Almost Happy

Like every Thursday morning at rush-hour the station was filled with people running from here and there, dressed for work, bustling about. More people in suits than she dared to count. She watched the businessmen walking in a determined pace, steady, back straight and goal directed. Some were already talking in their phones in loud convincing voices, waving their hands agitatedly. The more anxious the less dignified they seemed. Those who were running appeared even less so, but the worst were those who walked with slumped shoulders. Their step lagged a little slow. Their eyes at the ground. Their impression meek. They made her smile curiously: the failures, the weak. She supposed it was because they made her feel like she belonged. She understood them.

Dora was sitting just outside the coffee shop watching people come and go. The people seemed to come like waves, rushing in when a train arrived and then the hall thinned again, She felt oddly weightless with no set path or direction. Being at the station was oddly pointless. She was surrounded by those who had a destination in mind, or those who were waiting for someone to arrive. They had a purpose. Not everyone might love their purpose, but at least they had one. Behind her people were filing up in line to get their morning coffee shot. There was barely any talking among the customers even though the baristas shouted orders and chattered while doing their job. She supposed it was because the line consisted out of individuals, rather than pairs or groups. There was an outside common connection necessary to talk, more than the connection of waiting together in line to get coffee. The baristas were a group, they saw each other often, they had a purpose together. The individuals on the other side of the counter were mere singulars in the large number of people that passed through every day. In a small town coffee shop in it would be different. There the regulars would be familiar faces and greeted with a smile or a nod. Here getting coffee was mass production. Don’t worry, we are just passing through, purposeful.

She held her cup tighter, as she sipped it, She missed a cigarette to complete her breakfast, but sadly at train stations smoking was prohibited. Thus, she simply remained still while she drank and observed the people and let her thoughts meander further in a comfortable pace. She felt stripped of all hurry as she watched the minutes pass on the large clock. As her gaze wandered she caught sight of a couple holding hands. Something about them struck her deeply. To her it seemed that the rest of the world ought to be grey and motionless around them. As it could never compare to them. The girl had long curled blonde hair which lay loosely over her shoulders and a tall slender built. Her face was shaded by her hat which had a large round rim. She wore long, beige ,flared trousers and a light-brown jacket. The girl was holding hands with a guy equally tall with long hair and dressed in black. He had a serious looking face which looked handsome and demure. The couple stood out from the rest. One reason being simply their beauty. Both were exceptionally beautiful. There are a lot of pretty people around, but true beauty is a rarity, and yet now there were two standing hand in hand, looking quite lost together. Which was the second reason they stood out. There was a certain sadness about these two beautiful people together. They stood close held together, because of their uncommonness they seemed afraid of wandering too far. Truly beautiful people can only end up together. Everyone else struck in their will both admire them and will be pushed away. It feels like a reminder of their own inadequacy and imperfection. It is the unachievable. The light that shines too brightly that is painful to see. And if two truly beautiful people found each other they best not let go, as no-one else again will meet their standards. And that was how they stood, alone together, scared and lost.

Dora watched them pass and breathed out. She unclenched her fists. Her cup was empty and she got up. As she passed by a window she glanced at her reflection. She was well aware of her mediocre face. Her eyes were fairly deep that she seemed tired very often. People would never stare at her both in awe and fear. She felt grateful for that at least. In the right sort of light she could be pretty, but no more than that. She smiled at herself, and slowly felt the sadness that had built up subconsciously wash away.

** Title is borrowed from the song "Almost Happy" by K's choice.

The road not taken

(my last post about paths or futures in a while, promise ;))

Sometimes I am struck by a sense of nostalgia when looking back at choices made. I wonder about “what if”. These fantasies are not painful. I do not regret.

Well, that is a lie. I do regret. Saying that I don’t wish I had been more sensitive or less sensitive at occasions, that I had done certain things differently, that I had made different choices every now and then would be speaking falsehood. So, let me rephrase that and re-explain the previous statement.

Every now and then in life you have the feeling to stand at a crossroad. With several different defining choices. You have no idea where these choices will lead you. Personally, I feel that at this moment I’m nearing one of those crossroads, where you have to make choices. And like I usually do while progressing forward, I am looking back. In my life I have made choices which I cannot return to. I cannot re-choose my highschool and how that environment there has shaped me. I have already walked one road and with that experience it has changed the second road too. However, I do wonder, what if I’d gone to a different educational environment, met different people, found myself inspired by other persons. How different would I be? I remember that in the Harry Potter series once remarked that our abilities are not what defines us, but our choices. I see some truth in that. Yet the unknown of the road not taken raises questions. You can never test yourself. You can never know which would have been a better option. There is no chance of rehearsal. This idea is beautifully expressed by Milan Kundera.

I hope sometimes that my path does not define me, I just don’t really have a second chance to walk a different one. So in the end, I better enjoy the one I walk, and when looking back I can only look with nostalgia, but it is smarter not to regret. I get to make my choices, I get to choose a path and that’s a gift. The forest is dense, I can’t see what is ahead, but I’ll try and enjoy the scenery as much as I can, and not reminiscence too much over lost paths.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference

The eye of the beholder

“Gelukkige mensen zijn mooi, zelfs als ze anders lelijk zijn.”

Dat werd mij gisteren opgemerkt toen ik vertelde dat ik graag keek naar de gezichten van mensen die net gefeliciteerd werden in een restaurant. Dit keer een man omringt door familie die een taart met kaarsjes aangeboden kreeg.

Men heeft gelijk, ik liep in de zon langs mijn flat en keek naar boven en werd getroffen door het mooiste dat ik vandaag kon zien. Mevrouw Nijhof, onze flatoma zat in de zon. Een klein en tenger oud vrouwtje wiens rimpels op haar gezicht niet te tellen zijn. Als ik haar op de trap tegen kom spreekt ze me steevast aan met goudhaartje. Ze zat in de zon op haar balkon, ogen gesloten en content. Haar vingers gevouwen op haar schoot en een kleine glimlach op het gezicht. En voor mij op dat moment was ze de mooiste vrouw waar ik naar kon kijken.

But then again, I also just like small talk.

I remember very clearly that my mother once educated me on this. She said to me it was a skill to do small talk. It’s a skill to keep conversations running and show interest. Back then I didn’t think much of it, but nowadays I feel she’s right. This applies especially in public transport, where a lot of people are confined to a small space for a short amount of time. Then, I can find myself itching for conversation. However, the convention is silence. I often wonder why. Why are people so terrified to talk to each other? Partially I assume it’s the Dutch culture. We are known to have a slight reservation and to mind our own business (Actually, I am writing this in public and really would not appreciate being interrupted now, which is not going to happen as look focused and busy), but I also think it’s fear of social rejection.
I have a habit of occasionally striking up conversation, and when I do I am often met with pleasant surprise, and enthusiasm. You just have to get over the initial awkward phase, this is the tricky bit. I bet everyone has had this conversation a thousand times:

“hi”
“hi.”
“how are you?”
“I’m fine, you?”
“also.”
“….”
“so…. Ehm, nice weather huh?”
“yes, it is…”
“…”

Awkward, such things are simply awkward. This is a conversation I find very unpleasant to have, and I suppose the lack of having something to talk about will make each party feel boring and in a way socially rejected. I found that by just jumping into conversation you can very easily tackle it. Small talk, yes! Yesterday I found myself talking about religion, Janis Joplin and reality images with someone I never had met before in this very bus line I am driving in now. The subjects really don’t matter, as long as you can keep seeming genuinely interested in the other person (People like being listened to, or being found interesting). I tend to keep the questions personal too, even when talking for about the weather. “what do ‘you’ think about the weather.” Add a friendly smile, and the occasional search for eye-contact and you have a very effective mix. (I suppose, being genuinely interested and a new people junkie helps too). It works in networking, work education, and generally makes my trips a lot more enjoyable.

So yes, mom, small talk = awesome!

Music for the Road

“Music for the road.” By now a separate playlist in my music player. It consists of Eddie Vedder, Tom Waits, Nick Cave and Tom McRae. These voices take me away through long journeys.

I find I like the travelling. Both the solitude and time for pondering that is given by trains, but lately also being packed in cars where you share the journey. For a while we’re confined to the same space, we have the same destination to go Gods-Knows-Where to dance; to enjoy moving together with other human beings. We travel in silence. We talk. We laugh. We sing. We sleep. I don’t know with how many people I’ve shared this experience now. Sometimes we were nearly strangers, sometimes acquaintances, sometimes close friends, sometimes lovers. Whatever we are, we travel together and for a while we deal with each other, and accept each other for just as we are. We have the same destination; The same future.

Sometimes while travelling I literally feel I am leaving things behind. When crossing distance emotional distance is created. I can clear and sophisticate my thoughts. The passage of distance equals the passage of time and equals the passage of thought. If no distance is travelled, no emotional distance is made.

(Any recommendation is welcome)

Call me Liquid

I will flow and eb
Like the tides of the sea
Come forth and beckon
And come swim in me

I am soft and gentle
Like drops against your skin
I’ll touch and caress you
And you can take me in

I can shape and carve
Will move rocks and land
And you cannot force me
When taken in your hand

I can be cold and harsh
I can feel like ice
And then it’s my surroundings
That will pay the price.

Intangible like vapour
My head so far away
Trust me and release me
I’ll come back one day

I will dance and change
Like a river on the run
The same but always different
And my journey’s just begun

I will flow and eb
Like the tides of the sea
Come forth and beckon
And come swim with me

Vertigo

Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves. -Milan Kundera

Milan Kundera remarked once that vertigo was not necessarily the fear of falling, but the fear for the desire to fall. This is how I experience this new year. With a certain sense of vertigo. I have once remarked that one shouldn’t despair at change and the temporary nature of things, for these features are simply inevitable when living, and that one should use these as an excuse to breathe and take the full advantage of what Is going at this very moment. Though they also say that the hardest kind of living is from day to day. I have actively attempted to make myself smaller and to stretch myself over as little time as possible. I’d like not to wonder too much about past or future. (Though this New Years I allowed myself to wander in a sense of nostalgia for an hour or so, which did worry some of my companions.) No, I actively try to keep my feet on the earth and not let dreams take over too much. It seems to me an art to face things as open and accepting as possible; to let myself fall into it, so to speak.

This year however, the change is going to be big. Now it feels like I am heading towards a point where I am finishing my masters. I am done studying and my path is less set than it has been for years. I could continue trying to get a phd, I could start working, I could travel, do both, focus more on art, dance classes. I haven’t decided yet and I feel that I am not too keen on setting that future yet. I’ve also found I started unbinding myself, no university, no set job, no relationship, I do not live with my parents, I have at most a months notice for my room., no family. I am, in a sense, free. An opportunity is created, a hole filled with possibilities, and as much as I don’t like to look forward too much (for I am thoroughly enjoying my life at this moment) I can feel it getting closer. I can feel a sense of vertigo, a sense of fear. It feels like running towards something blindfolded. I know my path, I like running, but I don’t know where I am going, but I trust it to be all right. And there is an active desire for that blindfolded running, for the falling into the unknown. And that is maybe what frightens me most: the impulsivity, the need for thrill, change or lack of security. But I’ll let it come, I’ll close my eyes, and enjoy the now and be ready for what is coming, whatever is.

As I write these final words I’m listening to metamorphosis by Phillip Glass and fondly remember the words my teacher told me: “der Weg is das Ziel”. When he told me this at first I had no idea why he told me so, but slowly I find that truer words have rarely been spoken to me. Happy New Years.