Survival in the playground

The last couple of day’s i spend in Gent, Belguim. Each year they have a 10 day street festival. During the day there are street artist and performances, and in the evening concerts, dancing and a lot of drinks.

We go almost every year, it’s a lot of fun most of the time. I love just roaming the streets, absorbing the atmostphere and nog worry about anything. But at the same time i get dissapointed each year. No matter how much i wonder and absorb, theres always my family walking ahead of me. Another thing is that in all those years i’ve never really made contact with the people who wonder along the streets with me. I’ve never come futher than an akward chat with a balding, old, drunk man at the bar.

I’m fascinated with people there, they all look so creative and carefree. In there hippy style clothes, the long hair and beads everywhere. They sit with there friends in the park at 2 am and have fun. It makes me long to be one of them. To just pull away from everything and to sit in the park, with some people i truely care about and not worry about anything.
A complete silence in my head…

But those dreams will probably remain dreams… atleast for now.

I read a book these past few days. The romantic by Barbara Gowdy. It’s about a girl, Louise, who’s in love with a boy, Abel. She’s been in love with him ever since they were little children. He moves to another part of the country and cheats on her a couple of times, but in the end they still end up loving each other, he dies, but they still love each other.

Well it’s a book so the semi happy end is manditory. But it made me think, not so much about love (love should happen, not be thought about, you’ll need ibuprofen), but about how she copts with being hurt. Every time she gets hurt, by her boyfriend, boss, parents, she moves to a different appartment. That sounds wonderful.

When i came home this afternoon it wasn’t a happy homecoming. It was comfortable, i could lie down on my bed with my flipflops and not care about stains. But it didn’t make me feel happy. My anxiety came back after a few hours and i think that just sitting here in my room makes me nervous.

So i wish i could go life in a different space, a different house would be best, another country would be perfect. This space has just so much memories captured in it. Each time i look at an object or wall it reminds me of something. It’s had it’s time, it’s overflowing with memories and feelings.

There isn’t any space left for me…

Photo’s From Gent

Old Thoughts

The Green Dragon Lady

Body Language

A Face in the Crowd