All is well

Dear dad,

As this year draws to an end, I am writing my goodbyes to you. Time heals wounds, they say, but no one ever tells you how long it takes. There is no expiration date for sorrow. Some days are easier than others. But I miss you. And at the same time, I find comfort in the fact that you are with mom again. Thirty two long years without the woman you adored. I can't even begin to imagine. And yet, there was never anyone else. She was your true and only love.

A couple of months before you passed, you told me that she came to see you in your dreams. I know now that she came to get you. Do people know when their time has come? I think some do. Maybe unconsciously. We found things finished in the house. Like the stone that was on mom's grave, all covered and worn by the weather, and that you so desperately wanted to clean. You had been working on it for weeks and whenever I came over to visit you, I only saw minor progress. The day you died, we found it finished on the table.

They say our life passes in front of us when we die. Like in a movie. What did you see, dad? Yours wasn't an easy life, but I would like to think that you saw the happy times too. The three of us - my sister, you and I - in our little house without running water, no phone or central heating, but filled with laughter and music. The garden with its fruit trees and chickens. Your grandchildren. The Carribean cruise we went on together. My cat you cared for so well while I moved to Antwerp.

Your ultimate wish came true. You left this world bent over a pool table, your friends by your side. No pain, no suffering. You once told me that you were not afraid to die, just by how it would happen. A few weeks ago, I received a letter from one of your pool buddies. It said how proud you always spoke of your daughters. How happy you were to both have us close to you again. The glass is half full, dad. Yes, I was away for sixteen long years, but I got to spend the last six months with you. The best gift I ever received.

You might have been proud of us, but let me say that we were blessed to have you as our father. We had our differences, but you showed us that life is about simplicity. That happiness isn't measured by the size of your house, the car you drive or how much money you have. You enjoyed the little things. Listening to the birds outside, your favorite music, the Tour de France, a good soccer game. And playing pool. At seventy seven, you still beat them all.

I got this beautiful poem from a friend and still read it quite often:

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

It is time for LOVE

Paper cup

As America is getting ready to vote, I'm getting ready to leave the country.

A happy event.

Let me start by saying part of me loves America and always will. It taught me that the sky is the limit, that anyone can go after their dreams, that perseverance does pay off. It's the place where I really grew up, became independent and learned how to stand up for myself. And for all that, I thank it enormously.

But people evolve. And so have I. I'm no longer the 24 year-old who's eager to join the ratrace and work her behind off to pay the bills. For what? I'm ready for some calm. Silence. Green - and not just the Central Park kind. It may sound silly, but I'm dying to drink coffee out of a real cup again - not a paper one. Go to a bar where a good Belgian beer doesn't cost a fortune and eat at a restaurant where people talk instead of scream.

I never thought I would one day say this, but I miss the Old World. The narrow cobblestone streets, centuries-old churches, beautiful Roman languages and sneakerless people. Does age draw one back to the roots? I certainly think so. In Europe, I can be an atheist without anyone judging me. I can be a socialist and not get strange looks. I can be the individual I want to be without having to belong. And that to me is freedom.

I stand by my values and principles. Lived here during the Clinton years and was happy to see President Obama get elected. But the tide is turning. Tea parties are not my cup of tea. I don't care for guns. And don't get me started on war. Immigration, an issue? I'm sure the Native Americans would have their say about that. And if government should stay out of people's lives, then why have one in the first place?

If my 16 years of wandering around have taught me anything, it's to keep an open mind. Be humble. Give rather than take. Help other people. Do something that really matters. Ignore fear. Form your own opinions.

I know I won't change the world. But I will stick to my guns. Even if I don't care for them.

Going bananas

Every morning, on my way to work, I stop by the little fruit stand across the office building and buy three bananas. Why three? Because it's three for a dollar. And believe me if I say that in New York you grab any bargain you can get, even if it means turning your work desk yellow.

Today was different, though. As I handed over my dirty one dollar bill to the vendor - a very kind and polite Middle Eastern guy in his fifties - he looked up at me and said: "Today I give you gift. Today I give you free banana."

What is the big deal, you might think. And you are right. It's just a banana, after all. Oooh, well, he's a guy and you're a woman, you might think. You are right again. But those of you who live here know that such a spontaneous act of kindness is very rare in New York. This city doesn't give, it takes. Business is business. Time is money. There really is no reason for an extra banana.

And that is exactly why he made my day. This man whom I interact with every single day. We never really speak. We hardly ever look at each other. We're always in a rush. And yet, he recognized me. In a split second, New York seemed human again. Kind. Generous. Caring. It really touched me. I felt in banana heaven.

Moral of the story? You can find happiness in a simple banana. I'm living proof of that. It's all about the human value behind it. The gesture. The connection. The kindness. People need to take better care of each other. Our society has become much too individual. I'll have my health care, please. I'll have my pension, please. Where is the compassion in that? We need to stop judging the weakest and be humble. Give.

And so I'll go to bed now. Knowing that all is not lost. My belief in the goodness of mankind has been restored. For now, at least.

Goodnight.

Balancing act

"Listen to me, dear", she said. "We need to calm you down, alright? I'm going to give you a shot of valium". And then she turned to my colleague and continued "now, when you talk to her and she falls asleep in the middle of a sentence, don't take it personally". The next morning I woke up with a spinning head, an IV stuck in my arm and 3 elderly ladies in my room. For the first time in my life, I had been admitted to a hospital.

It all started a couple of weeks before. I had been feeling dizzy for some time, so I decided to go and see a doctor. A new doctor. As we finished up the consultation, all hell broke lose. There it was. Out of nowhere. My first vertigo attack. The room started spinning, the doctor suddenly had five heads and my stomach content made it all the way onto his shirt, followed by his pants. Talk about first impressions.
The poor and - may I say - very composed man tried to help me in any possible way, but to no avail.

In my half-dead state, I heard my colleagues arrive, followed by the New York Fire Department. They were all going to get me to my next destination: the Emergency Room. My misery became larger than life when the firefighters turned out to be two women. Life can be cruel.

Surely there would be some kind of reward for this. A well deserved compensation. I wasn't asking for much. Maybe a McSteamy. Surely a McDreamy. No. A chair, a urine test and a MD who looked like Stephen Spielberg. The ER was packed. Doctors and nurses frantically running in all directions. I had no notion of time, but after what seemed to be like an eternity, I got a bed. And the valium shot. Later that week, they saw me back with a second vertigo attack.

Flash forward to today. After three different diagnoses, quite a few doctors visits, several less violent attacks and too much time to think, I must say I'm slowly but surely getting better. But I'm exhausted. Both physically and mentally.

Something good came out of all this, though. My body sent me a clear message. STOP. NO MORE. BASTA. To every physical problem, there is a psychological cause. And I finally got it. How much more symbolic can losing your balance get? I. full stop. NEED. full stop. ORIENTATION. full stop. Quit that job I've come to hate. Leave the craziness of New York. Enjoy life. Relax. Surround myself with family and friends. GO. full stop. BACK. full stop. HOME. full stop.

I guess I'll be back in Belgium sooner than I thought. Brace for impact.

Home sweet home

37 years. It took me 37 years to finally understand: family is everything. Family is what always will be there. Family is blood.

So I've decided to go home. Not right away. In a year or two. No rush. Challenge my patience.

I had been toying with the idea for a while. So my recent vacation in Belgium was a test. Go there with an open mind and see what happens. Observe. Feel. Listen. And then decide.

I left home when I was 21. Ready to see the world. Discover. Broaden my horizons. And what an adventure it has been. A great, passionate and sometimes hard adventure with a lot of life lessons learned. Tears and joy. Pain and laughter. Fall and stand up again. Never, ever, give up.

It dawned on me in a split second. A class reunion in Belgium. People I hadn't seen in more than 20 years. Everyone happily married, a couple of kids, still in the country. Why not me? Because I was the one who had a reason to leave. It was an escape. Mom gone, dad sad, a not so brilliant childhood, no real boyfriend. Why would I have stayed home? So I left. And I went as far as I could. To Michigan. It turned out to be a great experience. And what was supposed to be 1 year abroad ended up being 16.

If I could turn back time, I would not change a thing. Traveling opened my mind, shaped my way of thinking and taught me what no school ever could have. University of Life, as a friend once called it. Being in poor countries made me realize all that I have, being in rich countries made me realize money is not everything. One of the best sensations in the world is to step out of your comfort zone and learn. See how things are done in different cultures. Adapt. Always adapt. Breathe, look, enjoy. Drop fear. Don't judge too quickly. Liberate your being.

Time heals wounds. Age mellows. The circle is round. All the things I ran away from before, I embrace now because I finally realized they made me who I am. One's own country, no matter how long you've been away, always feels familiar. It's your roots. An instinct. You just know how to do things, where to go and what to expect. It is comforting, reassuring. A very good feeling.

'A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it' - George Moore, Irish Novelist

It's been a fabulous road so far.

Cinderella

Here are two things I like in life: unexpected events and passionate people.
Something strange happened to me tonight. I had planned on a quiet theater evening and somehow ended up in a fairy tale.

My dear friend S told me a while back that she was part of a theater group that plays fairy tales for and with children. A very healing and therapeutic way to specifically help the sick. I was instantly intrigued.

But it wasn't until tonight, sitting there and listening to the lecturer, that I realized just how much symbolism there is in a fairy tale. I ended up chatting with him and he asked me about my life. 'Cinderella', he told me. 'You are Cinderella'. It hit me like a hammer. I knew he was right. Mom dying, dad not being able to care for us and growing up in the home of my aunt, uncle and their children.

The past came bubbling up and I broke down in tears. In front of this man I had never seen before. And then he asked if I wanted to join the theater, that he was looking for a French Cinderella. How could I possibly say no to that?

I'm eager to start. I have been looking for a real passion for so long. Block out work. Be creative. Let go. Reinvent myself.

I came home tonight and found a package in the mail from my sister. A magazine. With an article of her and her children about the loss of our mom. It was extremely touching.

I don't believe in coincidence. Mom was there tonight. And she probably thinks it's about time I lose a bloody shoe.