Kerst het meest treurige feest.

Ik heb het nooit zo goed begrepen, maar voor mij was Kerst altijd een diep treurig feest. Niet altijd, niet toen ik nog een kleine jongen was en niets van grote-mensen-dingen afwist. Niet toen mijn opa nog leefde en met vredig lieve dominantie de emoties van de familieleden in toom wist te houden. Alleen al zijn aanwezigheid daarvoor was genoeg. Kerst is het feest dat ik meer dan 10 jaar listig wist te vermijden.

Mijn oma is een mensje van de dag geworden en alleen voor haar ga ik de kwelling met open vizier aan. Dit jaar zouden we wat vroeger van start gaan dus ik had gezegd om een uur of 5 s'avonds te arriveren. Thuis was ik mezelf verbluffend aan het tegenwerken en aan het treuzelkonten. Op de bijna verlaten snelweg ging mijn voiture ook al niet harder dan 120. Ik weet het, op het onbewuste niveau wilde ik het liefst thuisblijven, alleen met mijn katten en een steen op mijn hart. Maar ik had de moed niet. Een anderhalve uur later en een half uur te laat, druk ik de deurbel en na wat gestommel doet mijn moeder open. "aan de deur wordt niet gekocht" is haar opmerking. Nieuw is haar grap niet en nog minder leuk. Mijn moeder noemt dat humor, ik noem dat bitterheid. Ik kom binnen met de kadootjes onder de arm en zie tot mijn verbazing dat iedereen al aan het uitbuiken is. "je zou toch om vijf uur hier zijn" klinkt het verontschuldigend. Ik mompel nog iets van een mobiele telefoon en waarom men dan niet even belt en snel langs de volle tafel de serre in om mijn jas af te leggen. Bij mezelf vraag ik me af hoe het mogelijk is dat je om 5 uur afspreekt en dat er meteen ook om 5 uur gegeten moet worden. Ik begin met het begroeten van de nieuw vrijer van mijn zusje. Nerveus lacht hij me toe. Voor hem ben ik de messias die hem uit het spervuur van "humor" van mijn moeder houdt. Ik knuffel mijn oma geef mijn moeder een vluchtige kus en negeer haar vriend. Schijnbaar heeft hij instructies gekregen en pakt meteen zijn spullen om te vertrekken. Ik schuif aan en krijg meteen een vol bord eten. Mijn moeder begint meteen met een paar grappen over "Wim" de nieuwe vrijer van mijn zus. Hij draait ongemakkelijk op zijn stoel. Ik knipoog naar hem en maak een paar snedige opmerkingen richting mijn moeder. Zo de toon is gezet. Ik weet hoe ze normaal als een locomotief met haar cynisme iemand neerwalst, en ik kan me alleen maar voorstellen wat hij heeft moeten doormaken de afgelopen maanden.

Na het eten wordt mijn neefje wakker en springt als een bezetene op me, hij geeft me een warme knuffel waar ik helemaal van smelt. Ik fluister hem in zijn oortje dat zijn oom een paar heel mooie kadootjes heeft meegebracht. We zitten inmiddels met zijn allen in de woonkamer. De TV aan (gelukkig). Ik heb een hekel aan TV maar alleen op Kerstavond is het een bondgenoot. Ik schakel in mijn selectieve doofheidsmodus en staar onbewogen naar de bewegende beelden. Ondertussen begint mijn moeder alle verhalen uit het verleden op te rakelen. De nieuwe vrijer van mijn zus is de pineut. Onzeker en verlegen als hij is, is hij een gemakkelijk slachtoffer. Hij zit ook in een ongemakkelijke positie aangezien hij de TV niet kan zien. Hij kan alleen maar in de richting van mijn moeder kijken en daarmee is zijn lot bezegelt. Ik wist dit van te voren en koos zorgvuldig mijn plek uit. Ik besef ineens dat het de plek van mijn opa is en gniffel van binnen. Ik herinner mij ineens dat hij ook altijd voor "doof" speelde. De avond gaat snel voorbij dankzij de inhoudsloze tv-programma's met hoog entertainmentsgehalte. Het is tijd voor mijn zus om te gaan. Ik neem snel afscheid van mijn neefje en ze zijn weg. Ik sip een beetje aan de punch. Ik zit nu alleen met mijn omaatje en mijn moeder. Ai het is moelijk om haar nu nog te negeren. Ze praat nog over ditjes en datjes en zegt ineens: "Ik wil jou andere zus onterven". Ik schrik op. Ze noemt nooit haar naam. Ik had veel verwacht maar niet zo'n onderwerp op Kerstavond. Ik weet even een moment niet wat te zeggen. Ik begin over verdraagzaamheid en over stappen die haast omonkeerbaar lijken, over misverstanden en wijsheid en er nog eens goed over na te denken. Ik zie het gezicht van mijn moeder verharden. Ze begint over haar pijn over haar leven en haar eeuwige slachtofferrol. Ik sta op en ga naar het toilet. Even rust, even een vlucht. Ik kom terug en zeg hardop, "het is al laat en ik moet nog een eindje sturen". Ik pak mijn jas en geef mijn oma nog een warme knuffel. Al die tijd heeft ze stil gezeten en weinig gezegd. Ze wisselde af en toe een lieve lach naar me uit. Sinds mijn opa in haar armen stierf zit ze in een soort van emotionele dementie. Ik voel een traan opkomen. Gehaast pak ik mijn tas en geef mijn moeder gauw een kus. Ik draai de straat uit met Brian Ferry op de achtegrond, slave to love....

empty

I stare at the empty screen. My heart feels like there is a rock resting on it. I try to understand the situation. Why things escalate. I have many why's. I have no answers. I had the trust that things are ok. That I don't have to worry about this special relation I feel. But I guess that I am to much of a dreamer. And didn't see the dark clouds gathering. I thought we have the ultimate relation. That we are so much alike that not much needed to be said to understand. But also in this I was wrong. I wanted to believe to much it is like I thought it is. But the truth hurts. I guess I created my own reality. There is so much love running thru my vains. But the love is not received, not recognized. Maybe it's to hard on this distance, maybe it's impossible. I thought our love would cross this distance and make us strong for the difficulte times we would face. Now I feel like a small baby. There is no one to cover me. No one to hold me. I am alone like I was before. I just wanted to live an breath. Not wait untill the certain day. I wanted to explore and experience and share my adventures with my love. To give content to our conversations, exchanging our stories so that we are able to let the fire keep on burning. Now I am afraid the fired died. Not in me. I will always love her. But I guess for somebody else this is just hollow words. I am not capable to put in words what I feel. I am not capable coz it's words where I would wish to make her feel, by touch, kiss, embracing and making love. But all this is impossible for now. I feel cold, emtpy and vulnerable. I feel once more thrown in a black pit. I am not sure if I can get out on own strength. I guess I have no other option. I lost my trust that love is possible in this world. I only had my share of impossibilities.......

België

Hier ben ik komen wonen, omdat ik Nederland niet meer kon uitstaan. De haat werd groter dan de liefde. Het is nooit mijn land geweest doordat het altijd vreemd voor me was. Dit door de mix van Indisch, Nederlands, Noord-Holland en Limburgs bloed. Ik was vlees nog vis voor de anderen. Ik ondervond al op jonge leeftijd de "tolerante" houding van Nederlanders t.a.v. Nederlanders met een gemengde afkomst. Het maakte mij ontheemd maar het maakt ook een wereldburger van me. En op een dag was de maat vol. De schijnheiligheid en te foute tolerantie, ik vertrok naar een land dat vooral niet schijnheilig is en vooral niet tolerant. Het Goede doel had mijn geïnspireerd. Hier als vreemdeling tussen vreemdelingen voel ik mij thuis. Misschien soms geïsoleerd, maar er zijn andere wegen om dat isolement niet te voelen. Voor mij is dat vooral fotografie. Maar nu, politieke crisis in België. Walen kunnen niet meer met de Vlamingen maar misschien nog meer dat de Vlamingen niet meer met de Walen kunnen. Althans dat is wat de politici en sommige populisten ons willen laten geloven. De gewone Vlaming wil nog steeds een heerlijke petite Jambonneau eten in de Ardennen, en de Waal wil ook graag een dagje verdwalen in Antwerpen. Maar wat nu. Er wordt al geroepen om de Vlamingen aan te laten sluiten met Nederland. En dat is het punt. Dat is mijn grootste angst. Het schrikt mij af. Ik begin al naarstig te zoeken op internet bij makelaars naar vervallen boerderijtjes in de Arndennen. Mijn koffers staan al bijna gepakt. Het schrikbeeld spookt door mijn hoofd die schijnheilige kop van Balkenende te moeten aanschouwen als mijn nieuwe premier, Wilders met zijn knettergek geraas in de 2de kamer. Rita Verdonk met haar zieke beeldspraak over de "gewone" nederlander en haar "duidelijke" taal. Nee ik wil liever Leterme die het volkslied niet kent. De stoethaspels en de loosers in de Belgische politiek. Laat mij alsjeblieft hier zijn, rustig ver weg van het gekonkel van Nederland. Ik voel me juist zo goed in deze geordende chaos. Deze Nederlander zegt: Laat België alsjeblieft voortbestaan........

Overgave!

Ik was 14 toen ik een stukje las. Het was een vodje papier met gekopieerde tekst. Ik weet niet meer waar het vandaan kwam en hoe het in mijn bezit was gekomen. Maar ik weet nog hoe ik het rode wangetjes las. Het was een korte beschrijving van het verhaal van O, oftewel Histoire d'O. Het fascineerde mij. Waarom het dat toen deed weet ik niet, maar ik was er nieuwsgierig naar, bijna obsessief. Het verhaal prikkelde mijn diepste fantasiën. Het heeft mij nooit meer losgelaten.

Vandaag, ik was voor zaken in Brussel. Voor de lunch liet ik mijzelf verleiden even een passend koffietentje te vinden. Arcadi op de hoek van de Arenbergstraat en de Koningsgalerij. Une Tarte citron de merengue met een petite espresso. Na de lunch liep ik de Koningsgalerij in. Ik slenterde wat rond en hield op een gegeven moment halt voor een DVD/DC winkel. Wat mij opviel was de hoeveelheid aan Film Noir die de etalage sierden. Als een magneet werd ik naar binnen getrokken. Ik zocht eigenlijk de film Angel-A van Luc Besson die om onduidelijke redenen nooit in België of Nederland in de bioscoop is verschenen. Ik blijf als versteend staan bij een aantal DVD hoezen van Fellini. Daar stond hij dan de lang gezochte en vaak vergeten obsessie. Histoire d'O. Ik pak snel de verpakking en haast me naar de kassa. Ik bedacht me dat ik ook nog die andere film zocht. "Je cherchez un film de Luc Besson, Angel-A" vraag ik aan de verkoper. "Oui, au premier étage". Ik loop naar boven en vind al snel de film. Hij is ook nog afgeprijst wat een geluk.

Thuisgekomen speel ik met de dvd hoes in mijn handen. Zal ik gaan kijken. Zal ik teleurgesteld zijn? Ik besluit om de film op te zetten. Ik gooi alle verwachtingen overboord. Tenslotte is het een film uit 1975. Gekluisterd zit ik aan mijn scherm. Het beeld doet pijn aan mijn ogen van de hoeveelheid softfocus. De muziek is net zo vaag als bij Emanuelle. En de hoeveelheid erotiek verbleekt bij het sexuele geweld van heden ten dage. Eigenlijk is het een slap verhaal, wat alleen in die tijd een schokgolf teweeg bracht. Maar toch.

Het is het onderliggende gevoel wat mij raakt. En ineens besef ik waar het om gaat. Ik heb altijd een buitengewoon grote interesse gehad in het spel van dominantie en onderwerping. Vanuit dezelfde interesse observeerde ik ook BDSM. Het kon mij echter nooit helemaal bekoren. Ik begreep de mensen die het toepassen niet, ik begreep hun motivatie niet. Het bleef altijd bij iets van vernedering, overheersing, onderwerping, iets fysieks iets pijnlijks.

Deze film echter toonde me de ware aard achter al dit al, en ineens besefte ik dat al die mensen die met BDSM bezig zijn de plank volledig misslaan. Het gaat niet om onderwerping het gaat om overgave. De ultieme liefde voelen voor iemand en jezelf daarin volledig overgeven. En dat is meteen waar het in onze maatschappij aan ontbreekt. Overgave! We zitten vol verwachtingen, we hebben onze lijstjes klaar. We hebben zoveel teleurstellingen meegemaakt en stellen onze volgende ex alweer danig op de proef. Zij/hij krijgt te maken met alles wat haar/zijn voorgang(st)er heeft misdaan. We leven met angsten, we laten niet los. We willen vooral niet kwetsbaar zijn. Het internet is daarbij het ultieme middel geworden om al zappend van contact naar contact te springen. 1 verkeerd woord en met een druk op de knop geblokeerd, gewist of genegeerd, net zoals hier op Happy. We consumeren het contact met anderen zoals we mcnuggets consumeren.

Maar wat is nu de wezenlijk essentie van de Liefde? Zelfs de universele liefde? De essentie is de kracht om jezelf eraan over te geven. Je over te geven aan die persoon. Willoos en kwetsbaar, in een staat van je mag doen met me wat je wilt. Ik heb altijd de vrijheid om te gaan. Maar ik ben van jou en zolang ik daar voor kies mag je dat met mij doen. In het geval van "Histoire d'O" is het vooral ook iets fysieks en sexueels, het gaat om de ultieme liefde en daarvoor alles te doorstaan.

Ik geloof dat alleen door deze overgave we onszelf kunnen genezen en de weg naar onszelf hervinden. Ik geloof dat de overgave aan de liefde van iemand we ons ook overgeven aan het leven en het leven weer te voelen zoals het bedoeld is.

kittens in da house

2 weeks ago my lovely Shanti gave birth to 4 beautiful kids, here some pics:

Kate & me

Weirdo

So here it is, Kate is following extra classes to master english. The system of learning is called TOEFL. Recently Kate got a new tutor. He introduced himself as Dave and Dave comes from Canada. One day they were discussing relationships and this Dave started to ask questions around in the class. Naturally Kate came with her story on our relation, and he got interested by the fact that I am a "foreigner" (not Taiwanees), and the fact of age difference. So soon he got more interested and even started to have an opinion, and feelings of concern. My frist hunch was that this guy was actually trying to get closer to her, and I was right because soon after, to Kates suprise, he said something about that she should date a younger, cooler and more interesting guy. And that the relationship I have with her is not one with a future. It really burned my fuses that this guy had no respect at all, as a stranger ventilating his opinion, furthermore not take me serious at all with addressing Kate. So for my releave, and fun, I made this little game. I copied a picture from his myspace and created a little flash game where anybody can throw "Dave" around. It feels really releaving, distressing, relaxing, distracting and like a good therapy. I feel a bit like a voodoo master playing the puppet. So if there is anybody out there that feels frustrated about a person, feel free to send a picture and I will make a nifty little version for you too! Here you can find this nice little thing, have fun! Ow and by the way. You can use your mouse (click-hold) to throw and move the figure, so don't hold back at all!

My renewed website

Seperated

It took me some time to write again about my experiences and feelings. Kate left at 25th of august. Her leave was not without some trouble at the airfield. It's embarrasing to see that you are treated like cattle at an airport. That makes saying goodbye even more harsh and something cold. Because there is no time left for emotions or feelings the moment you check in. Humans seem to become more and more inhumane. This is the way we treat ourselves this is what became of our society. Because we wanted power and gadgets and things to fill our void.

But this story is about something else, it's about the first time we made love in Paris, our small room behind the wooden blinds and heavy curtains of the hotel. The sounds of the city murmur in the background. In the distance the last tourists are driven off of the mountain of Parnasse. The sacre coeur reflects in the pools from rain. But we, we are behind the curtains in our small double bedroom, fullfilling the desires that grew over nine months. Untill this very moment. It's hard to determine what feeling was stronger, lust, passion or love. But we gave in to it and we made our connection. We discussed it so many times, but imagination, fiction or fantasy stay always hypothetical and are washed away when the moment of truth arises. The real thing, the real touch, taste and rythm. This is the moment we waited for. It was always there from the beginning we knew it, we wanted it and we dit it. We did it in a special way, a way that will always remain our little secret. Something so specific and so planned that I can't imagine anybody else ever doing this. I feel rich and lucky to have experiencing it this way. Maybe one day, one day at all or maybe not, I may share it with someone. But till that day, it will remain the secret of Kate and me.

The homecoming to my place was suprisingly easy. Kate felt homy the moment she entered my house and from the first moment we were living like a couple, only a month. But a month is filled with many moments that are experienced like eternity. So a month was short and wasn't at all. We lived like a couple, again I say it to my surpise and I long for that very moment again. Our passion for food, cooking, our rythm and lifestyle that fits like a glove. The blanks she fills of me and the blanks I fill for her. Two minds one thought. Stable and strong. Of course we had our little differences, I like to call them minor. Because we are a kindred spirit. And we always find a way back. That's why I miss my Kate so much. It's not the fact that she left, because she was able to stay in my heart. But still, it leaves a big space, her being back in Taiwan.

I made this for my old friend Larissa's birthday. It took my PC 4 hours to calculate the movie. After that I had to add sound and work on the filesize. Here is the original quicktime movie....

Uh, uh, I personally believe that she should be the next person running as such as candidate for president.

The first kiss

(continued) For D. chedwick I was wearing my favourite Dior Homme.

She looks quickly around to see if she catches me. While waiting the arrival hall became pretty crowded. Kate catches my eyes and laugsh nervously. I think I give a same kind of reaction. I hurry to the place where she is heading behind the gates that seperates us from the exit of the customs area. Automatically I embrace her. She freezes a bit. Overwhelmed by my presence. I hold her for a moment and smell her scent of fresh violins. I move backwards and look her in her eyes. She gives me a quick look but then turn her eyes away. Kate is too shy and in away it pleases me. I tease her a bit with this fact and she returns with a fake angry face. I laugh and I take her suitcase. "let's leave this place I murmur" and take her by the hand. I find back the elevator that brought me here from the parking deck downstairs. 10 minutes later we find ourselves back at the A1 in direction Paris. Back in the hotel I have to leave Kate alone in the elevator because her oversized suitcase and her tender body fill it completely. I run 8 stairs up to be earlier then the elevator. Short of air I free Kate from the packed elevator. A few moments later we lay down on the bed. Without sound and without words we stair in the half dark at each other. The soft light of a rainy morning in Paris is falling through the curtains. I move closer to Kate. We say nothing. We feel just like kissing. Gently I touch her face, stroking it with the back of my hand. She is so soft, as soft as I imagined her. I move closer and I kiss her eyebrows, her nose and her cheeks. Then I kiss her lips, softly like a feather that touches the floor after a long descend. She responds in the same gentle way. Nine months we waited for this kiss. And now it's the moment. No hurry, no crazy passion, just this instant genlte and tender moment. We have time and we won't rush. We waited long enough not to destroy this infinite fairytale moment. It's even more perfect then we could imagine, though neither of us were having to much expectations. Even now writing about this very moment I feel that the power of it grows stronger and stronger. These are the very moments that shape our memories and are cherished forever. After our first explorations of kissing we start to feel hungry. After an hour or so I suggest to have breakfast. I long for a fresh baked croissant with a strong coffee. Kate jumps up and dissapears in the bathroom for a quick check up. I stare at the ceiling, I feel happy. (to be continued)......

the new bill on wiretapping in the states

It's sad to see that the U.S. turn into the former U.S.S.R. lookalike with their homeland security and the new bill that is passed for wiretapping. It's almost ironical. It was always the U.S. that was crying out loud the rights, the freedom, democracy, and condemning the system of the U.S.S.R. But secretly the men in power, secretly they dreamed of absolute power and a way to control the subjects in their country. The terrorists gave them all that was needed. And feeding the average american every day with bits and pieces to keep the fear alive gives them the oppertunity under the false flag of safety to take away rights and freedom day by day. This comes closer to George Orwell's (thanks D!) "1984" big brother is watching you. Before you know it turns back in to the system of red square and the same system Cauescu used. The securitate was a system based up one half of the population spying upon the other half. You never knew if your neighbour, your brother, your kid, your coworker or anybody else could be trusted.

The attacks of 9/11 were terrible, but were eventually easy to work out. All you needed was a big plane with kerosine to ingite the fire. But basically the terrorists are just a bunch of camel drivers hidden in caves, dreaming of burning the imperial Americas.

It's a simple sum to be calculated. What if, after the attacks of 9/11 there would have been no war on Irak? No war on terror? Just licking the wounds and change the foreign politics. Because at the end it's the dirty politics that created people like Osama Bin Laden. What if America would have retreated from the stage of dirty politics and focus on what can be repaired and change their image in the world? Let's face it, the U.S. is an agressor, though it be in disguise. It's all about the money. There won't be intervention from the U.S. in Darfur, because there is nothing to get, only dry sand and poor blacks. There won't be any intervention in Zimbabwe to get rid of Mugabe who is as bad as Saddam Hussein. Probably Mugabe signed a contract with the weapons industry in the states.

At the end poor bastards are send to Irak and Afganhistan to fight a lost war. The only thinkable reason is that the terrorists are attracted by the sitting ducks they are and keeping them away from the homeland. Because who would do all the effort to attack targets in America when they are on walking distance in the middle east? Another generation of young americans is wrecked, emotionally destroyed and ruined to have a normal life. After this war they will be just other rambo's with problems to adjust to society. Haunted by the visions of war and death.

It's a crazy world and I wonder of people are really missing the point here? Does everybody believe the crap politicians are telling us? In this light it would be interesting to see a movie like V for Vengeance, in my opinion this movie tells it all.

Kate has arrived

She is here, already now for nine days. I know I let everybody wait to continue the lovestory unfolding between us. I am sorry for that. It's just that this first week we were busy with each other and many things to do. And unfortunatly Kate feels very sick, she's got a cold and it looks like she has an acute Otitis. In one hour we will consult a doc.

Paris, that's where Kate would arrive. For the 2 simple reasons that it's much cheaper to fly to Paris then Amsterdam, and secondly who wouldn't like to meet his/her love in the city of Romance? I booked a beautiful little hotel in the quartier Opèra. It is one of the rare romantic hotels that can be found with beautiful furniture, colorfull classic rooms with rich wallpaper, curtains and bed linnen. With those typical Paris acenseurs (elevator), to small for ones suitcase and themselves. The hotel is situated at walking distance of the Sacre Coeur, and rue la Fayette. Kate would arrive at 6 AM at saturday morning so I arrived friday night to have a quick sleep before picking her up from Charles de Gaulle. I studied the route at least 10 times, to make sure that I would be there promptly. The idea of getting late was terrifying me.

It's 4 in the morning, I stretch myself and take a moment to think. It's still dark outside. I can hear my heart beat with a little excitement. This is it, the long awaited moment. I jump out of the bed, energetic. I take a shower, I let the hot water warm my body and it makes me feel even more energetic. The wet shave makes me feel fresh, I always stuck to wet shaving. I could never understand why somebody would use an electric lawnmower for ones face with the feeling of tearing the hair and burning the face. I check thoroughly that I am smooth like a babies bum. I get dressed, just jeans a t-shirt and my favourite spanish boots. I promised Kate not to overdress, because it would make her uncomfortable. Days before I was joking I would turn up in a 3-piece suit. I get my bag with papers and keys and head down to the reception desk. The night watch smiles at me and opens the front door. I turn left and leave the rue de la tour d'Auvergne and walk donwhill to the garage that is near rue de la Fayette. I get a bit cranky by the thought of paying 8 hours of parking the same as 24 hours. But something small shouldn't ruin my mood. I pay the fee and move to the elevator. I hold the doors for a friendly eldery couple rushing in after me. After some searching I find the car and I am off. At the exit of the garage I turn right in direction of rue la Fayette. The streets are empty, it makes me feel like I am the ruler of Paris. I pass the church of Saint Vincent de Paul, a beautiful roman style church with 2 square towers. There is something spooky about this church he reminds me of some movie the prince of darkness. After the curch I see on my left Gare du Nord, totally dipped in silence and no sight of a living soul. A big difference compared to daytime when there is police, travelers, traders, drug dealers, junkies and clochards. At the crossing with rue de Fauburg Saint-Denis I head north in the direction of Port de La Chapelle, it won't be long before I am on the A1. Then it will only take 20 minutes to Charles de Gaulle. I start to feel butteflies in my belly with the thought that only an hour or so is seperating me from Kate. Nine months I waited for this moment. I feel one way awfully peacefull and excited at the same. A hunch of premination tells me that her flight will arive more early as planned so I am happy with the fact that I got up more early. After 2o minutes of quiet highway I take the exit of Charles de Gaulle. It looks much different then I thought and I feel a bit lost. Also the fact that the signs are pretty confusing, I figure it out and before I know I find a parking place. While walking into the elevator I hear a somebody addressing me. I look over my shoulder and I see again the eldery couple. It's a funny coincedence and we start to laugh. The woman tells me that she is going to pick up her cousin from south Africa. We arrive at the hallway for arrivals. I check the information table, it's 5.20 AM and I see that the flight of Kate already arrived. I rush to the exit where she would appear but there are still no people leaving. With every minute I get more nervous now and I look back over the past months. How we got to plan this, how we spent so much time on Skype. How we built our rituals around our seperated lives with Internet as the thin thread. At some point I see more and more asian people leaving the gate, for me the sign that any moment Kate could arrive..... I am excited and filled with undefined expectations. I see a big suitcase and I see her........ to be continued.

Butterflies in my belly

The clock is ticking, only 43 hours to go and I will meet Kate. It took about 6 months to wait for the moment I would meet her in the flesh. Many questions rise, like: how will be the first aproach, the first touch, the first kiss. Will it be a moment of slow motion, sensing every second to be experienced as an enternal moment, or will it be just a jump and enthousiastic embrace? Will the first kiss be one that is filled with joy and to much reaction, or will it be a slow, thought through intense filled with unhaste? No matter how many times I thought about the conditions and the circumtstances, how many times I ran through the whole setup, the final moment itself will show how it will be. Driven by the senses and feelings at that very moment, reaction to what is felt instantly, without holding back, sliding and giving in to what is felt. One thing is sure, I will feel super conscious about that very moment. I will let go of myself without holding control. But I don't want to rush it, I wanna feel this and keep it as a memory that won't be forgotten. Somehow it feels like somekind of liberation. It feels like homecoming. Maybe there is a lot of imagination added to it. Maybe there is also a lot of idealizing attached to it. But somehow everything feels so damn right about it that I don't care. I know I wasn't writing on my blog for a longer time. Somehow i couldn't find any words to share. Maybe this waiting put me into a vacuum. At least that is how I felt. Nothing in paticular was coming out of me. I couldn't even focus really well on being creative. Like I was sparing myself and keeping it all for that very moment. The best thing that I feel is that I don't have any expectations. I feel totally open for the experience and the adventure. And as I know, Kate feels the same way. She is a wonderful person that knows how to move me. She knows always to push the right buttons. Though I won't let her know she does. But I think she knows. Maybe the unspoken words are the best. The unspoken knowing, that is what a relation, friendship or relation of any kind always make the best. Words can sometimes destroy so much. Why things have to be said when they are sensed so strong? My best guess is that sometimes words are needed just to fill the void. When that is the case, the "real" thing is missing. At least that is something I can really tell from past experiences. Words should be never said, or replace anything that is sensed. In this I refer to the good feelings. Feelings of love and adoration, of longing and passion......

"recalling weeks events"

It was a dreadfull week, one with ups and downs. But we made it. After the harsh mail exchange with a friend, that made me worried and gave me sleepless nights, I was looking forward for my little voyage to Cologne with my friend Hanneke. She challenged me to be on time because me the big mouth said to her to meet at nine A.M. She knows I am one of those time challencing humans, always fighting the clock. So Kate would support me to call me in time. And I made it exactly at nine 0'clock. Hanneke still with her toothbrush in her mouth opened the door, expecting me to be late as usual. So after a quick prep from her, we were ready to leave Eindhoven in direction Germany. While talking we exchanged our latest troubles and events. As forseen she told me about some things that were happening between her and her boyfriend. It was not a suprise because I felt a certain tention when I was over for her birthday some weeks ago. I in exchange told my story about the fight with my friend. We concluded that we would make it a great day and forget about our little troubles of life for a day.

My suprise to her would be a visit to a bookstore from Taschen in Cologne. Man, if you are in books, especially about Art, Architecture, Photography then this is the place to be. I discovered this bookstore in November last year, and I promised myself a present if I find a new job. So the moment came that I wanted to get my present. In my first visit I saw the large Copy about Jan Saudek a rather controversial Czech photographer born in 1935. The book is 28 X 33.3 cm a little of 448 pages and for those who wanna know 4.1 kg.

For those who wanna know more about this phenoma Jan Saudek, I would advice to visit his website especially his curriculum is an interesting part. In 1959 Jan Saudek gets a camera from his girlfriend a Flexarette 6x6. He still uses this camera. A technique he uses in his pictures is coloring them by hand. Therefore giving them the distinguished Jan Saudek carnivalesque apearance.

My favourite picture is titled Hey Joe! Here in a colorized version. What is for me making this picture interesting is the strange post-war apearance. But also what struck me is the sharpness of the clouds compared to other parts of the picture. I believe that the clouds were blended in somehow.

After visiting Cologne we drove off to Solingen, and visited the "Schoß Burg" and the Müngstener Bridge. This construction was started in 1893 and ended in 1897. The Kaiser Wilhelm II gave the order to build this masterpiece. But he refused to appear on the grand opening because the bridge was devoted to the rememberance of the 100 birthday of his grandfather Wilhelm I. Another interesting note is that the bridge is build by the company M.A.N. A company that still exists these days. The bridge is 500 meters long, weighs 5000 ton is 107 meter high measured above the river the "Wupper". They used 950.000 rivets, and a mythology tells the story that one of the rivets is made of gold. The specific rivet is still not found untill this day. After the 1st world war the bridge was renamed Müngstener Brücke.

After a long day we headed home. I was happy to see Hanneke again and to have time to talk and discuss anything that came up. She always inspires me with her passion for illustration and her interesting stories.

Only a month to go

It's almost unbelievable. I started with my countdown counter somewhere around 180 days. At that time I still thought it would be impossible to pass the time. But as I can see now, many things happened in between from that very moment up to this. That kept me going and distracted. Now finally my little princess will come over for a month of holiday. Starting with 3 days in Paris. I look so forward for that moment. The moment of meeting her, but also to greet the city that I love so much. To feel the atmosphere of Paris, and better to experience that with my distant love. I am reading the city guide to pieces and make already virtual tours. Ow how much I would wish to have a dinner again at "La Coupole" at Mont Parnasse. To skid stones in the small canal St. Martin. Or to get lost in Printemps, Lafayette or Semaphore. Walk around at the hidden graveyard of Mont Martre, or just take a nap underneath the Tour Eifel in the grass, and when opening my eyes be suprised seeing the massive structure. It's wonderful how we kept the faith, Kate and I. Sometimes we had our reality checks, then we started to question this strange voyage we started, not knowing where to go. But now we don't care, it was worth the waiting and our love grew steady and we can't miss a day talking. I sometimes think it's the kind of romance that is hard to find these days anymore. It's the kind or romance you normally get to see in a Hollywood flick. But in this society where people are consumed by their own need for consuming, the endless hunt for succes, the detachement of being human and of nature, we feel that this glowing, burning passionate love, is a great gift that we cherish. In 30 days the adventure will start it's second phase, I am longing for it, and I want to feel and experience every second as an eternal moment. I love you Kate.