TIME // IS // JUST // A // THING

I have lived here for a year now. University started this Monday and it is already messy, everything, really. The cat meows all the time, but when I put on "The Smiths" it sits calmly on that purple couch, eyes closed, listening, purring mildly. Summer is fading, it was a short one, so short that I almost didn't get to wear all my summer dresses at least once. I have learned new things, about myself and the world, gladly appreciated to discover a city I have never visited before, and managed to fall in love more deeply than ever. All in all, a summer worthwhile. So autumn can come, and I won't be longing no more for that roof terrace of yours. Autumn may come, and I won't miss how your eyes would grin against the sun, squinting on the very hot days in July. I especially enjoyed those days by the lake. Biking for a bit too long, we have found that secret path; on day two they cut down the reed by the shore and we had a clear view. You swam across a few times, while I was wondering about the future, filling out cross word puzzles or reading about the war, and planes approaching the nearby entry lane. I think of this summer as this intangible thing, because it was so short, it almost seems as if it never happened. Now that you are gone, I sometimes wonder if I made you up. How come you are at the other end of this world now, while I am still here? How come my memory is full with all this intangible beauty, whilst time is already counting down for our reunion? I will be here when you return. I sleep in your sweater sometimes. You left a bunch of those, that's good. Sweaters and shirts. Things that remind me of you are of abundance here: Vanilla scented candles, those sandalwood incense you hated, your blue toothbrush lying by the sink (it reminds me, I didn't make you up, you chewed quite a lot on it), the rose you gave me when we last met, it's dried out now, placed on the shelf you put up one night, next to the stove; there's still the smell of you everywhere I go, it's haunting me, perhaps. Biking by your house each day, sometimes passing that bar where I first saw you during a late November night; realising that the person who took over your room likes to keep the blinds shut, but the lantern in front of your window will always burn at night. And the crane by the corner, that building they were setting up, it's sky high now, blocking all the views; oh so glad we made of the roof terrace the best we could while you were still here. And the birds are gone now. They will return about the same time as you. I will be here.

TWENTY FOURTEEN CAME SOONER THAN LATER. IS IT MAY ALREADY? I DON'T KNOW IF I AM EMOTIONALLY READY.

   To share my life with the rest of the world has always been satisfying, almost a necessity, I would say. My memory is working in quite arbitrary ways, and what I end up remembering seldom turns out to be worthwhile. Writing helps, of course, and I would be lying if I say that my journals at home aren't part of my open bookshelf, at your disposal, if you feel like coming over. The last time I wrote about taking chances, and I took quite a few since then. I ended up in a new city and continued studying, met a hundred few new people and made a myriad of staggering friends, got an apartment and a black Spanish cat, an almost functioning bicycle, and on top of it all managed to find a shampoo that makes my hair more shiny. It's really not that bad.

   The Hague is an ambiguous place. You turn into a cobble stone road and see tiny brick houses with dark blue, crooked window frames, you look inside and want to take part in what seems to be sole contentment, transpiring behind the glass. People know how to live well in these parts of the world. The Plein and Grote Markt are filled with untroubled minds, and drinking in the early afternoon sun has become a less unorthodox phenomenon. You stroll around a corner and the cobble stones keep leading the way, more Ikea-colored drapes and unwilted flowers gracing serene window sills (I am thinking that I haven't seen anything blossoming inside my home ever since I moved in), and then you realize: everything that's missing in your life can be found behind that glass. You turn a corner and another one, and here you are, surrounded by government constructions and less entrancing livelihood. The big white town hall structures, the unforgiving reality of the Turfmarkt being everything but "turf", the city center that is desperately drowning in modernity. The Hague is an international city, it has the responsibility to be representative and to appease to the outside as this really competent place. In the meantime, I moved into a small one-bedroom apartment close to a gracht, and a 5 minute bike ride from campus. Pink walls, a necessity, flower patterns, candles, golden mirrors, long white curtains covering those bay windows, and, of course, cat toys scattered all over the living room floor. I've made it quite cozy, but I am missing a stable income and a book shelf. For now, things are working. Almost 10 months it has been, and I can hardly believe that the time has been running by so quickly. I wish there was a way to share all of what happened in those 10 months in one blog post. But it is impossible, and I can only pretend to try. Being creative when extremely happy is difficult for someone like me. So I have been too happy, perhaps. And it rains a lot in the Netherlands. A lot.

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SALT WATER // #HOWDOWEKNOW

Sometimes, you meet someone and realize, that they are the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. You meet them when you are sixteen, nineteen, twenty-two, twenty-five, you meet them when you are twenty-six. You probably will meet them when you are thirty, or thirty-two. But every time you think, that this is it. And every time it is better, and more intense, and more happy. Until it ends. And it always ends. As humans, we take a while to realize, that it always ends, because time is just a thing. But, you can learn from pain, it's an effective way of learning. It helps us to compress and conceive our emotions in times of heartbreak.

When I was younger, my heartbreak usually resulted from me obsessing over finding true love based on the wrong things. Life is that way. You are thrown into holes over and over, you crawl out over and over, covered in regret and defeat, deprived of your dignity. But what can you do, other than start over and move on? The alternatives will leave you with nothing. So there you are, moving on… and moving on. It becomes such a natural process, and they say it gets easier with time. And they may be right. But I say, young love is important. Because we get a sense for idealism that only young love can formulate. And it fosters creativity like nothing else. It is, in my eyes, the onliest and most crucial experience that will determine how we will love for the rest of our lives.

At age 16, I felt for the first time, in my heart, the necessity of losing against life. On the hottest day in July, early morning, the person I loved stepped on a train, threw his backpack into the cabin, turned around and said "I am sorry. I just don't love you." I didn't run after the train. I didn't watch it disappear in the distance, to dwell on the fact that something I wanted so badly was getting further and further away from me. Instead, I sat down on the ground, until dark, and tried to figure out how I could ever move on from this. The void I entered was to become a part of my adult life. I should many times feel what I felt that day, and every single time it should become ever more demanding.

Ten years later, I am enduring a different kind of heartbreak, one that turns out to be the greatest challenge love ever presented me. Unsure if this will be the start, or the end of something, I go to bed shivering over uncertainty, then wake up shivering over uncertainty. When you meet someone, who you are compatible with to the extent where they are strong when you lose focus, and where you're strong when they lose faith, isn't that how it's supposed to be? That feeling, where the love from the other manifests in a way that nothing makes more sense than for them to stay in your life forever.

Falling in love makes more sense than most things. It makes you laugh when you want to cry and cry when you want to laugh. Holding the other person and be safe, knowing you've finally found that arm to lie in, for the very rest of time. But soon you won't be able to hold the other person anymore, won't feel safe anymore, and the heartbreak becomes as real as the beauty, brought into being by two lonesome hearts. Reality is a toxic place for an idealist. The incapability to inhale, and that pressure on your chest -you know the deal - it becomes an everyday endeavor.

And then the day comes, that day where they will board a plane and fly across that loathsome body of saltwater. The ocean, again, shattering things like no other (I do prefer the Mediterranean or Baltic Sea, smaller water masses, they're less likely to turn against you). This is a recurring theme in my life, and perhaps I should become involved with time travel again. Time travel is essential in times of heartbreak, and we all know it. Let’s save that for another day.

The truth is, you merely move on. And you wonder if this, too, will pass, this heartbreak, and if it will take with it the beauty that was so apparent once, so essential. Because the beauty, that is so deeply inscribed in our memory, that made all this heartbreak somehow bearable, in the end, is what keeps us believing that it was worth it. It is what makes us fall in love again, knowing that heartbreak will follow sooner or later. 

But the beauty I felt wont fade, not this time. The bitterness, the kind that usually comes with heartbreak, is nonexistent.  And that’s when you smile, and when you know: There will be beauty, always. And it helps so much, to recognize, that the older we get, and the more we have to withstand, we can still feel so strongly about something, that has the potential to perhaps, in one short moment, take everything from us. But we have to take our chances. I am taking this one. 

Life is that way.

MAKING THINGS HAPPEN

Watching SHADOWS on a friday night. Lelia and Tony running through Central Park, arm in arm; I envy them and remember how well I fit under yours. These things happen. It made me smile, it gave meaning to this evening. I guess I had to capture it:

NEW MEMORIES // I DON'T KNOW WHY

Two stories, together and apart; working it both ways.


Pt. I

From the juvenile, coffee-tinted pages of the past & present; today he plays another part, back then he was a soldier. Never forget why you are young only for a certain amount of time. These days are always remembered. But sometimes you purposefully forget things. Because you've been burned. J. says that she is a teenager in her late twenties, I think perhaps I am just a pensioner with freshly colored red hair. So then I go and rummage through these pages I just told you about, and I find treasures and feelings that I've kept hidden for the longest time. I purposefully forgot. I decided it was time to face the demons. So I met the people who could help me remember.
Here I walk through the city alone and careful, there I slip, because my new boots are not made for all the ice on Berlin streets. A week full of new memories. I meet you. We just lie around and talk about the past. We just lie around and feel the comfort in knowing one another. We just lie around and know that these are the better days. We just lie around and have no regrets. Even after eight long years. Then alone on the streets again. My friends have grown up too. It didn't seem possible, but it's happening to everybody. I helped them remember too. I did. And we made new memories, my old friends and me. And then there are also new memories with new friends. There is not much to remember. But they must have been young once too. I wonder how they managed ten years ago, when I was just setting foot into the big city. Hello. I am a teenager and I want to belong. Do I belong now that I am 26? And maybe J. is right, and I am a teenager in my late twenties, still. Life is this cycle in which we keep acquiring memories, just so we can suppress them again afterwards. And then, years down the road, when we have made enough new memories and have forgotten all the old ones, purposefully, because of all the pain they caused, we meet with them again and remember that the fire that scarred us, when we were young, was a friend and helper.

Pt. II

I like your touch, I like it, but I don't know why. I like to grab your hand while it's in your pocket, and hold on to it when walking with you and I don't know why. We pass by places we've been before and I remember, but you don't and I don't know why. We go my way and not yours, because I know the way much better, and you kiss me in the snow, and I don't know why. I tell you my story and my secrets and about all the things I like and you are listening and I don't know why. I feel like you understand but then again I feel like you don't, and I don't know why. When we sit next to each other, I feel moths blindly and wildly roaming through my belly. There is no space for butterflies, and I don't know why. Your hair is soft and I don't know why. I wish I didn't know your name, and I don't know why. I want to disappear under the sheets and I don't know why. A five minute walk is no coincidence and most certainly not fate. I don't know why. You have a lot of secrets, and I don't know why. I started to listen to music again, and I don't know why, but likely it's because of you.

// TO LEARN FROM HAL HARTLEY

Life lessons to be learned from Hal Hartley's film 'TRUST' (1990), which is being re-released right now. 

The world needs to see this. Because Hal is a genius and nobody does it better.

26 // CHANGES // LOST // FOUND?

26. It happened. And it is probably the most radical change that I have ever felt in my entire life. I can feel it everywhere and it's in constant movement. I look in the mirror and I see a grown woman, who's just now realizing who she really is. This is a woman who struggled for years with her own identity, with her own demons. There are a few. They are still there, but they don't bother her much anymore.

Her is me. I guess if I talk about myself in third person that would show some signs of detachment from my own personality. And maybe I am feeling detached from everything right now, I feel this emptiness that I haven't felt in a whole year. 25 was a strange birthday. One year ago, I met the most wonderful person. He was everything I ever looked for and we knew that we were supposed to be together and be there for each other. It was a sign, it was something that needed to happen. I was in a bad place and he took me to a better place. I found love again, I found real love and understanding for the first time in my life. It all made sense. And then a year goes by and I look back and I'm detached, and I realize: This was the best chance I've ever had, this was the greatest opportunity to make things right, to work on myself and become somebody who could love somebody right... this was as close as I would ever get to true love. And I got pretty damn close. But there were too many obstacles, too many things to overcome. When you are young and in love, these things can hurt you and make things fall apart. Or what if you really don't know the other person as well as you thought you did? What if they had it coming? And I watched him fall down and didn't do anything, because I wasn't aware. I was in denial, I thought I could fix him. I couldn't. Nobody could fix anyone, ever. You can only fix yourself.

The love is still there. All of it. And for all I know, it won't go away for a very long time. But the trust is gone. The sadness is so strong and the disappointment and anger are two things that keep hurting me with every second that goes by. I get him now. I get his fears now and I am angry at myself for not having understood earlier, for having been in denial. I want to hold his head and tell him it will be alright. That he deserves all of me and that he will have all of me, but that he needs to be happy first, and that he will find happiness if he truly believes in himself and that he deserves all of this.

I always thought he was the stronger one. But he wasn't. He carried my sadness on his shoulders for too long and it became him. And I was selfish. And now is he. For all I know, he truly believes he needs to do this, and the decision, as cowardly as it is, might make him the man I truly want.

There are so many profound thoughts, so many tears. They all say they don't matter. But these tears will always matter. I have always given my everything for love, and I wont stop now. I am stronger than I think. And so are you. Don't forget... YOLO, bitch.

AUTUMN IN AMSTERDAM

When words seem adrift, during the sentimental and rainy days of autumn in Amsterdam, all that can help is a picture book of curiosities. I found myself wandering my neighborhood, the Spaarndammerbuurt, to find lost treasures on sidewalks, shadows in puddles and characters in other people's windows, which helped me get a bit closer with this still strange seeming city I live in. These changes that happen impulsively, I move from here to there without a plan, why is my life this way, why am I one of those people? But it's not all bad. I can make friends with things. Trees. Geese. Cats behind glass. No problem. What's your story?

Here I am, wearing my grandmother's black gardening shoes, disguised as rain boots, it works, but as it gets colder, I can feel my toes disagreeing with this sort of dress up. I ordered some cheap heels online. I keep reminding myself...40 Euros down the drain. What if they don't fit or look ugly? I guess I can always send them back. I think about money a lot. It is my only obstacle.

Window shopping.

People like to put things and flowers in their windows around here. It's a nice thing to look at, something I didn't notice until I walked by a third, fourth, fifth time. Little kingdoms. Not much space here. You have to make it extra nice and cozy to get a home out of it.

Old people must live on the ground floor. They need their gear to get around.

I look up, I look down. I look to my left. I see things I didn't see before. The city is bigger than this. I feel comfortable in my neighborhood. Someone got beat up in broad daylight the other day, across from the supermarket. I haven't seen that since Brooklyn. It scared me a bit but then I saw people helping and the police investigating. It wasn't dismissed but taken seriously. Sacha said he never saw someone get beat up before around here. Maybe I do bring the misery with me wherever I go? How ridiculous does that sound? I am the root of all evil happening around me.

And then I miss my cat. Everybody has a cat around here. My street has geese.

One block north, two blocks West, not much, just a few houses, a few windows, a few people wet from the rain. But then again, all these small things I notice and take pictures of, why? For this blog? Maybe. Or maybe because I need a verification that this place isn't as bad as I think it is. Just because it rains all the time doesn't mean I am not welcome. This is not East London. This is just Amsterdam. Amsterdam would never do me any harm.

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He sits there with his greasy hair, on the kitchen table. I like our life together. I like our life together here. Maybe it would be different somewhere. New York City, where we both hated our lives. Maybe that is why we didn't find each other back then, although we said 'Hi!' oh so many times. It's not always easy, and I remember that things happen for a reason. Zucchini soup for dinner, for example. New things. Mousse au chocolate in our fridge. I make things. Simple things. They make me happy. The future is brighter than I sometimes make it out to be. Fatalism is my weakness. I will get over it.

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TO BE CONTINUED ...

SUGAR BABY

You can make a mistake over and over again and not learn from it. It happened to me, and it keeps on happening. I am aware of the things I do oh so wrong, but the damage I do seems inevitable, most likely I am doomed to be a sad old cat lady in a one bedroom apartment of a grey suburban town.
Aside from that, I am in love again, and this time everything makes sense. I am crossing the canal every other day. Mundane walks through wet grass. Never more than twenty degrees, too cold of a Summer. What did I do wrong this time? Maybe it is because I am home. Home was never a good place for me to be happy. I am 25 years old, and still waiting for my own home. A place that I made, not a place someone else made for me. I am not close to any of that. Give me another year, I'd say. Uncertainty is one of my true enemies. I started baking again.