I’m in a bar, when suddenly a half-drunk man comes up to me and asks me the following question: “If you were a coin, which coin would you be?” It’s a very random question at a very random moment. But I can’t let it go. Because if I were a coin, what coin would I be? Would I be a two euros, because I have a heart of gold? Would I be a one euro cent because I’m invisible and worth nothing? Would I be a twenty cents because I look unique? Would I be a ten cents because I am a ten? Or just five cents, because I’m just not enough? Would I be a one euro piece because I always present myself beautifully on the outside, but often feel gray inside? Or would I be a fifty cents, used for anything and everything?
Could you help me? I’m on a quest. For years, by the way. You know, such an everlasting quest where you eventually don’t find what you’re looking for. But because you don’t find it, you do find something in yourself. I’m looking for a button. Or rather, a switch. An on/off switch. A switch for my emotions. Too many feelings. Too many thoughts. It can be compared to the amount of waste in the world; it’s too much, you don’t know where to put it, so just dump it somewhere where it’ll destroy everything. An endless waterfall, a flood, permanently drowning, but living on. And such a switch would be oh so nice at such a that. However, there’s a downside to using this switch; I also lose my humanity with it.
2020: An Open Letter
“Reality is that which refuses to go away when I stop believing in it.” – Philip K. Dick
It’s kinda weird to write a short memoir after a year like 2020. And it’s also kinda weird to share my yearly photo with fireworks that look like a freedom pigeon; in a year without fireworks and with a bit less freedom than before. And still I’d like to write something about my own year.
Normally when I speak to a group, I start with a silence. A long silence. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Twenty seconds. I look around the audience, see who is there, see which people I speak to. And, as the silence lasts longer, see how they react to it. The longer it’s quiet, the more uncomfortable they start to feel. Then they start looking around, looking at others. Smiling uncomfortably at each other, wondering when that man in front of the group will finally start talking. This is much more difficult as a writer. I don’t see an audience to speak to, I can only see myself. And yet I like to use the silence, the long silence, or the too long silence, as an opening. Those who feel comfortable during a silence have the power over those who are not comfortable enough with it. Until it’s time to break the silence.
She asked how I was feeling. Empty. She asked if I could specify that. But when everything is empty, you can’t find the right words. Or words at all. In such cases, all that remains is a sound of absence.
“If I could only reach you.. that would really be a breakthru” | Queen – Breakthru
I didn’t keep it dry. Again not. For the third time. I couldn’t keep it up for 110 minutes without getting tears in my eyes. And that while I already knew what was going to happen. But maybe it hit me just as much as the first two times, because I knew what would happen, and how it would happen. This time I watched the film in a different way.
In February I taught a series of MoneyWays classes to a school on behalf of Diversion. During these lessons we discuss money with pupils and students, where as a peer-educator, as my position is called, I am open about my own money matters. One of the things we share with the students is our stumbling blocks, in other words, everything that does not always go well in, in this case, the financial area. One of my stumbling blocks is that I never look at my money when a band or artist announces a concert; if I want to go, I immediately buy a ticket, without looking at the money in my account. A number of students thought that was strange; why should I go to concerts when I might as well watch live streams or recordings of old concerts on the internet? Meanwhile I am actually at home watching those live streams and old concert recordings. After all, all concerts have been cancelled. I eventually followed the advice of the students.
“The point where we break gets closer every day. But where do we go?” | Rise Against – I Don’t Want to Be Here Anymore
I think it is inappropriate to immediately continue to post nice messages again after last week, as if nothing has happened at all. What would my own article from last Monday be worth then? That I pay brief attention to the anti-racism movement, but that I do nothing with it afterwards? As I wrote in that article; I don’t like to participate in anything just because everyone is doing it at the time. At the same time, I don’t want to pay too much attention to it either, because that can be counterproductive; if people read too much about a particular topic or if they come across it too often, interest slowly but surely disappears. In addition, I want this website to focus on creative freedom, without any agenda. That is why I decided that this article will be a combination of different parts, in which, on the one hand, I still want to dwell on the anti-racism movement, but on the other hand, I also want to pay attention to beautiful things in life. Because if there aren’t any beautiful things in life, then why would you fight for anything at all?
“Neutrality means that you don’t really care . ‘Cause the struggle goes on even when you’re not there. Blind and unaware.” | Rise Against – Collapse (Post-Amerika)
In the past few days, I have doubted whether I would also join in sharing articles and statements about the anti-racism movement that has dominated Western media for the past week. On the one hand, it’s a very important topic that needs to be discussed and that needs to change completely. On the other hand, I personally am absolutely not a fan to suddenly go along with certain popular developments that will probably hardly be talked about in a while. I’m also not someone who regularly talks about racism. In addition, I doubt that my words will add anything to the many messages that have been shared to date. I have therefore decided to give it a try to write about it, and if you read this I have apparently been satisfied enough with the end result to share it with you.
My time will come. I get out of the car. This is not how I want to win. Today I can become the first British world champion ever. But this is not the way I would like it to be. So I won’t become it. End of story. My time will come.