Taking the award, ignoring the rules

It doesn’t happen everyday, getting an award. I remember that when I first started blogging, I so enjoyed those. They showed you you were doing a good job. These days I’m less focused on more readers, more views and more awards, but I still like to be awarded, of course.
Now I’m not the best one at taking them. Something I just thank you and don’t post about it – it’s nothing personal, I just kind of forget about it, and I believe I’ve awarded almost all of my blog friends six times already at least – so the need to pass on the awards is not so big anymore. Still, I appreciate each and every compliment you give me, because I’m an attention whore, truth be told.

When I have run out of inspiration and I see someone is giving me interesting questions to answer though, I can give in to the award-craziness, which will happen now. I would like to thank Osyth once more for nominating me this time! If you are interested in more Russia, certainly check out her blog. It’s what got me into hers, and it’s definitely worth a read.

Of course, I’m still a rebel, so I’m not playing this by the rules. I nominate every reader of mine, but no one specifically. You know I like you! I’m not making up any questions either. I know, I know, how dare I?
But what I will do, is answer Osyth’s very interesting ones. So here we go!

  1. Why should people read what you write?
    Because I like to have feedback and response actually. And because sometimes I write interesting stuff – but above all because I tend to write better if I know people are reading.
  2. Fruit or cake?
    A cake with fruit? I like both… (Does this remind anyone else of Cake or death?)
  3. What is success?
    Success is getting what you want, whether it’s a grade or buying a house. It’s being happy – after all, that’s what we all strive for in the end.
  4. Advice to your 14 year old self
    Other people don’t always care about what you do, so do what you want. Don’t be afraid to be a little different, to have your own opinion, your own taste in things. In the end it will only make you feel better if you embrace these odd things about yourself.
  5. Favourite place on earth
    There are many places I can feel good – but I do want to return to Prague very, very much, because I remember it as a very nice place. Though I can also thoroughly enjoy a good bar for example, or a bed.
  6. Pictures or words?
    I’m better at words, and words for me can often do a little more than pictures. I like good photography as well, but give me a good book and I’ll be gone for longer than just a few minutes. I can express myself way better by words than by pictures too.
  7. If you could spend an afternoon with anyone, alive or dead, who would it be?
    This is a very hard question. In my current situation, I would like to spend my afternoon with my friends who are abroad at the moment. Sometimes I really, really miss them, and it would be nice to go for a drink with them.
  8. First love
    I’m not sure if I’m supposed to name a person, but I’m not going to do that. My first love is dance. I started dancing before I could properly read or write. I adore reading and writing, but dancing is something so necessary, something that lives in me, something that will never fully leave my body.
  9. Town or country?
    Town. I like nature and calm, but in the end I always need to see people, to feel like I’m surrounded by them. It takes away loneliness, even when I don’t talk to them. Just to know they are around is enough sometimes.
  10. The greatest invention of the last 100 years
    Maybe the Internet, if that counts? For making it possible to write this to you. For making music and information so close. Of course it’s also a curse, but it has very good sides.
  11. What is content?
    Content as in satisfaction – that would be this moment for example: looking forward to a nice evening. Doing what you want to do. Feeling loved. Feeling like you did exactly what you wanted to do. Finding the perfect shoes. A nice cup of coffee. A good song.
    There seems to a lot to be happy about, maybe it’s just because I’m in a cheerful mood 🙂

 

This was written yesterday, while looking forward to spending the night with a friend at a bar. It was a great night indeed, which helps a whole lot to be cheerful and positive in general. Maybe I should add to ‘what is content’ that going for a midnight snack (french fries) at 2 am is very satisfying.

So, that is as far as I will take this award. Thank you, Osyth, for the interesting questions! And feel free to answer these questions yourself in the comments – I’m curious as to what you guys would respond.

Dear Diary…

There’s something strangely attracting me when I see paper and pens, and notebooks. When I was about 8, I wanted to be a writer, and since that moment, I liked writing. With writing I really mean the action of taking a pen and putting it on the paper, causing it to form symbols that mean something. Not only the action pleases me, but I also like the fact you put your thoughts on paper. And ever since my parents gave me my first diary, I’ve been doing that punctually.

We were on a holiday, a skiing holiday, when I was 8, perhaps 7. I was somewhere close to a closet, which my mother opened, and suddenly a notebook fell down. Of course, nosy as I was, I wanted to know what it was. Because this one wasn’t just a dull notebook, no way, it had the picture of a puppy on the cover and a lock. The fact that it had a lock made clear that it was serious bussiness, you know. This was secret stuff. And I liked having secrets.
It was a gift for me, from my parents who probably had no idea how far this hobby would go. Ever since that day I’ve been keeping a diary, and mostly I write at least once a week. In the beginning it was a matter of reporting what had happened, what was important that day for me. But as nothing important really happened, it turned out to be just a numeration of meaningless details. But hey, I liked it. Later on my diary became the place where I could whine about the people around me. Though I had quite some friends, I was a loner at heart, and a diary makes you less alone then. It was my partner in crime.
Years passed by and I began writing on how hard life was for me, how I didn’t fit in, ect etc. The regular teenage stuff to write. It wasn’t so important what happened during the day, what really mattered was how I felt. I wrote about that the entire time, though I wouldn’t recommend that. Don’t overthink feelings. No good.
Luckily I was never the ‘dear diary’ kind of person. I sometimes named it, but never maintained that kind of thing. It’s not a person, but just paper, which is even better. No overly girly stuff for me, with pink pages and stickers – as I grew up, I wanted regular paper with lines, and not a line saying ‘DATE’ at the top. You can’t force these things. If you try to write every day, you will fail and give up. You should write because you want it and the best way to give  yourself as much freedom and neutrality as needed is by not buying a real diary with ‘DATE’ and a lock. (The keys are all the same anyway, so it’s not even safe.)

Not my dairy, but someone else’s.

The good thing about diaries is that you will forget a lot, but you have written it down so it’s not completely lost. It’s also hilarious to read some parts again… I took myself very, very serious, and that’s pretty funny (and embarrassing). But above all it’s an outlet for what you think and feel. It’s really helped me to put an order to things, to understand things, to deal with everything. And by now, I start to miss that little notebook when it’s not around.

Sometimes I wonder what will happen to all these notebooks – I have quite a lot of them already – and then I wonder if someone would ever read them. I would feel incredible vulnerable, but at the same time I don’t want all of that writing to be lost. Diaries can be important and interesting and touching, they can become very famous. Anne Frank is of course the best example. I must say that there are parts and sentences that even surprised me when reading them again, and I would like to spread them somehow. But then again, maybe it’s just me liking them, and I would feel exposed.

As a drama queen and collector of memories, I cherish my diaries and I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing one. It’s become so important I would miss it too hard. However much I change, its role will just change with me. Nothing is as patient as a notebook, lying there, inviting you to create your own place where you can store your thoughts. Oddly enough experience taught me that one notebook, however big or small it is, will be able to cover a year approximately. I’m almost done with the current one, which is so filled with memories that it will feel weird to put it aside.

But then I’ll take another one and fill that one with new memories that will not be forgotten.

Do you have diary? Did you have one? What does it mean to you?

The joy of blogging

Why do I spent so much time on the computer? Why do I feel the need to typ things, to delete them again and start all over? Why am I addicted to WordPress?

Because I’m addicted to blogging.

It started out all too innocent: ‘Hey, let’s start a blog!’ but it ended up as an addiction. Blogging was something I had been thinking about before. I like to share my world with other people, and internet is such a great means to spread the word. Next to that it’s pretty anonymous. I like that. (Though the ones who really want to, could probably find out who I am…) The joy of blogging is talking to people all over the world, reading great posts, writing great posts, getting funny comments, comment yourself, and so on.
The ultimate joy of blogging for me is writing stories. Talking about daily stuff in a witty way is so much easier in my mother language that I more or less believe that I’ll never be equally as funny in English. That’s the curse of internationalism. But by now, I have started thinking stories out in English. I’m brainwashed. And I love it.

It’s not only the writing that is extreme joy. Making internet friends is fun as well! I mean, most of you readers and followers are from UK, or US. How else should I have got to know you? There are so many great people, they should all be on WordPress. Though internet friends aren’t real friends. Are they? If you haven’t met someone in real life, is it allowed to call them friends? I don’t talk about NBI that often, but if I say something, I talk about ‘people I more or less know’. If your only friends are on the internet, then there’s something not very okay, I’m afraid… Though I don’t call you friends, I really love talking to you. It’s a different way of communication. We don’t know each other in real life and that’s why I say different things and behave slightly different. Because you being unknown to me, I dare to share my twisted stories. I never talk about my writings to my friends. They are somehow too close, and I’d be too ashamed to tell them.

So somehow I’m closer to people I don’t really know than to my friends.
Now that sounds absolutely weird. I just want to say that being anonymous makes it easier to speak your mind.

*happy sigh*

Internet, I once disliked you, and now you make my life more interesting.
Thanks.

Mist (part 1)

A fight! I thought there were no fights here. Apparently, I was wrong. A few of them drunk men started yelling and pushing and before I even noticed, things went wrong and they started fighting. A fight, and she stood right next to it. She, a young girl, but not a child, long and absolutely different from the women of my age. They are so vast and focused on having babies and a house and everything. They are nothing like that girl here anymore, they are too human. They have nothing of this mysterious looks anymore. Nothing of this eyes and attitude and all these things that make her so beautiful. She is the most elegant woman present here, and she has this look in her eyes as if she knows what we’re thinking.
It’s not the first time she’s here. I’ve seen her several times already, and every time I do, she seems to look better, she seems to move more elegant and she seems to look at me as if I’m worth it.
Like I’m not too old for her! Like I deserve to know a girl like her. She’s simply too young and too mysterious to talk to. Unless there’s a good reason of course. Suddenly, one of the men fighting steps backwards, unstable due to alcohol. She hasn’t seen him coming, he pushes her back and she falls. Bad thing. Good part: she falls straight in my arms as I jumped forward to rescue her from a violent death.

Now, she should turn her head, she should see me and she should smile shyly. Then, she should murmur ‘thank you’ before rising and saying ‘thank you’ more firmly.
We’d live happily ever after.

Reality turns out to be slightly different. She falls into my arms, yes, and I feel her fragility and I almost sigh due to the feeling. She rises immediately, with her hand still on my shoulder, and says ‘thank you’ firmly right away. Then, her hand no longer on my shoulder, and a bit shyer, another ‘thank you’. Her eyes look everywhere, except in mine. Don’t turn around to join your friends again. Don’t walk away at all. Stay here. Talk.

“You’re lucky to have a guardian angel”, I say.
“I am.” She smiles. She doesn’t want to walk away either.
“I even have a phone number for emergencies, if you need it.” I am too bold. I should not say these things. What else could I do though, when standing in front of her fascinating beauty.
“Actually, I live a pretty safe life”, she says.
“Oh well, guardian angels can pay drinks as well, if you do have a thirsty life”, I dare to say. If she now walks away, I’ll never talk to her again. If she doesn’t accept the offer, I will let her live her life and I’ll go rotting in my own corner like old men should do.
“Well, I would like a drink”, she says.

I pay her a beer. We sit together and talk. Innocently, from the outside. I could have been someone her parents know. But I’m not a grandfather. And she’s not a child. I’m gentle and don’t do anything but talking to her. And she does nothing to attract me. It’s just chatting but we both seem to know that ‘chatting’ is not the appropriate word. She’s clever. She has to know what I’m up to (though I won’t harm her, how should I?). The impossibility of fathoming her. Very much like mist she talks and tells nothing.

Could I have foreseen that this talking would be the beginning of destruction? Or what should I call it? The ache of desire and even worse, the ache of seeing it slipping away.

Sweet taste of success… and irony

Well, it’s almost a week ago, Sunday to be precise, but actually I didn’t plan to tell you this.
But I will after all. Don’t ask me why I wouldn’t or why I do it anyway, just don’t ask anything, because my brain moves in mysterious ways.

Good. Last Sunday I participated in a competition. It’s a competition held in Flanders and Netherlands, and it has multiple categories to participate in. So there are: dance, music, text, fashion aaaand so on. The preselections (WP claims that this word doesn’t exist. Do you know what I mean though?) are held in a few bigger cities of Flanders, I think there are ten cities more or less where the first part of the competition takes place.
I participated in the categories dance (together with a friend, with whom I share one mind 😉 ) and text. Aaaaand I ended up third with my humble text! Aaaaaand what’s even better? I wrote the text for this blog! It was Luck is a loaded gun. I was proud, duh.
Unfortunately this story is based on reality, and when I said that irony striked back, I ment that the gun was fired and things went indeed wrong, after having achieved that third place.
Luck is a loaded gun.
I wish I didn’t write the truth. It felt so… ironically.

BUT that doesn’t take away that I won the third price with something I actually wrote for this blog. I didn’t win anything spectacular as in a lot of money, but I got some chique books and an ‘arty’ magazine, and a bag of the competition and a T-shirt, and the honour.

Realising this took me a few days, but now I’m very glad with it.

PS: have you seen it? Haven’t you? Come on, the sun shone! At 8 o’clock in the morning! How could you have missed that?