Stef

He was sitting in front of Starbucks of Brussels Central with an ankle-on-knee leg cross.
I was captivated by his radiant smile.
He smelled like ambergris, sea, and citrusy.

Weeks have passed, it feels like I met him just yesterday.
Up until now, he still smells the same.

What differs is perhaps that I almost spent my weekends with him and his family.
With his papa plays ABBA when I’m around,
His mama offers pralines in the afternoon,
His sister, her letter, with his name and my name on it.
My winter feels warmer than I thought it would be.
He gave me a “home” away from home…

Het beste gevoel is als je naar hem kijkt, en hij is al nar je aan het staren.
I feel loved.

Stockholm and All that Jazz

I spent almost a week in Stockholm. Within just three days, I become familiar with the city. 

I would love to go back though, but not alone this time, I guess.

Funny that my favorite thing to do in Stockie was probably doing nothing. Just walked in to the random café, having saffransbullar and a cup of coffee.

I just wished I didn’t do it all alone.

Well, I met some new friends, of course. 

But again, I just hoped my friends got to see what I saw.

It’d be nice, I think.

Bruxelles, est-ce que tu m'aime?

I am sitting alone at Château Moderne right now, watching drizzly Brussels and the lights of Mont des Arts. I could see the purply lights of Grand Place from afar. How pretty... 

I couldn’t recall how many times the thought of moving away from this city had crossed my mind. Simply because I didn’t love it as much as I thought I would. I love the idea of moving to Europe. But it has never been this city that I’ve been dreaming of. Two years have passed, and I am (finally) starting to learn how to love this city. Does love take time? I don’t think so.. Love takes effort. For the past two years, I was too busy with my life; studying and such. I was too busy to not dig deeper into this city. I didn’t give this city a chance to show off its beauty, yet I constantly judged how awful this city was when I barely tried to be familiar with it.

I'm still learning to fall for the charm of Etterbeek Station at night every time I get out of the train from work. Similar to my life back in Tokyo, it takes 10 minutes to get home from the train station, but this time is just more peaceful and less crowded. It gives me some time to collect my thoughts and contemplate about myself. Nothing beats my morning walk to Bois de la Cambre along with the scent of the freshly baked bread from La Fleur du Pain. Brussels’ autumn could be as windy as it gets, but I could enjoy every breeze it passes my hair. Kriek on Friday night in some random bars around St. Catherine. I don’t mind Frit Flagey with samurai sauce at midnight after the party though. Welp, not the best, but it does the job. Bus 71 that connects Cimetière d'Ixelles to Flagey, Flagey to De Brouckère. 

Sure, Brussels is not perfect. It is way far from it. 

Still until today, I am asking myself:

"Instead of making yourself busy trying to find a perfect city and perfect country to live in, why won't you learn to love Brussels and adapt yourself to it? Is it really that difficult? Is there any guarantee that moving away will make you any happier?"

The grass isn't greener on the other side. You just forgot to water your own grass sometimes. 

Brussels, 4 November 2023

Avoir La Poisse

I'm having my second cup of coffee in the center of Malmö, also kanelbulle, your favorite. Reminds me of our last date in Bois de la Cambre. It's day X of me trying to get over you. It might not be the best idea to spend my weekend in Scandinavia, when every time I throw my sights, everyone reminds me of you; tall, blonde hair, blue eyes.

Your ocean eyes...

I'm trying to slowly forget you. Just like how you won me slowly some months ago.

I wish, as I hop on my flight back to Brussels, all memories about you will also stay in Copenhagen.

Malmö, 1 October 2023

Flabbergast

The Smiths has long given me a little rube, but you got me listening conspicuous in the loop.

Wonder why this heart feels stubborn, guess it’s deeply battered by the torn.

To be saddened, I scold myself for begging your sympathy; to still learning not to be his.

You welcomed me as Autumn without even asking my name.

You’re the Virgo that no psychic has ever mentioned.