Kiss-and-tell

When maintaining a blog it's always advisory to watch what you're writing, as you cannot fully control whoever's reading it. So in the back of your mind, there's always this little voice that warns you not to write that or to better edit that last part. How far you're willing to listen to this voice is entirely up to you, but it remains to be said that whatever is posted on your blog, one way or another, people will find out.

I think that's kind of the duality about blogs. On the one hand, you're dying for a way to express your most inner thoughts and since simple paper diaries don't cut it anymore, you look towards a more contemporary way of writing: the internet blog. You write down whatever springs to mind, however mundain or tedious. You write it down for yourself, because you feel it's something you need to do. On the other hand, you're blatantly aware of the fact that almost every person on the planet can read what you wrote. In a way, you want people to read your thoughts and you want them to feel something when they read them. That could be one of the reasons why, at the end of each blog, you can check off one of three boxes (funny, interesting and cool). Stunning remark however, there's no way you can not like someone's blog. It's just like Facebook; they have a 'like' button, but not a 'don't like' button. Does this mean we should automatically be wooed by whatever blink-of-an-eye act someone posts online?

Sure, there could be some great stuff out there, no doubt. I bet many great authors started out with or are still actively blogging as we speak. It's a way like any other to get critical appraisal for your work. Still, you have to wonder just how much of what people are writing is real.

Marshall McLuhan once said that "the new electronic independence re-creates the world in the image of a global village". If this is true, than we should know virtually anyone and know everything about them, seeing as how a village is so condensed and lacks the proper privacy boundaries. But this is not the case. So many of us carry secrets around that are never meant to be said out loud. Everbody has something to hide. All in all, this is not so bad. After all, if we knew everything there was to know about someone, would we take the time to talk to them? Even if we knew what all of their answers would be? I don't think so.

People are always intent on prying into other people's lives. I myself have been found guilty on several occasions for wanting to know other people's private businesses, even if it was just by way of an innocent game of "I never". But that's the point, isn't it? Wanting to know other people's secrets? Wanting to take a peek behind the curtain? To tear away parts of the masks people wear? This little game of kiss-and-tell however, goes both ways. I've been known to ask people intimate questions, while others have tried to do the same with me. Don't know why I said 'tried' here, as they've already succeeded. If they ask me a question straightforward, they'll get an answer from me, straightforward. Those who've asked me that particular question involving the words 'experimenting' and 'bathroom' know what I'm talking about. 

Of course, every day brings with it possible new questions and answers. Should someone ask me the same question every day, I'm sure that, one day, my answer'll change and reveal something else about me. After all, if the world is a global village, I'll gladly play my part of Villager #210255. 

Mind games

This weekend something odd happened. I mean, it's not the first time it's happened, but it was the first time I actually noticed it.

I was sitting in the car with my Dad, driving on the highway when this big truck pulled up in front of us. On the backside it said 'Stal De Kluis'. My mind instantly translated the words to English, forming 'Stole the safe'. Of course, if I had translated it properly, it would've said 'Stables The Safe', but that's not the point here.

The point is that as soon as those three words flashed across my eyes, I had to grab my iPhone and write them down. But not only did I write them down, I began to form an entire story upon them. It's a poor excuse, me just telling you about is, so rather than trying to explain the very firmaments of my mind, I'll just retype what I wrote on my phone:

"He stole the safe because inside lay the key to unravelling all that he was. He knew in his heart that these four walls could never have contained him. He knew that someday, he'd have to break them down and push further outwards, to the city. The provincial life seemed completely wasted on him. He wanted it all. Bigger and better. One day, he thought to himself, one day. So if anybody saw its contents, his secret would be out. The life he had worked so hard to build up, would come crashing down all around him. The fancy apartment, the art collection and every single person who allowed himself to get pulled into his lie would finally see him for who he really was."

This made me realize just how set my mind was on being a writer. I don't know about you, but in my opinion, you'd have to have some sort of preference towards writing if this is what pops into your head when you look at the back of a truck. When I was a kid, I used to write these little stories all the time, thinking this was just the externalisation of a child's imagination. As I got older, the writing subsided, but I started to read a lot. Maybe somewhere over the past few years, my mind has turned a switch somewhere, from reader to writer. I don't know if I'll ever be any good or if I'll even make it to getting published. Then again, I don't think anyone who has a dream profession can know for sure that they'll be good at it. It's one thing to love what you're doing, it's another to get people to love it too.

Homecoming

Hi everyone! It feels weird to be back in the country. I know I'm no longer in France, but I'm feeling kind of in between the two. Sure, it wasn't the most amazing of vacations, but it offered a solace that you can rarely find in the hustle and bustle of our cities.

The night I came home, I could already feel it. As I was sitting on the train, part of me immediately fell back into its old routine of getting on and off trains, in and out of buildings and walking around all of the familiar places. But there was another part of me that longed for something else. Something that I knew could not be found here. Saint-Pierre la Mer offered a place where you could be alone with your thoughts and not be hampered by mothers, fathers, brothers or any other kinds of interruption.

It was on a beach there that I made my decision to end my relationship. First off, I want you to know that I've given it a lot of thought as to whether or not I should post this on my blog. I just feel like, since this blog is a part of me and in no way a part of us, this should be something that I can write here. I'm not looking for sensationalism by saying it's over on this anything-but-private medium, but if I'm honest with myself, I can't imagine keeping quiet about a thing like this. Besides, you all have Facebook so by now you're surely caught up as well.

The truth is that, on my end, there have been several doubts about us lately. These doubts were my own and I chose not to tell her about them, seeing as how I did not want to upset her. Okay, I can guess what you're going to say, maybe if I'd told her, we could work them out together? Wrong, because they were my doubts and all the talking in the world couldn't make me shake these thoughts. I've always known that true love was never meant for me. Not only do I not believe in it, I also find it hard to wrap my head around the thought of two people together for the rest of their lives. I mean, there are billions of people in this world. The thought that there is just one of them out there that is perfect for you, let's just say we might as well shoot ourselves in the face now. If all we can do is hope and wait for that special someone, we risk the chance of losing a lot of other potentially life-altering people in the process.

Between us, we had this little idea, or rather fantasy, about what our lives were going to look like in ten to twenty years. I don't think it differed much from what other couples dream about: a bunch of kids running around the house screaming, a nice job that pays the bills and a sense of bliss that seems to be inexhaustible. In the beginning, this all sounds wonderful and you can't wait for the future to arrive. But the thing I feared most was the moment that I would begin to wonder 'What if?'.

No matter how happy you are in life, there will always be certain times, places, songs, books or even looks that will make you stop and think about all the things you've done that've brought you to this point. If you're a happy-go-lucky person with no concerns, no complexes and no regrets then you'll find that you have nothing to be sorry about. But if, at some point, there was a fork in the road of your life where you went right, there now comes a time when you start to think about what would've happened if you'd gone left.

Granted, there are always choices to be made, roads to take and others not to, but sometimes, you just wonder. Now if it's just the two of you, then the threat is not so great. Sure, there's the emotional baggage equivalent to the mass of a small continent, but emotions are easier to walk away from than solidified proof of those emotions, say children. The thought of having to look my children in the eyes and say that Mommy and Daddy aren't doing okay and that they're going to split up, breaks my heart. Plus, I don't want to be that guy who wakes up after twenty years of marriage and realizing that things could've been different.

It's not fair to her for me to think this way, but my thoughts and perceptions are mine and mine alone. As much as I would like to say that there is just one simple explanation that says it all, I know that there isn't one. Relationships aren't easy. Sometimes, a doubt is seeded at the base of the relationship and with time, it grows and grows until finally, it overtakes the mind and forces it to re-evaluate everything. Relationships aren't like math, there are no equations to calculate our Happily Ever Afters. There are only A's and B's and the occasional X's that influence the relationship positively or negatively. The thing about X's is, you never know which one you're going to get.

Day 10 - Au revoir

In a few hours I'll be on a seven-hour train ride home. But before I leave, I want to see Gruissan. So with the clock counting down to departure time, we took our bikes and rode towards Gruissan. And it was well worth it. A nice way of saying goodbye.

The City of Gruissan

Next time I post something, it'll be from back home, in Belgium. And I'm kinda really happy about that!

Goodbye Saint-Pierre la Mer.
Goodbye filthy inox plates.
Goodbye people of Intersoc.
Goodbye mediocre food.
Goodbye l'Oeuil Doux.
Goodbye Narbonne.
Goodbye sunshine.
Goodbye quiet.
Goodbye escape from reality.

Thou shalt be missed.


Or at least, some of thee will.

Day 9 - The clean-up

Today is my final day of work. And boy, does it show! Everywhere you look there's people running around doing something. Cleaning floors, washing windows, folding laundry, organizing the storage, doing inventory, it was a bonafide madhouse.

As for me, I had to go back to my claustrophobia-inducing room without a view and work my way through yet another pile of dirty dishes - surprise! But in the next room, they were short one dishwasher, so after about an hour, I had to go over there and pitch in. It seemed as though the day would never end.

Fortunately, it did. At three in the afternoon we were done. DONE! Can you believe it? I don't have to lift one more goddamn thing! I can finally kick back and let the feeling of vacation overtake me and explore more of Saint-Pierre!

Sadly, everybody else's plans included baking in the sun by the pool. All in all, that's not such a bad idea, but I was actually kinda looking forward to getting out of there one last time. So, I took a little trip by myself. I took a bike and rode along the Canal du Midi. A nice little route, completely deserted. Heaven.

On my way back, I stopped at l'Oeuil Doux one last time, just to see it in daylight, instead of under a cloudy sky. And when I was down by the lake, I took the opportunity of kicking out my shoes and dipping my toes in the fresh water. Doesn't get any better than that.

That night, there was a barbeque to celebrate le Fin du Saison, but it was kind of a disappointment. The food wasn't all that exquisite and the ambiance was a bit crowded - as we were sitting there with 48 people, of which we only knew about half or so. Not the kind of goodbye I was hoping for, but I'm just glad it's all coming to an end. I'm really looking forward to going home.

Day 8 - Lazy Sunday

Sunday was the penultimate day of work. I got up at nine, missed breakfast and went for a run. When I came back I cleaned out my room and went to the pool, taking my working clothes with me. By the pool I found Gilbert, who was enjoying the morning sun. As I was approaching the reclining chair he pointed to something behind him. I followed his fingertip with my eyes and saw that above us, up on the terrace, mass was starting. So there we were, two guys in bathing suits, listening to the music of the Church, which for some reason, bore a striking similarity to gospel?

When I arrived at work, only five minutes late for a change, it was as if an inox-bomb had gone off in the kitchen. Everywhere I looked there were pots and pans and greasy grills and bain-maries. I didn't know where to look let alone move around in all that chaos. I spent four hours (instead of the usual three) working to get the job done. Worst part is, every five minutes it seemed, the kitchen chef came in and gave me something else to do: "Don't forget to scrub the barbeque!", "Can you wash these plates too?", "They need you to get started in the restaurant already." And after everything was scrubbed clean - sort of, I still had to mop the entire kitchen. Of course, I did this quite hastingly, splashing water over the floor and just casually shoving it into the gutter, creating little islands of dirt and soup above the grates.

So, that was my Sunday. Working harder than I ever did, but I was glad it was over. Now I have Monday to look forward to and Tuesday, day of departure. I'm actually kinda relieved this trip is almost over.

Day 7 - It's oh so quiet

I can sum up this whole day in four words:

- Bad weather

- Hangovers

- Blogging

It wasn't the most exhilirating day of the week, but it was quite nice nevertheless. The weather was terrible, barely any sun at all and cold winds (there go my chances of getting a tan), the largest part of our group spent the day sleeping it off and trying to hold down whatever it was they were pouring down their throats and I spent the day by the pool or in the reception writing down the last three days here. All in all, I was the most productive one here, which is kind of nice when you think about it. I even went for a run this morning, something I've been doing for the past six days now. It was pretty cold though.

Well, guess that's it for today. Sorry if it wasn't the most rivetting piece of litterature you've ever read, but tomorrow is my last day as a professional - unpaid, I might add - dishwasher. Because Monday it's inventory time until noon and after that we're free to roam about until the next day when we're heading back home.

Day 6 - Chez Charley's

Friday. You know what that means: profuse drinking and total dissolution of all boundaries. Naturally, the people of Saint-Pierre la Mer live and drink by this philosphy as well. 

I had just barely gotten used to the idea of having the day off, when I had to drag my sorry self back into that kitchen - or rather, into that back room in the kitchen. The pile of dishes had already risen to insurmountable odds that all relief efforts in the world seemed futile. It almost seems like they have the meaning of the word 'volunteer' had been falsely translated into 'à volonté' when it comes to work. Just as I've finished drying the last inox plate, in comes the chef with another order of leftover meat and a side of gravy. But, like a good soldier, I suck it all up and churn out fresh plates. And I do say fresh, not clean as the quality of my dishwashing has gone down considerably. I'm not at all surprised or even concerned about that fact. In my eyes, work that goes unpaid does not deserve the same amount of effort as work that does get paid. You can think of this as you like.

The only thing I had to look forward to was tonight. Tonight we were all going to the Charley's Bar, which is in fact the only place left in the entire town. Guess that's just another downside of going on vacation when everybody else has long since left. Still, I don't mind the quiet and the emptiness of the beach and the surrounding areas. I crave it from time to time.

Sometimes the air gets tense around here as I know that not everybody gets along quite well with one another and I find myself in the position of intermediary. Which is not to say that everybody likes me, I mean, I don't know that. I don't feel like I'm opposed to anyone here, but there's always the off-chance that someone's just faking kindness. But, what I don't know, can't hurt me. I think. Sometimes.

The truth is, I do long for Tuesday when I can be on my way home again. Not that I don't like it here, I just miss the familiarity of my surroundings at home. I miss sleeping in my own bed, walking around my house and being close to the people I love. It also sucks that because of the crappy train time tables, I'm going to miss the first day of school. Who would've thought I'd want to go to school? It took me by surprise as well.

Another thing I did today besides silently resenting the kitchen personnel for sending me all these dirty dishes and evading the searing hot sprinkler dangling above my head, was visit l'Oeil Doux. This is in fact a mountain that has collapsed on itself after erosion from within. What remains is this huge vertical cliff with debris scattered all across the area and two large cracks diagonal across the remaining wall. As I've said before, photos will be posted as soon as Wednesday night. But when the time comes, I'll let you know!

So, after exploring yet another exiting part of France, it's time to familiarize myself with the French liquor department. Which, in this case, meant drinking a whole lot of rhum and coke as I'm not that big a fan of wine and beer. We arrived at the bar around 1 pm and I was immediatly confronted with the French's intolerance to alcohol and their general balance deficit. Of course I'm talking about drunken girls stumbling across the dancefloor, spilling their drinks everywhere except where it would've made a difference and planting their elbows in other people's sides. Your typical Friday night, I'm guessing. The music itself was largely local so there wasn't much room for sing-along or even the slightest hint of recognition. As the night wore on and the booze kept flowing steadily - the rhum increased drastically while the coke subsided - our group became quite a sight to see. Some standing on tables, others barely able to stand on their own two feet and then there were the token sober people who were in charge of taking care of the inebriated. My bed started calling me around 2 pm, but I only answered its call by half past 5. By the time we got to the hotel, the two drunk people in our company were starting to get sober again - or so we thought. Cut to people running in the hall, screaming and waking up an entire floor as well as those same two people slamming into a wall, crushing a keychain in the process. Again, typical Friday night/Saturday morning behaviour. Well, I think I'm going to turn in now and let you decide whether I was:

a) one of the sober people,

b) or one of those two people who thought they could take down a wall.

Maintenant c'est à vous!

Day 5 - Roadtrip

Today's my day off! That means it's time to get up and get the hell out of this hotel for a while. I don't want to set foot in that kitchen if I don't have to. 

We've got the day all planned out: in the morning we're going to go to the market and around noon we're taking the bus to Narbonne. Sounds like quite a plan, right? Wrong.

We arrived at the dike around 10 am. We thought it best to check the hours of the bus before heading off to the market. Then it hit us. The last bus was at 8:15 and the next one came five hours later. Basically, we were screwed.

But then I noticed the time in between two stops. Most stops were only two or three minutes apart, which meant that there couldn't be much distance between them. So instead of waiting for the bus, we started walking towards the next stop, as a means of passing time. The ongoing search for the next stop became like an addiction and before we knew it, we were already leaving Saint-Pierre la Mer and heading into Narbonne-Plage.

The busroute took us through veritable wastelands with little to no signs of civilization. We walked for hours along the A9, which was probably the most deserted highway in all of France. It was pretty fascinating however, to discover all these weird little trinkets scattered alongside the road: countless broken Heineken beer bottles, discarded articles of clothing and even some bodily fluids. Pictures will follow as soon as I'm back home and can enjoy the pleasure of a real computer, instead of an iPhone. 

The Bloodstain

Our little roadtrip lasted two hours and by that time we had passed seventeen (!) busstops. The whole time we were laughing and lamenting on how infinte the road seemed and how we were never going to get home again, you know, your typical whining attitude that you get when things don't look so good anymore. And yet, each time, when we thought for sure we took a wrong turn somewhere and we'd miss our bus, we found the fabled stop after countless minutes of wandering along the deserted A9. 

We took the bus a few kilometres outside of the city of Narbonne and fifteen minutes later we got off at Les Halles. From there we visited the local market - it's strange to think how many markets this place can have, each day there is a full-fledged commune of anxious salesmen and their dubious merchandise. After that, we had lunch in front of the Hôtel de Ville, right next to the old Via Domitia. 

Les Halles de Narbonne

Pas de Tenue Courte

Now for this next part, I should tell you a little bit about what we were wearing. I was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt while Shana wore a mini-skirt and a top, not exactly church-wear, woudn't you say? But that didn't stop us from entering that church - commiting sacrilige in the process. We were immediately gawked at by many a devout Christians, who probably didn't take so kindly to our choice of clothing - or lack of clothing. At some point all we could do was just look at each other and start laughing. Mind you, that we were in the middle of a cathedral.

After having completely disgracing the House of God, we left to do some shopping and continued sightseeing. Another funny thing happened when Shana had to go to the bathroom. I pointed out a public toilet in a parc, so we went there. We were instantly taken aback by the pungent smell of the urinals - which is in fact quite common for the men's room. But the biggest shock of all was when Shana pulled open the door to the ladies' room, revealing a French toilet, complete with a metal arch you could pull down to sit on (photos coming soon). Needless to say, we had to find another restroom, which we found in a seedy snackbar with a woman who apparantly didn't know that 'toilet' in English means the same thing in French. 

I'd love to write some more on our day in Sarbonne, but as it is starting to rain (yes, RAIN!), I'm heading back inside! 

Stay tuned for more travel information! And to my family, who I know is reading this, I miss you guys and I'll see you in a few days! 

Day 3/4 - Watching the sunrise

The 3/4 abbreviation is not a sign of laziness but rather a simple solution to the fact that I'm starting to loose track of time. Mostly, my vacation here goes by in a sort of blur, a mixture of work, rest and play. My mornings are always calm and consist of getting up at half past 8, having breakfast, going for a run and a mental preparation for the lunch hour rush. Work goes by like a string of bad smells, dirty stains and a brave attempt to scrub everything clean in time.

Even though I only have to work six hours per day, it feels longer. Partly due to the fact that I now start about twenty minutes earlier to get ahead on my work. Still, it are long and hard hours that pass by at a snail's pace. The time that I don't have to play Cinderella, I try to get out of the hotel as much as I can.

I went postcard-shopping (for those who sent me their adress, the cards are in the mail!) and it gave me some ideas for sightseeing. Here's a small list - God, what is it with me and lists all of a sudden? Guess I have you to thank for that, don't I, Sarah?

- Narbonne

- Cabannes de Fleury

- Gruissan

- L'œuil Doux

- Carcasson

Don't think I'll get around to doing them all, but today (if time has any meaning at all anymore) I went moutainbiking and visited Cabannes de Fleury, which is a small fishers town. Although it was a bit too small for my taste, but we had fun on the way there and back. Plus some great pictures as well.

Oh, I'm forgetting the most exiting thing I did today! I got up at half past 6 - after having hit the snooze-button a bit too much - and wet down to the beach to watch the sunrise. It was just me, a camera and a gorgeous rising sun. My attempts to capture the moment on camera have proven to be somewhat fruitful, but I must say, I've never been good with pictures, always better with words. So who knows, maybe I'll write an entire blog about that hour and a half of celestial splendor! While I was watching the sky turn all sorts of colours, I had a little time to catch my breath and make some decisions that were long overdue. I've made my decision and when I come back you'll know the outcome - as will I.

I'd love to write a bit more, but we're about to go to diner as I've seen several people head for the employee restaurant! If anything else exiting happens to me again, you'll be the first to know, well, technically, second. Me first.

Day 2 - Getting around

Well, so much for chronology. It's now Tuesday afternoon and I shoukd be writing about what happened Monday! That's what going on vacation'll do to you! It'll make you loose track of time. But I don't really mind. This is the sort of place where you can really become disconnected from your world and see what's out there, away from all of the familiarity.

To retrace my steps, what did I do yesterday? Ah yes, I got up at a quarter to nine (after having pushed back my alarm clock twice) and had breakfast with Shana, a girl we met while we were on the bus. She's travelled with Intersoc loads of times so she knows the ins and outs of how things work around here. After breakfast, she went back to work and I got started trying to redecorate my room. I pushed the two beds together and rearranged some of my things. I had to work from 11 to half past 12, grabbed a quick lunch and then back to work until half past 2. Here's a little list of all the things I had to do:

- Wash everything they place on the rack

- Mop my little shack

- Wash the entire kitchen floor

- Clean the two 'bain maries' in the restaurant

- Scrub the kitchen furnaces

- And lastly, throw away the garbage bags

So as you can see, I've got a lot on my plate. Even if I start fifteen minutes earlier - which I've been doing in order to get a headstart on the pile of pots and pans that await me - it's always a battle to end on time.

After work was over, I changed out of my wet clothes and into something a bit more presentable. After all, not everyone at the bar had to know that I spent the last three hours scraping the most filthy of things off the aluminum. We met more people from Intersoc, some work in the restaurant, some work in the bar, but we all have one thing in common: we're all secretly craving the time when the clock strikes the hour of our release from labour!

Anyways, the second day has been quite enjoyable all in all! I'm starting to appreciate the quietness of the hotel and the ambiance that reigns throughout the corridors. Even the older people are pleasantly surprising me with their wisdom and their youthful spirit!

Stay tuned for day three! I'm going to finish my glass of ice cold water, jump into the pool and dry off under a 37 degree sun! Heavenly...

Day 1 - Got gravy?

This is my first blog to go international as I'm reporting to you live from the South of France. A former college roommate (for lack of a better term) asked me if I was interested in going on vacation for free, the only catch being that I had to do the dishes. Of course, I immediatly jumped on the opportunity, which is abundantly clear by the fact that I'm no longer on Belgian soil and that my cell phone provider has changed to OrangeF (I'm pretty sure the F stands for France, although I'm open to other opinions!).

The trip started out a bit frantic because when we arrived at the busstop, all we could see where elderly people. Me and my roommate were the youngest ones there! I panicked a bit, but I eased my mind by saying that all the young people must still be at Saint-Pierre la Mer (a fact of which I was proven right 13 hours later).

The busride itself was fairly nice, since it had a capacity of 54 people and there were only 11 of us, we all had extra room. I slept from 2:20 am to about 8 am. Not much, but what do you expect to get from a tourbus?

When we arrived at the hotel I was quickly drawn to the magnificent colour of the sea. That's the kind of blue you don't see in the North Atlantic. The hotel itself is pretty nice as well. It has a building for the guests and a separate building for the employees (aka me). We weren't allowed in the rooms until after 3 pm, so we got out of our bus-clothes and changed into something more comfortable as we laid ourselves down by the pool. The sun was burning brightly and although my skin has a tendency to turn lobster-red first, it usually settles into a nice light brown tint some time after that - thankfully!

We ate around 6 pm and while we were waiting to get started on our work, we sat at the bar, getting acquainted with our fellow co-workers. At a quarter to 8 we were expected in the kitchen. My job is to wash all of the big and heavy stuff, which basically means I get the shitty end of the stick. I get to scrape those unholy pots clean and throw away the tons of leftovers, but I'll elaborate on that in a minute.

The whole time I was working there, I couldn't help but feel like Cinderella; working my ass off and waiting until something better comes along to sweep me off my feet. Alas, Cinderella got herself a prince, I got myself a gigantic plate of paella, clams and shrimps included to wipe clean. One of the worst parts of my job is the amount of food I have to throw out. Seriously, all that food could help fight hunger in the entire Third World. I threw away 17 entrecôtes, at least 5 kilos worth of potatoes, gallons of untainted soup and countless vegetables. Policy dictates however that everything left over, has to be thrown out.

My chef doesn't speak a word of Dutch, so I have the pleasure of trying to decypher whatever it is she wants me to do! Ninety percent of the time, I can make out what she's trying to say and I respond politely with a "Oui." or a "D'accord!". The other ten percent of the time I'm at the mercy of God's will, trying not to spill sauce all over myself and praying the garbage bag doesn't rip when I have to toss it into the bin!

With the job also comes a nice little working space. You know, wooden desk, reclining chair, potted plat somewhere, wi-fi connection etc. Oh wait, that's not me, that's the office of someone who is actually getting paid to do this kind of work! Which is not to say that I'm jealous or anything, I'm just covered in gravy and other things alimentary!

Nontheless, I kinda like it here. It's a quiet place where I get to meet new people, experience new things (even if that includes scrubbing pans and sweeping rice off the floor) and all the while, I get to spend the day by the pool or by the sea.

This Thursday is my first day off, so I'm going to try to do an excursion or maybe hire a bike to ride around Saint-Pierre.

I'm going to try to maintain this makeshift-journal and keep you updated on the daily life here at hotel La Méridienne! Forgive the typos as I'm writing this blog on my belly in my room with the use of my iPhone! But I'll do my best at delivering top-notch quality writing! *cough*

Personal time machines

As I was watching what I thought was a comedy, I started to think about a very serious subject: the loss of a parent. It also got me thinking about the deceiving nature of human memory.

It is often said that memories can be highly subjective and that they have the ability to distort reality. Still we rely heavily on them to guide us and to remember our past. But the question is, how accurate is this remembering process? Do memories reveal the truth, or do they only reveal what we want the truth to be? The smallest memory can be tainted by personal agendas and subjectivity and therefore become superfluous. Someone once said that memories are irrevant if one has the facts, yet we continue to cling on to the past. Why do we choose to believe our memories over the cold, hard facts?

Maybe it's because we don't like where we are now and by changing a few details here and there, we prefer to indulge ourselves in a fantasy. A scapegoat into a better life.

Forty years into the future, my father -should he still be alive- will supposedly be in a dire state. He'll be needing help twenty-four seven. And as my father's condition deteriorates, I'll start to look back on my childhood, remembering the times when he was still able to pick me up and when he was the strong man I knew him to be. But when I think back about my childhood, I'll inevitably look back on our fights and our arguments and all those old feelings of resentment will start to resurface. At that moment, with my father's life slipping away from him, I'll choose to omit or change a few details, because I want to remember the past the way it should've been. When remember my father, I won't look back on our grudges and the spiteful things we've said to each other. Instead, I'll forge my own version of the past, I'll rewrite it to make it all better, make it perfect.

I think that's how it goes with a lot of things in our lives. Throughout the years, we're confronted with so much drama and heartache that sometimes, we just let our imagination take over and rewrite some of the hardest moments in our lives.

Maybe it means we're only fooling ourselves. Maybe it means we're living a lie. But I dare to ask which one of you hasn't wished he'd done things differently at some point?

In a way, we all have our personal time machines with which we can alter the past. Only ours doesn't include the dangers of paradoxes or the threat of stepping on butterflies and destroying the future. It's a sort of do-over, because we're rarely awarded one in real life.