Wednesday, April 29, 2009

On the other side of town

With me getting desperate ‘cause the language school still hasn’t called back, my future mother-in-law decided to take matters in her own hands. And so the word that I’m a language teacher is spreading through the Brussels’ expat-community. If I wanted, I could be teaching teenagers extra Dutch or English lessons every single week night – but I’ve pushed the brakes a little bit (“no, I’m not sending my cv to the complete mothers-mailing-list of one of the poshest schools in town”).
Anyway, today I’ve started teaching again, and I realized – once more – how much I love it. So far three kids of one French family have to put up with my enthusiasm on a weekly basis. There’s cute A, a 10 year old girl, and then there are A and T, the twin boys of 13 – trying to be cool, but actually cute as well. Home alone with the nanny, while mom and dad were still out working. Living in a huge house in one of the more expensive parts of town. Smiling at me ‘cause they actually had fun while doing one of their most hated subjects at school.
This won’t pay my bills – or my new wardrobe – but I didn’t feel so good while “working” for a very, very long time. So maybe I’ll make P’s mom happy, and take on one more evening-duty :-)

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Little escape

Monday morning I jumped on a train to the Belgian coast, visiting my parents who are staying in De Haan for one week. I spent all the spring breaks of my childhood in this little seaside town – and I should probably mention here that this is a typically Belgian thing to do: every family always goes to the same town on our North Sea coast. You never change. If your parents always went to, let’s say Knokke, you keep going to Knokke. And so do your kids. Don’t ask me why – that’s just the way it is.
Back to my little get-away. I did everything that you are supposed to do at the coast: make a very long beach walk, eat waffles, eat shrimps and fresh fish, get soaking wet from (un)expected rain, and collect sea shells. I enjoyed every minute of it.
A very relaxed N returned to Brussels this afternoon, realizing once again that a good dose of nature can do wonders. Or how a shrimp can be as good as a shrink.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

An excel (-lent) wedding!

(I promised I wouldn’t write about the wedding preparations all the time, but ok, please, just once more...)

After a bit of a slow start, P is starting to enjoy this – even taking initiatives! There’s a reason. And it’s called “Excel”. That’s right, he discovered he can use one of his favourite toys to work on a state-of-the-art guest list, with, if I’ve seen it right, formulas and all. Obviously, the meaning and logic behind all this is not as straightforward to me as it is to him, but I’m doing my best. And this is just a list with names. I already fear the lists with numbers – that are inevitably on their way. Better get my "Excel for Dummies" from the shelf if I want to keep up with him.
P: “So you see, that’s why we have to calculate the attendance-probability”
Me: “Umm, uh-hu, sure (*what the hell is he talkin’ about?*).

Honestly though: I really like it when he takes charge of things. It makes me feel safe, and I know it’s the perfect completion for all my wild dreaming, impatience and impulsive decision-making (which are also needed, and valuable, by the way). The day we’ll walk down the aisle, we’ll have our dreams come true, and the excel-sheets to prove they’re real ;-) !

However, don't be surprised if our wedding cake ends up looking like this:

Saturday, April 25, 2009

A bit of both

The last week has been one of mixed emotions. In my mailbox congratulations for the engagement and condolences for the loss of my grandfather follow eachoher up. One day I’m looking at engagement rings, the next day I’m helping choose the coffin. A friend invites us to go out for some champagne this evening, to celebrate – but doing this on the day it’s the church ceremony for my grandfather just feels wrong.

Taking a look at my dairy from last year, I see that the same thing took place. Exactly one year ago, we heard that my mom had cancer. What followed was a crazy double-life between Belgium and France.
19-23 Mai: “big” chemo mom – stay in Belgium
23 Mai : evening – drive to Fonty
24 Mai : Summerball
2-6 June : other chemo mom – stay home
7 june : drive to Fonty
7 june : Montmelian Ball
And so on, and so on......

Frankly, leafing through that little booklet again, I really don’t know how I managed to keep it up, month after month...

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

First steps

I promise this will not become a “wedding-blog”, where I talk of nothing else but all the preparations that lead to the big event. God, I hate those myself. But just to warn you: from time to time, it will come up. Please indulge me.

The dress. After quite some hours on the web, I came up with 3 dresses that I really, really like. Conveniently, all from the same designer, and all in the same shop, which is like 100 metres from our place. Today, I decided to enter the shop. Part of me still wondering “What am I doing here?”. ..
First question: “When is the wedding going to be Madame?”
Me: “Ummm, hmm, somewhere after the summer, I think....
Followed by a very French answer: “Oh-la-la” – “then you have to hurry! It takes about six months to make the dress – it is made to measure, in our ateliers in Paris”. And apparently I also have to make an appointment if I want to try any dresses on.I walked out of the store with the first twitches of dress-stress, immediately calling P: “Help, I already have to choose a dress, like..quickly!”

Next, I walked along one of the venues we have in mind for the Big Day. I stood in front of the building, and the first thing I thought was: “Nope, not everyone will fit in”. Right, that’s me, N, who always insisted on having a SMALL wedding.

Then I entered a department store and tried on some of those cheap rings that look like an engagement ring – I stood there, just looking at my hand, for about five minutes (I hope no one was observing me).

So you see, I’m taking small steps to convince myself that this is really happening. That I’m marrying the love of my life (wow, did I just write that?!).

Four weddings and a funeral

The “congratulations” from all over the world are pouring in – which is really heart-warming. And with that come the questions :
“Do you already have a date?”
“Who proposed to whom?”
“I want to know all the details!”
So, to all you dear people:
- I wish we had a date, but no – we don’t. Please block all your Saturdays for the next five years.
- P proposed to me
- And the details: trust me, you really don’t want to know. (come to think of it : if I ever should write a book, that subject alone would provide a good page-turner). Let’s just say that after 7,5 years of being together, following the man to France, and still no ring...I had given up on the little-girls-dream.

Maybe that explains why I have no patience whatsoever left as it comes to planning the whole thing. Certainly not with P as a team-member, who has the decision-making skills of a consultant (= gather all the data, make slide after slide interpreting and analyzing the data, think of possible strategies and outcomes of foresaid strategies, base advice on foresaid outcomes...but never ever get to the point of decision-making – that is left to the client).
While I don’t need/want all the data, all the strategies or all the advice – I just act on instincts and feeling, and make decisions in the spur of the moment.

So this is going to be quite a challenge, but I’ll try to follow the advice of two of my best friends: just go with the flow! Right....

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Today, but no tomorrow

Musée des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

W. H. Auden

It’s a beautiful spring day. Outside live goes on.
Rest in peace grandfather.

Monday, April 20, 2009

It's on Facebook!

And that means I can finally write about it on my blog as well.
On Sunday, the 5th of April, P asked me to marry him. I told it to a few close friends, who all had the same reaction: “wow, that’s wonderful! And UNBELIEVABLE!” Yes, I know, it is unbelievable, even to me still. I really want to believe it’s for real this time, but the smallest hint of doubt or hesitance I feel, causes panic attacks and floods of tears.
Anyway, the week after we told our parents during the Easter brunch, who obviously were all very happy. I assumed once the parents were told, the rest of the world would follow, but no. P wanted to keep it to ourselves (panic attack nr1). 2 weeks after his proposal, even his best friend doesn’t know. After I begged him to tell someone to show me he was real about it all, he called his brother (who obviously already knew). And today, out of the blue, he puts it on Facebook. Try to understand the man – I’m about to give up.

So, yes, just to confirm it once more (esp. to myself): we’re getting married. Somewhere in this, or the next lifetime.

Me: what kind of wedding do you want?
P : I still have to think about it.
Me : Do you want to get married for the church as well?
P : I have to think about that
Me: when do you want to get married? Shouldn’t we pick a date as soon as possible?
P: Let’s just wait, we still have to think about everything
Me: what sort of party do you want?
P: I don’t know, I still have to think about that.
Me: do you want the help of a wedding organizer?
P: good idea, let’s think about it.
Me: when do I get my engagement ring?
P: Let’s just wait – we still have to do all the research
Me: When/how are we finally going to tell everybody?
P: I still have to think about that

Well, not anymore. The word is out!

What a weekend

Friday I got a manicure because, well, I thought it was necessary. Saturday I quickly realised that I could have saved myself the trouble (and the money).
Saturday night I broke down emotionally during what was supposed to be a romantic tête-à-tête in a fancy restaurant. I hate it when that happens, but no matter how hard I tried, the tears kept on coming. I was finally able to stop them by taking a sleeping pill. So Sunday, obviously, I overslept. I was woken up by P, who already went for a swim. Next: I prepared lunch ‘cause one of our friends was coming over. He brought flowers for me – God, I needed that!
After lunch: visited my grandfather, who is blind by now, and who’s struggling for every single breath. I held his hand for a long time, while he whispered softly to me : I have no more air. I couldn’t help thinking: it’s ok , just rest now. Stop fighting.
We went back home, where P continued working (he worked on Friday night, on Saturday, and yes, also on Sunday). And now it’s Monday, P left at 5 AM this morning, and I have an emotional hangover from here ‘til Tokyo. I don’t even understand why the sun is shining today. Should be raining or storming or something.
Once again I feel as if I have no control over my life whatsoever. I know what I want, I know where I wanna go...But what does it matter?I’ll always be held back, I’ll always have to be more patient, I’ll always have to wait and wait and wait.

We're waiting for Godot.
(despairingly). Ah! (Pause.) You're sure it was here?
That we were to wait.
He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others?
What is it?
I don't know. A willow.
Where are the leaves?
It must be dead.
No more weeping.
Or perhaps it's not the season.
Looks to me more like a bush.
A shrub.
A bush.
A—. What are you insinuating? That we've come to the wrong place?
He should be here.
He didn't say for sure he'd come.
And if he doesn't come?
We'll come back tomorrow.
And then the day after tomorrow.
And so on.
The point is—
Until he comes.
You're merciless.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


Today I came across a nice idea on a blog: you choose a colour and write about it. There are no rules, no restrictions. You just have to use your imagination. I choose blue, and quickly wrote this:

Blue is a look from me to you
An open sky
And the ocean too
Are things I can look at to dream away
Of dreams that are not broken
And maybe come true one day

Ok, who’s next?
(admit it, it’s a smooth escape if you’re without any real writing inspiration, or if what’s happening is not passing the self-imposed censoring. Maybe I’ll try “shapes” tomorrow)

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Pieces of poetry

I used to write a lot of poetry. Actually, for years and years, it was the only thing I wrote. And I kind of miss it. Last year, I wrote a few funny rhymes on the postcards I weekly sent to P in France while I was still in Brussels, but apart from that – I haven’t written any poems in ages.
Today, I re-read some of them – 90% are in Dutch. I tried to translate a few, but found this really hard to do. I liked it though, so I might give my poetic side a chance again.
Just to give you a little taste:


Today I will let you go
And maybe tomorrow too
Today I won’t miss you
And I’ll even be happy
That you’re in Kalamazoo
Today I’ll completely be myself
And not one piece of me with you
Today I’ll be alone
And it’s gonna feel good too

Did you know that « today »
Lasted about a minute or two ?

Friday, April 17, 2009

The black spots

You know, I don’t walk around 24/7 smiling. So this post is dedicated to everything that’s going WRONG at this very moment in my life. Just so that you can relax, and feel safe that I haven’t become one of those people who’s living a perfect life.
Oh, and before I start ranting: this doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for everything that is going RIGHT ...

The Ireland spot
I’m really, really fed up with P being in Ireland. 3 minutes per day on the phone is just not doing it. Yesterday I tried to call him around midnight, and he was still unable to answer because he was in a meeting. (no, I’m not being naive: he really was in a meeting)
The family spot
After my parents went through the cancer-ordeal, they’ve not been given any rest. First my grandmother ended up in hospital for heart surgery. Now my grandfather is really doing bad, so bad it can be any day now. Instead of feeling sad, I feel sort of angry. Angry ‘cause my parents don’t deserve this after all they’ve been through. They should be able to enjoy their lives now, not spending it again in hospitals.
The perfect people spot
I’m sure you know the kind: never had any real relationship trouble, married their first boyfriend after a very romantic proposal, now effortlessly pregnant of second child, and home-owners. Parents healthy, and oh: also perfectly happy with their jobs. I can’t stand them anymore. Keep them far away from me, or accidents will happen.
The weight spot
Our stupid “intelligent” scales refuse to recognise me. Just because I gained 1 kilo.
The baby spot
All those new mothers complaining on Facebook about their lack of sleep. Quit it. You have a baby. Be happy with it.
The neighbours spot
Beavis and Butthead are still at it. I’m making up all kinds of evil plans to quiet them down. Like taking the water hose and pointing it at their little roof terrace.
The job spot
If the language school hasn’t called me back by next week, I will be hugely disappointed. For the moment I still believe in it though. Positive thinking (ahum, right)
The financial spot
I’ve been spending a lot of money lately (trips, car, etc). So basically I only see money going out, and not any coming in. It’s starting to get slightly worrying.
The not-mentioned-yet spot
If P doesn’t stop hitting the brakes along every little step of the way, I’m going to end up crazy. I want to believe in it now, I want to move on. I want things to get real and concrete. Not once again weeks and weeks of thinking, analyzing, comparing, keeping my mouth shut, etc. F*ck, there’s only so much patience a girl can have.
The garage spot
I’m so fed up with people parking their car in front of our garage. Can’t they read?Are they blind? Maybe I have to become a bully, and instead of going on a tour of the neighbouring restaurants and offices, just call the police straight away.
The weather spot
It’s been raining non-stop for two whole days and nights now. Enough is enough.

And with that last one, I think I also did enough of complaining. Felt kind of good, I must admit. Time to move on with my day now. Where’s my hula-hoop?

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Shake & jump

Bikini-season is rapidly approaching – and I want to be able to breath again when wearing jeans. So after stuffing myself with Easter eggs for the past 10 days, today I finally managed to kick myself all the way to the gym. Where my membership seemed to be expired. Great. But I was determined, and after some negotiation (and some cash, of course), I was allowed to start burning some calories.

To be completely honest though, I already started my new work-out season a few days ago. After entering almost every toy store in the city, I finally found what I needed: a hula-hoop! Ok, laugh all you want, but I can tell you this: my abs are hurting, big time. And after 5 minutes I’m more out of breath than after a half hour- run. Beside the hula-hoop, I bought a bright pink skipping rope – also used daily in our living room or on our terrace.

Did I already mention that my hula is all the colours of the rainbow and has sparkling glitters on it?

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


Just to show that dreams <KLIK> can take you anywhere....

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used
And wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung
No wine untasted.

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame.

And still
I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms
We cannot weather...

I had a dream my life would be
So different form this hell I'm living
so different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.

(thanks Court, for posting this one on your blog!)

Monday, April 13, 2009

There's something about Easter

When I was a kid, my parents would start Easter Sunday with sending me into the garden (still wearing my pyjamas) to find Easter eggs and a little present. However: no Easter bunny was involved in the hiding of these eggs. Over here, it were the winged “Easter Bells”, flying all the way to Rome and back, who would drop the eggs in our garden. My granddad would make this tale even more convincing by hiding the eggs way up in the trees – indulging me in my forbidden hobby of tree climbing. Not always to my mom’s liking, ‘cause warm or cold, rain or sunshine, on Easter I wore my new summer dress.

The hiding of the eggs in the garden has remained a tradition in our family to this very day. Every year on Easter, you can find me walking through the wet grass, looking for chocolate in the by now familiar spots. (Although the hiding skills of my parents are not be underestimated, as I discovered once again this year). This mini-expedition is always followed by a food-coma inducing Easter brunch.
P and his mom were also present this year…. as we had a little extra something to celebrate! Unfortunately I can’t reveal yet what it’s all about – but I promise you’ll find out soon. Stay tuned…

Saturday, April 11, 2009


Spring is here! Which is a good thing. Apart from my hay fever attacks, that is. Yesterday, I went on a shopping expedition with P’s mom, only to find myself sneezing non-stop. My eyes started itching, I had a non-stop runny nose, and my throat started swelling and aching. Of course, I’d forgotten my pills at home. So I jumped into the first pharmacy I saw, and asked them for whatever drug they had that could bring some relief. They gave me something that was less powerful than my usual antidote, but it did the trick for a few hours. Today I got up, and immediately took one of my pills. Better save than sorry. Now I still have to buy one of those “hot & steamy USB-powered hay fever masks from Japan” (see above), and I’m all settled for the new season!

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Busted by the brain

Things are going well lately. As you might have noticed on this blog. I’m not complaining, and I consider myself lucky. Still, tonight, one tiny stupid remark suddenly brought back so many emotions (negative ones). I relived the pain I felt during that anno horibilis 2008 – the pain of feeling rejected, of broken dreams, of feeling utterly and completely lost, of seeing no solutions – only problems and darkness. I never thought that the mentioning of the amount of books I own could trigger something like this, but the brain works in mysterious ways (mine does, in any case).
The last 2 weeks, it’s as if this brain of mine is also telling me: “ok, you’re feeling better now, you’re doing ok, you’re strong again. Now look back at everything that has happened, at what you’ve been through, and try to deal with it, in a sane way. Yes, also the stuff you’ve been hiding or ignoring. Get everything sorted out. Then move on.” Easier said than done. Some scars just won’t leave, no matter how many creams and lotions you try on them.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Teaching: the sequel

Maybe you’re wondering what happened after my interview at the language school, now two weeks ago. Or maybe not….Whatever.
They said they were going to call me to sit in on a few lessons the week after. I waited until Thursday. No call. So I called myself, still driven by the same guts that made me walk into the school, and walk out with an interview. It worked again: I could follow a group lesson of Dutch, which was this morning.

After the lesson ( which motivated me even more), I spoke briefly with the pedagocical advisor (the Nervous Guy from my first interview). He confirmed that…”I could teach at their school if it was ok for me, that I really didn’t need to worry: they were in NEED of good teachers. If I didn’t get another phone call right away, it didn’t mean that they’d forgotten about me (oops, had I been too pushy?). It was simply a bit slow due to the Easter holidays.”
Ok, I got the message: I’m in :-), sort of. Not really “in”, as this is freelance-business, and so it’s basically my decision if I want to work with them…Hmm, I still have to get used to this, but I like it!
That they are the “wanting party” here became even more obvious as Nervous Guy continued: “I will try to find you a good, nice student – so that it’s easier for you. Someone who already has a good level – not like the beginners you saw today. Not a group for the first time. Maybe someone who needs to prepare a job interview? That subject shouldn’t give you too much preparation work; it will be more like a conversation lesson”. All I could think was: “stop being so nice! I want to teach! The sooner the better! Just give me anyone!” But I held my horses – I’ve showed them enough pushiness – time to show some patience now. And wait until the test-lesson is being scheduled.

I feel truly happy with this, even if I still think it all sounds too good to be true. Choose when I work, how much I work, around the corner, nice people, …I mean: really??! It’s almost as every wish is coming true (job-wise, that is), as if all the pieces of the puzzle are falling into the right place. Or how teaching once again proves to be the red line / life-saver (see last year).

Friday, April 3, 2009

Beavis & Butthead

Remember those two MTV-characters? Well, they’ve grown up a little bit (they’re now at university), and…they live on the same block as we do. Their roof-terrace and ours are facing each other, only theirs is higher up, and surrounded by a disintegrating bamboo fence. They use it mainly to put junk on, such as traffic signs, extra chairs, empty beer crates etc. Right, a nice sight from our living room.
Now that the sun is out, they actually use their terrace to sit upon. And, day after day, they bring along their little radio, playing hard rock music for the entire neighbourhood. I was getting slightly fed up with this, as you can well imagine. I already tried to have a “music-battle”, by bringing out my radio as well, and turning up the volume even louder as theirs. But this made me go crazy – not them; they enjoy noise.
So today I decided to just ask them nicely to turn down the volume. My relief – and the silence- were big as, for the first day in an entire week, they didn’t seem to be home. I could even hear the birds singing, and the bumble bees buzzing.
However: around 3 PM I saw them arrive. I even spotted two guitars – which made me fear the worst. A few minutes later… I couldn’t believe my ears. Beautiful French chansons were being played, and the guys can really sing! I had to resist the urge to clap and yell “I want more – I want more – I want more”. They continued playing for an hour or so, even doing some fun stuff like Tree Hugger, to which I happily sang along…. Everybody now:

* * *

And by trying to post the lyrics to this nice sing-along song in a different letter-size, I managed to change the complete outlook of my blog, causing a small panic-attack. Every single word I had ever written, was - until five minutes ago - in unreadable tiny letters - making my blog look like a page from a dictionary! I removed the post, and luckily, everything now looks again like it is supposed to look. Damn Blogger.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Shame on the Shamrock

I know that writing about my relationship is a bit off limits on this blog.
1) this blog is not completely anonymous
2) P would not really appreciate it
But I just have to release some steam here, and I cannot bother poor little Lucy with it, now can I?

I’m developing hostile feelings towards Ireland.
There, I’ve said it. Nothing to do with the Irish people, god forbid. No Guinness to blame either. And Saint Patrick has done nothing wrong, as far as I know. It’s just that “Ireland” is becoming a synonym for “P out of reach in every way”:
- he’s not here physically – obvious, that one
- he is clearly with his mind somewhere else if I have him on the phone. I’ve only begun to tell him something or I hear the line “I have to wrap up this phone call in a few minutes, because I’m off to dinner/the next meeting/ the next conf call/…; I here him typing on his laptop while I’m talking; I notice that I get the same standard type-answers on everything I say :“how nice to hear that” or “hmmm-hmmm” (so he’s not listening to a word I say). Those 2 daily minutes I have him on the phone, I feel as if he’s intoxicated with some fumes from the chemical plant.
- On Saturday-mornings he manages to do something fun with me. The afternoon he’s already falling asleep on the couch. Sunday morning he does some sports, followed by more sleep. Sunday afternoon he’s already working again, and packing his bags for another week in Ireland.

And this will go on for two more months. I’m going crazy, really.
I mean: I know it’s really tough on him right now, I know he’s not getting a lot of sleep, I know he needs his mind 200% on his work. And I know he really tries to make an effort to call me, or to spend some quality time with me on weekends. But this is not easy. And honestly: we could really do with a little bit of “easy” after the MBA, all the moving, and everything else that happened last year.
I try to support him in every way I can, and I’m being so flexible that I could join Cirque du Soleil without a problem. But even I have my limits. And I guess I just boiled over tonight when I was once again told after one minute on the phone “that he had to go to dinner now”. Yes, I know: the man has to eat. Good point. Maybe I’m over-reacting.
Anyway, I’ve written it all down now, hopefully creating some sympathy for poor me, and I’m already feeling better. Can’t wait to see him again tomorrow evening!

But no book?!

Some people know I like to write. So, inevitably, from time to time, I get the question “And, when is your first book going to be ready?” To which I always have to admit that I never felt the urge nor the need to write a book. “Ah, cold feet?” Uhm, no, not really. I just like to write short pieces; a column in a magazine would be nice. To which I then get the comment that I’ve watched too much Sex & the City.

So what is it with this writing of mine? Is it like the artist who keeps making little sketches in his notebook, but never gets to the point of making an actual painting? Or is it just what it is: something that I like doing, but on my terms. The short notes, and only when I feel like it? I never gave it much thought before, but people have been “bothering” me with the book-issue quite a lot lately.
Last year, when I went to France, everybody just assumed the image of me, with my glass of wine and baguette, finally getting started on “the book”. Now that I’m home, not working, and I have to tell people that yes, quite a bit of my time goes to writing, there it is again: “Ah, the book?”.

Maybe I’m to blame as well. Although I’ve never mentioned “book” to anyone, I never hid the fact that I just love writing. When people asked me in high school what I wanted to do, my answer would be “to write”. When the study advisor asked me when I was 17 “What are you good at?” , I could think of no other answer than “writing”. My writing was what got me the best grades, and what would keep me busy in the evenings after school. Poetry, dairy, pieces for the school paper, etc. But in all honesty: I never even attempted a book. I simply don’t know what I would write an entire book about. (Not due to lack of imagination: I’d just have to use my dreams, and you’d get the most hair-rising horror stories you could possibly think of)

So once more, just to be clear: there will be no book. But do I see myself as a writer? Yes, I do. Go figure…. ;-)