Alle tijd is kostbaar

De regen tikt op de ruit, terwijl ik knus en gezellig binnen zit. Warm. Huiselijk. Tussen mij en het glas zit een wereld van verschil. Ik zie de mensen voorbij wandelen. Sommigen gehaast om de regen te ontwijken en hun kapsel niet in de war te brengen. Anderen kan het niets schelen, een attitude die ik wel kan hebben. Een bliksemschicht voert mij naar een andere realiteit. Twee verdiepingen hoger zit een oud vrouwtje op dezelfde plek als ik naar buiten te kijken. Ze ziet dezelfde mensen ook. Zijzelf  is niet gehaast, ze heeft tijd, iets waar ik soms zo ademloos naar snak. En toch, ik benijd haar niet. Ik bedenk dan dat ik nog uren, dagen, ja-ren tijd heb. De mevrouw van het derde waarschijnlijk niet.

Soms troost ik mij aan de gedachte dat zij nu ook ziet wat ik zie. De mensen op straat, de regendruppels, het haasten, het leven van anderen. Ik stel me voor dat zij dan een nipje van haar theetje neemt. Dat ze het ook warm heeft, en knus en gezellig in een zeteltje voor haar venster zit. Dat ze wijselijk glimlacht om de onwetendheid en naïviteit van ieder die jonger is dan zijzelf. Dat ze zucht, niet van opluchting of vermoeidheid of ergernis, maar van geluk. Zij heeft het allemaal gezien, gedaan, beleef, geleefd. In mijn verbeelding knipoog ik naar haar. Alsof we een soort van geheime verbintenis hebben. Zij weet het.

We nippen gelijktijding aan onze tas thee. Nu, nu delen we tijd.

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#109 on the Bucket List AKA Start a Blog

I’m guessing it’s not on everyone’s bucket list: start a blog. I started my first ever blog  when I was in Hungary for 6 weeks. It was written in Dutch and it was a way to keep in touch with my family for what, at the time (I was 16 then) seemed a very long time in a very far away country. My second blog was the one I had during my exchange year in Australia. It was also written in Dutch because again, it served mostly in updating my family and friends on what was going on in my life ‘Down Under’. Now, I look back on it as a sort of diary of all the things I did. However, by the end of the year I had been immersed so much into the English language that my Dutch blog posts were a minefield of English expressions and words. Most of the time, I felt like there was just no Dutch equivalent that had the right connotation, and writing in English somehow just started to ‘feel right’.

When I finally started this blog as a way to write about my Erasmus in Sweden, its purpose was the same. However, with the permission of my Grandma, who doesn’t know any English, I decided to switch to English entirely. My aunt said she’d translate and apparently, they had come to this sort of Sunday ritual, where my aunt would read my blog to my Grandma. You could say they’re my biggest fans, I guess :-)

I really enjoyed blogging about what was going on in that strange country called Sweden and I exhilarated in coming up with new categories to post on other topic as well. My category Dear Somebody is the one that I am most proud of, because it was not about me, but about showing someone I cared about how much they meant to me. So when I came back to Belgium, I had no idea whether I was still allowed to have a blog because I felt I didn’t have anything interesting to contribute to this world wide web. However, when I came back from my trip to Indonesia, I felt the need to share again. Just like itchy feet syndrome, I believe there is the itch to writing; I simply have to pick up a pen or a laptop and write. Slowly but surely then, this blog has grown into a platform where I can totally be ‘just me’. Whatever strikes my interest, whatever poem I have written, whatever quote moves me, whatever music I enjoy, I can share it. I’m not sure if everyone appreciates me spamming their Facebook feed full of my blog posts, but I guess it’s not worse than people posting daily pictures of their dogs or kids: I, like them, share what I am passionate about.

After almost two years of owning this blog, I think I can safely say that this has become my favourite hobby. I intend to keep up my writing, without making any promises on when, how often, why; I like to be a free writing bird. I hope my blog will be a mirror to my own evolutions and changes, my own path. I hope it will go the places I will go. And I hope you’ll join me along the way.

Love,

Silke

Vintage-typewriter_
It is my dream to one day own a typewriter like this.

 

I saw the sun set

Over the rooftops

Of the houses turned into homes

Where cries were comforted

Until they became smiles

Cheeks hurting laughing

For better for worse

 

I saw the sun set

Between the branches that lead

To the stem of a tree

Rooted in the ground

That you walk on

And I worship

 

I saw the sun set

Over the city and change colours

Like I do so often my mind

And as the light crept into the night

Something became suddenly clear

 

And right there and then

Head over heels

I fell

 

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