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.

[P(E) = 0]

Some nights before bed, I feel stricken by the dread. 
Not til you chose to evade, tears over "Silver Springs" were never set on the date.

Guess I’m terrified, but I put you on archive.

So I won’t hope for your text, so I don’t have to expect.

Some nights before bed, have you forgotten me instead?
You called me funny, think I have to agree.

Funny enough for giving you the second chance you never asked...

World Happiness Report 2023

 

Segara Niskala

Andala sang tuan..
Apa masih boleh melayar?
Haruskah saya usai mengayuh lakara?

Rêve Lucide

Dear,

I still find myself wailing in my kitchen on random Thursday nights sometimes.
You said it's all your fault, but my heart was all the cost.
If loving me is not in your scheme, will you please do in my lucid dream?

Eight-Line Stanzas

I wished I was sober, 

when your gunmetal blue eyes met mine.

I wished I was sober, 

when you anxiously rubbed my right upper arm.

I wished I was sober, 

the night your lips touched mine next to your quartz countertop.

As yet, 

I was sober when you gave me a peck kiss goodbye in the morning I walked down your round stairs...

Not-so-Little Miss Sunshine

"You are my sunshine, 

my only sunshine, 
you make me happy when skies are gray,
you never know dear how much I love you,
please don't take my sunshine away."

It was 2002, I was sitting next to my dad, having a slice of bread with meises, on his old 1992 Black Katana Jimny car on our way to school, listening to Johnny Cash along with dad's classic album of Elvis Presley that he kept in a box next to his gear lever. Dad, hummed to the song as he couldn't remember clearly the lyrics, except the last part. 

"Please don't take my sunshine away.." I sang, mimicking Cash's vibration, Dad chuckled. 

Sunshine. 

I always love the word sunshine. I almost forgot that I have associated a lot with the word "sun".

I grew up reading Little Miss Sunshine by Roger Hargreaves (though now I'm more of a bit like Little Miss Chatterbox!). I watch too much Little Miss Sunshine (until now), thinking I was Olive Hoover, having a grumpy brother, supportive mom, domineering dad, and weird grandpa. Summed up my whole life!

Cleo, my best friend, who always took random sunflower pictures for me on her first weeks moving to Hamburg from Jakarta. 

Oh, also, the yellow decoration in any corners of my bedroom. Van Gogh's sunflower replica painting I bought two years ago in Amsterdam. David's sunflower pot. A bouquet of sunflowers on my birthday.

What else?

Me.

It's 2023, I am my dad's sunshine.

Not until now I realized that what he meant by sunshine is, the adjective. Not noun.

I've been overblown by living under the gray sky, I forgot to let my sun shine.. 

Not until my friend, Tosé, texted me the other day in the morning. "Good morning, Sunshine."

A simple text, yet impactful.

He reminds me again to be the sunshine of my own.

Cordialement

This post has been kept on draft for days. I haven't got the foggiest idea of how to write without feeling a little shiver while also experiencing 15 minutes of writer's block to even complete this sentence. My mind is muddling. I shouldn't have bothered, honestly.  

"I don't know if I will still be here next year. I might stay in Brussels, move back to Copenhagen, or maybe move to London. I fucked this up and I'm so sorry... I hope you'll feel good again soon, and be able to forget me." he said while burying his face in his hands and sobbing. 

And minutes later, munching on his stupid Super Piratos I bought from 7/ELEVEn near Kongens Nytorv. At least something he enjoyed while weeping out of this chaos.

After two weeks he left me out of the closure, I should have comprehended. To him, I wasn't worth a single text. I finally realized that his silence was too loud that it vocalized elucidation. He knows exactly that I have closed my door, but it was never locked. Yet, he never tried to even reach the knob. 

"You deserve someone better." 

I do. And he doesn't have to tell me twice. I know I do. 

I thought I was lost in him, but I just didn't expect in this way. I was just mad at myself for playing blind. I was mad that he cared about my presence, but not me. I was mad that I fell for his potential, leaving my expectations unmet. Well, hindsight is always 20/20.

But he brought me on a new journey to love myself. Just like his ego always does to himself. 

I just hope he shortly finds a woman that I won't be. Hope she doesn't sleep in his white T-shirt and black long socks like I did. Hope she likes cilantro as much as he does. I just wish he'd be happy, and I won't hear a single thing about it.

Tête-à-tête with Susy

"Do you think I'm naïve, Susy?"

Susy is not my friend. In fact, she's the director of my department. If you see a tall energetic woman, a full of smile on her face, having a water bottle that makes a fizz every time she takes a sip, not to forget her high-quality tawny leather messenger bag from Italy (I assume), just like where she is from, that lays down next to her right desk leg, that's how you spot her at the office.

"Tami, I think you tend to set aside the negativity and choose to be positive instead. Being positive is an option, and you choose to be one. You know exactly how to handle your thoughts, and not let them penetrate you resentfully, and that's what makes you a good person. And stop calling yourself naïve!" she replied.

Every time during our one-on-one session, I would spend our last 5 minutes talking about life, well, my life, in general. A short yet meaningful deep conversation I had with Susy feels like Albom's visit to Morrie every Tuesday before he passed. 

Casting my mind back to one year ago on the day she hired me mid-way through my masters, she told me she has a trust in me. Little did she know, she saved my life. She saved my future..

Gin Tonic

"How was Werchter this year?" he asked while sipping on his strange look orange berry, perhaps, rowan berry gin tonic, with his half-smile. The wandering eyes of his, complemented his wet rain jacket. The reflection of the chandelier on his eyes warmed up the light drizzle as we were sitting on the corner of Drottningtorget. 

He looks bulkier than the last time I saw him. Golfer arms, I joked. Or maybe it was his weighted blanket that he lifts every morning.

"Are you going to play some music?" I asked.

Don't Let Me Down by The Beatles.

The song didn't just stop at his place, apparently. It followed me while I was walking back to my hotel room. 

Even now, at Malmö Stadsbibliotek.

Not sure if I'm gonna miss him, nor if I am allowed to still.

Back to being strangers, I guess?