hero

"hey," he says gently. his tone is solicitous..."i don't know which station is yours..."
she starts awake.
"where are we then?" she blinks, mildly panicked. the train has stopped. somewhere.
"alkmaar."
this is becoming a regular occurrence. just weeks ago, after a particularly satisfactory evening out, she awoke to the sight of lights and signs and landscapes that looked frighteningly unfamiliar, and ended up shivering on an equally unfamiliar december platform, waiting to backtrack to where she should have ended up in the first place.
"and i even set the alarm on my mobile!" she exclaims.
he smiles: "never works for me either.." thank heavens for people who consider.
she gathers herself up and flings her scarf over her shoulder.
if she runs, she can still catch her bus.

flight whatever from seoul

it's her birthday today. nearly seventeen years ago she arrived at schiphol airport, and was placed lovingly into the arms of two people who had hoped, and dreamed, and anticipated. her life has been, happily, a life like any other. through the ups, the downs, the celebrations, the disappointments, i have watched her grow, and flourish, and become. she is a child of crossed frontiers. she has a good mother. she will do, and succeed at, whatever she sets her mind to: of that i have no doubt.

une petite réunion

high season in holland has begun. the bulbs are blooming, and in amsterdam the streets are full of visitors draped in roughguides and camera’s, “oooh”-ing and “aaaah”-ing in the universal language of the impressed and the enchanted.
my friend isabel, here in the netherlands to give a couple of university lectures, allowed me to lead her around all my favourite locations, and “ooh”-ed and “aaah”-ed with the rest.
over coffee in the beiaard, over dry white wine in café de jaren, over a super meal in vooges, we told each other stories of the last twelve years that had not made their way into letters and e-mails. and between the pauses for nourishment, we rode the opstapper along the prinsengracht and walked, and walked, and walked, absorbing the beauty of an amazing city on a spring afternoon.

crouching, hidden..

i was born in the year of the tiger:
("brave and courageous, the tiger is ready for any challenge. nothing can tame their adventurous & rebellious spirit. a supreme optimist, they pursue their goals with fierce intensity. tigers are admired for their vibrant and playful personality.")
when i reached the last milestone birthday, i felt the need to do something that i had always wanted to do but had never dared, so i had this - my - chinese sign tattooed above my heart.
("the tiger is one of the most revered chinese birth signs. associated with power, courage and pure will, tigers are rebels with a cause. they are colourful and unpredictable, with boundless energy and a love of life which stimulates them and affects all those they come into contact with.")
it is invisible to most human eyes, happily, because my skin* is mature and reclusive and because it was, from the first, a private challenge.
("most of all tigers are romantic, passionate and playful, who love life and want to live it the fullest.")
it was a modest and personal statement: no regrets. regrets, at my age, at any age, are a total waste of time.
*photo friday

saturday night fever

the chill is retreating. smiles, open jackets, loosened scarves: delight reflects in faces, optimism refracts and settles on the strolling and the sipping. spring, true spring: is it here to stay?

unseaworthy

she tells her tale. it is a bitter tale of unbearable sweetness. it seems, at first, another in the parade of irresistible and lovingly collected anecdotes that comprise the life she shares with others. she steers through the story, choosing her words with care, and punctuating her story with exclamation points of gentle and righteous indignation.
she tells her tale, glossing over the pain that few would understand anyway, and defending, unbending, the erring.
she tells her tale like sails unfurling in the faltering light, so that no one will sense the floundering, so that no one will realize how close to capsizing she sometimes comes.

serene and bright

the onset of spring* means the start of sunday shopping at the garden centres. carloads of optimistic souls make their way through the polders to shuffle among the flowers and the greenery and the ornaments, admiring, considering, swaying. arms and baskets are filled with colour. the scents of jasmine and rosemary entice. life in the backyard may be just days away.
and if the real warmth takes its time in arriving: for just under fifty euros, sunshine – albeit rather monochromatic – can be settled into a shopping cart and displayed wistfully on a waiting garden wall.
*photo friday..

under the weather

"if you rest, you rust", someone wise once said, and normally i would whole-heartedly agree. but this on-again-off-again spring is draining me of energy, and i have a hunch that a totally idle weekend might restore rather than corrode.

as clear as glass

what the sign has to do with what's behind the façade, i have no idea: the organization located within devotes itself to obtaining things gratuitously. what the nature of the greenery is, why the proffering hand is beringed, what its fineness and frivolity actually suggests, is a mystery, but evidence once again that beauty can be a mere glance away from straight ahead. and it's free. maybe that's the gist.

clambering heavenward

we could all attain the top if we could only recognize which particular ladder we were meant to climb.
and we could all plant flags on personal peaks, if we only knew which particular mountains were ours to master.