Romance?

As I type these words, some of you are gorging on delicious chocolates, some are pondering over a name for a teddy bear they just got; some are getting naughty and some are disappointed; some just don't care. However, let me tell you my favourite romantic story.

It was not me who was the protagonist, it was not even St. Valentine's day. Instead, it happened on the 25 bus in Brighton.

One late night, I was headed home after what must have been a night of partying. It is about 3 in the morning. I am tired and tipsy, perhaps wondering what I have in the fridge at home that I could quickly make, to satisfy my alcoholic hunger. To be honest, I don't remember. What I remember is that, in the middle of that, I overhear, amongst the other University of Sussex students, a couple talking, a boy and a girl. They have clearly just met that evening. Unlike many others, they were not drunk, wearing Flintstones outfits or masks on their faces. They are not hooking up for one night. They are just talking but intensely so. They like each other, one can tell just from hearing them converse, it feels almost an intrusion to listen, but overhearing is almost inevitable and, franjly, at this point, I was intrigued. The boy's stop was coming up but talk is sweet. He then missed his stop, knowingly, just to get the phone number of the girl he'd had such a lovely night with. THey exchanged numbers and he got off. I saw him walking off, and despite the cold, he was chirpy. Never mind that he had to walk, never mind he wasn't going to get laid with this girl tonight (though I suspect that he would  have wanted to, much more so than those freshers on the upper deck sucking each other's faces off). He simply wanted to see the girl again.

I tell this story often, it makes me smile. It was stories like these that I had in mind when I first created this space.. This story also goes to those who celebrate St. Valentine's day. I don't. Though, this year I showed that I was willing to be proven wrong.  The story also goes to all the cynics who think that men are from Mars and women are from Venus... no, we're all human, we all want companionship. It also goes to those who believe in love but are struggling at this moment. Romance can catch you off-guard and it usually does not come in a red bow and a chocolate box, more often than not, real romance comes with a fart. Yes, you read it right. A fart.

Snow!

Finally, there is snow in Rotterdam! It took us a while to catch up with the rest of Europe, but now it seems the skies have decided that if it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing. It snowed yesterday for hours until every last inch of the city was covered under a white fluffy duvet, a very think duvet! We watched i snow from our windows, and onto the street, where people slipped, giggled and rushed in the cold to get home.

This is the Erasmus bridge in snowy Rotterdam. Photo, courtesy of the Internet.  (Reinier)

I took a walk in the snowy city, it was as cold as it was magical. Even more so than when we watched the snow from outside the comfort of our apartment.

It was already dark, people had vanished from the streets and into their cosy houses after a long week's work, and on my way home I saw a man pulling his kid in a sled, in the center of the city. Somehow, for all our civilisation and modernisation, it was the shiny window displays that stood out, not the father with the sled. It was beautiful to share the same space as them- they were happy and they didn't care about anything else. I wish I had taken a photo, but then again, I probably wouldn't have captured the atmosphere of the moment. Just imagine the happiest dad teaching his little girl one of the valuable lessons in life: you shouldn't be afraid to get a little wet because snow will instantly make you smile. Engage with life, and it will engage back with you.

Compliments

I am not one to take compliments too well. From what I see, most of us will politely grin, utter a "thank you" and be a bit awkward. I think it depends a lot on who the compliment comes from and whether we think we deserve it. Me, I am much better at it if the compliment addresses conscious efforts on my part- say something I've written, done; I am considerably less swave if my looks are complimented, because, ultiametely, I feel that I haven't done anything to deserve it.

A few nights ago, I was on my way home after a night out. Two corners away from my front door, a few gay bars entertain the neighbours. I peeked into one of them, felt a bit awkward to be going in there alone and not dressed for the gay occasion (my two personalities are clashing lately, the straight one has the upper hand at the moment) so I passed by. Steps away, two gentlemen, upon seeing me, stopped dead and one of them, before I can warn him that I speak no Dutch, said in English: "Oh, huney, I love your style!"
Needless to say, I was so flattered!

I figured, I am in no position to refuse the friendliness of people, so, when they asked me if i wanted to hang out with them in Strano, of course I said yes. It was a brief but nice time spent with a couple of strangers. As stereotyped as it may be, a compliment from someone who has no desire to get into your pants, feels lovely.

Maybe some of you will disagree, better to be complimented by those who we have a chance to be with?

Being read

And here's a sweeping generalisation: anyone who has ever written anything, feels a tingle when someone else reads their work. It's a mixture of fear, anticipation, hope, intimacy with the text, preparation for defending one's work, preparation to explain the context in which it was written, and altogether an elevated perception of the importance of the said work and an imaginary Pulitzer-receiving speech, for the boldest of us.

I was typing stinky palachinki to open the dashboard to the blog, when I realised I was not typing in the address bar but the Google search bar instead. Curious, I ENTER-ed. You cannot imagine my surprise when I saw a tweet with my blog article about the personal story of the man who sells tickets on the Selly Oak train station.. It was a story personal to me, it was very genuine and very brief, like, I am willing to bet, most genuine moments are. It was a sad story of loss, hope and moving on, and a story which I thought was worth telling. 

To see that someone has read and shared it with others was spectacular. To see that a second person, whom I don't even know, had retweeted it... speechless. Like any budding writer, I am flattered and grinning. I hope there are more stories worth spreading in the future. Even better, the story of this unique man will be told, maybe we can learn from the way he accepts and deals with life. 

The Big Bang Theory of BED!

I am pleaaaased. Pat on the back. WE SENT OFF BED!!

To those of you who know anything about me, since I've moved to Rotterdam, you know this magic word- BED. BED is  a bar near my house, I've gone there every week since I moved, and it is by far the best bar in the world, as far as I am concerned.
Tonight was the last night of the old BED, BED as we know it. Starting from next week, it'll be a new place, and from what I've heard, it'll be great.
But to me, this BED was THE BED. To me, it's the end of a small era. Since many of you don't know what I am talking about, imagine a bar where you feel like home. A bar where the bouncers high-five you every time they see you, cos they've seen you a hundred times. A bar where  you know for sure that these bouncers have your back, no matter what. A bar, where the staff greets you. Where you know their names, and when fights broke off, you screamed out their names and they fixed it and protected you. A bar where you've not only got many drinks "on the house" but you've had drinks for free cos you were simply hanging out with the staff. A bar where you danced on the top of the bars, probably more times than you can even count. And yes, a bar you've been hit on, every time you were there, and let's face it, you felt good about it. Yes, a bar where they play music you can dance to. A bar where, as soon as you walk in, it changes your mood. And a few more things, but that's between me and Bed. For my first... 4 months in Rotterdam, Bed was my home. I've been there at least once, every week.
And tonight was the last night, at this particular location. Of course I was there.
Nevermind the free drinks, never have I felt more like home! Free drinks is not what makes you special, pretty girls get them all the time. But being treated almost as equal, being shown some secrets that no-one sees, being told plans about the future, feeling like you belong to a select few who are so intrinsically connected........that is the sort of stuff that get you to sit down at 05.36am and write.
The last night, we sent off BED with a BANG! Lots of dancing, we set the bar on fire (pouring alcohol on the surface and burning it, don't worry!!), we danced on top of the bar (and let me brag, I set the tone for that one!), some Russian girl actually got almost naked, danced with the staff, got splashed with soda from the tap, got covered with napkins, were blasted with oxigen from a small pressurised tank, most of the staff danced topless if not almost naked, they poured drinks from the bottles in the mouths of thirsty customers, and the rest got small bottled shots. That is not all, but it's enough for you....my dear reader.
I am sober, but this experience is something that makes you question your reality.

And yes, I got an awesome memorabilia from the bar, I cannot share what it is but when I asked "would that be OK with the owners?" and getting a response. "No, but it's OK with me...", it made me smile. If I mean 1/10 to BED of what BED means to me, then I will smile.

BED is dead, long live BED!

All the small things

Humour, just like the Devil, is in the details, the small things. Nothing funnier than scaring your housemate, who is in the kitchen cooking, by going on the terrace and slowly creeping up next to the kitchen door (also exiting onto the terrace) and banging loudly on that door! A scary thud coming from the darkness, scream from your housemate and roaring laughter for you! Especially funny, as I did it a second time, after just enough time had passed for her to forget the first and not anticipate it. Réah-Andreea, 2:0.
As I was writing the second line of this blog, I kid you not- payback time- she banged loudly on my door and yelled! I screamed like a little girl, and then laughing out loud, saluted her for the excellent execution of her payback. High five, well played. Updated score, 2:1.

And that's how it is, here in the House of the Andre(e)as...all is well.

The laugh that comes after the "Dance between strangers"

For all my mysanthropy, there are just as many times when humans amaze me, fascinate me and make me smile.

The moment only lasted a few seconds, yet 10 minutes later it still makes me smile.

I was on my way home when an elderly gentleman was walking towards me. We got caught in the moment where we both tried to make room for the other person to pass. I went to my right, he went to his left. Inevitably, already with a smirk on our faces, and oh so predictably, we both then went to the other side. After this dance between strangers repeated twice, we both stopped, laughed out loud, wished each other a good day, and finally each continued walking.

In their predictabilty, or humanity, people can be lovely.