Having spare time with no telly, no computer or book gets you thinking about facts of life. With nothing but iPod headphones in your ears. Especially in an eight hour drive to east Norwich. My insomnia got me thinking. Us humans are each our own individual self. We are defined with lists of events that make us each different. By the people we have met ; those we love, those we hate, by the things we did, by the things that have been done to us. Not even clones are the same: they do not match in their local events, temporal events, or even causal and modal events. The only common thing the clones would be carrying is their DNA. Not even clones share same feelings : they are not happy at the same time, or sad, or sick, or depressed or anything else. My biology teacher told me that in those 150 million sperma, in every single possible child that could have been born, each and every one carries a different story. 150 million different-looking, different-feeling children. I am ever so fascinated. Can you imagine? And this ritual happens every two seconds :D. And that child is born. And it was called Ruth - Louise. A chubby thing with black hair, rosy cheeks. In Belgium, the place it would grow to love best. Ruth learned to grow a fighter. She witnessed a divorce when she was just two years old, then had a stepfather. two years after that, this stepfather of hers took pleasure in gulping spirituous alcohol. And maybe in hitting her mother. And taking his rage out on her body. Ruth was beaten up as the day was long; and her best friend's mother noticed, yet could not receive any answer to Ruth's mutiple bruises all over her body - until Mother decided to divorce. This meant she was a single parent to four children, as Ruth had two younger brothers, an elder sister. Did this make her a fighter? No. She was introduced to what became her passions: sporting out in the garden and practising on handstands and wheels and splits. Plinking out onto the piano until the sound reached her ears - she had found the harmony on them keys when she started on James Horner's small version of Titanic. She then loved the musical sound of her beloved instrument and would not let a day pass without having touched her keys. Sketching: Ruth started doing portraits. Writing: She started on horror or love - based short stories. She might publish some own novel one day. Most important, Ruth started to love. She did not love her life, oh no. But she loved her friends, for whom she would give up her life. She madly fell in love with a boy. She tried to go on. She learnt what is what like to suffer: Her mother was diseased with Multiple Scelerosis. Ruth found it hard to deal with. Instead of being careful and loving to her mother, what every child should have done, she found herself developing something she called hatred towards Mother. Yet she was sad inside, she knew that; because her mother was not in the least responsible for this terrible disease. This made her the fighter. Now Ruth is witnessing the most crushing horrible aspect of her life : saying goodbye. Her mother has not the energy to keep her children anymore. This is the reason for Ruth, and the others going to a boarding school. You cannot imagine how painful this is. Saying goodbye to what was her life for 15 years. Her school, her friends, her orientation in beloved Wezembeek. You cannot imagine how much she is going to miss it. The thought crushes her. Ruth does not want to leave all this behind, she does not want to say goodbye.. she can't.
Grandma Florrie B. 15/06/1915 - 11/06/2009 †
I have decided to simply put all my thoughts on this page. One more thought that crossed my mind - I hate people. I hate human beings. They're all the same, same system, same functions and same egoistic intentions - yet so fucking different. Whoever built mankind - apparently GOD (so much for his help), or the ape and monkey - whatever, whoever it was is a complete douchebag moron. We're not intelligent and we're not as talented as we all think we are. We're not thin or pretty and we're not fat and ugly. We are atoms. Whatever. People are idiots. I'm an idiot, you are, and so is that freak sitting in the city hall. Your mother is an idiot, and so is mine. We all are. It's just mankind. We judge by what we see, not by what we know - but some people do it less intelligently and louder than others. It should be a sin to judge something or someone without having witnessed their story. People look at me with my trousers hanging under my butt and my iPod dangling down my hose, chewing a chewing gum and they'll either think I'm pretty or I'm a darn right fool. But they will not ask themselves "What is she thinking about? What's her story? What does her facial expression mean?" I am not perfect, so I too look at what people are wearing, and if they look bad in their tight belted jeans and greasy shirt I cannot excuse the fact I shall think they're a complete poof. But the difference I make is that I try to read their faces. The actions they perform when they quietly sit in the tram. Are they kicking their feet? Are they nervously tapping their fingers? Why are they smiling? What does it mean if they don't face others' gazes? I try to look beyond their clothing and they equipment. But I doubt that I can figure why people are pulling their hair out - some might be preparing themselves for a music audition - some are going to break up with their partner. Even if every person on this planet Earth has witnessed similar events it does not make us the same or give us the same life. Some people here try to find a reason why their perfect little life is so gruesome and sad when other souls like me try to pick out events that should make our life a happy one. And I must say, I am partly happy. Happy because I found the love of my life (by mistake) and it gives me the best feeling ever. Unhappy because my mother could leave this Earth any moment and I feel I haven't treated the time with her succulently enough. Unhappy because I am leaving the orientation of my life, the place I was raised (see text above please, fucker.) and I could risk losing everything - including my true love. Unhappy because a particular person seems to take joy in making my life a minefield but can't see that she is not making anyone happy - not even herself - in the slightest.
Avignon '09 - High temperature Fun | I know we're far too young for this.
