“Beautiful Freak”

It’s amazing what stays with a person 10 years down the line from a relationship. One thing I can say for sure, no matter whether the relationship ended well or badly, I can always remember the music that seemed to be the theme of that time. For that reason, I’m using the titles of songs that represent either the man I was with, or the relationship itself. No names, and most likely no photos – their privacy to some degree, I respect.

“Beautiful Freak” is a song by Eels, a band introduced to me by this man, we’ll call him: Dan. I met Dan in a pub, in a little town in Kent. My mother lived in that town, and I used to visit her from Belgium every few months. Dan was 38, friendly, generous and down to earth. When my mother had a heart attack, it was Dan who volunteered to take me to the hospital to see her, and was a great support during that time.
While my mother recuperated, we spent more and more time together. One day, he even gave me two EELS tickets he had, he couldn’t go to the gig due to severe back issues, so he simply gave me the tickets, no strings attached. Since this was his all time favourite band, I knew what a big deal it was to just give away his tickets. It was the small things like this that made me slowly start falling for him. His simple acts of selflessness were very attractive to me.
When my mother moved back to Belgium, I decided to stay in England. By this time, Dan and I were an item, and he asked me if I wanted to live with him in his apartment. Since I didn’t have a job at this time or a place to live, and I was in love, I agreed.
His place was interesting to say the least. A bachelor pad… of sorts. Walls half painted, 2 TV’s, carpets half fitted. I took it upon myself to inspire some order. I painted the walls of the rooms that needed it, and Dan finally put down the carpets, he bought furniture, a hi-fi system, and another TV. I didn’t expect any of the extra things, but he seemed happy to do it, and I didn’t complain. Life with Dan was very calm. He had his rhythm, and he had settled into it. I seemed to fit into it very well because at first I didn’t need more. Naively at the time, I thought I would be happy in this lifestyle. I had a part-time job at the pub where we met and through the job I made more friends. However it was obvious that the friends I was making were all of Dan’s age or older, and I started, slowly to feel like I wasn’t at peace. Ignoring my instincts, I let the relationship progress to the point where we even adopted a little rescue dog, Charlie.

 Of course Charlie actually only added stress. She was untrained and a very active dog. A Staffordshire crossed with Jack Russell, severely traumatised and on to her third owners. We didn’t quite know what we got ourselves into, but we loved her, and did our best. Looking back, I think the reason she was stressful to me was that in the pit of my stomach I knew I was not going to be with her till the end of her life, because by this point I already knew I was not going to be with dan for a long time. The difference in our ages was starting to show. At some point age is not just a number. I was 19/20, tired of the same routine every day, tired of the little town in Kent, anxious to meet people of my own age and disposition, I wanted to travel, learn, grow, and experience. Dan wanted to keep his docile, calm life of routine. A night out for him was going into the slightly bigger town (by taxi since he didn’t drive) and spending an exorbitant amount on a meal at a michelin starred restaurant, or getting drunk at the local pub. At first I enjoyed it too, but after a while, being around mostly 40, 50, 60 year old men at the same pub I worked in didn’t seem like a fun time to me.

The beginning of the end came when I started a new job. At first the job was based in Kent alone, but soon I was transferred to a London team. While working in London, I met so many new people and started coming home later and later due to after work drinks and parties and general hanging out with new fun friends in a city that became my favourite place on earth to be. It was then that I met my future fiancee, Mike (another fake name).
He and I were instantly attracted to one another. We spent hours after work, almost every night, just talking about everything we found interesting, our lives and what we wanted in the future. Our chemistry was undeniable. Every time i finally got on a train back to Kent, I felt guilty, even though all we were doing was talking, I knew I couldn’t keep up the charade of being content. One night I went home, and told Dan straight that I wanted to move to London and break up. It wasn’t that we hadn’t been fighting more, and things had been more tense simply because Dan had started to notice i didn’t want to be at home with him as much as previously. In an attempt to get me to stay he said “I’ll marry you if you stay with me.” That line was more of a nail in the coffin than a tempting offer. The thought of being stuck in that relationship made me want to get out sooner. I think it was very hard for Dan to realise that i wasn’t 38, I was 20 years younger, still in need of a lot of growth and maturing. I didn’t know who i was or what I wanted. I was restless, not in need of calm any more. In any case it didn’t matter to me, I was in love with another man.

That night, I gathered as much of my stuff as a couple bags would carry, leaving books CD’s, shoes, clothes and the rest. Amazing what a person can leave behind when something that seems so promising is ahead of you.

What has stayed with me all these years is that Dan really made an effort to make me happy. Although he didn’t understand that things could never fill a gap in a persons life, he did his best to keep me content. He loved me truly and deeply. And I know I hurt him by leaving. From one day to the next his life changed. I think back wondering if there was a better way to break off the relationship but i don’t think there is ever a good or clean way.  It’s a very difficult thing to hurt someone you care for. I had to make myself hard, insensitive, and resolute. I ignored phone calls, lied about where I was and who I was with to try and save his feelings, but in the end, I know i hurt him. For the next couple months he fought for me as much as was possible, but in the end he let me go. We aren’t really in contact any more and I have no idea if he moved on, met someone else, or stayed single. I have never felt comfortable asking.

What I do know is, for the right woman, Dan is a man worth having. He is loyal to a tee, hard working, sensitive, generous and caring. For what it’s worth, I did learn a lot about myself, life, and what I wanted by being with him. In addition to that, he started for me a life long love of the EELS and for that, for the music, I am eternally grateful. Not one time have I listened to their music without thinking of Dan in a positive way.

C O M I N G S O O N

Ten years of love, heart break, crushes, and all the rest..
Watch this space!

We have it easy…

 Leaving Belgium for 12 days of vacation near Albufeira on the Algarve in Southern Portugal, I couldn’t wait to finally have time off from work to relax and enjoy a well-earned break. I consider my job a stressful one from the constant customer interacton, the need to be at all times on my best behaviour in order to keep patrons happy and to ensure they return to the establishment based on its excellent service, atmosphere, professionalism and the “good time” that we offer.
Although I knew that Albufeira itself is a huge draw for European, mainly British tourists, I was shocked to see what horeca (hotel, restaurant, and cafe) personnel here have to deal with on a daily and nightly basis. If there is something such as “tourist guilt”, guilt at being served, and possibly seen under the same umbrella as “those people”, i feel it. Sometimes I feel the need to take the waiter aside just to make sure they know, I’m not like that!
On a few occasions already my boyfriend has heard me say, “Respect, I don’t know if i could do this!”,  which is saying something, after working in Leuven, especially Leuven’s Oude Markt,

Blauwe Kater at closing time

I was under the misapprehension that we are some of the hardest working horeca, especially bar staff in the world. I still think this to a degree, when it comes to professionalism and our ability to do so much work, so well, with so few, and at an expected high standard.
Here they inevitably have a lot more staff for a lot fewer people, but there is no comparing the the clientel. Often extremely inconsiderate, shockingly so, rude, turning a Portuguese bar, into a British Sports pub, shouting drunk, up and down the street in the middle of the day, caring more about the football game on in the background, drinking Strongbow and turning as lobster red as possible by the sun, I turn the same shade in shame at sharing the same native tongue.

I personally do not understand what the attraction is in going on vacation to Portugal only to order pie and mash at an Irish Pub. The Portuguese seem to have lost this seaside town to the British. Most of the nighttime bar staff are in fact native English speakers, with “help wanted” signs hanging up. During the day, the staff are mainly Portuguese. They stay polite and friendly, but aloof. There is a very distinct feeling, that you are only welcome because the job is needed, and the economy too is in need of your patronage.
From what I’ve witnessed in the last five days here though, my respect has grown immensely for the local horeca workers. Working in this sector here seems like a hellish mix of street fundraising and hard bar work, ie. doing everything, while staying polite to get as many customers to choose their bar/restaurant, and then remaining friendly, knowledgable, (about the country, region, language, menu and so on..) and professional in the face of young, old, loud, drunk, sweaty, disrespectful tourists who seem to believe that since they’re out of their own country, it is perfectly reasonable to act as if they were raised by privileged whilst spoilt sloths.
Here’s a shout out to all the people working this tourist season down here, respect, good luck, and thank you for your hard work and constant smile!

Am I a 1st generation Immigrant?

As i was drifting off to sleep a couple nights ago, a thought came to mind that I could be seen as a first generation immigrant; but back to Europe instead of away from it. What lead me to think of this was that I was thinking about my parents, how they made a very difficult decision to move away permanently from their home in South Africa, to move to Belgium. Even though we had no connection to Belgium in any way, the promise of a better future clinched the decision. My parents however have had nothing but hard times since that choice was made, both in their personal relationships and their work lives.
At first I thought maybe it was just bad luck, but then i got to thinking about immigrants 100 or 200 years ago, the first generation is the one that paves the way for the rest. They are the ones taking the leap, and accepting that they will have to do whatever it takes to survive. Their children and children’s children grow up in the new society thus making it naturally easier for them to adapt.

I find it an interesting idea though, that we are returning to Europe. I don’t feel like we were kicked out of South Africa, or that we as white south africans do not belong there. South Africa is the place my grand parents, my parents and I were born, it is my home, but it did not offer a safe or secure future. Persecution in one form or another was an every day occurrence. Aren’t these the basic reasons to immigrate? When the country of your birth no longer provides any stability or feeling of opportunity?

Sometimes I really have to take a step back and truly give my parent’s a moment of my time to truly understand what they did for my future. They gave up the best part of their lives, to become immigrants, starting at the bottom of the food chain, in a completely foreign country. They deal with the consequences of what that decision meant every day, and will probably always have a hard life due to it. The next generations of our immigrant family will have a lot to be grateful for.

LOSE YOURSELF… to find out who you are.

IF you want to know the difference between life in London and life in Leuven, the difference is me. There would be no point in stating the obvious differences between a huge, diverse, cosmopolitan city, filled with British people of origins other than Britain, or the absolute wealth of art, history, business and fashion, compared to Leuven’s “big town, small city vibe” where there might be many different nationalities yes, but all seeming to be here temporarily, If you live here long enough, you run into the same people every day.  People come and go here, and every year the cycle is the same, students in, students out. One thing they do seem to have in common is the pride people born and bred in London and Leuven both have.

Either way, both are places I have now lived in for 5 years, making up the past 10 years of my life, and what I have realised is that it is not so much how different the cities are, but how different I am now, in Leuven, compared to when I lived in London. It takes a shift of perspective to be able to settle down in a place that is so different to the one you lived in before.

There is the realisation that one person has the opportunity in their lives to change paths as many times as they need to, in order to find the one that brings contentment, and even then, that course may change again and again in one lifetime. However long that feeling might last, for me, is not important, but living and experiencing new places and finding my way in those places fulfils me.

“Happiness only real when shared”, possibly the most haunting, and remembered quote from “Into The Wild” is how I feel no matter where I have lived. New places have brought out the best and the worst in me. Living in London made me see that I could do whatever I wanted, in the sense that, to survive, I did what it took. The irony is that, living that life for too long, during a horrible recession, meant I finally moved back to Belgium.

Living in a city that was so big, with so much on offer, after spending my teen years in rural Belgium was a dream come true.

Cold Steel, the piercing shop where I had my cheeks pierced while in London

To finally have the freedom to just be young in a vibrant city, and not just to be visiting, but to live, and breathe, and soak up history, culture, smells, the rushing to and fro, finally using local slang, or realising that you know the tube so well that you also know the shortcuts to walk, instead of taking two tubes to get to the same place. London pulls you in and accepts you.

Working girl in the city. Piercings and all.

It is so full of foreigners that it doesn’t take much before you are no longer a foreigner but forever a Londoner.

It was also the first time I felt a tiny bit at home. Being South African, much of our culture comes directly from British culture, and for the first time in almost 10 years, I could speak English without feeling guilty about it, order a breakfast and know there would be bacon, eggs, baked beans, hash browns, sausages, mushrooms, toast, tomato and brown sauce, rather than croissants, jam, ham and cheese. These small things helped me settle into loving London pretty fast.

I knew living there would be expensive and I knew studying there would be out of the question due to my South African nationality making the price almost double what the average British students had to pay, even so I applied to University College London and University of Kent just in case my situation changed, Although accepted into both, I deferred entry for a couple years before realising ₤12,000 (quid) a year was still never going to be a viable option. So, finding a job was the main priority. After almost beginning basic training in the Royal Air force in order to specialise in air traffic control (South African laws blocked my entry in the end), I applied for a job working in the non-profit sector.

Charity fundraising, street fundraising, or chugging, as it is colloquially known meant I was able to work for charities and organisations like The British Red Cross, Amnesty International, Unicef, and Concern Worldwide which opened my eyes to so many issues. Issues we all know exist, but don’t have the “time” to think about. Thinking about people miles away from me was my life. No matter who I spoke to, I had to make sure it was known how important thinking about the macro issues of the world were. Charity fundraising in London is not an easy job to keep. For many reasons; working every day, whether sun, snow, wind, rain, you are outside, doing whatever it takes to make one other person hear you. You are also fighting against people’s preconceived ideas that you are only there to sell them something, to take something from them. For those of us who really cared about our jobs and the issues we were representing, it could be one of the most heart wrenching tasks ever. Imagine starting every day of work in the winter, knowing you will be freezing cold, knowing you will be told at least twice to either fuck off, or get a real job, and definitely being accused of stealing from the people that the charity is actually raising money to help, simply because we were being paid.

Learn, live, love

I only realised later, after 4 years of this that I took a lot with me.  I learnt to be opinionated, aware, have a thick skin, I learnt how important it is to know everything about the issues and organisations I worked for. Most important of all I learnt exactly what I would never want to be; apathetic. Apathy is the biggest killer in this world.

London was my growing up experience, it is the city that showed me that I could survive anywhere, no matter what. It is the city that changed many wrong, wasted views I had held since childhood. How I felt about marriage, homosexuality, fashion, being independent, finding my first true love, drugs, partying, and finally, how and when to admit defeat. I was the most unhealthy I had ever been physically and emotionally in my life. At one point I became aware I was not loving the vibrant city, but resenting it.

London love. 2009

While I lived in London I was engaged for almost two years to a fellow fundraiser and Londoner. At the time, I was in my very early 20’s, and I was so sure that this would be the love of my life, for the rest of my life. What I naively could not see is how much we change and grow in our 20’s. Every year seems to triple your knowledge and experience of the world, and at one point, we both realised that marriage was not what we needed.

After almost 5 years, and living in one of the most expensive cities in the world, smack bang in the middle of the recession of 2007/08, I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. I began to realise that it was time to start thinking of how to make something more of my life. More than a year later, I moved back to Belgium.

A decision originally meant to last only a few months, ended in my being accepted to Leuven University, and the end of my engagement, in order for us both to move forward in as positive a way as possible.

University library, Leuven

As a 23 year old, who had lived for 5 years as a working person in the centre of London, returning to my parent’s house in Belgium was just another thing to adapt to. It had been 5 years since I had studied anything except human rights issues, and all of a sudden I was in lecture halls at the Institute of Philosophy in Leuven. The complete change of pace took a while to get used to. Life moves a lot slower here. It is not known as an economic, artistic, or a metropolitan centre.  Most everything in Leuven revolves around students as it is home to the oldest and most distinguished university in Belgium. Slowly I see that changing as the city grows, but after coming from one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world, my first year back, I didn’t think I would be able to adapt.

Blauwe Kater Jazz ‘n Blues Cafe, Leuven

The reason I am still here, in a nutshell is, my job, and the people I have met through my work. The minute you find a place where you are accepted, no matter how different, the minute you make friends, it is possible to adapt to any place and or situation, and to see what you were once blind to. Leuven is an artistic city, it is charming, and its history is interesting. After living here the past 5 years I am already so changed from who I was while in London, I have finally matured into adulthood. Looking back, had I stayed longer in London I think I could have got away with ignoring the need to grow up. Although my job there was a serious one, the attitude was still one of, work hard, party harder. After coming back to Belgium, I had that attitude out of my system. And it is Leuven where I have met my second great love. When I began studying in Leuven, I had a three-year plan. Get your BA, and get out.

Love changes everything.

What some might find surprising and others completely obvious is that it is in this little city that I have made the most positive changes in my life, and where I have been made to feel the most appreciated. I’m sure this has to do, on one hand with my age, but also in that I am no longer just living a carefree life in a diverse city where anything can and will happen, but where, to a degree everything was a little less personal. My boss in London was just my boss. If I worked 6/7 or even 7/7 days, that made no difference. Reaching and exceeding targets was the name of the game, no matter how stressed, tired, over worked I was. In order to survive there, you do not stop working.

Snowy bars in Leuven.
Oude Markt.

Here in Leuven, I know my bosses, their wives and children. We look out for one another, and more, I am not simply a number, not just an employee. Through knowing these people, and their taking a chance on me when giving me a job, I have met so many others who have changed my life and made me seriously wonder how hard it might be to ever move away from Belgium again.

I have discovered here a side of myself that I had completely neglected while in London. There, everything is offered up to you, there is always a place to go and something to see, so it is easy to become lazy when it comes to challenging yourself to discover your own creative talents. Here I have forced myself to find my own interests again. My creative sides, whether writing this blog, slowly writing and performing music, or feeling comfortable in expressing myself through my tattoos, my opinions and my personality; these realisations have only come to me, through the calmer lifestyle I have been able to adapt to in this town.

There is no point comparing London to Leuven as so many have requested me to do. They are completely different places, and I am a different person. We all need to adapt, it is how human beings survive. If you cannot adapt in life, you will always be stuck in a bubble and it will slowly suck the joy of life experience out of every day.

Leuven 2014 – be interested in everything!

I would not be whom I am now if I had not lived, worked, loved and struggled in London, and I would not change a minute, but where I am now is not worse, it is better, and very different. Were I to ever go back, the London experience too, would be very different due to how much Leuven has changed me. The challenges, the love, the work, the life, forced me to face head on my own personal, inner conflicts.  What I can say is this, the friends I have made here, have made me feel like this is home. Does that mean I won’t move again? No, once a traveller, always a traveller. But as far as finding one place better than another that I will not do. Seek out what you love, seek out what challenges you, make friends and learn to understand the people who surround you, where they come from, what their history is, what they are proud of, and you will find your place. It is here that I have found a new dream, which I would like to make reality. Life is a surprise, what can I say!

There is no London versus Leuven, it is what you make of it, and always will be. Do not stay where you cannot find happiness to share, or where you stop growing. I have found out, during my 28 years that there are multiple paths. Choosing the “right” one is the hardest step we take in our lives, but don’t be discouraged if it feels wrong after a time. There are ways to make any decision positive, and there is always, and I repeat always a way to change and make new, educated decisions. As another great person once said, “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings.”

2005 London

2015 Leuven

A wise man once said “I don’t know, ask a girl.”

Marilyn Monroe

International Women’s Day was just over one week ago. Most of the women I know, knew about it, but didn’t really seem to care much. Given that I live in a western European country that is not too surprising, since women here, in general do not have to deal with ongoing sexism. In my line of work, pay inequality based on gender would be so outrages, it just, would not happen. I do however find it sad that if we look back even 100 years ago, things were so different, that maybe the 8th of March should be taken more seriously given the fact that there is still so much gender inequality in so many sectors, religions, families and countries.
I would like to add a disclaimer right now however;
Please understand, I am aware of all forms of gender inequality, including those in the LGBT community, but I will only be focussing specifically on women. In addition to that, as this is a very serious issue in so many parts of the world still, my blog piece is going to focus more in passed issues than present ones. After a little reminder of the sexism we have come from, and how far, we as people have progressed, I feel that focussing entirely on the negative will arrive us at a moot state rather than anything else.

Therefore this article will focus on random comical, ridiculous, and now, shocking advertisements featuring women. Everything from cigarette adverts, fashions, weight issues, women’s suffrage and so on.
My hope is that by the end of this article, March 8th 2016 will be a date that stands out to you rather than a date that is taken for granted.

The very first International Women’s Day was held as early as 1909, which actually surprised me. I had assumed it was something that only began after World War One, since that is when women seemed to finally get the point across that they were able to do more than what was previously thought. It was organised, in New York by the Socialist Party of America in memory of the International Ladies’ Garment Union strike that was held in 1908. For many years after that however, International Women’s Day became a lot like Mother’s Day, where women were appreciated, but let’s be honest, in a condescending, rather than a truly appreciative way.

This advert for Lucky Strike cigarettes is aimed at women. The text in the advert saying, to take all things in moderation, even smoking, but to be careful, because unless you want your figure to be that of the dark grey shadow, reaching for a “Lucky” will keep you from that disaster. The minute I saw this advert, my mouth dropped open. Not only because obviously we all know the health risks of smoking, but to advertise it in a way to keep oneself slim is simply ludicrous (now).

“NOW a Woman CAN Sharpen a Pencil”

This one really had me seething. Obviously, before a mechanism was invented to help with sharpening pencils, women were completely incapable of doing so. No doubt, men kept up whittling down their pencils to prove their manliness. I think not. It is the suggestion, that had a pencil sharpener not been invented, women would have always had to rely on a man to do this. Of course, at the time, this advert was directed towards our fine gender because the general female workforce was made up of administrators, nurses and teachers: pencils being a very useful utensil, at home and at work.

“Show her it’s a man’s world” and “Women don’t leave the Kitchen”
Now, for me it makes absolutely no difference that the first advert is actually for men’s ties, and the second is for a restaurant. No matter which way you look at it the first shows a woman, on her knees serving her husband breakfast in bed, like the champ he is, because he is wearing a Van Heusen tie, and the second states that if you’re unluckily not married yet, then you will not be fed. That is right, unmarried men,would starve without this type of restaurant, because only a woman can cook for you. (Aren’t the best chef’s in the world predominantly men? Something men love to boast now… ironic.) Women, do not leave their kitchens so how else will you eat a meal if unmarried, why of course, by going to Hardees restaurant! The sexism just screams out of these adverts.
What I wish is that I had the perspective of a woman who lived through the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s, to know how they felt about those adverts at the time, and how they feel about them now, looking back. I would love to know.

These two adverts must be my favourites however. Oh how times have changed and evolved. The first is not a sexual object. Or at least was not meant to be. It was designed to vibrate, yes, but for every part of the body suffering from aches and pains. Little did the creator realise, that not only with it’s phallic shape, and as we know the raging sexism of what sex was, this would soon, indeed, become one of women’s most favoured objects of relaxation and fulfilment, where no man could do the job.
 This second advert made me smile at the irony of how much has changed in respect to weight. Unfortunately the advert is still about pleasing men. “Men wouldn’t look at me when i was skinny” is the tagline. So, of course, this is a way to gain weight in order to look good enough to snag yourself a man. That part, I find sad, of course.
Though, what I find refreshing about the advert, is how we are now at the other end of the spectrum, where the only adverts these days are about how to lose weight and get skinnier as fast as possible.

“The Ideal Brain Tonic” With a woman on the cover. Coca Cola©

I feel we have come a very long way as women. For myself, I do want to look good for my boyfriend, but in fact, when it comes to fashion, beauty and brains, my biggest competition are other women. My inspiration comes from them. The saying goes now that “women dress for women” and it’s true. Sometimes out of competition, and sometimes out of admiration. As far as intelligence goes, I never feel that a man is more intelligent or capable than I am simply because he is a man, I am rational. If my talent lies in modern history, I do not pretend to be an expert in ancient philosophy, but this is not a sign of capability.
There is no doubt that we still, globally speaking live in a male dominated world, but that is changing every day. It is not only due to the work of women proving themselves but also due to numerous other types of inequalities that have had light shed on them. Racism, homophobia, religious prejudice, tattoo discrimination, disability discrimination and the list goes on. What is important to realise is that no one is capable of doing everything. Everyone has their vulnerabilities, but what we have in common is that we are all human beings, inhabiting this earth. If we all add what we can, instead of discriminating against others for pointless reasons such as gender (or any other such silly reason) we only hold ourselves back.

Oxfam Bookshop Leuven’s idea to celebrate International Women’s Day 2015.

My final say is what inspired this piece. A friend of mine shared this Facebook post (it’s in Flemish, sorry) with me, right before International Women’s Day this year. The Oxfam Bookshop in Leuven, had decided that their best way to commemorate the day, was to give out free manicures. The complete living up to the stereotype, especially by a Human Rights Organisation such as Oxfam shocked me so much, I felt I had to at least write something.

Why hate Valentine’s?

In Europe, Saint Valentine’s Keys are given to lovers “as a romantic symbol and an invitation to unlock the giver’s heart”
Photo taken in Lisbon, Portugal.

Why is it that even though there is so much hatred surrounding us every day, no one wants to celebrate a holiday centred around showing love?  I’ve heard it all, every reason why Valentine’s Day sucks. It’s a made up holiday, it’s just a money making scam, it reminds people who are single, that they don’t have a partner. Those in a relationship feel like they show their love every day, so why should Valentine’s Day be any different?
Have you ever considered that the reason you hate it is because most of us, no matter what else is going on in our lives, are constantly working on either being happy in a relationship, or finding the perfect one. So Valentine’s becomes some stressful reminder that we don’t have what we want. Maybe a change of perspective is needed. Ironic that a day dedicated to love is probably the most hated/dreaded day of the year.

Diestsestraat, Leuven 2014

Would it help to know that Valentine’s isn’t purely about romantic love? Although the history is blurry, the most common tale is that it was the platonic love of one of the Saint Valentine’s that is recognised as the start of what we know as Valentine’s Day. Valentine wrote a note to the daughter of his jailor the night before he was to be executed, and signed it “Your Valentine”. His relationship was one of friendship, not courtly or romantic love. So, we can see the note as a symbol of love that one wants to keep alive even after they’re dead. What I take from that is, you may not have a last opportunity to show the people around you that you love and appreciate them. So, take the opportunity when you can.  You can tell me that you love someone every day, so Valentine’s Day is simply a commercial holiday, but how many times have you heard stories where people lose a loved one and they wished they had said “i love you” one last time, or had made a little more effort for the person before they died? Valentine’s Day just gives everyone an opportunity on a specific day of the year to make sure they show their love.

I find that most people now try to find any and every excuse to prove why Valentine’s is fake. Thing is, you can do that for almost any holiday that has its roots in religion. Is it simply that because we get a day off on Christmas that it’s seen as “acceptable” to celebrate (sorry, I’m just using Christian holidays and references here since I’m not educated enough on all other major religious holidays). Valentine’s Day was only scratched from the list of “official” Roman Catholic holidays in the 60’s. I would imagine since the downgrading of its importance, it has received an increase in reasons to ignore it completely. What I could never understand is why so many people put so much effort into hating something that is about love? Wouldn’t it be such a happy day if everyone in your life was in high spirits because they had been reminded by friends, family and loved ones what they mean to each other? Valentine’s Day has the potential to be that, people just need to stop making it into either a competition or a day to hate, just on principal.

Here is where I stand:
There is absolutely no reason to dislike Valentine’s Day if you are not a hateful human being. It is absolutely possible to appreciate and celebrate this holiday without buying into the commercial hype. Just because you do something extra on Valentine’s Day doesn’t mean you love less on other days, it is simply a 24 hour period where every person in your life who you love and or care for is reminded of it. Your friends, your family, your loved ones, they are all included in Valentine’s Day. I think if people could stop seeing it in a narrow minded view that it is simply about commerce, romantic love, boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives, husbands and husbands, wives and wives, and started seeing it as a general day for showing love, and sharing in the peace that is borne from loving relationships, then the general negativity surrounding this day would lessen exponentially.

Turn on the news, and now tell me you wouldn’t rather show someone love and embrace a day dedicated to love, with all the hate surrounding us?

Valentines Day 2014

Vinyl vs CD?

Look, all I’m saying is, if you tell me that you’d honestly prefer to have a CD collection over a record collection, then I can honestly tell you, that we will probably never see eye to eye on the important things in life.

When you really look at the pro’s and con’s of records over CD’s, there really aren’t so many reasons that CD’s should stay more popular than records in this day and age. What I would hope to happen in the coming years is for the demise of CD’s entirely as a form of musical distribution purposes. If artists would always distribute on record, including the free MP3 download of their songs with the purchase, then their fans do get the digital version of the album as well. Many people don’t even own CD players anymore because they listen to everything via USB. My dad’s new company car didn’t even come with the choice of a CD player, again, only a USB option. This reaffirms my position that we should lose that format of distribution completely, and the sooner the better.

A very simplistic way of explaining the differences between digital and analogue recordings is this: Digital (CD’s MP3 etc) recordings are samples of sound waves, therefore, the quality of a digital recording completely depends on the quality of the sampling rate. Analogue (vinyl, tape etc) don’t use samples. It is an “analogue” (think of the word, analogy, analogise, analysis) of the original signal. Therefore it is not a sample, like you have with digital recording, it is the original electrical signal from the recording mic that is used to cut a record.

The question really becomes, what is wrong with CD’s? Were they not the great replacement, the move to the digital age of recording?  They are indeed more compact, they have a slightly longer running time, they’re cheaper to produce, and they sound fine. So overall there is nothing wrong with CD’s as a form of musical distribution, but there is also nothing special about them either.

Part of my collections

Vinyl on the other hand has become something special. It was a format that seemed to be almost extinct, then slowly but surely, it started coming back. We live now in a time where “retro” or “vintage” is cool, so thank goodness, that made vinyl cool again too. There are some disadvantages of course, or it would never have almost become obsolete. Vinyl asks more effort (in the recording process and in the listening), and as we see in everything these days, if you can do something with less effort, it is automatically seen by the general public as better. Sure, you have to turn the record over in the middle of the album, sure changing tracks can be tricky. Personally however, I find the act of taking a record from its cover, feeling the vinyl between my finger tips, placing it on the record player, and positioning the needle in the right spot so that when I hear that initial pop,  I am already in the zone. It’s like a ritual that prepares you for the enjoyment you’re about to experience. What tends to happen next is that I then scrutinise the album cover. This brings me to yet another plus point on the side of vinyl vs CD.

Album artwork used to be so much more important. The cover often sold the album or at the very least made you pick it out of the masses. Sure, that may not be so important anymore, but knowing that not only do you have a great piece of music in front of you, but also an original piece of art makes you appreciate all the work that went into the production of the album, including the work that went into the design of the cover and inlay. I feel like I get an even deeper understanding of what the musicians were trying to create. I honestly appreciate my vinyl more than I do my CD’s.  The music feels more real, and the experience more tangible.

 

First night I had my record player.

When I was younger, my father taught me all about the differences between bad, good and great quality recordings. When I was a little older, he taught me the basic differences between analogue and digital. I would imagine that this interest has definitely biased me toward vinyl over CD. You can hear the difference immediately. No matter how well a CD is recorded, it always sounds “thinner” than a vinyl recording. That makes sense since like so many things now, less time, effort, money and energy is put into the production of CD’s. They are not made to sound amazing, they’re made to sound fine. Music is a mass market, like any other. Songs are made to stick in your head long enough for you to buy them, but more likely, download them, and then to be mentally trashed in anticipation of the next shiny and new song. We are, for the most part, a throwaway society, therefore it is no surprise that the format predominantly used for distribution feels the same. It’s not made to last, it’s made to last long enough.

Dad’s basic drawings of analogue vs digital.

 

It is for these reasons that I take great pride in my growing vinyl collection. Although we will most likely never go back to a time of recording on to vinyl, at least the format remains. If it means paying an extra euro or two so that I never have to buy another CD, that is a euro or two I am willing to do without.

What is a real job?

First Christmas working at Blauwe Kater. 2011

I love being a bartender. No matter what though, I feel a constant pressure to prove that that is not ALL I am. I have had customers say to my face “you are too intelligent to be doing this for so long, I hope i don’t see you here again in a few months because you will be doing something more with your life”. I don’t think they realise that they are judging my life style and choices without really knowing a thing about me. But I do feel it is the general impression of anyone who decides to be a bartender as a career. My question is, is this social pressure, to go as far as you can, ie. make a career for yourself, make as much money as possible, and rise as far as you can, or is that all in my own head?

Bas and I. 2014

I have been a bartending at Blauwe Kater almost 4 years. I take my job very seriously and I try to constantly learn and improve.The job can be simplified into “bottle, glass, pour, serve”. Anyone can be a bartender, not everybody can be a great one. It is actually one of the most demanding and multi-faceted jobs that I have done.

Why is it then that when I tell people what I do their following question is “what are you studying?” as if being a bartender is not a worthy job to consider for the long term. The insinuation is that I am too intelligent , have “too much potential” to be content in this.

Thidrek, Bas, Me
2011

My colleague, Bas, has been bartending at Blauwe Kater for over 14 years. Most people are gobsmacked at that length of time, especially working in a place that he does not own. They usually assume the bar is his. If you have come in and see him at work, you immediately know he was born to be a bar tender. Every part of the job comes naturally to him. From the way he deals with all types of cliental to the expanse of knowledge he has on what he serves. It is the job and the life that suit him. It doesn’t mean he couldn’t have been a teacher, or a lawyer, or whatever more “career-like” job that is socially acceptable, it simply means he chose the life that befit him most. Does it mean he doesn’t want more? Does it means he has no other dreams? Of course not, it means that he has chosen a sector where moving forward with other dreams is made harder because it is not a high earning job or one with much possibility to move “up the ladder” so to speak. Owning his own bar is the dream, getting there is the challenge.  No matter how well you are paid, a bartender will never be a wealthy person. Therefore going from tender to owner is that much more of a challenge and in my opinion, that much more of an achievement when the dream is fulfilled.

Blauwe Kater

I have great respect for those who have made this their career because you cannot imagine the toll that working in a bar takes on your body and your mind. We are constantly changing our biorhythm, we are counsellors and friends to those without any. We deal with people at their worst and their best while all the time trying to maintain a friendly welcoming atmosphere for everyone and no matter what might be going on in our own personal lives (something i am still working on!) Our hours change constantly, as does the amount of money we make. This forces us to be adaptable not just on the job, but in our day to day lives outside of work.

What I feel is that the work place has changed so much in the last 20 years. It seems to have evolved at the same rate technology. This means that finishing high school and studying or training to be in a specific career or job for the rest of ones life, doesn’t exist anymore. Everybody has to be more adaptable. Very few can expect to do the same job for more than 5-10 years without either needing retraining, or simply finding a completely different path. In my opinion what this has done to us is force us to never be content in our situation. There is always a constant stress in the back of our heads that we need to make sure we’re on top of everything so as not to be left behind.
What is wrong with being left behind though? So many people striving forward are missing out on living their lives.

If you take a moment to realise each day that goes by, is one less we have to live, and that one day we all will die, isn’t that a good reason to slow down a little bit and make decisions that result in the enjoyment of our lives rather than the focus on a constant goal to be and have “more”?  For myself I have always been interested in so many different paths. I would never have said, 10 years ago, that i would be a professional bar tender 10 years later. But doing this job has only opened my eyes to more avenues that I would find extremely fulfilling. It is now a dream of mine to open a music themed bar. I am in no rush however. Life is as surprising as it is mundane and if there is anything i have learnt it is that you never know what is around the corner. So for now, I am going to carry on in my job. Because it makes me happy.

Colleagues! Blauwe Kater 2015

This one’s for my Mom

 

This one is about my mom, because most of my good traits come from her and I want her to know I see her.

My mom is a natural caregiver and nurturer. Growing up, I remember her being strict, she accepted no nonsense, but she was always kind and patient. If I cared about something, so did my mom. In everything I found interesting, so did my mom. She didn’t stop there though, she would also help me to understand the intricacies of what I was focussing on at that time.
This included; general knowledge, books, words, 60’s music, school projects, history, swimming, hockey, netball, athletics, tennis, ballet, violin, choir, make up, hairstyles, cooking, baking, drinking, smoking, piercings, tattoos, music, gigs, and the list goes on.
In each and every one of these things listed my mom has been an enormous part. In the end however, the most important thing that my mom has taught me is to “fuck what everybody else thinks, and be yourself girl!”
I have to admit, she is a lot better at doing this than I am, but I carry it with me everyday.

From what I gather my mom has always marched to her own beat. She was born prematurely with a congenital deafness meaning she grew up hearing about half of what everybody else did. This has been a constant struggle throughout her life. The line “speak to my good ear” is one I now use when I jokingly don’t hear someone.
Growing up and going to school in a South African Roman Catholic convent was only made harder with her hearing problems since for a long time she couldn’t prove that, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to do her work, she just hadn’t heard what to do. This not seeming like a good excuse meant she was often berated and punished for bad behaviour. Personally I think this is what lead my mom to be the constant rebel.
Being a teenager in the 60’s in South Africa meant growing up in Apartheid. What you may not know is Western countries left South Africa isolated during Apartheid, so things like commercial or popular music was either banned or not exported into the country. Somehow my mother still got her hands on every Beatles, Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin LP that she could. Instead of needlework, my mom learnt to play guitar, instead of ballet she swam and played field hockey. Later on, her pride and joy was a 70’s model Triumph Spitfire.

After high school mom studied nursing, and had a serious fling with a hot Portuguese guy but in the end single life seemed more fun. She spent her twenties working and travelling. I think she caught the travel and adventure bug from her parents. My grandfather had been a pilot and engineer, flying in the Second World War for the Allies (where he met my gandmother “Nana” in London) and later flying all over the world for several prominent airlines. My grandmother was brave enough to move from London to South Africa in the late 40’s (after being station in London and North Africa during the war).

For my mom though, if she was going to travel, it would never be to the United States, or Europe, not even the Far East or Australia. No, mom travelled back and forth throughout a few countries in the Middle East, mainly Israel and Jordan. She walked all around the Old and New City in Jerusalem, and made her home in a flat in the Muslim quarter. Another time, she worked on a kibbutz.

Mommy

When I think about doing these two things alone, I feel huge respect for her. I have moved country alone a few times, and I know how hard it can be to find your way, to settle in and feel at peace. I have always done this either within Europe, or at least in places where I know something or someone. My mom moved around in places that were completely foreign to her, and she got a taste of the freedom that travelling gives you.

I’m not sure if it was a need to plant roots, or just coincidence but in her late twenties/early thirties, she was back in a routine working in South Africa without plans to travel for a while when she met my Dad. A seminarian, wait, a Roman Catholic seminarian. You know what that means: the man can’t marry. Well my dad couldn’t have been too serious about the “no women” clause, (he was 23, what did he know!) because my mom soon snagged him out of there, and 10 months after meeting they were married.
If I think about it, I can’t quite believe my mom ever got married. But she did, and of course, as a product of that union, I’m happy she did! I can see now why my mom chose my dad. He is also not your average guy. His interests, work ethic, and moral standards are all above average, and to a degree he also marches to his own drum. Together as parents they’ve bestowed on me such a wide spectrum on influences and interests that I can never thank them enough.

Mom didn’t slow down much after she got married though. Two children and working full-time nightshifts as a maternity nurse, while fetching and carrying us both to multiple sporting and musical extra curricular activities she kept busy. On the side, she qualified as a national timekeeper for swimming events all over the country.
When the decision was made to immigrate to Belgium she didn’t know quite what was coming, but she strode forward positive that a change would be “as good as a holiday.” The change turned out to be a nightmare. Depressed bullied children, an overworked husband, and a completely new, foreign country and culture where even if she wanted to, she wasn’t allowed to work. Financial issues soon arose which forced her to make, in my opinion one of the hardest decisions of her life: to leave her children and move to the Middle East where you can work tax free.
Once again, she packed her bags and went passport in hand to the airport. I remember the first time I heard her voice after she landed in Abu Dhabi, UAE. I just cried down the phone. I couldn’t even speak. I was wearing one of her sweaters so I could keep her comforting smell close by. I was 13 years old. I can’t imagine how she must have felt. How guilty, and yet she wasn’t guilty of anything but love. For 5 more years mom worked in countries that would allow her to, finally finding a job near London, England.
Every time she was home for a while we spent every minute together.

On one of these occasions we took a roadtrip to Vilvoorde, walked in a tattoo shop, and walked out again – both branded for life. BON JOVI. Say what you will. It’s mine and my mom’s, and no one else can take it.

…and now look at me!

I could write on and on about the merits of my mother. Her life has calmed down to a degree. Her life can never be completely stress free while she takes an active interest in mine. All she wants is my happiness, my freedom and my love.
I feel like I could never repay her for everything she gave up to make sure I had clothes on my back (my dad of course has done nothing but the same – but this is about my mom). So I say thank you mom, thank you for being the best example of womanhood. You are a woman who never let anyone tell you how to think or how to behave. You have always been true to yourself, open minded, and caring. I have always been able to come to you about anything and I have always known you have supported me, even in our hardest moments. Thank you for being my Mom. No one could ever replace you.