny it. In my experience, I've learnt that the right amount of liquor can unveil the true nature of the person. The higher the percentage, the higher the level of trust and the closer you get to that person. Forget ethanol or temazepam, if you really want to get to know someone, I'd suggest a few shot glasses and an unlimited supply of "I never" questions. Guaranteed personal growth and sincere conversations with unvarnished tongues and unwavering honesty.
People have said that I have some sort of problem with alcohol, but I really don't. I know when to get out, but sometimes it just feels good to succumb to the madness and the obliviousness. To not care, if only for a few hours, is total bliss. To be shielded from judgement, to be totally and unconditionally out of it, can be someone's salvation. Not that I condone irresponsible drinking, but there is always a fine line between sobriety and decadance. It is a dangerous yet seductive way of flirting with transformation. On one hand you can be responsible and down to earth, but on the other hand you can let go for a while and ride the comfortable wave of intoxication.
Intoxicated, what an amazing way of saying you're completely shit-faced. The known symptoms for alcohol intoxication are: slurred speech, impaired balance, poor coordination, flushed faces, reddened eyes, reduced inhibition and erratic behaviour. To the untrained eye this screams after-school special, but to worshippers of the bottle, this sounds like a pretty damn good deal. Slurred speech, fine, who needs it when you've got body language? Impaired balance, totally unnecessary, if you're gonna get hit by a bus, ain't enough balance in the world to protect you from that. Poor coordination in turn, is a trait that some people are given at birth (up to this day I still have trouble distinguishing left from right). Flushed face? It's called shame and we all gotta deal with it. Reddened eyes? Sounds like hay fever to me. Reduced inhibition and erratic behaviour? Seems to be a hell of a fun way to spend an evening, free from social constraints and conformity!
As for the youngsters reading, it's probably wise to quickly mention that alcohol is bad and if you drink it you will go to hell and mommy and daddy will be very upset, but who am I kidding? If that were the case, hell would have been booked solid since the day people started squashing grapes together and calling it wine.
Realizing that I have wandered far away from my original subject, it's best if I now focus on what I was actually trying to say. Thursday night = drink night.
I've been studying at the HUB for quite some time now and yet I've never been out with the people I met there. So I suggested we go drink something in Louvain. It started with a shot of Goldstrike in café Giraf, for the ignorant, Goldstrike is propably one of the greatest beaverages you will ever consume in your entire life. For god sakes, it contains actual flakes of gold foil and the delicousness reeks of cinnamon and sweetness. So after we had taken in this divine drink, we set course for another bar.
Being more at ease there, we started playing "I never". In normal circumstances I'm already a pretty open guy, but with a few shots in me I really loosen up. The same goes for my company of the evening. We quickly shared intimate details about our sex life and other personal things. I don't get why people are so uptight about it sometimes. I have this good friend of mine at school with whom I can genuinely and openly talk about sex and it doesn't bother her. Considering the time and age it's hard to think that a well-known subject like sex is still considered taboo.
As we learned more about each other, I also saw a whole other side to them. A side that is reserved for life outside of school, free from social supervision. We were able to talk and act freely which is a wonderful feeling. In the past, getting to know this other side of a person has served me well.
One of my best friends couldn't stand me before, but at one of my parties I got to ask him about the reasons why and ever since that moment we've been best friends. Although I like to think it all happened quite natural, I know that alcohol somehow functioned as a lubricant to smoothen the rough edges that divided us.
This is why I truly love Thursday night drinks. It is an almost magical time of day when boundaries are surpassed, ancient grudges forgotten and new relationships are formed. So if you have a friend that isn't really your friend, but you still want there to be some sort of connection, I highly recommand having a drink with him. And it's perfectly fine if you decide to have some coke (the drink, not the drugs) with your liquor, there's no rule that says you need to be inebriated to forge a bond, all it takes is a little nudge - or sip.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Spark of inspiration
Okay, so the next post came a little sooner than expected, but I was feeling particularly in the mood for short texts, the result is the following:
Love's casualties
It's been months
social network imploded
censored chatrooms
blocked numbers
caller ID salvation
Then suddenly
a new post
a renewed sense of hope
false beliefs
shattered
Maybe this is it
misplaced expectations
closeted desires
touch and go
quick glances
Maybe, just maybe
this bond symbiotic
has an expiration date
and when the hourglass runs dry
mutually assured destruction
Life's trials
Don't bring me violins
I care not for them
Don't offer condolensces
People are never really gone
Don't try to judge
It's already been done
Don't turn on the light
I'll find my way in the dark
Let all earthly things fade
Let metal corrode
And time slip away
Do not rebuild what is broken
It shall never be the same
Be prepared to let go of people
They are not meant to be possessed
Try to write it all down
Even though paper burns
Let history breathe
And take over
Dare to see further
When everyone else looks back
Feel what others can't
What has never been felt before
Change if you must
But only if you're the catalyst
Defy what can be defied
And do not let boundaries be defining
Break free if you must
No living man should be held
But most of all
Look around
See what you like?
Is it what you want it to be?
Count your blessings
Cherish raindrops
Adore sunshine
Honor life
This is what you must do
Despair has never been man's best friend
Love's casualties
It's been months
social network imploded
censored chatrooms
blocked numbers
caller ID salvation
Then suddenly
a new post
a renewed sense of hope
false beliefs
shattered
Maybe this is it
misplaced expectations
closeted desires
touch and go
quick glances
Maybe, just maybe
this bond symbiotic
has an expiration date
and when the hourglass runs dry
mutually assured destruction
Life's trials
Don't bring me violins
I care not for them
Don't offer condolensces
People are never really gone
Don't try to judge
It's already been done
Don't turn on the light
I'll find my way in the dark
Let all earthly things fade
Let metal corrode
And time slip away
Do not rebuild what is broken
It shall never be the same
Be prepared to let go of people
They are not meant to be possessed
Try to write it all down
Even though paper burns
Let history breathe
And take over
Dare to see further
When everyone else looks back
Feel what others can't
What has never been felt before
Change if you must
But only if you're the catalyst
Defy what can be defied
And do not let boundaries be defining
Break free if you must
No living man should be held
But most of all
Look around
See what you like?
Is it what you want it to be?
Count your blessings
Cherish raindrops
Adore sunshine
Honor life
This is what you must do
Despair has never been man's best friend
A world of words
It's been a few days since my last post, but I thought I ought to wait until something truly noteworthy happened to me. Like I've said in a previous post, I applied for the up-and-coming newspaper at my school. Today was the first meeting of the minds.
From the minute I sat around the conference table alongside some of my friends I knew this is what I wanted to do with my life. It's a strange thing to be overtaken by such a profound sense of dedication and certitude. To truly and honestly know what you want to do with the rest of your life is a gift that few people receive so when it strucks you, you can only feel elation and a certain sense of calmness.
So there I was, feeling pretty good about myself and already imagining my life ten years into the future when I would be sitting in a similar conference room and surrounded by bright minds and great writers all the while knowing that you're doing something you really love. The meeting itself functioned mainly as an introduction, names were exchanged, ideas, prospects and fun facts about one another. Arrangements were made to meet again next week and we were given the assignment - although that's not really what is was - to find out what it is that we wanted to do for the paper.
For me, it is important that I can write something, that I can express my ideas. Others preferred photography, which is fine by me since I have accepted the fact that I will probably never be an Annie Leibovitz or an Alfred Eisenstaedt. If I manage to take a picture without thumbs or other fingers in the shot and featuring a somewhat straight angle, I'm happy. Although I can absolutely appreciate a photograph and be mesmerized by it, I don't feel the need to try and imitate it as good as possible.
My heart will always belong to writing. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I will always value those words more because that it just who I am.
That is also why I will always try to read a novel in its original language, simply because something always gets lost in translation. I want to be able to read the very words the author imagined, to read the very same sentence that he created, not the interpretation of someone else. Although I do admire the effort of the translator and I appreciate what he does, in my mind, he will never live up to the original. That being said, it is always possible that the translated text might in fact be better than the original text.
Since the subject of literature has been brought up, I might as well talk a little about the book that I'm reading at the moment: Bright shiny morning by James Frey. It's a novel about life in Los Angeles. It revolves around individuals, all from different backgrounds, different skin colour, different life goals and most importantly a different perspective on life. You have Maddie and Dylan, the blissfully happy young couple from somewhere in the Mid-West who have come to LA to start over, the celebrity couple with three adorable children, only the husband is a closeted gay man and the whole wedding turns out to be a publicity stunt / sham, you also have the story of Esperanza, a girl whose parents desperately wanted a different life for their daughter so they fled South America where they lived happily together, but Esperanza wants more out of life, but therefore she has to be willing to compromise.
I've only read the first 80 pages but already I find myself unable to put it down. Frey is able to captivate me with the enthralling lives of all of his characters and at the same time providing me with interesting "did you know" facts about the county of Los Angeles. I'll let you know what I think of the book just as soon as I've turned the final page.
But for now, Easter holiday approaching, I should get back to work. There are still a lot of summaries of courses to be made and lessons to be learned, so its back to the trenches for me.
From the minute I sat around the conference table alongside some of my friends I knew this is what I wanted to do with my life. It's a strange thing to be overtaken by such a profound sense of dedication and certitude. To truly and honestly know what you want to do with the rest of your life is a gift that few people receive so when it strucks you, you can only feel elation and a certain sense of calmness.
So there I was, feeling pretty good about myself and already imagining my life ten years into the future when I would be sitting in a similar conference room and surrounded by bright minds and great writers all the while knowing that you're doing something you really love. The meeting itself functioned mainly as an introduction, names were exchanged, ideas, prospects and fun facts about one another. Arrangements were made to meet again next week and we were given the assignment - although that's not really what is was - to find out what it is that we wanted to do for the paper.
For me, it is important that I can write something, that I can express my ideas. Others preferred photography, which is fine by me since I have accepted the fact that I will probably never be an Annie Leibovitz or an Alfred Eisenstaedt. If I manage to take a picture without thumbs or other fingers in the shot and featuring a somewhat straight angle, I'm happy. Although I can absolutely appreciate a photograph and be mesmerized by it, I don't feel the need to try and imitate it as good as possible.
My heart will always belong to writing. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I will always value those words more because that it just who I am.
That is also why I will always try to read a novel in its original language, simply because something always gets lost in translation. I want to be able to read the very words the author imagined, to read the very same sentence that he created, not the interpretation of someone else. Although I do admire the effort of the translator and I appreciate what he does, in my mind, he will never live up to the original. That being said, it is always possible that the translated text might in fact be better than the original text.
Since the subject of literature has been brought up, I might as well talk a little about the book that I'm reading at the moment: Bright shiny morning by James Frey. It's a novel about life in Los Angeles. It revolves around individuals, all from different backgrounds, different skin colour, different life goals and most importantly a different perspective on life. You have Maddie and Dylan, the blissfully happy young couple from somewhere in the Mid-West who have come to LA to start over, the celebrity couple with three adorable children, only the husband is a closeted gay man and the whole wedding turns out to be a publicity stunt / sham, you also have the story of Esperanza, a girl whose parents desperately wanted a different life for their daughter so they fled South America where they lived happily together, but Esperanza wants more out of life, but therefore she has to be willing to compromise.
I've only read the first 80 pages but already I find myself unable to put it down. Frey is able to captivate me with the enthralling lives of all of his characters and at the same time providing me with interesting "did you know" facts about the county of Los Angeles. I'll let you know what I think of the book just as soon as I've turned the final page.
But for now, Easter holiday approaching, I should get back to work. There are still a lot of summaries of courses to be made and lessons to be learned, so its back to the trenches for me.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Random thoughts
Life is a constant ebb and flood. Some things are taken from us, while others are given back. The curious thing is that we can never know what we will lose and what will return to us someday.
A french author once wrote
"On ne s'est pas aimés au même moment"
The very thought seems unbearable; to fall in love with someone, but knowing they don't love you back - yet. A love that comes at a different point at time. A collective awareness seperated by minutes, hours or even years. Do we get that time back?
What is time? What does it mean to remember something or someone? Is it an imprint that we make for ourselves in our mind so we don't forget someone or is it something deeper, something more profound and sacred? What happens when we stop remembering?
"Not the power to remember, but its very opposite,
the power to forget is a necessary condition for our existence"
All our lives we meet people, we exchange looks, we breathe in the same air, we walk the same paths, yet we don't even know half the people we meet. They pass us by, like cities on a freeway, looking so tiny and insignifant, but holding infinitely priceless treasures within. We are disconnected, in life, in love, at work, ... Disconnection has become mundain, normal.
To some of these people we meet, we open up our hearts to. We let them in, let them savour on the lives that we have accumulated for ourselves, allow them to penetrate our thoughts, our desires, our dreams. We think we are one, but there will always be a wall, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, we will always hide something from them. Nobody can truly know everything about someone. It's who we are.
"Man is the only species who knows he is alone"
What must we do to break down these walls? Is all we need just a little bit of momentum? If so, how do we create this? How do we know if its strong enough to take down the wall? Did Sartre had it right?
"L'enfer c'est les autres"
I like to think not. I like to believe that we are all individuals, but with a certain sense of belonging. All are lost souls, gathered on an infinite sea, looking for a guiding light to shine the way. Some will only need just a flicker of its light, while others will never feel safe without it. Of course, there will always be those that prefer to sail alone, who refuse the aiding hand and trust solely in their own judgement and inner light. I can only hope that we will all reach our proper destinations - whatever they may be - and that we all find what we are looking for.
It would be a shame if we'd spend all this time on this earth and not have a thing to show for it.
"One must desire something to be alive"
A french author once wrote
"On ne s'est pas aimés au même moment"
The very thought seems unbearable; to fall in love with someone, but knowing they don't love you back - yet. A love that comes at a different point at time. A collective awareness seperated by minutes, hours or even years. Do we get that time back?
What is time? What does it mean to remember something or someone? Is it an imprint that we make for ourselves in our mind so we don't forget someone or is it something deeper, something more profound and sacred? What happens when we stop remembering?
"Not the power to remember, but its very opposite,
the power to forget is a necessary condition for our existence"
All our lives we meet people, we exchange looks, we breathe in the same air, we walk the same paths, yet we don't even know half the people we meet. They pass us by, like cities on a freeway, looking so tiny and insignifant, but holding infinitely priceless treasures within. We are disconnected, in life, in love, at work, ... Disconnection has become mundain, normal.
To some of these people we meet, we open up our hearts to. We let them in, let them savour on the lives that we have accumulated for ourselves, allow them to penetrate our thoughts, our desires, our dreams. We think we are one, but there will always be a wall, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, we will always hide something from them. Nobody can truly know everything about someone. It's who we are.
"Man is the only species who knows he is alone"
What must we do to break down these walls? Is all we need just a little bit of momentum? If so, how do we create this? How do we know if its strong enough to take down the wall? Did Sartre had it right?
"L'enfer c'est les autres"
I like to think not. I like to believe that we are all individuals, but with a certain sense of belonging. All are lost souls, gathered on an infinite sea, looking for a guiding light to shine the way. Some will only need just a flicker of its light, while others will never feel safe without it. Of course, there will always be those that prefer to sail alone, who refuse the aiding hand and trust solely in their own judgement and inner light. I can only hope that we will all reach our proper destinations - whatever they may be - and that we all find what we are looking for.
It would be a shame if we'd spend all this time on this earth and not have a thing to show for it.
"One must desire something to be alive"
Ode to Gaga
Lady Gaga is a goddess. There are no other words to describe how she has come to rule and define the music industry in such a short time. It seems only seconds ago that we could sing along with "Just Dance", or that "Pokerface" was omnipresent on the radio. Even though she has only released one album, you can already predict that she will become the Madonna of the early twenty-first century.
I've always loved Just Dance because of the tragedy that lies within. The girl in question has lost her keys, lost her phone, practically everything, but she can still find the time to appreciate the song and let herself go on the dancefloor. As long as she has music running through her veins, she will be alright and nothing can hurt her.
I've just watched Gaga's new video "Telephone" featuring Beyonce. Its full version is 9 minutes and you can find it here. In the clip she has paid a lot of tribute to Quentin Tarantino in ways such as the Pussy Wagon, the scene at the diner and the overall storyline. It is meant to be a continuation for the Paparazzi video and ends with the prospect of yet another sequel, which I'm quite looking forward to.
The song itself is about Gaga's fear of suffocation, lyric wise she would rather stay on the dancefloor than answer the - obsessive - phone calls of her boyfriend. To the screen this is translated by Lady Gaga and Beyonce going on a killing spree, hitting a local diner to kill the boyfriend of Beyonce *Honeybee* and everyone else there as well. Be sure to watch the entire videoclip and make sure you get all of Gaga's little tics and her attention for detail.
Clearly Gaga was never meant to be a pop princess or a one-hit-wonder, that much is clear. Still you can't help but wonder where her crazy fantasies and sexual preferences will take her. In a way, everything has been done before and scandal has already been outdated. What more could she have to show us that we haven't already seen?
But never fear, because I have a feeling Gaga has a few more tricks up her sleave - those rare few times she actually wears something with sleaves - and she's not willing to let go of her little 'Monsters' just yet. So stay tuned for more sinfully delicious Gaga-ism.
I've always loved Just Dance because of the tragedy that lies within. The girl in question has lost her keys, lost her phone, practically everything, but she can still find the time to appreciate the song and let herself go on the dancefloor. As long as she has music running through her veins, she will be alright and nothing can hurt her.
I've just watched Gaga's new video "Telephone" featuring Beyonce. Its full version is 9 minutes and you can find it here. In the clip she has paid a lot of tribute to Quentin Tarantino in ways such as the Pussy Wagon, the scene at the diner and the overall storyline. It is meant to be a continuation for the Paparazzi video and ends with the prospect of yet another sequel, which I'm quite looking forward to.
The song itself is about Gaga's fear of suffocation, lyric wise she would rather stay on the dancefloor than answer the - obsessive - phone calls of her boyfriend. To the screen this is translated by Lady Gaga and Beyonce going on a killing spree, hitting a local diner to kill the boyfriend of Beyonce *Honeybee* and everyone else there as well. Be sure to watch the entire videoclip and make sure you get all of Gaga's little tics and her attention for detail.
Clearly Gaga was never meant to be a pop princess or a one-hit-wonder, that much is clear. Still you can't help but wonder where her crazy fantasies and sexual preferences will take her. In a way, everything has been done before and scandal has already been outdated. What more could she have to show us that we haven't already seen?
But never fear, because I have a feeling Gaga has a few more tricks up her sleave - those rare few times she actually wears something with sleaves - and she's not willing to let go of her little 'Monsters' just yet. So stay tuned for more sinfully delicious Gaga-ism.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Shattered, but alive
When I was studying in Ghent I fell in love with this amazing girl. She wasn't what most people viewed as pretty, but to me she was beautiful. She had this wonderful personality and we seemed to connect almost instantly. I loved spending time with her and I hated it when we weren't together. In the first week that we knew each other we were able to tell our deepest secrets to one another, it was like there were no boundaries, we could share everything.
There was this night where we were both lying in my bed. Face to face. We were talking about love and relationships and discussing if maybe we had a future together. Later she told me there was a moment that she wanted to kiss me. And maybe if she had, thing would've been different. Maybe that'd been the moment that defined us, that solidified the persons we were going to be and set the destination where we were going to end up.
But our story was never meant to have a happy ending. She changed schools in Febuary and we saw less of each other. But I wasn't ready to let her go just yet. I came clean and told her of my feelings for her. She instantly reciprocated, but she told me she wasn't ready for a relationship yet. I understood, because I knew what she'd been going through, so I respected her wishes. I still made sure that I was in her life. We went to diner, the movies, spent time at each other's place. We really discovered a new sense of intimacy and somehow we became more than friends, but less than lovers. But I was okay with that.
In the Summer I suggested we meet again (our schedules were hectic back then with vacations, holiday work and studying for the exams in August). Sadly, after weeks of searching for matching openings in our agendas, she cancelled on the final possible day. I took this as a sign that she didn't really wanted to be with me.
So I texted "I guess I know what your answer is now".
At that time I had also decided to change schools as well and go study in Brussels. Then she took this as something to throw back into my face saying I was the one who had given up on us by leaving. We had a huge fight and decided it was best if we didn't see each other anymore.
I deleted her from Facebook - well, can you blame me? I didn't want to be reminded of her every single time I'd open the webpage: X has been tagged in this photo, X will attend this event and so on. Immediately I was called upon it. "Why did you cut me out of your life like that?" Another fight follows. There was little chance of reconciliation at that point.
The choices we'd made, the words we'd said and even the words we hadn't said had come between us. Silence had paved the way for fighting and resentment. Sometimes I wish I could go back and change it. To just change one thing. See where it would lead to. Can one word really change it all? I actually doubt it. Sometimes it's not so much the words that can drive two persons apart, but the very persons themselves. Maybe we didn't have what it took to be a couple? Maybe we had a window of opportunity and we just gazed at it and watched it pass us by and disintegrate into nothingness.
The truth is, I will never know and maybe that's for the best.
Now all that remains of a relationship that once held so much promise and prosperity are quick glances at parties, silent questions that will always remain without answers, altered perspectives, fractured friendships and a dual sense of regret, sorrow and sadness.
I've always promised myself that I would not let this change me, that I would come out of it stronger. I was wrong about one thing. It has changed me. It has made me realize that you have to be very careful to who you upon up your heart and your life to. But I'm glad that I know this now. Because it has made me stronger and it has defined me as a person. Only thing is, I don't really know yet if it'was for the best.
I can only hope that this experience will one day be able to make me smile or that I can look back upon it all and be happy for the time that I did get to spend with her. And I hope that it is true what they say:
Tragedy + Time = Comedy
There was this night where we were both lying in my bed. Face to face. We were talking about love and relationships and discussing if maybe we had a future together. Later she told me there was a moment that she wanted to kiss me. And maybe if she had, thing would've been different. Maybe that'd been the moment that defined us, that solidified the persons we were going to be and set the destination where we were going to end up.
But our story was never meant to have a happy ending. She changed schools in Febuary and we saw less of each other. But I wasn't ready to let her go just yet. I came clean and told her of my feelings for her. She instantly reciprocated, but she told me she wasn't ready for a relationship yet. I understood, because I knew what she'd been going through, so I respected her wishes. I still made sure that I was in her life. We went to diner, the movies, spent time at each other's place. We really discovered a new sense of intimacy and somehow we became more than friends, but less than lovers. But I was okay with that.
In the Summer I suggested we meet again (our schedules were hectic back then with vacations, holiday work and studying for the exams in August). Sadly, after weeks of searching for matching openings in our agendas, she cancelled on the final possible day. I took this as a sign that she didn't really wanted to be with me.
So I texted "I guess I know what your answer is now".
At that time I had also decided to change schools as well and go study in Brussels. Then she took this as something to throw back into my face saying I was the one who had given up on us by leaving. We had a huge fight and decided it was best if we didn't see each other anymore.
I deleted her from Facebook - well, can you blame me? I didn't want to be reminded of her every single time I'd open the webpage: X has been tagged in this photo, X will attend this event and so on. Immediately I was called upon it. "Why did you cut me out of your life like that?" Another fight follows. There was little chance of reconciliation at that point.
The choices we'd made, the words we'd said and even the words we hadn't said had come between us. Silence had paved the way for fighting and resentment. Sometimes I wish I could go back and change it. To just change one thing. See where it would lead to. Can one word really change it all? I actually doubt it. Sometimes it's not so much the words that can drive two persons apart, but the very persons themselves. Maybe we didn't have what it took to be a couple? Maybe we had a window of opportunity and we just gazed at it and watched it pass us by and disintegrate into nothingness.
The truth is, I will never know and maybe that's for the best.
Now all that remains of a relationship that once held so much promise and prosperity are quick glances at parties, silent questions that will always remain without answers, altered perspectives, fractured friendships and a dual sense of regret, sorrow and sadness.
I've always promised myself that I would not let this change me, that I would come out of it stronger. I was wrong about one thing. It has changed me. It has made me realize that you have to be very careful to who you upon up your heart and your life to. But I'm glad that I know this now. Because it has made me stronger and it has defined me as a person. Only thing is, I don't really know yet if it'was for the best.
I can only hope that this experience will one day be able to make me smile or that I can look back upon it all and be happy for the time that I did get to spend with her. And I hope that it is true what they say:
Tragedy + Time = Comedy
Friday, March 12, 2010
A multitude of identities
The thing that struck me about the show was the whole concept of identity disorder. In the fourth episode someone says that in a way we are like Tara, we all possess different versions of ourselves.
There's the version that you are at work, the one at home with your family, the one you show to your friends or even to your pet. We all juggle dozens of personalities in the air every day. The only difference between us and Tara is the fact that we can mostly control which Alter we prefer to show to people, whereas Tara pretty much just has to sit back and try to enjoy the ride.
United States of Tara has captivated me in a way that not many shows can do lately. Sure, Lost has got the whole mythology and answer-one-question-but-add-a-dozen-more thing going, Desperate Housewives is all about the façade and the reality behind it mixed in with a little murder and mayhem, One Tree Hill is flooded with drama, secrets and love triangles, but Tara is something else.
It's perfectly understandable if you're not into it, I'm not trying to force anyone to become a Tara-fan, but it does bring this sense of depth to the whole comedy-drama series that so many others seem to lack. When I look at the residents of Wisteria Lane, the characters on Lost or the faux-teenagers of One Tree Hill I never feel this connection to the main character. Sure, there are the regular tear-jerking moments such as Juliet's alleged death in season 5 or Keith's murder in Tree Hill, but if we're being rational, we know that that sort of thing just isn't plausible, it doesn't have the power to affect you.
I love Tara because she is different and she has come to terms with it. She knows that there will always be moments in her life that are blank to her, because one of her Alters was active at that time, she knows that she has missed out on some important events, or that her husband and children are put under tremendous stress, but somehow, she manages to get up and keep going. Although at the time she still feels resentful towards the DID and the personalities that it has spawned, but I'm looking forward to seeing her fully cope with them and accepting that they are not totally different people, but merely different aspects of her own personality.
There's Alice who is the maternal, do-all for the family, T who wants to act out, break with convention and be free and Buck, who is the male part of her in the way that we all have our respective male and female sides to our personality.
Tara has really got me thinking about the notion of identity and how far its influence can stretch and I think that if a show is able to get to you in such a way, there's got to be something there, no?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Opportunity knocks
I've been looking for some freelance journalism for quite some time. Seems only fitting to find a creative outlet for my writing outbursts. I've thought about applying to work for Metro or another independent newspaper, maybe even something online, but so far I haven't actually done anything about it.
But now, opportunity knocks and I am going to answer it! My school is setting up a brand new newspaper and they're looking for potential writers. So I just went for it! I sent an email that sort of functioned as my job application and now I'm keeping my fingers crossed. If I manage to land the job, this could very well be my stepping stone to professional journalism or other freelance writing stuff!
It's funny how my future career has changed so drastically. When I was in kindergarten I wanted to be a lawyer - made sense at the time, because everybody kept telling me I could talk my way out of anything! A few years later I wanted to be a teacher or a dentist (apparantly, though I can't remember that). In high school my focus shifted to psychology. That's why I studied social sciences for four years. We had courses that looked like pre-psychology and pre-sociology, but I loved it, and I was good at it. So when the time came to choose my college direction, I thought it would be an easy choice, it wasn't.
I sucked at math, and I mean big time! I made it out of primary school with a 51% score, first year of high school I got 49% and I had to do summer homework and in my second year I even had to take the exam again in August. But I passed! 50.1%, but still! So when I learned that psychology had a massive ammount of statistics, I started to rethink everything. I ended up going for communicational sciences because somehow, I found myself becoming more and more attracted to writing.
Ever since I was little I would write these little stories or little texts which lacked any form of consistency or depth, but I loved it. I also enjoyed reading. It got me thinking how wonderful it must be to make a living out of writing. Going out into the world, experiencing all sorts of things and then coming back when the sun starts to go down and write about it. It seemed amazing. The more I got to think about it, the more convinced I was that I wanted to write for a living.
Whenever I go to sleep, I usually spend quite a lot of time thinking of potential stories, fictional characters and plot development so that when I get up the next morning all I want to do is write something down. I know this must sound insane, but I cannot help myself. The only problem is that I have yet to find a proper way to stick to one story and see it all the way through... But I'm quite confident I'll get there someday.
I've also been thinking about picking up a creative writing class, but the only problem is that in Belgium you can only do these in Dutch and I kinda prefer writing in English. But who knows, if I keep searching I'm bound to find something, right?
But now, opportunity knocks and I am going to answer it! My school is setting up a brand new newspaper and they're looking for potential writers. So I just went for it! I sent an email that sort of functioned as my job application and now I'm keeping my fingers crossed. If I manage to land the job, this could very well be my stepping stone to professional journalism or other freelance writing stuff!
It's funny how my future career has changed so drastically. When I was in kindergarten I wanted to be a lawyer - made sense at the time, because everybody kept telling me I could talk my way out of anything! A few years later I wanted to be a teacher or a dentist (apparantly, though I can't remember that). In high school my focus shifted to psychology. That's why I studied social sciences for four years. We had courses that looked like pre-psychology and pre-sociology, but I loved it, and I was good at it. So when the time came to choose my college direction, I thought it would be an easy choice, it wasn't.
I sucked at math, and I mean big time! I made it out of primary school with a 51% score, first year of high school I got 49% and I had to do summer homework and in my second year I even had to take the exam again in August. But I passed! 50.1%, but still! So when I learned that psychology had a massive ammount of statistics, I started to rethink everything. I ended up going for communicational sciences because somehow, I found myself becoming more and more attracted to writing.
Ever since I was little I would write these little stories or little texts which lacked any form of consistency or depth, but I loved it. I also enjoyed reading. It got me thinking how wonderful it must be to make a living out of writing. Going out into the world, experiencing all sorts of things and then coming back when the sun starts to go down and write about it. It seemed amazing. The more I got to think about it, the more convinced I was that I wanted to write for a living.
Whenever I go to sleep, I usually spend quite a lot of time thinking of potential stories, fictional characters and plot development so that when I get up the next morning all I want to do is write something down. I know this must sound insane, but I cannot help myself. The only problem is that I have yet to find a proper way to stick to one story and see it all the way through... But I'm quite confident I'll get there someday.
I've also been thinking about picking up a creative writing class, but the only problem is that in Belgium you can only do these in Dutch and I kinda prefer writing in English. But who knows, if I keep searching I'm bound to find something, right?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The cracked looking glass
Went to the movies today, something I hadn't done in over 3 months (for me, that's a big deal). The last one I saw was this piece of crap movie called Couples Retreat, which if you're single, isn't recommended! You're probably wondering - or perhaps just a tad curious- which movie I went to see this time. I chose Alice In Wonderland by the amazingly talented, though a bit eccentric director Tim Burton.
I'll be honest with you, I had high hopes for this movie! Alice is a fantastic story and a real treat for one's imagination. This combined with Burton's overall weirdness and sense of stilistic beauty should have led to a wonderful tale about an adolescent Alice returning to Wonderland. Sadly, this was not the version that was projected onto that big white screen.
The thing that bugged me the most was the fact that for the entire first 40 minutes of the movie, you had absolutely no idea what was going on (especially if you're not familiar with the original Lewis Carroll story). Burton keeps throwing names at you in the same way that a kid keeps on throwing rocks in a lake. It's annoying and it causes a lot of confusion - or ripples, to stay within the metaphor.
"Jabberwocky, Vorpal Sword, Uilleam the Dodo, Mallymkun, Absolem, Bandersnatch, Frabjous Day"
No, I have not gone mad and I am not inventing random words. This is the wonderous world of Wonderland! Now if you can explain all these words, then I salute you and I apologize for what I said about Alice, but I'm sure most of you will be stunned by the sheer waterfall of names that comes at you. It would have made everything so much easier if the crazy - stoned out of his mind - Caterpillar had some sort of "previously on ..." written on his fabled know-it-all calendar.
Another thing, now I'm as much a Johnny Depp fan as the next, but I seriously doubt that the Mad Hatter got that much attention in Carroll's original story, nor did he actually need all the extra screen time in the movie. He's a terrific and talented actor, no doubt. But the persona that Depp portrayed here, really didn't differ much from his other characters, like Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands or even Sweeney Todd. His portrayal of the Mad Hatter felt more like an amalgamation than a true stand-alone character. It's understandable that Depp can get lost in his sea of inspiration and feel overwhelmed with his gift of bringing a character to life, but in my humble opinion, he could have tried to do things a little differently than just the usual weird eye movement, stuttering tongue and the overall feminine walk.
But I must give props to Anne Hathaway in her role as the White Queen and Helena Bonham Carter as her sister in Red. Though it must be said that Helena's role was a given, anyone whose head gets enlarged three sizes becomes instantly funny and comical, but it takes effort to assume the attitude of the White Queen. Anna Hathaway possessed a much more delicate facial palatte with which she expressed the exquisiteness of the Queen beautifully. Even the way she walked, or should I say glided across the floor was enthralling to see. Sadly, she only appears after an hour of seeing Depp doing his ordinary - and tedious - acting and watching Helena's head move around like a bobble head.
Still Helena managed to rise above her enormous head - which is an accomplishment on its own - and inject some of her own twistedness into the Red Queen. I doubt I would have made it through the movie without these two.
Usually, I'm quite forgiving and accepting when it comes to bad movies, but I really, really expected something better from such a prominent director. And they say M. Night Shyamalan isn't a good director? Well, at least Night's stories are executed near perfection, so maybe the two can collaborate in the future. Who knows, maybe two wrongs can make a right?
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Good times gone
It's been 8 years since I've left primary school, 8 years since I've last spoken to anyone there. Nowadays, you would think me mad. I mean, who doesn't have Facebook, hotmail, gmail or all those other social network sites that are out there? But 8 years ago, stuff like that seemed light years away. Therefore, I lost track of all of my friends and started a whole new life in secundary school.
About 2 years ago, I got acquanted with a magnificent new type of technology: Facebook! It really is a sort of time machine with which you can find friends from the past again. And that's exactly what I did. It all started when someone from the 6th year sent me a friendship request. At first, I had the hardest time figuring out where I knew her from or if I had even met her at all! Turns out though, I spent a year with her in the same class and that she had tried to find her old friends via Facebook and I was the first one! I felt a wave of nostalgia riding over me. I immediatly racked my brain, searching for names and last names so that I could revisit my childhood somewhat. After about half an hour I had sent out 20 friendhip requests. Now all I had to do was wait until FB gave me a notification. Fortunately, this didn't take too long and before I knew it, I was catapulted 8 years in the past and I found myself reminiscing about the good ol' days.
After a few Wall posts and hilarious comments on old class photos the question finally arose: 'We should get together sometime, don't you agree?' And with this, a floodgate of questions swept over me. What would they be like now? How much have they changed since then? What would they think of me? What are they studying, who are they dating, what has happened to them over the past 8 years?
All questions, but no answers.
Immediately after this question, a proposition was made regarding the organisation of a whole reunion. The entire 6th year united again after so long and cramped together in a room where they would have the opportunity to mingle, talk and take trips down memory lane. In my case, this would surely help fill the gaps that time had made in my memory. So I was very exited to hear that a date had been set. Febuary 20th. Alas, the date didn't work for all and it was postponed twice already and now it rests on the 20th of April. But, someone couldn't wait and suggested we should meet earlier.
He was my best friend in primary school. We sat in the same class for over 5 years and had had countless of play dates. They used to say we were like brothers, two persons one mind, that kind of thing. But during our 5th year something happened. As we all started to yearn for secundary school, more responsability and adolescence, we drifted apart. I found myself spending a lot more time with then on-and-off girlfriend and the girls of my class. I'm frank enough to say that I was quite good with the ladies, a sort of junior-womanizer. But it was that kind of behaviour that caused a rift between me and my best friend. In my eyes, he never really 'matured' much then, to the extent that you can mature at that age. He stayed the fragile and docile kid that I knew and befriended. But it was impossible to stop the impending rupture to take place. In the 6th year we weren't even in the same class anymore and that was the end of our friendship. We left primary school saying we'd keep in touch, but how could we? We didn't even have each other's e-mail adresses, let alone Facebook and he was preparing to move so his phone number wouldn't have been of much use. And so 8 years passed ...
... when he asked me if we could meet up earlier than the reunion. Of course I was looking forward to seeing him again so we arranged to meet. That was yesterday. We rendez-vous'ed at Fochplein, a square in Louvain. When I arrived, the square was empty and I didn't want to be the one to just stand there looking all stupid when he would come up to me from 10 metres away and me not even recognising him. So I waited under a roof nearby. Then this boy walked up the square, disconnected from the world by way of an iPod and holding a cell phone in his hand. Suddenly I felt me jacket vibrate and I knew I would be getting a text message from him, saying he was at the meeting point. I quickly read the message (of which I already foresaw its content) and started walking up towards him. I reached out my hand and said 'Good evening' to him and in the blink of an eye I could swear I saw discontent. It might have been a trick of the mind, a misconception or perhaps even the rain, but somewhere I felt that it was more personal than that. Thirty seconds in and we were already off to a hell of a start.
But the biggest shock of all came when we sat down in a café to talk. The entire evening I tried to find my friend of old in this person again. Even a glimmer would have sufficed, but I found nothing. The person that I had known for most of my pre-adolescent life was gone. Time had taken him from me and twisted him into something else entirely, something I honestly wanted no part of. It sounds hard that I should say this, but you must understand the insurmountable difference between this person and the person I remembered. Maybe time has corroded my mind as well, maybe he was like this all along, but I highly doubt that. He used to be this skirmish, happy-go-lucky, somewhat frightened and frêle kid who hung out with me, who played video games with me and who I could turn to if I needed it. But this young man, this person was nothing like him anymore.
It seems cruel that I am denied to see my old friend again. It seems unfair that I can never get that friendship back, but I knew that to him as well, I have changed considerably. Maybe he feels the exact way about me. Maybe he also saw a glimmer of discontent and regret in my eyes when we met. But I can never be sure. All I know is that this has corrupted my entire view of the reunion of which I was so looking forward to. I wonder if all of my old friends have become warped like that. I wonder if they would be disappointed in seeing what I have become or if I would be disappointed in what they have become.
Still, those are matters for another time as the reunion is still months away. But who knows, maybe time can do me a favor and work its magic again and change all of it back to the way it once was?
About 2 years ago, I got acquanted with a magnificent new type of technology: Facebook! It really is a sort of time machine with which you can find friends from the past again. And that's exactly what I did. It all started when someone from the 6th year sent me a friendship request. At first, I had the hardest time figuring out where I knew her from or if I had even met her at all! Turns out though, I spent a year with her in the same class and that she had tried to find her old friends via Facebook and I was the first one! I felt a wave of nostalgia riding over me. I immediatly racked my brain, searching for names and last names so that I could revisit my childhood somewhat. After about half an hour I had sent out 20 friendhip requests. Now all I had to do was wait until FB gave me a notification. Fortunately, this didn't take too long and before I knew it, I was catapulted 8 years in the past and I found myself reminiscing about the good ol' days.
After a few Wall posts and hilarious comments on old class photos the question finally arose: 'We should get together sometime, don't you agree?' And with this, a floodgate of questions swept over me. What would they be like now? How much have they changed since then? What would they think of me? What are they studying, who are they dating, what has happened to them over the past 8 years?
All questions, but no answers.
Immediately after this question, a proposition was made regarding the organisation of a whole reunion. The entire 6th year united again after so long and cramped together in a room where they would have the opportunity to mingle, talk and take trips down memory lane. In my case, this would surely help fill the gaps that time had made in my memory. So I was very exited to hear that a date had been set. Febuary 20th. Alas, the date didn't work for all and it was postponed twice already and now it rests on the 20th of April. But, someone couldn't wait and suggested we should meet earlier.
He was my best friend in primary school. We sat in the same class for over 5 years and had had countless of play dates. They used to say we were like brothers, two persons one mind, that kind of thing. But during our 5th year something happened. As we all started to yearn for secundary school, more responsability and adolescence, we drifted apart. I found myself spending a lot more time with then on-and-off girlfriend and the girls of my class. I'm frank enough to say that I was quite good with the ladies, a sort of junior-womanizer. But it was that kind of behaviour that caused a rift between me and my best friend. In my eyes, he never really 'matured' much then, to the extent that you can mature at that age. He stayed the fragile and docile kid that I knew and befriended. But it was impossible to stop the impending rupture to take place. In the 6th year we weren't even in the same class anymore and that was the end of our friendship. We left primary school saying we'd keep in touch, but how could we? We didn't even have each other's e-mail adresses, let alone Facebook and he was preparing to move so his phone number wouldn't have been of much use. And so 8 years passed ...
... when he asked me if we could meet up earlier than the reunion. Of course I was looking forward to seeing him again so we arranged to meet. That was yesterday. We rendez-vous'ed at Fochplein, a square in Louvain. When I arrived, the square was empty and I didn't want to be the one to just stand there looking all stupid when he would come up to me from 10 metres away and me not even recognising him. So I waited under a roof nearby. Then this boy walked up the square, disconnected from the world by way of an iPod and holding a cell phone in his hand. Suddenly I felt me jacket vibrate and I knew I would be getting a text message from him, saying he was at the meeting point. I quickly read the message (of which I already foresaw its content) and started walking up towards him. I reached out my hand and said 'Good evening' to him and in the blink of an eye I could swear I saw discontent. It might have been a trick of the mind, a misconception or perhaps even the rain, but somewhere I felt that it was more personal than that. Thirty seconds in and we were already off to a hell of a start.
But the biggest shock of all came when we sat down in a café to talk. The entire evening I tried to find my friend of old in this person again. Even a glimmer would have sufficed, but I found nothing. The person that I had known for most of my pre-adolescent life was gone. Time had taken him from me and twisted him into something else entirely, something I honestly wanted no part of. It sounds hard that I should say this, but you must understand the insurmountable difference between this person and the person I remembered. Maybe time has corroded my mind as well, maybe he was like this all along, but I highly doubt that. He used to be this skirmish, happy-go-lucky, somewhat frightened and frêle kid who hung out with me, who played video games with me and who I could turn to if I needed it. But this young man, this person was nothing like him anymore.
It seems cruel that I am denied to see my old friend again. It seems unfair that I can never get that friendship back, but I knew that to him as well, I have changed considerably. Maybe he feels the exact way about me. Maybe he also saw a glimmer of discontent and regret in my eyes when we met. But I can never be sure. All I know is that this has corrupted my entire view of the reunion of which I was so looking forward to. I wonder if all of my old friends have become warped like that. I wonder if they would be disappointed in seeing what I have become or if I would be disappointed in what they have become.
Still, those are matters for another time as the reunion is still months away. But who knows, maybe time can do me a favor and work its magic again and change all of it back to the way it once was?
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A rude awakening
Went to the gym today, cause Lord knows it's about time I got back into the whole fitness and health thing, but sadly, all I got was a rude awakening.
I started out with the best intentions; I was going to exercise, work up a sweat and feel real good about myself, but alas. The moment I entered the locker room it was like a tidal wave that hit me smack across the face. The sight of all those (half-)naked, zero-complexions, buff and thin men struck me with a force like you wouldn't believe. No matter where you looked, it was like the inside of an Abercrombie & Fitch store, each and every one of them fit to be one of their poster boys. To make matters worse, the place was surrounded by mirrors. It was almost sadistic. Each time you saw your own reflection you would be reminded of the work that needed to be done or the body that you didn't have, but should have. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my gyms like I like my bathrooms: private and with limited reflective surfaces.
My mood had already dropped down a steady 20 percent and I hadn't even visited the actual gym yet. Unfortunately, that didn't turn out as well either. All of the exercise equipment was pushed together like one big mechanical sandwich. You literally couldn't move your arms to release steam without punching someone in the nose (or gut, depending on their height). Still I continued to be brave and pretend that I totally fit in with the buff and thin crowd. I got up on that tred mill and I ran. I ran like there was no tomorrow. Desperate to see that meter indicating burnt calories to rise. And it did, eventually. After about 20 minutes on the tred, I finished with a 256kcal burnt off and an average running speed of 8.5 kilometres. Of course, I never checked the numbers on the guy running next to me, out of fear that my results would be insignificant compared to his.
The second equipment I settled on was this step trainer. The first 2 minutes I didn't fully realize I was in fact going backwards, I figured: 'Hey, I'm exercising, must do me some good, right?' Although this is known to be a real fat burner it came with one absolute drawback; namely a full frontal view of all those motherfucking exercise junkies. You know the ones I'm talking about: young, tattoed (okay, so I realise that it sounds a bit hypocritical that I should put this in, since I've also got ink on my skin, but still, it serves the purpose), muscled, throbbing veins in the arms, enlarged biceps-triceps-quadriceps (whatever you call it) and of course that goddamn self-righteous smirk that says: 'I look better than you'. So I did my best to act composed and in control, while inside I was mentally devastated.
The thing that just killed me was the fact that roughly two years ago I wás that type of boy (minus the anabolic steroid thing that they've got going). I had worked my ass off for two years trying to lose weight and I succeeded. And I never felt better. But somehow, I don't quite know how, I let it all slip away. I had finally reached a point where I shouldn't be ashamed to go to the pool or to try on clothes in a medium size and yet, something inside of me, unsubconsciously, let me slide back into old habits. All of the hard work and effort that I had put in for the last two years, unravelled before my eyes and I did nothing to stop it. Sure, I went for the occasional run and in times of major public display (like the prom night of my college community) I followed a pseudo-diet to get me back on track, but afterwards it all fell apart again. So while I was busting my ass off on that godforsaken machine, I saw those boys parade their goods in front of me, and something inside me just broke. I soldiered on, nonetheless, but it got me thinking: 'Will I ever be like that again?', 'If I did it once, I can do it again, right?', but most of all, I asked myself what on earth I would have to do to look like them.
Deep down, I know it's wrong of me to think like that. We're all unique and special in our own way; regardless of weight, height, intellect or whatever other standard you wish to measure yourself by. But if you'd allow me to generalize, I think that deep down all of us want to be more than what they are now. Maybe they want to look like their celebrity (or pet, like that weird cat-lady person with the funny eyes), or maybe they want to be smarter, more outgoing, more muscular, have a larger cup size or whatever. I even dare claim that no-one is absolutely and unconditionally happy with who he or she is. I hope that I am wrong. I hope that there are people like that out there, without an ounce of shame, discontent or jealousy of what they could have, but don't. I really do. But I also know that there are a lot of people just like me. Wanting and waiting for the change to happen that will someday cause them to smile when they look into the mirror or can bring them to tears when they finally fit back into those clothes of which they had long ago abandoned all hope of ever fitting into again.
So if you are that person that is absolutely and unconditionnaly happy about himself, be proud, be happy, but most of all, cherish what you have and do your utmost best to take hold of it and to never let it disintegrate. Never, ever let it fade away, because you might just come to regret it infinitely afterwards.
I started out with the best intentions; I was going to exercise, work up a sweat and feel real good about myself, but alas. The moment I entered the locker room it was like a tidal wave that hit me smack across the face. The sight of all those (half-)naked, zero-complexions, buff and thin men struck me with a force like you wouldn't believe. No matter where you looked, it was like the inside of an Abercrombie & Fitch store, each and every one of them fit to be one of their poster boys. To make matters worse, the place was surrounded by mirrors. It was almost sadistic. Each time you saw your own reflection you would be reminded of the work that needed to be done or the body that you didn't have, but should have. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my gyms like I like my bathrooms: private and with limited reflective surfaces.
My mood had already dropped down a steady 20 percent and I hadn't even visited the actual gym yet. Unfortunately, that didn't turn out as well either. All of the exercise equipment was pushed together like one big mechanical sandwich. You literally couldn't move your arms to release steam without punching someone in the nose (or gut, depending on their height). Still I continued to be brave and pretend that I totally fit in with the buff and thin crowd. I got up on that tred mill and I ran. I ran like there was no tomorrow. Desperate to see that meter indicating burnt calories to rise. And it did, eventually. After about 20 minutes on the tred, I finished with a 256kcal burnt off and an average running speed of 8.5 kilometres. Of course, I never checked the numbers on the guy running next to me, out of fear that my results would be insignificant compared to his.
The second equipment I settled on was this step trainer. The first 2 minutes I didn't fully realize I was in fact going backwards, I figured: 'Hey, I'm exercising, must do me some good, right?' Although this is known to be a real fat burner it came with one absolute drawback; namely a full frontal view of all those motherfucking exercise junkies. You know the ones I'm talking about: young, tattoed (okay, so I realise that it sounds a bit hypocritical that I should put this in, since I've also got ink on my skin, but still, it serves the purpose), muscled, throbbing veins in the arms, enlarged biceps-triceps-quadriceps (whatever you call it) and of course that goddamn self-righteous smirk that says: 'I look better than you'. So I did my best to act composed and in control, while inside I was mentally devastated.
The thing that just killed me was the fact that roughly two years ago I wás that type of boy (minus the anabolic steroid thing that they've got going). I had worked my ass off for two years trying to lose weight and I succeeded. And I never felt better. But somehow, I don't quite know how, I let it all slip away. I had finally reached a point where I shouldn't be ashamed to go to the pool or to try on clothes in a medium size and yet, something inside of me, unsubconsciously, let me slide back into old habits. All of the hard work and effort that I had put in for the last two years, unravelled before my eyes and I did nothing to stop it. Sure, I went for the occasional run and in times of major public display (like the prom night of my college community) I followed a pseudo-diet to get me back on track, but afterwards it all fell apart again. So while I was busting my ass off on that godforsaken machine, I saw those boys parade their goods in front of me, and something inside me just broke. I soldiered on, nonetheless, but it got me thinking: 'Will I ever be like that again?', 'If I did it once, I can do it again, right?', but most of all, I asked myself what on earth I would have to do to look like them.
Deep down, I know it's wrong of me to think like that. We're all unique and special in our own way; regardless of weight, height, intellect or whatever other standard you wish to measure yourself by. But if you'd allow me to generalize, I think that deep down all of us want to be more than what they are now. Maybe they want to look like their celebrity (or pet, like that weird cat-lady person with the funny eyes), or maybe they want to be smarter, more outgoing, more muscular, have a larger cup size or whatever. I even dare claim that no-one is absolutely and unconditionally happy with who he or she is. I hope that I am wrong. I hope that there are people like that out there, without an ounce of shame, discontent or jealousy of what they could have, but don't. I really do. But I also know that there are a lot of people just like me. Wanting and waiting for the change to happen that will someday cause them to smile when they look into the mirror or can bring them to tears when they finally fit back into those clothes of which they had long ago abandoned all hope of ever fitting into again.
So if you are that person that is absolutely and unconditionnaly happy about himself, be proud, be happy, but most of all, cherish what you have and do your utmost best to take hold of it and to never let it disintegrate. Never, ever let it fade away, because you might just come to regret it infinitely afterwards.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A good day - sort of
Today was a good day. For months I've been working so hard to keep up with my French class, but today - after hours and hours of hard labour - my teacher put aside her indifference towards me and granted me a compliment, as it were!
We were supposed to write three little texts about holiday experiences and use several adjectives and adverbs (of about 80% of them I'd never heard before!). So like a good student I made them a week ago. Today she asked us to read them out loud. A fellow classmate asked me what the exact assignment was, seeing as how she - much like me - did not quite understand what she was saying. So I showed her the texts I had written and where they could be found. For some reason, the teacher interpreted this as me taking initiative to read them out loud. So I did. I read them, all the while knowing that when I've finished I'd be getting a shitload of negative comments and critisims about my writing, my use of vocabulary, sentence structure and of course pronunciation.
And I was right, though it was not half as bad as I'd imagined it. There were only 5 remarks (out of 3 texts containing 8-10 lines each!) and they were all quite constructive! When she was finished commenting me, she wanted to hear another student. As it turns out, none of the others (not even the nerdy, geeky, always-prepared-cause-they-don't-have-a-life sort of student!) had made this exercise. So there I was, the only one, in a class of twenty-five students. I, who suck so bad in French it's almost like I'm speaking a completely different language, I, who make Paris look like crap! Yet, I was the sole person to 'succeed' and I do use this term lightely, considering the teacher! After the teacher was done scanning all 25 names, in hopes of hearing another person speak, she sighed and started to say how disappointed she was, how we were the worst class in terms of scores, and how we could all benefit by making our assignments and coming to class prepared.
But then dear reader, then she uttered words that she had never uttered before! Kind words, encouraging words and most of all, it seemed as though she really meant what she said! The weird thing about it, was that she was saying them to me! Of course, I barely understood half of what she was saying, since my French is still terribly below standards, but afterwards people told me that she said I was a good student, that people should follow my example and that next time they should e-mail me when there is an assignment! This really is all that a student - or in this case, I - had to hear! How soft and kind she sounded when she was praising me!
Of course, it can't all be rainbows and butterflies since she finished my homage by saying: "Donc, il fait ses devoirs, parce qu'il sache que c'est vraiment nécessaire!", translated, this comes down to: "He makes his assignments, because, well, he knows that in his case it is really necessary to make them!" And with this, I saw a glimpse of the teacher I used to know: condescending, belittling, sarcastic and downright rude.
In retrospect, I feel kind off foolish for ever thinking I could get into that woman's good grace, there is just no pleasing her, nor will I continue trying!
We were supposed to write three little texts about holiday experiences and use several adjectives and adverbs (of about 80% of them I'd never heard before!). So like a good student I made them a week ago. Today she asked us to read them out loud. A fellow classmate asked me what the exact assignment was, seeing as how she - much like me - did not quite understand what she was saying. So I showed her the texts I had written and where they could be found. For some reason, the teacher interpreted this as me taking initiative to read them out loud. So I did. I read them, all the while knowing that when I've finished I'd be getting a shitload of negative comments and critisims about my writing, my use of vocabulary, sentence structure and of course pronunciation.
And I was right, though it was not half as bad as I'd imagined it. There were only 5 remarks (out of 3 texts containing 8-10 lines each!) and they were all quite constructive! When she was finished commenting me, she wanted to hear another student. As it turns out, none of the others (not even the nerdy, geeky, always-prepared-cause-they-don't-have-a-life sort of student!) had made this exercise. So there I was, the only one, in a class of twenty-five students. I, who suck so bad in French it's almost like I'm speaking a completely different language, I, who make Paris look like crap! Yet, I was the sole person to 'succeed' and I do use this term lightely, considering the teacher! After the teacher was done scanning all 25 names, in hopes of hearing another person speak, she sighed and started to say how disappointed she was, how we were the worst class in terms of scores, and how we could all benefit by making our assignments and coming to class prepared.
But then dear reader, then she uttered words that she had never uttered before! Kind words, encouraging words and most of all, it seemed as though she really meant what she said! The weird thing about it, was that she was saying them to me! Of course, I barely understood half of what she was saying, since my French is still terribly below standards, but afterwards people told me that she said I was a good student, that people should follow my example and that next time they should e-mail me when there is an assignment! This really is all that a student - or in this case, I - had to hear! How soft and kind she sounded when she was praising me!
Of course, it can't all be rainbows and butterflies since she finished my homage by saying: "Donc, il fait ses devoirs, parce qu'il sache que c'est vraiment nécessaire!", translated, this comes down to: "He makes his assignments, because, well, he knows that in his case it is really necessary to make them!" And with this, I saw a glimpse of the teacher I used to know: condescending, belittling, sarcastic and downright rude.
In retrospect, I feel kind off foolish for ever thinking I could get into that woman's good grace, there is just no pleasing her, nor will I continue trying!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)