“It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
-F Scott Fitzgerald
Hey everyone.
I'm sorry it's been a while since I last wrote you. If I have to be completely honest, I wasn't planning on doing it again. I made the decision to retire this blog a couple of weeks ago, and after going back and forth on whether or not to write up a goodbye, I ultimately decided against it. I use writing as a form of therapy, and I recently discovered another outlet that suits me better than this sort of semi-journal, in which I have to censor myself in fear of writing things you might not want to read, or can't really fully express myself. The fact my last update was read by pretty much no one at all didn't help, either (writers are vain by their very definition--they need an audience). Of course, just as I had made my decision, three of you had to go and ask me when the next update was going to come in the span of four days. So, understand I'm doing this for you, and not for me, as I'm want to do.
The holiday season is nearly over, and I couldn't be happier. I used to love the holidays, but for some reason, they've always turned into a massive disappointment these past few years, to the point where I now dread them. Apart from the usual reasons to hate the entire business (the awful questions from relatives and friends, having to sit through dinners with people you don't really know and care about even less and the whole contrived nature of the entire process), I've just gotten a personal distaste of it all. Eight months ago I thought I'd be in London right now, coming home for Christmas to meet up with friends and family and counting down the final seconds of this monumental year underneath Big Ben. Instead, I'll be working, while the city of Leuven is literally celebrating and watching the fireworks roughly 30 feet from my door.
Thankfully, Christmas was actually sort of enjoyable this year. I got some pretty cool gifts, had two wonderful dinners (my parents are divorced) and it was over in about 24 hours. I worked pretty much throughout the holiday period and never got into the spirit (the nearly tropical weather certainly had an impact), so all in all, it was okay. These past few weeks have been pretty rough, and it was nice just to have a little break. I guess the holiday period is a time when things can get tough for most of us :) for me personally, I couldn't get over London, among other things. I missed the place so much and got so upset over the fact I came back ,some days got nearly unbearable.
It's the curse of Christmas, really. This one magical day we pretend is about so much more than what it actually is. To quote the great Abed Nadir: "The meaning of Christmas is that Christmas has meaning." I think I learned that just in time. It's really just a nice night you get to spend with some of the people you care about, make fun over some of the gifts you exchange and be thankful the night is over and won't come back for another year.
On those presents: My mum got me a panini-maker (I really wanted one, so thanks mum), and on that side of the family I also got a gift card for a media store and some lottery tickets (I won nine Euro, little sis. I promised we'd go 50-50, not sure you still want it). My dad asked me what I wanted and I e-mailed him some websites that sold reproductions of Degas and Constable (those are painters, fyi), but he thought the posters were too small for what they were charging. Ultimately, he settled on a really nice London-themed frame I can use to hang up some photos and these awesome grown-men pyamas, almost like Barney Stinson's if I were wearing a tie. Again, awesome gifts, so thank you guys.
So, what else is new? Very little I guess. I survived the month of December (barely), work is good and I'm not looking forward to January at all. Everyone is either studying or moving abroad for the semester (good luck Wannes and Elise. I'll visit you guys in April!), so things are going to get pretty lonely here in Leuven. I managed to get my birthday off and the next day as well, and if there's anyone up in London down for a drink, I'd love to come over there for a day or two. Not to celebrate or anything--I just need to get away for a day or two, and see the place again. My lease doesn't expire until October, but with nearly everyone graduating and leaving Leuven in the near future, I'm not quite sure what to do to be honest. Things really aren't all that different from six months ago, with the notable exceptions being that I get to see my old friends and family a bit more often, at the cost of no longer living in an awesome city and really sort of stagnating. Somehow, the future looked much brighter in London. But I'm getting carried away. This is the holiday spirit talking, please ignore.
I'm hoping you guys enjoyed the holidays and had a great 2014, and I wish you an even better 2015. Thanks, for being here with me. This past year has been a trip, and while there were a lot of highs and a lot more lows, some of you were with me every step of the way, even if it was only because you read about it a few days later. I'm not going to pretend I had a great year, or that everything is going swell and I managed to find happiness during my little journey. The whole point is that I'm still on my way, still playing the game. I might not be very good at it, but the board is still set.
Happy New Year, everyone.
PS: Read this f*cking sh*t, or I'm seriously canning it and you can all start following me on Twitter to see how I'm actually doing.
Song of the Day: The Pixies - Where Is My Mind?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFAnn2j4iB0
woensdag 31 december 2014
woensdag 3 december 2014
On Mirrors and The World We Live in.
Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as
outraged as those who are.
-Benjamin Franklin
Before I get to the
actual topic of this entry, I need to congratulate a couple of people and get
all of the trivial stuff out of the way. Julie, good luck in South Africa. I
know you're going to have the time of your life there, and you have no idea how
jealous I am right now. Please come visit once every while, and make sure you
have a room to accommodate me when I feel like surfing J-Bay.
Jeroen, best of luck
with the studies. I hope my letter of recommendation does what it's supposed to
do and helps you land the gig, but if you don't, I don't doubt you'll find
another way to make your dream of becoming a professional writer a reality.
Every setback is a lesson, and given the passion you have for the craft, it
would be a lesson you'd take to heart. Although I'm sure you'll get in.
Looks like the trip
to the USA will take place early April, because it seems to be the only gap my
friends have in their schedules (Wannes will have to start cramming for his
exams as well soon after). Because the Red Sox open their season on the road,
this means we wouldn't be able to catch a game at Fenway. Which is an absolute
disaster. Seriously, how can we go to Boston and leave two days before the Sox
play their first home game? I mean, that is some depressing stuff.
Now, before I get
started I want to make it very clear what you're about to read is a personal
opinion which does not represent the views of my employer (I've always wanted
to write those words, it makes things sound so ominous).
My job as a writer
sees me spend an awful lot of time on the websites of news outlets and social
media, and when big news breaks or massive events take place, it's sometimes
hard to escape. The past few weeks have been filled with stories about Michael
Brown, Eric Garner and Tugce Albayrak, amid the seemingly endless stream of
horrifying news. Michael Brown was a difficult topic I tried to shy away from
as much as I could—Tugce Albayrak was a story which hit me so hard it made me
want to apologise for my gender. But today's news that the police officer who
choked an unarmed man to death using an illegal move banned by the New York
police department would not be indicted pushed me over the edge. I just
couldn't understand how a man, who was a father, brother and son could die on
the streets of New York in broad daylight, and that the man responsible for his
death, who ignored multiple pleas to stop (Garner repeatedly told the officers
he couldn't breathe) and used excessive force wouldn't even face an indictment.
I was angry, and when I was forced to read a stream of comments from people
justifying the officer's action because Garner resisted arrest, I became
mortified. Regardless of whether or not he resisted arrest, no one deserves to
die in such fashion, right? How can people not see that?
Unfortunately, this
is the world I live in. This is a world where millions of children are
persecuted every day because of the colour of their skin, the religion their parents
chose for them or the geographical location they were born. Where millions of
children suffer from malnutrition, illness and a lack of education. Where women
still earn less than men for equal work because they were born with a uterus.
Where homosexual men and women have to face the consequences of their love for
someone of the same gender because they don't comply with what a certain part
of society deems "normal" or "acceptable." Where the city
of Antwerp wants to have people who own night shops pay so much taxes they'll soon
disappear altogether, because "night shops don't look great on the
streets." Where racial stereotypes used to amuse children aren't even open
for discussion based on "tradition." Where a football team can carry
a name repulsive to Native Americans because it has done so far the past 80
years.
I'm lucky. I'm a
25-year-old heterosexual male of European descent, raised in an Christian household that
turned away from religion when I was 12. I am in reasonable health, don't show any
signs of obesity and I'm not a complete idiot. I won the biological lottery, as
did most of my readers.
Plenty of people like
me will take to the internet and tell me white guilt is something I shouldn't
worry about. I didn't choose to be born like this, I've never done anything at
the expense of other people and it's not my fault other people suffer. All of
this is true.
But we live in a
selfish world, where the powerful don't give two cents about the fates of others
and won't lift a finger to change the status-quo if it comes at their own
expense. And we are the powerful. People just like you and me. Like it or not,
but even as we're set to enter the year 2015, the world is still engineered
toward us, the white, middle-class self-proclaimed intellectuals who likely all
had the opportunity to pursue higher education, will undoubtedly find a job
that will allow us to live comfortable lives (I never said we'll get rich, or
even enjoy our jobs) and will never have to worry about the real problems that
plague millions around the world, barring major health problems.
Should we feel any
guilt about this? Is there something we can do? I honestly don't know. As angry
as I am, I was conditioned to believe I'm only a small, insignificant part of
this world, incapable of making a difference. And after everything I just said,
the logical thing to do would be to rejoice in the current status-quo—I'm going
to be just fine. I don't want to be that person, but when I read what some
people just like me dare to say or write on the topic, it makes me sick to my
stomach. And then I start to wonder if I'm not just like them. Is enabling
sexism or racism not the same as being sexist or racist?
I'm not here to
preach to you, or ask you to go stand on the corner of the street holding a
sign while three men in riot gear move in with tasers. But what I'm asking you
to do is take a look in the mirror.
Not right now—the
next time you're feeling down because your boss yelled at you or made you work
overtime, or when you missed the train because that idiot in the BMW wouldn't
let you cross the street. Look in the mirror, and realise just how lucky you
are. How completely and utterly insignificant your problems are compared to
millions and millions of people around the globe.
I'm always finding
reasons to be sad, and convincing myself my life is wretched and hopeless. I'm
not a happy person, not in the slightest. And that's just fine—I don't have to
be. But I'm starting to realise I am incredibly lucky. I have a biological head-start
over so many people and tools at my disposal some never will. And it's not my good
looks, or height, or intelligence—it's the colour of my skin, my sexual
orientation and (lack of) religion (and gender, to a lesser extent). I can't
think of anything more unfair in this world, but I also can't think of any way
to change that.
The next time you're
feeling down, for whatever reason, please try to remember you're just as lucky
as I am. We all won the lottery. You and I won't be the next Michael Brown or
Nic Garner (and I really hope you won't be the next Tugce Albayrak). Even if
you and I are just the next Average Joe, leading perfectly normal, boring,
miserable lives, we'll still be gifted more than millions of people.
I'll be working on a
follow-up to this post, as I try and find a way in which I can make a
difference, as minute and insignificant it may be. In the meantime, I guess
this will have to be the message I leave you with. In this unfair world, you
and are part of the lucky few who were given so much more than the rest. If you
can't make a difference, at least try to enjoy it. You'd be doing so many
people a disservice by not doing so.
Song of the Day: Tom
Waits - Come on Up to the House
vrijdag 21 november 2014
On Suits and Contingency
“Depression presents itself as a realism regarding the rottenness of the world in general and the rottenness of your life in particular. But the realism is merely a mask for depression's actual essence, which is an overwhelming estrangement from humanity. The more persuaded you are of your unique access to the rottenness, the more afraid you become of engaging with the world; and the less you engage with the world, the more perfidiously happy-faced the rest of humanity seems for continuing to engage with it.”
“He was lovable the way a child is lovable, and he was capable of returning love with a childlike purity. If love is nevertheless excluded from his work, it's because he never quite felt that he deserved to receive it. He was a lifelong prisoner on the island of himself. What looked like gentle contours from a distance were in fact sheer cliffs. Sometimes only a little of him was crazy, sometimes nearly all of him, but, as an adult, he was never entirely not crazy. What he'd seen of his id while trying to escape his island prison by way of drugs and alcohol, only to find himself even more imprisoned by addiction, seems never to have ceased to be corrosive of his belief in his lovability. Even after he got clean, even decades after his late-adolescent suicide attempt, even after his slow and heroic construction of a life for himself, he felt undeserving. And this feeling was intertwined, ultimately to the point of indistinguishability, with the thought of suicide, which was the one sure way out of his imprisonment; surer than addiction, surer than fiction, and surer, finally, than love.”
-Jonathan Franzen (he's kind of depressing).
The Chinese supposedly have two well-known curses: "May you live in interesting times" (popularised by the fantastic Terry Pratchett novel Interesting Times) and "May you find what you are looking for," a variation of one of the most well-known addages in the English language. Both are rooted in basic human experiences, and the duality of how certain things can be perceived. "Interesting times" sounds like a pleasant alternative to the bland, ordinary lives the vast majority of us lead, but of course, we often come to the realisation those bland, ordinary lives usually end up providing a high level of satisfaction compared to the troubles that come with anything that might be interesting. Likewise, "May you find what you are looking for" draws on the fact we often find the things we wanted the most fall well short of our expectations, leading to disappointment that could have been avoided had we just been content with the status-quo. By the time we realise this, it's too late.
I struggle with this blog because I don't live in "interesting times," and I'm about as far away from finding what it is I'm looking for as can be. In a way, both of those statements are a blessing, despite the fact they sound sad. Writing from London was easy--there was so much new stuff to tell all of you about, and I felt the need to keep in touch with the people at home. Now that I'm back, it all feels rather pointless. There's no need to keep you guys up to speed--you already know what's going on, and the writing material is fairly limited. I lead one of those bland, ordinary lives filled with work, the occasional social encounter and the joys and struggles everybody goes through on a daily basis. Who wants to read about every day life? No one.
The irony is that there is so much I wish to write which shouldn't be put into words, because words have consequences. It's not so much about keeping up appearances as it is about the simple fact some things can't be undone, and some words can't be unspoken (or unwritten). Life must be so easy if you don't give a damn about what may or may not happen as a result of the things you say or do. Ignorance truly is bliss.
So, what's new? As you probably know, I ended up not going to London at all. Friends wanted to meet, my father wanted to help redecorate my new flat and eventually I just ran out of time. It kind of s*cks, but there's still plenty of time. I say this knowing full well I'll probably cancel trips like this again and again, but I do hope to come back real soon.
Work's good, the family is good and friends are good. I had the opportunity to see or talk to several people I hadn't seen or spoken to in a long time, which is obviously pleasant. Ultimately, I'm happy I didn't go to London--my new shelves and the social encounters made it wortwhile.
The holiday season is coming up, and it's going to be a very busy time. As of right now, I won't be working on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I will be sitting behind my laptop on Boxing Day and when the clocks hit zero to signal the arrival of 2015. The latter is a little saddenning, but also fitting. New Year's Eve somehow always ends up as a major disappointment, and I've spent half of the countdowns in my lifetime working anyhow (slight exaggeration). I've always loved the holiday seasons,but the past few years they've always been some of the most depressing periods of my life. Last year was an absolute disaster (I was a wreck 12 months ago) and I was actually really looking forward to Christmas in The Big Smoke--I've been told it's magical. But I'm sure I'll one day have the opportunity to actually experience it.
The dating scene always makes for odd realisations, and this week was no different. The story is as old as the world itself: You meet a nice lady, hit it off before you start to realise there are just one or two fundamental differences between you that simply can't be overcome. From the trivial over the big stuff, and the simple yet harsh reality you two just don't mesh. I like my suits, my bowties, my fancy shoes and coats that are far too expensive for a f*cking coat. And I won't apologise for that.
That was an odd paragraph, but I have to make this title work (I can't be asked to look for another one) and words -> consequences, if you catch my drift. Some things just can't be unsaid :)
Looks like another short entry filled with trivial nonsense that won't satisfy my limited readership. Welcome to the real world, where little happens, expectations generally fall short and the people you elevate onto a pedestal turn out to be little more than ordinary folks. And let's face it--that's how it should be.
Song of the Day: Mama Cass Elliot-Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
“He was lovable the way a child is lovable, and he was capable of returning love with a childlike purity. If love is nevertheless excluded from his work, it's because he never quite felt that he deserved to receive it. He was a lifelong prisoner on the island of himself. What looked like gentle contours from a distance were in fact sheer cliffs. Sometimes only a little of him was crazy, sometimes nearly all of him, but, as an adult, he was never entirely not crazy. What he'd seen of his id while trying to escape his island prison by way of drugs and alcohol, only to find himself even more imprisoned by addiction, seems never to have ceased to be corrosive of his belief in his lovability. Even after he got clean, even decades after his late-adolescent suicide attempt, even after his slow and heroic construction of a life for himself, he felt undeserving. And this feeling was intertwined, ultimately to the point of indistinguishability, with the thought of suicide, which was the one sure way out of his imprisonment; surer than addiction, surer than fiction, and surer, finally, than love.”
-Jonathan Franzen (he's kind of depressing).
The Chinese supposedly have two well-known curses: "May you live in interesting times" (popularised by the fantastic Terry Pratchett novel Interesting Times) and "May you find what you are looking for," a variation of one of the most well-known addages in the English language. Both are rooted in basic human experiences, and the duality of how certain things can be perceived. "Interesting times" sounds like a pleasant alternative to the bland, ordinary lives the vast majority of us lead, but of course, we often come to the realisation those bland, ordinary lives usually end up providing a high level of satisfaction compared to the troubles that come with anything that might be interesting. Likewise, "May you find what you are looking for" draws on the fact we often find the things we wanted the most fall well short of our expectations, leading to disappointment that could have been avoided had we just been content with the status-quo. By the time we realise this, it's too late.
I struggle with this blog because I don't live in "interesting times," and I'm about as far away from finding what it is I'm looking for as can be. In a way, both of those statements are a blessing, despite the fact they sound sad. Writing from London was easy--there was so much new stuff to tell all of you about, and I felt the need to keep in touch with the people at home. Now that I'm back, it all feels rather pointless. There's no need to keep you guys up to speed--you already know what's going on, and the writing material is fairly limited. I lead one of those bland, ordinary lives filled with work, the occasional social encounter and the joys and struggles everybody goes through on a daily basis. Who wants to read about every day life? No one.
The irony is that there is so much I wish to write which shouldn't be put into words, because words have consequences. It's not so much about keeping up appearances as it is about the simple fact some things can't be undone, and some words can't be unspoken (or unwritten). Life must be so easy if you don't give a damn about what may or may not happen as a result of the things you say or do. Ignorance truly is bliss.
So, what's new? As you probably know, I ended up not going to London at all. Friends wanted to meet, my father wanted to help redecorate my new flat and eventually I just ran out of time. It kind of s*cks, but there's still plenty of time. I say this knowing full well I'll probably cancel trips like this again and again, but I do hope to come back real soon.
Work's good, the family is good and friends are good. I had the opportunity to see or talk to several people I hadn't seen or spoken to in a long time, which is obviously pleasant. Ultimately, I'm happy I didn't go to London--my new shelves and the social encounters made it wortwhile.
The holiday season is coming up, and it's going to be a very busy time. As of right now, I won't be working on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I will be sitting behind my laptop on Boxing Day and when the clocks hit zero to signal the arrival of 2015. The latter is a little saddenning, but also fitting. New Year's Eve somehow always ends up as a major disappointment, and I've spent half of the countdowns in my lifetime working anyhow (slight exaggeration). I've always loved the holiday seasons,but the past few years they've always been some of the most depressing periods of my life. Last year was an absolute disaster (I was a wreck 12 months ago) and I was actually really looking forward to Christmas in The Big Smoke--I've been told it's magical. But I'm sure I'll one day have the opportunity to actually experience it.
The dating scene always makes for odd realisations, and this week was no different. The story is as old as the world itself: You meet a nice lady, hit it off before you start to realise there are just one or two fundamental differences between you that simply can't be overcome. From the trivial over the big stuff, and the simple yet harsh reality you two just don't mesh. I like my suits, my bowties, my fancy shoes and coats that are far too expensive for a f*cking coat. And I won't apologise for that.
That was an odd paragraph, but I have to make this title work (I can't be asked to look for another one) and words -> consequences, if you catch my drift. Some things just can't be unsaid :)
Looks like another short entry filled with trivial nonsense that won't satisfy my limited readership. Welcome to the real world, where little happens, expectations generally fall short and the people you elevate onto a pedestal turn out to be little more than ordinary folks. And let's face it--that's how it should be.
Song of the Day: Mama Cass Elliot-Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
maandag 3 november 2014
On Virality and Stagnation
"Well, what I mean is that I shouldn't mind being a bride at a wedding, if I could be one without having a husband."
"Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not."
-Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd
Hey folks,
I know it's been a while and I wish I had both the time and material on hand to write you a decent entry, but unfortunately, I don't. It's my one day off this week and I still need to get dinner before I meet some friends, so don't expect too much. I don't want to say I've been putting off writing you--the will to write simply vanishes after a workday that concludes at one in the morning.
What I need to share with you: The tale of my five minutes of Twitter fame. For those of you that follow me (a vast minority, as the bulk of you don't give a flying toss about Twitter), you obviously already know what happened. For the rest of you, here's what went down:
A couple of weeks ago I finished work at one (as usual), had some dinner and watched some TV, but when I wanted to go to bed, this group of obnoxious wankers was standing outside my window, singing the same 10-second song over and over again, for hours on end. This was a Saturday or a Sunday I think, Usually a relatively quiet night in Leuven. My mindset went from mildly irritated because I could hear them through my headphones to seriously f*cking p*ssed because I was tired and wanted to sleep. At one point, I got so fed up I filled a bucket with water, perched it on my window sill and tweeted out the question whether I should toss it. I live on the fifth floor of a big building--there was no way they'd spot where it came from.
Naturally, everyone replied yes, so I tossed it and started live-tweeting what happened next. People started tweeting about what I was doing, sending folks to my profile, and one of them is one of our Lead Writers with quite the popular account. So before I knew what was happening, I had dozens of complete strangers tweeting at me, asking for updates and handing out suggestions (something about expired yoghurt). The whole experience was surreal, from the group of wankers downstairs shouting, taking another bucket on the head, getting into a verbal altercation with my neighbours across the street and getting doused by the manager of McDonalds, who followed my example, to the multitude of people online urging me on and proclaiming me the "King of the Internet" for about five minutes.
For those of you who want to read the whole thing: Here's my Twitter account, although you may have to scroll down a week or two (I don't generally tweet that much). I'm not sure whether you need an account of your own to read the stuff. After trying it myself, it took me less than two minutes scrolling, including reading everything I've tweeted since (ugh. I hate reading my own stuff).
So, what else is new? The past few days have been a little rough, but that's kind of the definition of life, anyhow. I titled this post "On Virality and Stagnation," but perhaps the word stagnation is a little harsh. Perhaps 'routine' or "rut' are better. We all get these episodes on occasion, I guess, where you feel life isn't moving forward. You work, eat, excercise, go out with the same people to the same bars twice/week and sleep (don't worry, I love you guys). No progress whatsoever. But then again, progress is something humanity fabricated for the sole purpose of separating oneself from the rest of the pack and in a desperate attempt not to spend too much time contemplating what was, or what was lost. How much progress can one make on a normal day? Not so much I reckon. Sure, I'd like to have the feeling I'm actually going somewhere with my life once every while, but the eternal pessimist in me knows living and surviving are synonymous 90 percent of the time.
For you London kids, my planning currently has two gaps in it where I have consecutive days off: November 12 and 13 (Wednesday and Thursday) and November 20 and 21 (Thursday and Friday). I'm dying to see the city again and hear the chimes of Big Ben (don't mock me. As I explained to some friends last week, we all have these little things that make us nostalgic or happy, ranging from certain smells or sounds to certain songs, places and films. For me, one of those is this), so if you guys could let me know whether you'll actually be around, have work or school and would or would not have a place for me to stay, that'd be awesome (alternatively, I don't mind booking a hotel for the night). Preferably the first dates, as I haven't had a Friday off in months and that could be the perfect opportunity to meet up with some people who work as much as I do.
Alright, it's sushi-time. Talk to you guys later. Enjoy Bonfire Night (please don't post the V for Vendetta-thingy. It's obnoxious) and be safe.
Cheers,
Gianni
Song of the Day: Harry Lauder - It's Nice When You Love a Wee Lassie
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ed5AZ_cMpo
Just kidding: Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion: Never Too Far From my Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETA48cdx7Ts
"Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not."
-Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd
Hey folks,
I know it's been a while and I wish I had both the time and material on hand to write you a decent entry, but unfortunately, I don't. It's my one day off this week and I still need to get dinner before I meet some friends, so don't expect too much. I don't want to say I've been putting off writing you--the will to write simply vanishes after a workday that concludes at one in the morning.
What I need to share with you: The tale of my five minutes of Twitter fame. For those of you that follow me (a vast minority, as the bulk of you don't give a flying toss about Twitter), you obviously already know what happened. For the rest of you, here's what went down:
A couple of weeks ago I finished work at one (as usual), had some dinner and watched some TV, but when I wanted to go to bed, this group of obnoxious wankers was standing outside my window, singing the same 10-second song over and over again, for hours on end. This was a Saturday or a Sunday I think, Usually a relatively quiet night in Leuven. My mindset went from mildly irritated because I could hear them through my headphones to seriously f*cking p*ssed because I was tired and wanted to sleep. At one point, I got so fed up I filled a bucket with water, perched it on my window sill and tweeted out the question whether I should toss it. I live on the fifth floor of a big building--there was no way they'd spot where it came from.
Naturally, everyone replied yes, so I tossed it and started live-tweeting what happened next. People started tweeting about what I was doing, sending folks to my profile, and one of them is one of our Lead Writers with quite the popular account. So before I knew what was happening, I had dozens of complete strangers tweeting at me, asking for updates and handing out suggestions (something about expired yoghurt). The whole experience was surreal, from the group of wankers downstairs shouting, taking another bucket on the head, getting into a verbal altercation with my neighbours across the street and getting doused by the manager of McDonalds, who followed my example, to the multitude of people online urging me on and proclaiming me the "King of the Internet" for about five minutes.
For those of you who want to read the whole thing: Here's my Twitter account, although you may have to scroll down a week or two (I don't generally tweet that much). I'm not sure whether you need an account of your own to read the stuff. After trying it myself, it took me less than two minutes scrolling, including reading everything I've tweeted since (ugh. I hate reading my own stuff).
So, what else is new? The past few days have been a little rough, but that's kind of the definition of life, anyhow. I titled this post "On Virality and Stagnation," but perhaps the word stagnation is a little harsh. Perhaps 'routine' or "rut' are better. We all get these episodes on occasion, I guess, where you feel life isn't moving forward. You work, eat, excercise, go out with the same people to the same bars twice/week and sleep (don't worry, I love you guys). No progress whatsoever. But then again, progress is something humanity fabricated for the sole purpose of separating oneself from the rest of the pack and in a desperate attempt not to spend too much time contemplating what was, or what was lost. How much progress can one make on a normal day? Not so much I reckon. Sure, I'd like to have the feeling I'm actually going somewhere with my life once every while, but the eternal pessimist in me knows living and surviving are synonymous 90 percent of the time.
For you London kids, my planning currently has two gaps in it where I have consecutive days off: November 12 and 13 (Wednesday and Thursday) and November 20 and 21 (Thursday and Friday). I'm dying to see the city again and hear the chimes of Big Ben (don't mock me. As I explained to some friends last week, we all have these little things that make us nostalgic or happy, ranging from certain smells or sounds to certain songs, places and films. For me, one of those is this), so if you guys could let me know whether you'll actually be around, have work or school and would or would not have a place for me to stay, that'd be awesome (alternatively, I don't mind booking a hotel for the night). Preferably the first dates, as I haven't had a Friday off in months and that could be the perfect opportunity to meet up with some people who work as much as I do.
Alright, it's sushi-time. Talk to you guys later. Enjoy Bonfire Night (please don't post the V for Vendetta-thingy. It's obnoxious) and be safe.
Cheers,
Gianni
Song of the Day: Harry Lauder - It's Nice When You Love a Wee Lassie
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ed5AZ_cMpo
Just kidding: Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion: Never Too Far From my Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETA48cdx7Ts
woensdag 8 oktober 2014
On My New Flat and Very Little Else
“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.”
“You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.”
-Cormac McCarthy
Hey guys,
Another quick update (we've seen a lot of those lately). I'm currently writing you from my new and very own flat for the first time, and seeing how that's supposedly some kind of major development (I have my own place!), it felt as if I needed to dedicate an entry to it.
So, what's it like? I live in Leuven, which is a minor city close to Brussels (the capital of Belgium). It's fairly small but cosy, and mainly known as the home of one of Belgium's largest universities and my alma mater, the KUL. Unlike most cities with massive universities, this one is truly dictated by it. As a result, it has two faces. During the week, it's filled with young people either on their way to class, getting drunk or getting laid. In the weekends, it's fairly empty.
The flat I chose isn't the biggest, but it's certainly big enough for me. It's located right in the centre, in a small street leading to the Oude Markt (Old Market), the main location for festivities. Most famous for being the "Longest Bar in the World," it's basically just a collection of bars and a handful of fast-food places. It's very cosy, but also quite loud (duh). The flat itself is on the fifth floor of a building that houses a McDonalds, but as long as I keep my door shut, the odour is fine.
I had some friends over yesterday, and they seemed to like it. Because of its location, it's obviously a prime spot for everyone to gather before going out. Tomorrow I'll have someone staying over for the first time, so I should get some feedback on the couch.
The past few days I've mainly been buying stuff for the flat, when I wasn't working. Christ, I've buying so much stuff lately. It's coming together nicely, however. As of right now, I think all I really need is a drying rack for my laundry, a laundry basket and a place to store my books. They're currently standing underneath my window, and my friends seemed to like it that way (as do I, it adds a personal touch). It's not extremely convenient, however (what, with the curtains and all) so I'll have to see how I manage.
There's a one-year lease with three months' notice, so I reckon I'll find out whether I like it or not and go from there. A part of me is already aching to leave again, but I'm not 19 anymore. Besides, there's plenty of reasons why it's convenient to be living at home once again. For one, it's incredibly cheap. The Guardian posted an article just last week on London prices and how it's pretty normal to pay five pounds for a beer in the English capital (pints, obviously). The first round of drinks I paid two days ago cost me 7.40 euros. That's roughly six pounds, and absolutely ridiculous. For six pounds, I'd have one beer in Soho. Rent is more than manageable (again, the flat is not insanely luxurious), but it allows me to save some money over the next 12 months. The only thing that isn't particularly cheap is public transport (and it's ridiculously ineffective, but that's a whole different story), but I still hope I'll get to see my relatives on a regular basis. After all, they're all located within 90 minutes of me by train.
It's incredibly unfair to compare Leuven to London. It's a nice, cosy city that has everything I need, for now. My friends are here, and the top spot to go out is literally on my doorstep. Compared to London, it should (and will) be far easier to combine a social life with my work schedule. Sure, nothing compares to the Big Smoke, and it's very tempting to go back as soon as I can. I planned two consecutive days off for November, so if my bosses cooperate, I'll hopefully be able to come visit soon. I always mocked people who lost their hearts to a particular place, but perhaps I'm starting to understand. London is pretty awesome, guys.
So, to summarise. I like my flat. The lease is only for a year, which is perfect, but in general, it's a nice place. I've yet to truly make it my own (add a nice decorative lamp, put up some photos and posters), but so far, I feel okay here. It's far from perfect--it's loud, the on-suite bathroom doesn't have a toilet, storage space is limited and the constant presence of fraternities on a night out (even at 2 p.m.) is making my blood boil. But to quote the genius that is Tim Minchin: "It's not perfect, but it's mine." We'll work on a housewarming party, although I sincerely doubt my flat will hold more than 10 people.
In fact, I'll leave you with the genius himself.
Song of the Day: The surprisingly deep and very beautiful
It's Not Perfect - Tim Minchin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg3PberzvXo
Bonus: I love the BBC's cover of God Only Knows that is currently sweeping the internet, but it's still only my second-favourite cover version of the Beach Boys' phenomenal hit. So, for your enjoyment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7ogV49WGco
“You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.”
-Cormac McCarthy
Hey guys,
Another quick update (we've seen a lot of those lately). I'm currently writing you from my new and very own flat for the first time, and seeing how that's supposedly some kind of major development (I have my own place!), it felt as if I needed to dedicate an entry to it.
So, what's it like? I live in Leuven, which is a minor city close to Brussels (the capital of Belgium). It's fairly small but cosy, and mainly known as the home of one of Belgium's largest universities and my alma mater, the KUL. Unlike most cities with massive universities, this one is truly dictated by it. As a result, it has two faces. During the week, it's filled with young people either on their way to class, getting drunk or getting laid. In the weekends, it's fairly empty.
The flat I chose isn't the biggest, but it's certainly big enough for me. It's located right in the centre, in a small street leading to the Oude Markt (Old Market), the main location for festivities. Most famous for being the "Longest Bar in the World," it's basically just a collection of bars and a handful of fast-food places. It's very cosy, but also quite loud (duh). The flat itself is on the fifth floor of a building that houses a McDonalds, but as long as I keep my door shut, the odour is fine.
I had some friends over yesterday, and they seemed to like it. Because of its location, it's obviously a prime spot for everyone to gather before going out. Tomorrow I'll have someone staying over for the first time, so I should get some feedback on the couch.
The past few days I've mainly been buying stuff for the flat, when I wasn't working. Christ, I've buying so much stuff lately. It's coming together nicely, however. As of right now, I think all I really need is a drying rack for my laundry, a laundry basket and a place to store my books. They're currently standing underneath my window, and my friends seemed to like it that way (as do I, it adds a personal touch). It's not extremely convenient, however (what, with the curtains and all) so I'll have to see how I manage.
There's a one-year lease with three months' notice, so I reckon I'll find out whether I like it or not and go from there. A part of me is already aching to leave again, but I'm not 19 anymore. Besides, there's plenty of reasons why it's convenient to be living at home once again. For one, it's incredibly cheap. The Guardian posted an article just last week on London prices and how it's pretty normal to pay five pounds for a beer in the English capital (pints, obviously). The first round of drinks I paid two days ago cost me 7.40 euros. That's roughly six pounds, and absolutely ridiculous. For six pounds, I'd have one beer in Soho. Rent is more than manageable (again, the flat is not insanely luxurious), but it allows me to save some money over the next 12 months. The only thing that isn't particularly cheap is public transport (and it's ridiculously ineffective, but that's a whole different story), but I still hope I'll get to see my relatives on a regular basis. After all, they're all located within 90 minutes of me by train.
It's incredibly unfair to compare Leuven to London. It's a nice, cosy city that has everything I need, for now. My friends are here, and the top spot to go out is literally on my doorstep. Compared to London, it should (and will) be far easier to combine a social life with my work schedule. Sure, nothing compares to the Big Smoke, and it's very tempting to go back as soon as I can. I planned two consecutive days off for November, so if my bosses cooperate, I'll hopefully be able to come visit soon. I always mocked people who lost their hearts to a particular place, but perhaps I'm starting to understand. London is pretty awesome, guys.
So, to summarise. I like my flat. The lease is only for a year, which is perfect, but in general, it's a nice place. I've yet to truly make it my own (add a nice decorative lamp, put up some photos and posters), but so far, I feel okay here. It's far from perfect--it's loud, the on-suite bathroom doesn't have a toilet, storage space is limited and the constant presence of fraternities on a night out (even at 2 p.m.) is making my blood boil. But to quote the genius that is Tim Minchin: "It's not perfect, but it's mine." We'll work on a housewarming party, although I sincerely doubt my flat will hold more than 10 people.
In fact, I'll leave you with the genius himself.
Song of the Day: The surprisingly deep and very beautiful
It's Not Perfect - Tim Minchin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg3PberzvXo
Bonus: I love the BBC's cover of God Only Knows that is currently sweeping the internet, but it's still only my second-favourite cover version of the Beach Boys' phenomenal hit. So, for your enjoyment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7ogV49WGco
woensdag 1 oktober 2014
On Housing and Staying Busy
Every reader, as he reads, is actually the reader of himself. The
writer's work is only a kind of optical instrument he provides the reader so he
can discern what he might never have seen in himself without this book. The
reader's recognition in himself of what the book says is the proof of the
book's truth.
-Marcel Proust
Hey guys,
Just a little update
to let you all know how I'm doing down here in Belgium (a few of you have asked
for it). I've found a flat, right in the centre of Leuven. Signed for it on
Monday, paid the deposit and my first month of rent today, collecting the keys
on Friday and moving on Sunday. Yes, Belgian bureaucracy is a pain in the ass.
I'm moving my stuff there on Sunday but I probably won't be moving in just
yet, as they're still working on the internet (something I really need for
work).
It's not perfect—far
from it, in fact. But it's nice and central and the lease is only for a year
and it's spacious enough just for me. I mean, I literally used to live in a
tent—I don't need much. At least I'll have a place of my own, for the time
being, and I'll get to live close to my friends, which is one of the main
reasons why I left London in the first place. A one-year lease also means I
won't be moving back for at least 12 months, so I deeply apologise to those few
of you who were still gunning for that.
I still needed a
bunch of stuff for the flat, but luckily, our local variant of Home Depot is
closing one of its flagship stores and all of the articles were 70% percent
off. Which is why I managed to buy an ironing board (because all adults own
their own ironing board), a 12-piece set of kitchen tools complete with an
art-deco rack (including a pizza slicer, which is vital considering the fact I
eat about five pizzas/week), plates, a 24-piece cutlery set, coffee mugs (I'm
still buying the Troy and Abed in the Morning one), an oven plate, two separate
cooking knives and an alarm clock for 44 euros (I'm guessing it's about 35 pounds,
or maybe 60 US dollars). Now all I need is some bed sheets, drapes, a microwave
oven and a bin.
For those of you who
frequent Leuven: My place is right at the Oude Markt and I have a spare couch,
so if you're ever in need of somewhere
to sleep, please let me know. I've yet to test the couch, but I'll be sure to
let you know and provide you with a sleeping bag/plaid.
Now, onto something
else. De Morgen's Fernand van Damme (in Dutch) recently posted an entry
detailing how being busy is the new cool for 20-somethings. He talked about how
we all seem to stuff our planners as full as possible with work, breakfast dates
and city trips and tried to link it to how we're scared of being alone, and the
conclusions our minds may reach when we're forced to contemplate on that
factoid. It's worth the read, if you speak Dutch, and you can find the piece by
clicking here.
He's not entirely
successful in trying to draw his conclusion ( it gets awfully tacky), but he
does make a fair point, and I do believe that plenty of you will recognise what
it is he's writing about. I know I've noticed it in myself. Where I once used
to live life without a day-planner, teaching surfing and largely enjoying the
quiet moments in between, I now find myself trying to cram as much work and
activities into my days in a feeble attempt to escape the fact that when I'm
not doing stuff, my mind tends to wander into dangerous places. And I've heard
the same message from plenty of you, or recognised the behaviour. I'm not
judging anyone or trying to tell you why that may be wrong or right, but it is
something worth thinking about. When you're not busy working or going to that
concert or meeting your middle-school science partner for cocktails, that is.
I guess that's it for
now. Like I said, short update on how I'm doing (technically it's about what
I'm doing, I suppose). It looks like I'm truly here to stay, for now at least.
I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, but we always feel like that right
after we've made a big decision. And that first night of drinks at De Weerelt
will surely sway my mind.
Have a good one guys.
Song of the Day:
Charles Bradley - Where Do We Go From Here
dinsdag 23 september 2014
On Texting and the Value of Deadlines
“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.”
-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
I think I've figured out why a plethora of these entries always seem to have a sad or angry undertone. For the past few days I've had a couple of things to write about, but I kept pushing the actual business of writing back. Until today, that is, and only because some incident left me in a foul mood. As a result, the good or interesting things that happened to me in the past week won't be conveyed in such a way--instead, it will likely come across as if life in general has been crappy in the past two weeks. Which simply isn't the case. Perhaps I should give myself deadlines, but then again, that would compromise the therapeutic value writing has for me.
So, what's new? Work has been interesting, and please try to move away from the negative connotation that word so often holds. 90 percent of what I do usually involves football (the European variant), and the past tweek or so has been different, hence interesting. I've written on cricket, golf, cycling, sepak takraw (really), wushu (again, really), rugby sevens, fantasy football, Philippines basketball, horse racing, and of course footy. As difficult as it can be to balance all those things, it's nice to broaden your horizons in such a way. So yeah, interesting is good. I like it.
Last week's entry followed me for a couple of days, as apparently the entire world suddenly decided to read it. I half expected my father to comment on my "massive revelation" of not having had intercourse for a year (he did), and perhaps a friend or two. I did not anticipate my parents' friends or complete random strangers on the internet to not just read it, but actually address me on it. Sex sells, as they say. Without resorting to details or language inappropriate for these pages, this past week has been interesting on that level as well. Good lord, I do appear to be fond of that word today.
One of my best friends was accepted into an American university this week, and I am proud to say I helped out in my own little way. Obviously, the man was accepted on his merit, and my contributions were tiny and restricted to translating and streamlining his letter of motivation. Wannes, I'm proud of you buddy. Give them hell, and I'll see you somewhere on the Eastern seaboard in a couple of months.Hopefully I'll see you before that, but you catch my drift.
I'm checking out a couple of flats tomorrow (although not the flat I wanted, but more on that later), but to be honest, I'm really not looking forward to it. I loved the idea of getting a place with a friend of mine, but that plan unfortunately fell through in a hurry. It was mostly my fault--due to work, I scarcely had the time to aid in the search, and when we found a place that was suitable and available, I didn't like it enough to say 'yes.' It was a selfish decision--I want my next home to be perfect enough for me to call it a home, and that flat simply wasn't it. We could have lived there, and it probably would have been great. At the same time, I realise I need my own space, and perhaps this will all be for the best.
Now, onto the crappy stuff and the reason I picked today, out of all days, to sit down behind my desk and start typing. The flat I was supposed to check out was cosy, modern, spacious, remarkably affordable (my budget is relativey large, but still) and in a prime location. I called up the landlady and set an appointment, and we agreed we'd contact each other on Tuesday to confirm said appointment (tomorrow). After several phone calls and voice mails, I finally got word from the nice lady with the message she was in Italy and wouldn't be back until Friday.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't bother me all that much. These were not normal circumstances, however. You see: Two weeks ago I met this nice, attractive young lady with a great sense of humour who told me she would text me and then proceeded not to (quick update on that front: After not speaking to her for days I let my common decency get the better of me and wished her a happy birthday. She replied to every single person doing that in person, except for me. I'm assuming she may have read my blog).
The same thing happened to me on four different occasions in the past week. Now, over the course of the past 25 years or so, I've come to accept the fact that people have normal lives with social and professional obligations, and as a result, their schedules may not always suit mine (it took me some time. Part of me still believes I'm the lead character in The Truman Show). Armed with this knowledge, I find it easy to deal with people cancelling on plans or shooting down certain proposals.
What I have difficulty with, however, is people telling me they'll call or text and then not actually call or text. It's frustrating from a practical perspective, as it greatly hinders me in my attempts to balance a schedule which is already fairly tight. More importantly, and this may just be a minor personality flaw of mine, but I take it as an enormous insult. As if somehow I leave such a fleeting impression the implied promise you will contact me is forgotten in an instance. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of running after people who apparently care so little for me they can't be bothered to remember we were in the middle of making plans.
If all of this sounds like quite the overreaction, I'm sorry. It's a personal thing--I just really don't do well with people telling me they'll do something and proceeding not to do it. I'm sure a therapist would trace this back to my parents making me promises and not keeping them in the past, and he'd be full of it--all parents do so. Promises that go unkept are the very hallmark of our society.
God, all of this is making it sound like I'm extremely ticked-off at a handful of people--I'm not. Seriously. Except for the landlady. That flat really was quite special. How hard can it be to just let someone know you'll be in Italy? It's common ******* decency. All of this is making it really hard not to just pack up my bags and go back to London. The fact I still don't have a place to live means I could theoretically do it, and like a splinter, the thought keeps creeping further and further into my brain. I have two consecutive days off in October, and I'm thinking of just booking a ticket and taking a two-day trip to the Big Smoke, just to get away from it all for a few hours and see the city again. The fact our local radio station keeps playing West End Girls three times per day isn't helping, either.
So, what else is new? I've finally finished season 8 of Dexter, and my friends were right: That is one unsatisfying finale. Today happens to mark the 10-year anniversary of the pilot episode of LOST, which means I may have to do another run. I also finally finished Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and it was well worth the read.
Right, that's it for now. Have a good one guys.
Song of the Day: Childish Gambino - Zealots of Stockholm
(My MP3 player is kind of messed up, and for some reason, this is always the second song of my playlists. So, walking down the streets of the West End, this song always popped up. Try to listen to the whole thing).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rdQSP7Dhck
-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
I think I've figured out why a plethora of these entries always seem to have a sad or angry undertone. For the past few days I've had a couple of things to write about, but I kept pushing the actual business of writing back. Until today, that is, and only because some incident left me in a foul mood. As a result, the good or interesting things that happened to me in the past week won't be conveyed in such a way--instead, it will likely come across as if life in general has been crappy in the past two weeks. Which simply isn't the case. Perhaps I should give myself deadlines, but then again, that would compromise the therapeutic value writing has for me.
So, what's new? Work has been interesting, and please try to move away from the negative connotation that word so often holds. 90 percent of what I do usually involves football (the European variant), and the past tweek or so has been different, hence interesting. I've written on cricket, golf, cycling, sepak takraw (really), wushu (again, really), rugby sevens, fantasy football, Philippines basketball, horse racing, and of course footy. As difficult as it can be to balance all those things, it's nice to broaden your horizons in such a way. So yeah, interesting is good. I like it.
Last week's entry followed me for a couple of days, as apparently the entire world suddenly decided to read it. I half expected my father to comment on my "massive revelation" of not having had intercourse for a year (he did), and perhaps a friend or two. I did not anticipate my parents' friends or complete random strangers on the internet to not just read it, but actually address me on it. Sex sells, as they say. Without resorting to details or language inappropriate for these pages, this past week has been interesting on that level as well. Good lord, I do appear to be fond of that word today.
One of my best friends was accepted into an American university this week, and I am proud to say I helped out in my own little way. Obviously, the man was accepted on his merit, and my contributions were tiny and restricted to translating and streamlining his letter of motivation. Wannes, I'm proud of you buddy. Give them hell, and I'll see you somewhere on the Eastern seaboard in a couple of months.Hopefully I'll see you before that, but you catch my drift.
I'm checking out a couple of flats tomorrow (although not the flat I wanted, but more on that later), but to be honest, I'm really not looking forward to it. I loved the idea of getting a place with a friend of mine, but that plan unfortunately fell through in a hurry. It was mostly my fault--due to work, I scarcely had the time to aid in the search, and when we found a place that was suitable and available, I didn't like it enough to say 'yes.' It was a selfish decision--I want my next home to be perfect enough for me to call it a home, and that flat simply wasn't it. We could have lived there, and it probably would have been great. At the same time, I realise I need my own space, and perhaps this will all be for the best.
Now, onto the crappy stuff and the reason I picked today, out of all days, to sit down behind my desk and start typing. The flat I was supposed to check out was cosy, modern, spacious, remarkably affordable (my budget is relativey large, but still) and in a prime location. I called up the landlady and set an appointment, and we agreed we'd contact each other on Tuesday to confirm said appointment (tomorrow). After several phone calls and voice mails, I finally got word from the nice lady with the message she was in Italy and wouldn't be back until Friday.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't bother me all that much. These were not normal circumstances, however. You see: Two weeks ago I met this nice, attractive young lady with a great sense of humour who told me she would text me and then proceeded not to (quick update on that front: After not speaking to her for days I let my common decency get the better of me and wished her a happy birthday. She replied to every single person doing that in person, except for me. I'm assuming she may have read my blog).
The same thing happened to me on four different occasions in the past week. Now, over the course of the past 25 years or so, I've come to accept the fact that people have normal lives with social and professional obligations, and as a result, their schedules may not always suit mine (it took me some time. Part of me still believes I'm the lead character in The Truman Show). Armed with this knowledge, I find it easy to deal with people cancelling on plans or shooting down certain proposals.
What I have difficulty with, however, is people telling me they'll call or text and then not actually call or text. It's frustrating from a practical perspective, as it greatly hinders me in my attempts to balance a schedule which is already fairly tight. More importantly, and this may just be a minor personality flaw of mine, but I take it as an enormous insult. As if somehow I leave such a fleeting impression the implied promise you will contact me is forgotten in an instance. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of running after people who apparently care so little for me they can't be bothered to remember we were in the middle of making plans.
If all of this sounds like quite the overreaction, I'm sorry. It's a personal thing--I just really don't do well with people telling me they'll do something and proceeding not to do it. I'm sure a therapist would trace this back to my parents making me promises and not keeping them in the past, and he'd be full of it--all parents do so. Promises that go unkept are the very hallmark of our society.
God, all of this is making it sound like I'm extremely ticked-off at a handful of people--I'm not. Seriously. Except for the landlady. That flat really was quite special. How hard can it be to just let someone know you'll be in Italy? It's common ******* decency. All of this is making it really hard not to just pack up my bags and go back to London. The fact I still don't have a place to live means I could theoretically do it, and like a splinter, the thought keeps creeping further and further into my brain. I have two consecutive days off in October, and I'm thinking of just booking a ticket and taking a two-day trip to the Big Smoke, just to get away from it all for a few hours and see the city again. The fact our local radio station keeps playing West End Girls three times per day isn't helping, either.
So, what else is new? I've finally finished season 8 of Dexter, and my friends were right: That is one unsatisfying finale. Today happens to mark the 10-year anniversary of the pilot episode of LOST, which means I may have to do another run. I also finally finished Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and it was well worth the read.
Right, that's it for now. Have a good one guys.
Song of the Day: Childish Gambino - Zealots of Stockholm
(My MP3 player is kind of messed up, and for some reason, this is always the second song of my playlists. So, walking down the streets of the West End, this song always popped up. Try to listen to the whole thing).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rdQSP7Dhck
woensdag 10 september 2014
On Abstinence and the Promise of True Love
“Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.”
“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”
-Charles Dickens
Hey guys,
Today's blogpost is
going to get weird. I'm just going to come out and say it, before I get
started. I didn't intend to write down what I'm about to tell you, but in light
of recent events, I might as well. I promise it'll make some sense in the
end (I suppose). It's a little embarrassing, but those usually make for the
best stories. Just bear with me.
I earned my 12th
Panda Point today. Yes, you read that right—I've officially gone one whole year
without sex. For those of you who don't
know what Panda Points are: It's an incredibly juvenile system I learned about
back when I was still a surf coach. You get one point for every month you go
without doing the no-pants dance (one week if you're in college) and once you
hit 12 points, you have to throw a Panda-party. Which means your friends invite
a bunch of attractive, willing women and you dress up as a panda—everyone at
the party knows you're "it," guaranteeing your dry spell comes to an
end that night. Please, for the love of God, don't throw me a Panda-party.
This is officially
the longest I've ever gone without sex since I lost my virginity. It's not that
I used to be a massive playboy (to my knowledge, I've never slept with more
than one girl in the span of a week), but let's just say that I got around. I was
a surfcoach, and a bit of a celebrity. In general, it was easy.
What started as
something that just sort of happened turned into a conscious choice not to have
sex for a year after a couple of months (I think about a month into my London
adventure). It just felt right, after everything that had happened in the past
two years. I have a tendency to fall in love far too quickly, only to realise I
had it all wrong. One year of no hanky-panky made sense. It helped that I
hardly dated, either in London or Belgium, and in total, I only had to decline
specific requests for fornication on two occasions (you may remember the
Tinder-incident). Sure, I still joked about sex and one-night stands constantly
(I think I asked Elise to set me up with her hot friend about a million times),
but I actually took it pretty serious near the end. I think on some level I
figured that after an entire year, I'd actually "save myself" for
something special, as ridiculous and juvenile as that may sound. I mean, there
were times I would have jumped just about anyone. But now, 12 months later, I
actually feel great. I'm glad I decided on this celibacy-thing.
Now, why am I telling
you all of this? I'm sure you see where this is going. Yes, I met someone. Sort
of. I'm not going to go into details regarding who she is or what happened. All
I'll say is that for a very short time, she was able to brighten my day like no
one has for a long time. In light of what you just read in the paragraphs
above, that was kind of a big deal for me. Not on a sexual level—I just hadn't
been this intrigued by a woman in a long time.
In the past year, I
went on one real, actual date with a real, actual woman. And she was really great
and really awesome, and then she stopped being all of that and became a distant
b*tch for no reason. Like, literally. She went to bed texting me to ask whether
I wanted to see her again soon, and then she woke up and gave me the whole
"I seriously couldn't care less what happens to you-"treatment women
appear to be so fond of. Ladies, in the future: Guys like to know what happened
or what they did wrong. If you don't like us, tell us. Seriously. We can take
it. And if we f*cked up in any way, we'd appreciate the opportunity to learn
from our mistakes. We're just as lost and insecure as you are.
But I digress.
I've spent the past
two weeks desperately trying to convince myself I didn't make a horrible
mistake leaving London. Life goes on for all of us. I work, talk to my friends
and am generally a productive member of society. But if I'm being completely
honest, I'm not fine. At all. Most of the time I'm too busy with work and
generally surviving to worry about it, but once the lights go out and I try to
get some sleep, I realise I'm seriously not okay. We all feel like this
sometimes—I'm not worried. This is not a cry for help, in any way. I knew the
whole process of coming home and readapting was going to be hard, and I was
right. It is hard, and there are days
where I have to stop myself from booking the first ticket back to London and
telling all of you to go f*ck yourself (I'm very sorry for typing that). I'm
not going to—I made my choice, for better or for worse. And most of the time
I'm glad I did.
And then I met this
girl, and for a brief time, everything made sense. She was funny and witty and
mad as a balloon, to quote Douglas Adams, and as far as physical appearances
go... Well, no. I'm not going to go into that. That'd be rude. She was cute,
let's leave it at that. Use your imagination.
Nothing happened. It
was all extremely early and very casual, but it was fun. And because I hadn't had fun
like that in such a long time, I did what I always do, and what I hadn't done
in years—I grew way too fond of this girl way too soon. And what happened next
is, sadly, all too predictable.
She asked whether she
could see me this week (several times, very keenly), set a date, wished me good
night and never texted me back. The days went by without a response (though she
had time to engage in other virtual activities, confirming she had in fact read
my messages and nothing terrible had happened that would warrant complete and
utter silence) and that was that. I don't know what it is—maybe women google me
and find a list of reasons to get as far away from me as possible. I don't
know.
I'm over it. Today
was a sh*t day I mainly spent glancing at my phone and cruising my Facebook
page, but it passed and I'm over it. It's okay. She was really cool and really
pretty and that's it. This won't keep me up at night for the rest of the week,
I don't feel the inclination to listen to sappy music and wonder "WHY
DOESN'T SHE LOVE ME??" All of this, this entire entry isn't about her.
Because there are thousands of girls just like her out there. I've felt this
way before, I've felt way, way worse and I'll probably feel like this again.
It's something we all go through, and in this case, because it was literally
the briefest of things, it hardly registered. No, this isn't about her. It's
about me.
I love the idea that
after everything that's happened, it's still possible for me to come across
someone who can sweep me off my feet in the shortest amount of time, and make
me forget that I really, really hate the situation I'm in. I've always known
that to be the case—according to all of those Hollywood films and fairy tales,
there's plenty of fish in the sea and we each find our happiness, sooner or
later. I'm a romantic and a pessimist. I want to believe in love and happiness,
but I've convinced myself it's not for me anymore. The latter part simply isn't
true—nothing is final, except death and late-stage syphilis. If there was ever a
time for me to believe I'll be happy with someone again, it's today. If only
they'll stop running away. I need to google myself.
So let me take this
opportunity to address this woman, knowing she will never read these words
(because I made the mistake of making my opinion known to someone who was not
waiting to hear it post-whateverthef*ckwentdown before, and it only leads to
pain and misery, for all parties involved). If you're lacking in the
y-chromosome department, feel free to pretend like these words, in some
variation and by me or any of my fellow men, were once directed at you, without
you ever knowing it:
"I'm sure you
have your reasons for deciding against seeing me, and that's fine. As much as I
would love to know why you're not talking to me anymore, you don't owe me
anything. It's the year 2014—a woman shouldn't have to explain why she doesn't
like a guy, or isn't into a guy. She just isn't. And that's okay. I wish you
the very best, because I know you and I will never speak to each other again.
Not because I'm bitter or angry, but because that's how the world works. So
please, whatever happens next—be happy, and find whatever it is you're looking
for.
But you're missing
out. I'm a really nice guy, trying to find his way in a world that is cold and
heartless, and I'm having trouble doing it on my own. I don't need someone who
will carry my luggage for me—all I need is someone who will put her hand on my
shoulder and tell me it's not that heavy. I'm funny, smart, reasonably
good-looking and the sweetest boy you'll ever meet. And there is nothing I want
more than to make you happy, and help you with your luggage. I don't care if
there's plenty—I'll carry it for you, because I've gotten used to it by now.
Sure, I have my
defects. We all do. I'm short, neurotic, far too emotional and as f*cked up a
person as you'll ever meet, probably. I'll go crazy from time to time and I
live in a perpetual fear of the most ridiculous things. I can't make up my mind
and I always wonder whether I've made the right choices. There will be days
where you can't stand me.
But I'm worth it,
because I promise I will love you more than any man ever will. I know I can't
make that promise, because I don't know these other men, but I'm still going to
make it. I'm not waiting for love to find me—believe me, if you knew me at all,
you'd know it's more or less the opposite. But I have so much love to give. I
have seen the world and all its beauty, and to this day, I've yet to see
something more beautiful than the eyes of a woman who is deeply and madly in love
with me. I'm only 25 years old, but I've already lived a lifetime. Somewhere
along the way I got lost, and I need your help before it's too late. Because
I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on. I need your help, but I swear it'll
be worth your while. Because if you help me find my way again, I know I'll make
you happier than any man ever could.
You're walking away now,
and that's fine. You've made your choice, and you chose poorly. You're
making a mistake. You made the wrong choice."
Boy, that got real. I
told you this was going to be a weird entry.
This is usually the
part where I tell you about the Song of the Day, but as luck would have it,
I've really gotten into this one song this week and it happens to be a really
depressing post-break-up anthem. I want to stress this has nothing to do with
my current mood (very foul today, but I'll be good tomorrow) and I got into
this song before I even met her. So, I'm going to leave you with two songs this
week, just to balance things out.
Song 1: A Great Big World - Say Something (the original version, which I think is way better than the one they did with Christina Aguilera):
Song 2: Alvvays - Archie, Marry Me
vrijdag 5 september 2014
On Frustrations and First World Problems
“We shall now seek that which we shall not find”
-Thomas Malory
Hey guys,
It's been a frustrating two weeks since I last wrote you, and I don't expect this to be a particularly long entry. I've been putting off writing for the simple reason I have little to say, though you shouldn't take that as something terrible or sad. It's just been a dull two weeks :)
The appartement-hunt is going dreadful. We never heard back from the landlady of the first place (I called at least five times. She never once picked up the phone or answered any of my texts. Which I find quite rude) and checked out a new place a few days ago, but I'm not feeling it. I'm not just looking for a place to stay, but a place I can call home for the foreseeable future. I have no intention of committing to a three-year contract unless I'm sure I've found the place where I want to start adulthood. We'll just see how it plays out.
While that's going on, I can't help but think of how I had a decent place in London. I really miss walking the streets of the city, and getting lost in the sheer magnitude of it all. Belgium is so goddamn small. I'm hoping to be back at some point in October, maybe for a couple of days. Just to get a feel of the place, and see some old friends again, you know?
God, I'm making it sound as if I'm depressed or something. I'm not--I just had a couple of rough days. It happens.
It doesn't help that I missed arguably the best two weeks of surf in Belgium's history. While I was working and looking for a place to live, friends were having the time off their lives as the North Sea delivered days upon days of incredible surf. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. But I haven't surfed in such a long time, and with the summer now officially over, this is the first time I didn't head down to the Basque Country and live that perfect beachboy-life since I graduated high school.
I loved being a surf coach, and I loved surfing. I made so many great friends on the road, but with surfing really the only thing that connected us, it's weird not hearing from them for such a long time. My boards have been sitting idly in my garage, waiting for me to handle them once more. You just can't explain what it's like, paddling out amidst the chaos and sheer violence of Mother Nature and finding peace in the most unlikely of places. I haven't felt that peaceful in a long time.
My dad got back from holiday and brought me a watch (I'd asked for one), a nice Fauxlex that broke down within hours of me first putting it on. Now, I want to specify this is the first watch I've ever broken in my life (this is an inside joke) and it was in no way my fault: I didn't touch anything, the button you use to change the time just suddenly wasn't there anymore. It's a shame, though. As fake as it was, it was a really nice watch (the Daytona, in case you were interested. This one, with a brown leather strap).
On to the good news--football is back! Oregon are playing Michigan State this weekend and the NFL started on Thursday, so this weekend is going to be awesome. I've also only got two days of recapping the World Equestrian Games left, and I couldn't be happier that event is only held every four years. I've found a lead on the pair of shoes I've been eyeing for this winter (Matt Smith's boots of his first season playing the Doctor, because they have massive heels and I'll look taller) and I have some free time coming up later this month, giving me a chance to see some old friends again.
Not every entry in this blog needs to have some major life lesson, or a relevation I came to in a drunken haze. Life isn't the third season of One Tree Hill. On many levels, all of the things we go through are roughly the same, and the more you converse about these topics with people, the more you come to the realisation we're not so different. But if you're looking for some deeper meaning (and 11 minutes of pure comedy), allow Tim Minchin to share some wisdom with you (because he's Tim f*cking Minchin, that's why):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc
And if you want to read the funiest thing I read today, here's the White House's response to a petition that called on the American government to build a Death Star (yes, they actually went there):
https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/response/isnt-petition-response-youre-looking
As for me, I'll just leave you with the Song of the Day: Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc (which is a ******* amazing track that I hadn't listened to in ages):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pls_luhVdAw
-Thomas Malory
Hey guys,
It's been a frustrating two weeks since I last wrote you, and I don't expect this to be a particularly long entry. I've been putting off writing for the simple reason I have little to say, though you shouldn't take that as something terrible or sad. It's just been a dull two weeks :)
The appartement-hunt is going dreadful. We never heard back from the landlady of the first place (I called at least five times. She never once picked up the phone or answered any of my texts. Which I find quite rude) and checked out a new place a few days ago, but I'm not feeling it. I'm not just looking for a place to stay, but a place I can call home for the foreseeable future. I have no intention of committing to a three-year contract unless I'm sure I've found the place where I want to start adulthood. We'll just see how it plays out.
While that's going on, I can't help but think of how I had a decent place in London. I really miss walking the streets of the city, and getting lost in the sheer magnitude of it all. Belgium is so goddamn small. I'm hoping to be back at some point in October, maybe for a couple of days. Just to get a feel of the place, and see some old friends again, you know?
God, I'm making it sound as if I'm depressed or something. I'm not--I just had a couple of rough days. It happens.
It doesn't help that I missed arguably the best two weeks of surf in Belgium's history. While I was working and looking for a place to live, friends were having the time off their lives as the North Sea delivered days upon days of incredible surf. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. But I haven't surfed in such a long time, and with the summer now officially over, this is the first time I didn't head down to the Basque Country and live that perfect beachboy-life since I graduated high school.
I loved being a surf coach, and I loved surfing. I made so many great friends on the road, but with surfing really the only thing that connected us, it's weird not hearing from them for such a long time. My boards have been sitting idly in my garage, waiting for me to handle them once more. You just can't explain what it's like, paddling out amidst the chaos and sheer violence of Mother Nature and finding peace in the most unlikely of places. I haven't felt that peaceful in a long time.
My dad got back from holiday and brought me a watch (I'd asked for one), a nice Fauxlex that broke down within hours of me first putting it on. Now, I want to specify this is the first watch I've ever broken in my life (this is an inside joke) and it was in no way my fault: I didn't touch anything, the button you use to change the time just suddenly wasn't there anymore. It's a shame, though. As fake as it was, it was a really nice watch (the Daytona, in case you were interested. This one, with a brown leather strap).
On to the good news--football is back! Oregon are playing Michigan State this weekend and the NFL started on Thursday, so this weekend is going to be awesome. I've also only got two days of recapping the World Equestrian Games left, and I couldn't be happier that event is only held every four years. I've found a lead on the pair of shoes I've been eyeing for this winter (Matt Smith's boots of his first season playing the Doctor, because they have massive heels and I'll look taller) and I have some free time coming up later this month, giving me a chance to see some old friends again.
Not every entry in this blog needs to have some major life lesson, or a relevation I came to in a drunken haze. Life isn't the third season of One Tree Hill. On many levels, all of the things we go through are roughly the same, and the more you converse about these topics with people, the more you come to the realisation we're not so different. But if you're looking for some deeper meaning (and 11 minutes of pure comedy), allow Tim Minchin to share some wisdom with you (because he's Tim f*cking Minchin, that's why):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc
And if you want to read the funiest thing I read today, here's the White House's response to a petition that called on the American government to build a Death Star (yes, they actually went there):
https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/response/isnt-petition-response-youre-looking
As for me, I'll just leave you with the Song of the Day: Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc (which is a ******* amazing track that I hadn't listened to in ages):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pls_luhVdAw
zondag 24 augustus 2014
On Home and London, Part 2
“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Hey all.
I'm currently writing you because I kind of feel like I have to. I'm exhausted, haven't had a proper night of sleep in days and I'm coming down with a stomach bug, so really, I just want to go to bed. But it's been a week since I left London, and it feels like I at least owe you guys a bit of an update. I don't know why--the people this blog was originally intended for are either here or on vacation and won't be reading these words anyway. Some of you London folk asked me to keep writing, so perhaps I should build on that.
So, Belgium. It's been kind of an odd week, with my parents leaving on a holiday as soon as I got home. I've been busy with work and searching for a place to live, so there's not really much to talk about. I'm moving into a place with a friend of mine, so I got to spend some time with him. We found a place in the centre of Leuven that's almost perfect, but when we went to check it out on Thursday we ran into an enormous traffic jam. We tried to cut through Bertem, which was a really bad idea, ended up losing over half an hour only to arrive at the exact same spot and missed our appointment. Luckily we got to come back Saturday morning, and tomorrow we'll know whether we got the place or not.
That's pretty much it I guess :D I had dinner with my mum and spent the rest of the week working. No days off between now and the end of the month, so don't expect any crazy stories coming either. It's good though--I can use the money. Furniture is expensive.
I finally got my hands on the final collection of the letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, called Dreams of Youth, and it's everything I had hoped it would be. If you like reading and you have a soul, I can't recommend it enough. The letters he wrote to his daughter while she was away at school and his wife who came down with mental illness are hauntingly beautiful, and not because he gets all sappy (he doesn't). It's an unbelieveable journey to explore the man's psyche, and see how his life and mental state progressed up until his death.
The new Doctor Who premiered last night to godawful reviews, but I've yet to watch it. My Twitter timeline got flooded with messages while I was working but I managed to avoid major spoilers, so I'm stil pretty amped. Steven Moffat is taking a beating, but for some reason, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I can't wait to see how Peter Capaldi portrays the Doctor, and where this season will lead us. Should be interesting.
The guys from work have also invited me to join their fantasy football league this year, and I'm a little scared. I understand football (quite well, in fact--I started as a football writer) but I have no clue how fantasy football works, and the draft is on Thursday. I'm guessing the draft in itself should be fine (I've tried reading up a bit and I still have a couple of days) but the whole midweek stuff is still complete gibberish to me. It's supposed to be fun, but I work as a sports writer--I really don't want to make a fool of myself. They've also warned me that it's insanely addictive, so we'll see how it goes.
As for London: It's hard not to miss a city like that. There's just so much to readjust to, but so far it's been smooth sailing (except for Monday. I was dying for a bagel with cream cheese. Good luck finding that in Niel). There's not much to miss about life in London, but the city itself is like no other. Obviously my final weeks there were amazing, as I filled those with plenty of great memories and good times with friends. It's probably why I really didn't want to leave when the day arrived, even though I'd been looking forward to coming back home for months.
I don't know. Those last few weeks just made me realise how different it could have been, if only I had done one or two things differently. There were just too many variables working against me, and in the end, I knew I was going to return home at quite an early stage. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about all of this right now. I know that if one or two things had been different, I'd still be living in London, joyfully and with the full conviction that I made the right choice by moving. I want to say I have no regrets, but I'd be lying.
That said, I'm happy with where I am right now. As soon as we get this appartement-stuff sorted and I can actually return to normality, I'm sure things will work out. And yes, I'll miss the streets of London. It truly is a beautiful place, unlike anything we have here in Belgium. But living in that city is an experience they'll never be able to take away from me. And I'm ready to add some new memories, in a more familiar setting.
If only we could teach the Belgians to speak English, the virtues of a tailored suit and how to stand on the right side of the escalator.
Take care everyone.
Song of the Day: TV on the Radio - Family Tree
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMv_PuGHSGA
“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Hey all.
I'm currently writing you because I kind of feel like I have to. I'm exhausted, haven't had a proper night of sleep in days and I'm coming down with a stomach bug, so really, I just want to go to bed. But it's been a week since I left London, and it feels like I at least owe you guys a bit of an update. I don't know why--the people this blog was originally intended for are either here or on vacation and won't be reading these words anyway. Some of you London folk asked me to keep writing, so perhaps I should build on that.
So, Belgium. It's been kind of an odd week, with my parents leaving on a holiday as soon as I got home. I've been busy with work and searching for a place to live, so there's not really much to talk about. I'm moving into a place with a friend of mine, so I got to spend some time with him. We found a place in the centre of Leuven that's almost perfect, but when we went to check it out on Thursday we ran into an enormous traffic jam. We tried to cut through Bertem, which was a really bad idea, ended up losing over half an hour only to arrive at the exact same spot and missed our appointment. Luckily we got to come back Saturday morning, and tomorrow we'll know whether we got the place or not.
That's pretty much it I guess :D I had dinner with my mum and spent the rest of the week working. No days off between now and the end of the month, so don't expect any crazy stories coming either. It's good though--I can use the money. Furniture is expensive.
I finally got my hands on the final collection of the letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, called Dreams of Youth, and it's everything I had hoped it would be. If you like reading and you have a soul, I can't recommend it enough. The letters he wrote to his daughter while she was away at school and his wife who came down with mental illness are hauntingly beautiful, and not because he gets all sappy (he doesn't). It's an unbelieveable journey to explore the man's psyche, and see how his life and mental state progressed up until his death.
The new Doctor Who premiered last night to godawful reviews, but I've yet to watch it. My Twitter timeline got flooded with messages while I was working but I managed to avoid major spoilers, so I'm stil pretty amped. Steven Moffat is taking a beating, but for some reason, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I can't wait to see how Peter Capaldi portrays the Doctor, and where this season will lead us. Should be interesting.
The guys from work have also invited me to join their fantasy football league this year, and I'm a little scared. I understand football (quite well, in fact--I started as a football writer) but I have no clue how fantasy football works, and the draft is on Thursday. I'm guessing the draft in itself should be fine (I've tried reading up a bit and I still have a couple of days) but the whole midweek stuff is still complete gibberish to me. It's supposed to be fun, but I work as a sports writer--I really don't want to make a fool of myself. They've also warned me that it's insanely addictive, so we'll see how it goes.
As for London: It's hard not to miss a city like that. There's just so much to readjust to, but so far it's been smooth sailing (except for Monday. I was dying for a bagel with cream cheese. Good luck finding that in Niel). There's not much to miss about life in London, but the city itself is like no other. Obviously my final weeks there were amazing, as I filled those with plenty of great memories and good times with friends. It's probably why I really didn't want to leave when the day arrived, even though I'd been looking forward to coming back home for months.
I don't know. Those last few weeks just made me realise how different it could have been, if only I had done one or two things differently. There were just too many variables working against me, and in the end, I knew I was going to return home at quite an early stage. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about all of this right now. I know that if one or two things had been different, I'd still be living in London, joyfully and with the full conviction that I made the right choice by moving. I want to say I have no regrets, but I'd be lying.
That said, I'm happy with where I am right now. As soon as we get this appartement-stuff sorted and I can actually return to normality, I'm sure things will work out. And yes, I'll miss the streets of London. It truly is a beautiful place, unlike anything we have here in Belgium. But living in that city is an experience they'll never be able to take away from me. And I'm ready to add some new memories, in a more familiar setting.
If only we could teach the Belgians to speak English, the virtues of a tailored suit and how to stand on the right side of the escalator.
Take care everyone.
Song of the Day: TV on the Radio - Family Tree
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMv_PuGHSGA
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