Amelia.

It was the mid-eighties. We were a bunch of silly college students who all hail from the province, and were all passionate about discovering life in the Big City. Then one lazy weekend, Amy invited us to stay overnight at her place in Espana. We bought pizza and junk food, and we talked until the wee hours of the morning.

I still remember it vividly. It was almost dawn. The store across their house, was selling hot pan de sal already. We were lying on her bed.... still giggling and asking stupid questions about teenage crushes. Then out of nowhere came an announcement that was dropped on us like the twin sister of the Hiroshima bomb.

She sat there. Very composed and firm. She announced having retinitis pigmentosa... that she was going blind. Eden was silent. I was angry. I told her, ´ get second... third.. fourth... fifth opinion. I´m sure you will be cured.´

She smiled. There was no trace of anger or resentment. She said it was a progressive disease and there was no cure. She also said that if we truly were her good friends, we will help her find help to learn braille. I said, what? She smiled again, gently slapped my thigh and said for the second time, braille.

I was too proud to show my ignorance, so I didn't say anything. But the moment I arrived at the dormitory, I looked it up in the dictionary. There it was... braille: a system of writing and printing for blind or visually impaired people, in which varied arrangements of raised dots representing letters and numerals are identified by touch.

For months, years even, I struggled with the idea of Amy going blind. It was hard for me to picture her in my mind´s eye, as helpless, blind person. You see, among the three of us, Amy was the curious one. She always had brilliant ideas. More important, she was the matured one. We knew that she will go places.... that she will be Miss Big Time in no time... because for Amy, nothing is impossible.

stuffin' stuff.

"If everybody had the standard of living of the average European or American, we would probably need five new planets. But we've only got this one." These are the wise words of Jane Goodall, an English scientist who spent years observing the chimpanzees in the forest of Tanzania.

Five new planets. Imagine that! But she's absolutely right. Western people are fond of acquiring new stuff and collecting the old ones. One doesn´t have to look far.... my own garage is a classic example. It is stuffed with practically everything --- 95% of them are hand-me-downs from relatives and friends.

You see, I´m like my Ma. I collect garbage (things that no longer have value for others). Somehow, I find it difficult to throw anything that is still in good, working condition. I don't care if it doesn't look nice for as long as I can use it, I'd like to keep it. So old dressoirs, tables, fauteuils, bookcase, pans, even old electric heaters..... they all have a place in my garage!

I know that it's not about being attached to material wealth, because I'm not ... attached, that is. But when I look at an old dressoir for example, I don't see a furniture with an intricate design. I only see a beautiful piece of rose wood. And for me, it's a sin to throw such a beauty. My husband said that it will be recycled. But still, I don't have the heart to do it. I am hoping that someday, somehow... someone will have a place in her home for the old dressoir. But who am I kidding? This is Europe.

A very wise Ifugao once told me, `as long as man doesn´t realize that he can´t eat money, he will continue chopping down trees to have more money.´

It´s scary, I know. But how do we stop people from buying, acquiring, and collecting? Let's face it. We all work hard to have more money. Because if we have more money, we have more stuff. And if we have more stuff, we think we´ll be happier. We want to live like the average European or American.... surrounded by stuff. Contented and happy. Whatever that means.

So Dr. Goodall is an inspiration to me because her work helps us understand how to take better care of our Earth. Her passion and empathy is a proof that it is possible to make a positive difference for others. For indeed, "you can't live through a day without making an impact on the world. And we all have a choice about what sort of impact we will make."

Like her, I also want to make an impact.... a difference. Perhaps my approach is not really helping because right now, I am merely stuffing stuff! But....we´ll see.



I'm re-posting this... if only to remind myself not to buy more stuff!

certified Dutch.

My townmate Jesusa posted a blog about a pink hat and cacti. When I saw the innocent picture, all I could think about were pretty phalluses... Oh yeah, you got that right. PHALLUSES. lol

This really bothered me. It made me think... and wonder. I wondered if I've seen too many 0900 evening shows. I wondered if I´ve frequented the De Wallen and the Sex Museum too many times! I wondered if I FINALLY am a certified Dutch now! HAHAHAHAHA

Before you judge me... please understand that I´m not generalizing and am not saying that Dutch and sex are synonymous. In my very first blog back in 2007, I said and let me quote myself on that:


`This country allows its citizens to be responsible individuals in every conceivable way. So you can buy soft drugs like marijuana over the counter in coffee shops, without running the risk of being arrested. You can buy and sell sex. The word we’re looking for here, is accountability. You are accountable for your behaviour, at all times.


So there.... :)

Third world.

An acquaintance shocked me the other day with his statement. He said, Moroccans are thieves and criminals. He continued and said that, they only cause trouble in this country and that they should be sent back to their third world country.

As I have said, I was shocked. So it took me awhile to recover. I really didn´t know what to say.

When I finally found the nerve to talk again, I asked him what made him say that. He said that that´s the reputation they (Moroccans) have here in the Netherlands and in Europe.

I asked him what he meant by Third world.

He laughed and said, "I can´t believe you don´t know what it means." He said, it means that people are poor.... and so they steal. It also means, according to him, that they are still in their beastly state. That men are tolerated to take two or more wives and could have sex in the bush, and that women still wear veils and are treated as possessions. Hence, the arranged marriage.

I asked him politely to quit generalizing. But he continued with his ramblings.

Somewhat annoyed and offended now, I cut him short and asked him what he thinks about the reputation of the Dutch abroad for being horny, drug addicts.

His reply was direct and snappy. He said, well, at least we are not Third World.


Imagine that! tsk.... tsk..... tsk.....

Spring.

We had been blessed with two beautiful weeks now. The temperature is high, and there's beauty anywhere you gaze. Yeah! This is how Spring should be like: refreshing... captivating... ethereal. Just like this song. Truly a joy in your heart.






A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain, It's the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
A shot of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
.
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, oh, the promise of spring

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart (repeat)

A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow

The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay on the face, it's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, drip, drip, drop, the end of the day

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart (repeat)

…the end of the road…a little alone

A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

The waters of March…

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

The waters of March

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

And the original version...




Simply beautiful!