Monday, June 11, 2007

At 17 (Cue Janis Joplin)

The last few weeks, I've been pondering what it would be like to meet my 17-year old self again. A decade seems to have made all the difference. My intrinsic nature, quite logically, hasn't changed. But my opinions and attitudes to life, my self-perception... they've undergone drastic changes. And while that's surely a good thing, I do regularly try to tap back in to who I was when I was 17.

I remember the strong opinions I held and vowing to myself that I would never forget what I felt right there and then. And I haven't forgotten. I can recall the motivations behind those opinions, the emotions associated with them and can trace the changes all the way back to where I am today. On some things, I've blatantly taken a 180 degree turn. And while I feel I have done so with reason, I always wonder whether I would be able to explain myself to the 17-year old Le Pew.

If you could. Would you meet up with yerself? If you could go to dinner with who you were 10, 20, 30 years ago... would you? And if so, what would you try to convey to yourself, if anything at all?


I for one would like to go for dinner with Pew17, although the first issue would most likely be the choice of restaurant. Pew17 is a devoted vegetarian. I'm a reborn carnivore. However, since I'm the one most likely to pay for said meal, Pew17 will simply have to swallow the proverbial beef. I'd like to have a beer or perchance a glass of wine to accompany my meal, but Pew17 refuses alcohol or drugs of any kind. I'd confidently wear bootcut jeans, boots and a snug sleeveless top, while Pew17 is desperately trying to hide her (imaginary) Pluto-sized arse with a monstrously baggy T-shirt and one of dad's old jumpers.

Five minutes after the waitress has brought us our drinks, the ash-tray on the table will start to overflow with shredded napkin or beer cards. We're both fidgetters and it's highly likely that the labels will be peeled off both our drink bottles before the starter arrives. When the waitress walks past, we'll both sneak a quick peek at her bum. We'll feel slightly guilty at the overt sexism of our actions, but it's something we've never quite been able to control.

Pew17 will stare at me when I'm not looking, wondering how this could be her in a decade. She'll be disappointed with the fact that I've blatantly never had the guts to get a funkier hairstyle. Sad too, to see that the spots haven't all cleared. But happy that she'll succeed at shedding half a stone.

I know what the first question on her mind is. It's the one that'll keep her awake at night for another year or so. But she will wait to ask, as she's not sure I'd still understand. And I will wait to tell, as it's the topic most worth discussing. We'd need to ease into it.

I'll first tell her that I didn't become an astronaut. Not a space-engineer. No job at NASA. And that NASA disbanded the height-restrictions just before I went to uni, so that the choice not to become an astronaut, was entirely in my own hands.

She'll ask me how much longer she has to wait before she gets to move to Colorado. And I'd reply that we now have a rather distinct disdain for anything American. That the US flag got thrown in the bin a few months after we started uni. She'll growl at me. Tell me off for forgetting the promise I'd made to myself "not to settle for local". I'll tell her we didn't. That we left when we were 20 and only just properly returned a few months ago. And that it's been a fun - unamerican- wild ride.

She'll ask me who I vote for. And I would explain the concept of libertarianism. I would let her in on how things stopped being so black and white, just a few years ago. That opinions are not always a clear-cut thing. That she should watch Dogville, to understand what I mean. That it is possible for your gut to believe in one thing, but your mind to forfeit to another idea altogether. That the most important way to make a difference, is in first degree: by affecting those around you.

When my mobile phone rings, I'll pick up and say: "Hey babe! Can I ring you back in a wee hour? I'm having dinner just the now. Yeah, we're still at the restaurant. Uhuh. Yeah she ordered the vegetarian." She'll go quiet. I will let her mill it over. Then she'll take a deep breath and try: "Was that... your boyfriend?" I'll grin. "What do you think? What do you hope?"

She'll sigh and say that she honestly no longer knows what to hope for. I'll tell her it was my girlfriend and that she'd save herself a lot of time and energy, if she would only stop worrying about defining herself.

She'll scratch her neck, fiddle with her bottle and then she'll blurt out: "Does it ever get easy?" Yes it does. You'll learn to tune into yourself and pick it up in others. You'll learn not to fall for straight women. To not limit yourself to a label. To explore the fluidity of your sexuality without restraints. Without guilt. You'll figure out that you can be both genders, regardless of your sex. You'll figure out how not to be panicked by the stereotypes. How to work around them. To become your own definition. That the spectrum is there to move around on freely, without having to settle down.


She'll ask me for some advice. We've always had the inclination to skip to the final chapter of the book before starting page 1. I would like to tell her to be more lenient on others and to be kinder to herself. To ignore mirrors and explain to her the difference between good mirrors and bad ones. And that since the only good mirror is based in the toilets of a club in Dublin, all others are bound to make one look fatter than one really is, so it is best to ignore them altogether. I would like to tell her not to panic. To learn to count on herself. To never settle for second best. I would tell her to pay attention. That time goes by faster than she thinks. I'd tell her not to burn her diaries, because memory goes downhill fast. To not waste her time playing poker at the pub all day, the first year at uni. I'd tell her to trust her own instincts, because they never lead us astray.

That's the advice I'd like to share with her. But I won't. I need her to make the same mistakes all over again. To discover what I've learned. Changing her, would mean changing who I am today, and for the first time since long, I actually quite like me.


But I would tell her this, before parting ways:

"Your fear of loneliness is misdirected. What stifles you now, will become your drive. And the only thing holding you back, ever, is yourself."

As she slips onto her moped to set off home, I will shout after her: "And don't leave your moped at the house in France, once the house goes up for sale!!"

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Sunday, June 10, 2007

Head in the sand...

I just switched on the tele to watch the election results come in. It's disheartening. Belgians should try to live abroad for a wee while to realise just how good our systems (health, social security, pensions, safety, ...) are. I guess it proves that Belgians are forever the malcontent.


And for those who understand it: VUILE TSJEEVEN!!

(not very mature, but I really needed to let slip)

Ouch

I should be off to the voting polls, but I've had a few too many vinos last night, so I need to wait for the ibuprofen to kick in and clear my head first. I've already had my usual "hangover-tabasco-y egg" but it's not doing its usual trick. I feel nauseated rather than energised.

The polls are open till 1pm anyway, so I've got time.

I was invited to a wedding in Brussels last night. My best friend from primary school, whom I've only really been sporadically in touch with these last ten years, got married and was so kind to invite me to her wedding, despite us having grown apart. While this might seem strange, she would likewise be one of the first people on my list of people to invite if I ever were to get married. I think situations like this offer an excellent opportunity to tell people they are an intrinsic part of your past. One you will forever value and be grateful for. And when I think back of how inseperable we were as kids, it only makes sense that we have a bond still, despite the changes life brought along for us both.

I knew only a handful of people at the wedding, but my friend had told me she'd seated me at the "international" table and that I would feel right at home. Strangely enough, I did. I was sat next to a young British couple who incidently also went to Keele University the years I was there. This is a really small world indeed. Scarily and comfortingly so. A short while later, I started talking to a guy who's mother turned out to be a client of the company I work with now, and yet another person I met, works for a potential prospective client of ours. I never cared much for this whole "networking" thing, as I prefer meeting people for the sake of who they are, rather than for the favours they could potential do me. But it seems perfectly possible to do both, without a hidden agenda.

The big dilemma of the night, yet again, was what to wear. I'm admittedly not a natural fashionista. It takes me a lot of effort to throw something together that is moderately acceptable. Moreover, I've not exactly had a lot of time to go shopping for outfits, or to get the tan needed to carry off the strapless dress I've had stored in my closet of months now. When I tried on said dress, I felt like I'd just stepped out off my coffin in the latest low-budget vampire film. Suffice it to say it wasn't a pretty sight. If I was a fairskinned elfin, maybe, but I'm of pretty standard Flemish breed-stock, so pale is simply dauntingly pale.

The only real other alternative was a suit. I have issues with suits for one reason only: They are (in my opinion at least) very sexy on women, BUT a lesbian with a suit is seen as a stereotype rather than a sexy fox. I weighed up my options. Strapless ghoul, or stereotype. It's hardly an attractive list of options. Then I remembered that very few people there would know me or my sexuality, and that I am being ridiculously hypocritical by actually caring what others would think, when I normally pride myself on being different.

So... on went the suit. I'm not sure I fitted in at the wedding, but I sure as hell felt a lot more comfortable ;-)

- Living the stereotype. Face removed. Ghoul is ghoul, whether wearing a suit or not ;-) And yes, I'm perhaps ever so slightly more vain than I would care to admit lol -

Thursday, June 07, 2007

home...

It's two weeks before I get handed the key to my new home. That's also when the mortgage officially starts and I've been having wee flaps about the commitment I'm about to sign in on. I seem to have come a very long way from being a straying wee vagabond just over 6 months ago.

Back in the flatlands, out of academia, a fab challenging job, a little gem of a girlfriend and now... a scary mortgage lol. Allright... soyons-optimiste... A HOME!!! ;-)

But I woke up this morning thinking: "What am I doing??? Is this still me??" The strange thing is that I genuinely think it might actually be "me" still. It all just needs to settle in a bit. I need to find my own pace and rythm, and more importantly, my own way to put MY stamp on the things I've been creating for myself (often with help) these last 6 months. So that they will start to feel familiar.


As luck would have it, Ine posted a blog earlier today on local.live.com, so I quickly checked it, to remind myself of where I'm going to live come July. When I got home this evening, I strung together three consecutive images of the area and drew a big yellow arrow on it to mark my first own "HOME". Just to remind myself why this is all good. It steadied my nerves a bit. And it reminded me that in fact, I'm one lucky sod for being able to make this my home:


- Pew's home (Click on image for larger view) -

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Sunday, June 03, 2007

Sunday Struggle ma @r$&

No struggle with boredom today people. I'm covered in spray paint, the neighbours' cat just walked over one of my nearly finished and highly wet stencils and I've two clients waiting for translations (travel money ;-) so... no time for sitting still...

I hope your Sunday's as sunny as mine!!

Peripherals

The back-light of my phone is flashing 3 am at me. I'm tired, but can't seem to get myself to bed. To switch off the light, to lie down and close my eyes... to ask my mind to stop, right now, is like asking me not to breathe. It's essential I grab hold of the minutes. To not surrender to time lost. To not slip away.

Through the windows, subtle tones of amusement find their way in from a party next door and muffle my thinking like a blanket of snow muffles sound. Softening my train of thought, slowing it down and bringing it back to me more clearly than before, I realise I've perhaps not as much been thinking, but feeling. An intense clarity of emotion that words could never support in thought.

Everything is perfect, just the now. All emotion thrown in the balance. And for once, the scales don't tip. A fragile equilibrium to be savoured. Right now.

I'd write it down. A guidebook for days to come. To remind us how to get here. But feelings can rarely be owned. They grace you with their presence at their own desire and leave but mere traces upon their leaving. Elusive. Like peripheral visions, they can't quite be looked in the eye. But they linger. And for now, I linger with them.

I'm tired. But I revel in time gained.

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