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| After having spent a week in Brussels painting my brother’s bedroom with my siblings, I have finally made it back to London. I find it amusing how I do feel at home in London, although I have been here less than a year, it has become home. I do like London, even more, I adore London. I just find it so dynamic, and it’s fast pace does it for me. I have to admit that one of the reasons for me going abroad to work stems from the peculiar relation I have with my family. I am rather fusional and tend to be very cocooning. I know that it is not very healthy, but when I am home, I devote my life to them, and would do so if I lived in Belgium. That is hardly healthy for either my brother or mother. Even though they might see the advantages of it in the short run, I am sure my brother has better things than hang out with me 24/7. My mother on the other hand, also needs her space to create a life of her own. She should not live for her children, and although I can only be thankful for having given up a lot for us, it is not healthy to be dependent on your children. By me not being there for her, it also enables her to have her time to have a life of her own. At times I wonder what my life would have been had I decided to work in Belgium. I might have never left home feeling that I should give my spare time for them, doing what needs to be done and being an ersatz father for Tim, albeit a bad one. I guess I would also be bitter for doing so: not being good a trying to patch up for something that does not need patching, and not having a life of my own. At least here in London I can be me, do what I want without feeling guilty of spending time for myself instead of time with my family, whilst still being close enough to go back home if/when needed. This of course could just be an entry trying to explain why I fleeing away from by family duties. Should I go back to Belgium for my family’s sake? I am sure they can manage it on their won, of course they can. Bt me being at home might make things easier, or not. I do not know, and am probably too close to the problem to fully grasp the consequences of me being here as opposed to being there. Confusion and guilt…. Or maybe not… | | |
| Summer is showing up and although the weather in London does not make one realise that, the fact that the magazines are full of glamorous people in swimwear can only remind us of the harsh reality of summer: we are not all stunning fit. Even though I am of the view that we should all be happy with who we are and accept our bodies as they are, it is easier said than done. Only yesterday was I once again contemplating becoming anorexic as well as spending my life at the gym to look only a little like the models from the Emporio Armani summer collection. It is not so much that I want to be model looking (though who am I kidding, obviously I want to be model looking!), but I would rather not have all the eyes fixed on my when peeling off my t-shirt on the beach and having the impression that I ought to have kept my clothes on if I wanted to convey the illusion that I am fit. That is the reason why I have avoided the swimming pool for so long (apart for the fact that it is a public bath and have been forever disgusted when I found a used plaster whist swimming): when you go there, you have to go half naked. It sounds silly, but like women, men would rather not show that they are not physically perfect. Some of us, gents, do care little about our physique, but others feel the pressure from what is the conventional societal conception of beauty. This may be also emphasised by the fact that I am part of that minority which deems Looking Good of high vital importance. Sadly enough I am not strong minded enough not to care about that, and end up feeling rather miserable about not being picture perfect. So after having gone by M&S to have a look at the swimwear, I started to realise that society is full of contradiction: we all have to look good, but nothing is tailored for people who fit some of the criteria dictated by today’s beauty gorgeous: they don’t sell size S (though tobe really fit I guess you would have to be a size M but be 6 feet tall at least)! This only confused me more, so I headed back home, sat on the couch and finished my tub of Haagen-Dazs cookies and cream ice-cream. I will regret having eaten all that ice-cream tomorrow, but meanwhile, it did make me happy… Ice-cream, good! | | |
| The one trait I have a hard time to understand is intolerance. This trait becomes even more despicable if the person comes from the United Kingdom where there is this believe that people should be able to choose and have the right to do so. A right which has led the UK to be such an interesting country as people with different thoughts could come together, live together and work together. This liberalism has been criticised by many, but to those who do not want to live this freedom, I have only one thing to say: if you are unhappy about being able to choose, and let the others choose their path (as long as it does not impede on your own rights), then you have not grasped what the UK is about. On Saturday I was introduced to a rather peculiar person. I like meeting new people as they always bring with them their experience of life and their views on life. Unfortunately it did not take me long to understand that there was little I could learn from this person, and soon wished I was not in the same room as her. I appreciate that others have different political views, and would rather they did have something to discuss about. But then they should also understand that we do not all have the same view and that we are entitled not to adhere to whatever you think is right. The concept of right and wrong is relative, and if you do not understand that after having been through university here in England, sorry to say, but you have missed a big part of your education. At our age, we should agree to disagree, endeavour to stay polite and by no means pressure others and impose your idea of the world. Communist, Feminist and above all, anti-liberal in every sense of the word. No, I do not have the right to not be communist; no I do not have the right to wear what I want to. No, I do not have the right to shave my legs if I am a woman for it would be conforming to society. No, I do not have the right to buy anything else but the independent as even the Guardian is not socialist enough. There was no point in arguing, she just did not seem to be intelligent enough to understand how horrendous it was to force others to have the same beliefs as her. So many times have I felt like shouting: “well if you really believe the people should rule you should start shaving your legs, and adhere to capitalism now for as far as I know there is nobody in the streets protesting against those. Most importantly: who are you to tell us what is right and wrong, thereby taking the role of G** which you refute the existence?” It got me so enraged, I could not wait to get her out of my sight. But I am coward, or I don’t want to hurt Ciaran, so I stayed put, and said nothing. I was not the only one bearing such belief, and there was a silent relief when she left. I do feel sorry for the woman as she does seem to have a rather unpleasant situation for the time being. But do not ask me to befriend a person who wants to reduce my freedom of thought. Just keep your communist dictatorship far from me, and well, as shocking as it may seem, and even if it does come across as obliging woman to conform to a certain idea of aestheticism, keep your hairy armpits far from me! | | |
| In my excessive boredome, I thought I would fish out for a game to play... So if you happen to have nothing else to do, the record you have to beat is 4 minutes... Click here | | |
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