Jogging in the sun

I reckon it's important to challenge yourself. Don't get me wrong, so often I cannot be bothered to change my ways, it's difficult, time-consuming, and so often it feels like I've got it all figured out, so why would I change anything about a life I already love?

Well, there's days when I wake up and I already am in a bad mood, and these are usually the days that then turn out fun because the bad mood means I'll do anything to feel better. As I was jogging today in the sun, enjoying the people, the city and its buzz, the green grass next to the canal, the bars and cafes I whizzed by, leaving their customers befuddled with this odd jogging girl, it occurred to me that the reason I was having such a good day was that I had had a bad morning.

See what I did there? Those of you who know me will be confused how it is that I casually dropped into a sentence that I went jogging, when I've spent countless conversations with countless people explaining to them that jogging was the Devil incarnate.  Yet, earlier today, when the sun first peeked through my window and asked if I wanted to come out and play, then saw I enjoyed its company and cheerfully invited itself inside our apartment and certainly inside my body, I felt this overwhelming energy. Yes, Sun, I will come out and play with you!

I knew that thinking about it twice would mean I'd spend another afternoon in my room in front of my laptop, so instead I put on my shoes and closed the door behind me. It's not about the jogging, or even whether I liked it (I came back 20 minutes later, with my tongue out, panting like a dog!), it is about how much I've hated jogging for my whole life. All in good time, and I think today was the perfect day to try this particular thing. Had it been any other day, had I been in a different mood or in a different place, my whole experience would, of course, have been different too. You can't force yourself to like everything that you try, and that's OK, you don't have to like everything. You won't know until you've done it, anyway. But if you do things in your own time, and it happens to be the right time, there's nothing better than expanding your horizons a little bit. I think I may do this again tomorrow.

Though, probably, this was a one time thing and my enthusiasm will go away as quickly as it came.

Titanic [Handle with care. This side up.]

Celine Dion is still singing in the background as I type. I just watched Titanic for what is the 24th time. I have counted them.

It occurs to me that there are things which are of special importance in one's life. They are usually not rational, because anything but the air we breathe, the food we eat and the sleep that keeps us going, is an irrational attachment. These are the small things which alter our mood, which teach us a line or two, and which lines we then quote to our friends, perhaps even quote on a first date with the person we then end up sharing a lifetime of movie lines with. Or perhaps it's a silly line from a film that no-one ever cares about. Not all gestures are grand, not all stories are magical, not all romances end well. But it is important to stay grounded, remember where you came from, for better or for worse. Not to worry- go back to those things that made you happy, those things that have meant something to you- they are those true anchors which will help you if you're feeling a bit confused. Much like Rose and Jack's love, a true love lasts a lifetime. The things that made you smile before, the movies you keep watching over and over again, the places that you seem to always end up at, the people you keep ringing- these are your anchors, and since you've invested so much time and emotion in them, the investment will repay you. The little pieces of your heart that you've scattered around your world are  like a map of your life. Keep it safe and take care of it, and it will guide you towards where you want to go, should you need help.

Here, in my room, it is 4.48 am, 24th time is a charm, much like the 23 times before. Here I am, discovering still more layers in one of my favourite films. And in a time when future looks a bit shaky, Titanic reminds me of all the intensity it has brought to my life, and the little lessons I've learned from it. Every time I watch it, I have changed slightly from the time before, and to me, watching Titanic is becoming a big highway in that map of my life- it reminds me where I was last time I watched it, and how far I've come from there. So, future is a bit uncertain... just because a century ago 2200 people felt their future was safe on board of the biggest ship of its time, it didn't make it so. Certainty is an illusion, all you are left with is yourself. And that is wonderful.

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!