Tag Archives: story

Rights to your own body.

You know that scene from Sissi, in which she tells Franz that their first child is on its way? Just in case you haven’t, here’s his response:


Unless your response as a man is the same as the above, I don’t think you have any rights at all to judge a woman who is quite unsure what to do next, once she has found out she is pregnant.

For ‘normally’ pregnant females, there are websites, which tell you what feelings are normal to experience when you find out you’re pregnant. Also that it’s normal to feel quite ambivalent about it. To be scared. To want to get rid of it. To feel ill equipped. Those websites tell you to talk about those feelings. That it is normal to feel that way.

This is true. I have several friends who admitted to being scared shitless after finding out they were pregnant. No matter how much the unborn child was wanted, those thoughts were among the happy ones. It happens. Mostly, I’ll admit, with friends being heavily nauseous during that first trimester. Pregnancy isn’t always jolly good fun, after all.

It’s also true that types like Jacob Rees-Mogg wake up another type of disgust. Because what if your pregnancy is the result of a rape? The result of a rape by someone you trusted to be your protector? Or just someone who brutally grabbed you, pulled you into the bushes and made you his? Rape itself is traumatising enough, it’s disgusting that a man in suit and tie also claims abortion is wrong in all circumstances.
I was astounded to hear that Jacob actually has a wife and no less than six kids. After his bold confessions that he is against abortion in any case, I thought to myself: that poor daughter of them! Because this also entails that whatever will happen to her, she now has the security that her father will always assume that it was her fault, should something happen to her. Even if Jacob Rees-Mogg did it himself. Or his sons. He has enough of those.
With what kind of world view will these boys be raised? That it’s OK to rape a girl, because she denied him? That it’s OK to rape in general? Because yes, that’s basically what someone with those views, is saying. It is actually denying that rape exists at all. It is beyond the pillory, even. I wanna bet that Jacob Rees-Mogg was mourning the loss of the Magdalene laundrettes in Ireland when they were closed?!

And yes, I know those are his personal views, but still I consider this man to be very dangerous. And a bloody hypocrit, given that he profits from the sales of abortion pills. I’m pretty sure your God will kick you out of heaven, Jacob Rees-Mogg!

Then there’s yet another point of reasoning to consider. What if your child has a chromosomatical deficit, or is handicapped in a different way? This is, again, a very personal point of view. But that’s it: personal. There’s people who say a handicapped child shouldn’t be included in the pro choice process. Why is that?
I know there are experts and lots of people who are very willing to accept any type of people into their lives. But there’s also those who don’t. Why would you force a child to have a parent who will never fully love their child? Don’t forget that many of these children have needs that are mostly costly within health care. A health care that’s slowly bleeding to death, in nearly every country that even has this type of health care at the ready. There are lots of possibilities for people who have money, but not so much for those who don’t. Are you going to be the one who judges if a live is compatible with the current life? Or are you gonna leave that to a professional (the doctor) and the parents who actually need to take care of such a child?

I saw the other day an article about men talking about their side of the story when it came to abortions. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the link any longer.
One man I felt for. He had wanted to have children with the love of his life, and I do think that if he would have had more time with this girl, they might have had a shot at being happy together. I did think: if she would have known how much he loved her, and how much her hormones were possibly confusing her, she might have kept it. Of course I can never be sure. It could be he wasn’t the love of her life, in which case it’s not all that brilliant to be tied together forever because of a child you have to raise. Parenting is tough enough if you are in harmony about things, as children will try to play you out at every single occasion possible.
Another story was from a man who had also unwillingly supported his girlfriend during her abortion. He later forced another woman to carry out her pregnancy, even though doctors had told them their child would not live out of the womb. Of course I felt sorry he had the traumatising experience of his girlfriend undergoing an abortion, but I could not, for the life of me, think why he would punish another woman for that?! He said in the end it was a healing experience, but I thought he had been very cruel to that woman. He had no right to do so, in my opinion. You’re not going to force someone you love, to loose someone if that’s not necessary.

And for those who are still not convinced it’s the choice of women themselves: I’ve read a website where women who had had an abortion could leave their story. I was astounded, shocked and disgusted by how many of these women had been chaised by their angry partners with knives, belts, bats and lovely promises (‘I’ll kill you and that unborn of yours if you keep it!’) before they went to indeed have an abortion. Imagine what that would be like if you did that where it’s illegal. How safe are you going to feel as a woman or a young girl in trouble, if everyone is opposed to any action you can think of?

If you want to help, then really help. Not short term. Don’t say ‘you are a murderer’. Try to actually foresee what could happen to this child if it was born. Are you gonna take care of it? Is that a solid promise, no matter what? Or are you just prolife because you once had an abortion and you’re sorry about it now? Your life isn’t the life of the other. You literally have no idea what you’re up against.

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Posted by on October 2, 2017 in Daily life, Opinion


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When Gods Play Hide & Seek (teaser)

This story begins on a Monday.
To add to its nasty consequences -Mondays are barely ever popular, as beings are not that happy to give up their freedom to perform such a silly thing as work if they have to interrupt or even stop a pleasant thing such as ‘doing nothing’ in front of a tellybox, an xbox, an intergalactic Javahoohoobox, hopping a Mega Hypermatic Bouncing Ball or any such kind thing on weekends- this particular Monday even begins with a meeting.
Meetings are about as pleasant as having a hemorrhoid removed by a dentist, an earthling once told me.

This was not just any meeting.

It was going to be a lifechanging one for some, though not a very impressive one for many others. Most of the latter were attending the table where the meeting was held at.
It was a rather messy meeting, too.
Not quite how Tryxeon had envisioned it. He could hardly draw enough attention to make himself heard, let alone present his new Power Point Presentation.

Which was too bad.
He had spend quite some time making it, after seeing what kind of big audiences it could bring to complete and utter silence on Earth.
Then again, this wasn’t quite Earth. This was his own planet, in his own solar system.

Massive Big Ball.

When it came to naming it, he had been a bit hungover, he admitted. He went for the description his three year old son had given him when seeing it for the first time, from a distance, while eating his porridge. A spoon had pointed at it in his small, sticky and dirty hands.
‘That’s a massive big ball!’
Tryxeon had concluded this was, in fact, the perfect description of it, so he decided that that should be its name.

Got curious?  Purchase here: 


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Posted by on January 27, 2016 in Books, Humour, Projects, Promoting


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Reading about this, it brings me back to a story that involved the friend of one of my siblings.
I had been on my first holiday for weeks, my parents came to collect me and my mother took me for a swim.
Whilst taking a dip -in a wonderful lake in Austria- I asked my mother:
‘So what’s new?’ and she told me that Paul, a friend of one of my sinlings, had been nearly stabbed to death one night.
‘What?!’ I cried in shock. I nearly drowned because I forgot to peddle my legs in shock.
‘Yes, it’s a bit of a horror-story’, my mother continued in seriousness when I got back up.
It appeared that my sibling wasn’t even around at the time. Paul was lucky in a few ways: he was very close to where my parents lived and he managed to get there all by himself.
At 2AM in the morning, he rang the bell of my parents house. Which wasn’t a normal time for them to be awake at all. Paul was -again- lucky my other sibling happened to be at home and up late. So he opened the door, found a heavily bleeding Paul on the doorstep. He took Paul inside, knowing who he was. They woke up my parents and phoned the hospital (which was very very close to the house. Again thankfully). Paul was rescued that night by many factors that were in his favor.
The boy who did it was kicked out of this circle of friends. He ate mushrooms. The kind that can give you a rush. He didn’t understand the impact of his actions, not even after:
‘Paul is alright now, isn’t he?’ was his response when they told him to fuck off forever.
The boy ony apologised when he was told to do so.
Not every child is the same, ofcourse. But these boys were about 14, 15 years old. The girls who planned to kill their friend are 12. Even though teenagers don’t always show literally what they’re thinking of, it should be made clear that killing another human being should never be a game in any way.
Paul survived to tell the tale. My parents didn’t have to tell us it was dangerous to go to the place where the teens had hung out before. My sibling didn’t need a lecture. Simply never attended that spot again.
But these were sane teenagers, with 1 being the idiot to eat drugs before knowing what that does to your body and mind. Not everybody gets to be that lucky to experiment in a way that doesn’t hurt anybody.

We are very happy Paul is still among us and, to this day, part of my siblings’ circle of friends.

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Posted by on January 21, 2016 in Daily life, Opinion


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A Christmas Barrel

A Christmas Barrel

Once upon a time there was a witch called Ebeneza. In a time where witches usually aren’t loved much, Ebeneza wasn’t helping. She was known as the most dirty and evil one of all.
Did you say something she didn’t like?
She would, depending in what mood she was in, cast a spell (‘let’s turn you into a frog, so I can feed you to my heron. The poor dear is hungry!’), feed a potion that had some evil aftermath (‘here’s some nice tea for that nasty cold of yours’) or simply slap you out of the door with her bewitched broom.
None of these suggestions were very popular.
Ebeneza also didn’t care one bit if you were family, acquaintance or just a random stranger. She didn’t like to give anyone money and she lived as cheap as she possibly could.
Ebeneza would, for instance, rather dry her just used tea leaves for another cuppa then just use new ones. She would use the same teaspoon until it looked like the devil had coughed it black himself.
Some witches said she would have washed her loo roll if it wasn’t such a dirty job to clean it. She did flush her toilet with all kinds of fluids she found in the house. She even squeezes frogs for that purpose.
This could’ve been funny, except she smelled.
Ebeneza smelled as she never washed.
‘Soap costs money and I ain’t using that for something as useless as washing!’ she once cried at her cousin Rosette, who’d come by to see her aunt and nearly fainted because of the smell her aunt was spreading. And all Ebeneza had done at the time was lift her arm to pour out a cup of tea.
Ebeneza was the dirtiest creature to be found. Not the most giving one either.
It was actually quite simple: if you didn’t, for absolutely certain, needed her, one was wise not to visit her.
Unfortunately, there were those who worked for her.
Ebeneza wasn’t just economical, she was insanely good with her potions, bewitchings and so on. She did have a lot of customers and patients, who needed her help for all kinds of things.
Wartwater, for making warts go away.
Silence-is-golden-tickets, for husbands who couldn’t keep their mouths shut whenever their spouse spoke.
Molded mushrooms, that made your farts turn purple (her cousin Edward had come up with that, it had appeared to be a massive success, oddly).
Dreamella’s Magic Curlshampoo, that could curl the world’s most straightest hair in just one washing.
And so much more.
All products that were highly desired for, cost a lot and people could nearly never completely afford it. Ebeneza was the kind of woman who loved people being in debt with her. It meant she could demand more money. So she would tell someone:
‘Oh, I’ve got the perfect solution for you! Sure, it costs a bit, but wouldn’t you want to have a greater life? You can pay me later if you don’t have the full amount now, no problem!’ and then she made them sign a paper, which said Ebeneza was allowed to take their house. And rent it. To complete strangers. If not paid by a date she picked out herself.
Since people came from here and there and everywhere, it meant Ebeneza basically had a lot of houses to put people in, if she wished. She sold it as a ‘cheap holiday’, and didn’t accept the possibility of a refund.
And that all for some shampoo, eh?
It had been one of those nights where she worked quite late, when her assistant Helga Crampit, came to see her. Ms Crampit was the one who grew the magic mushrooms for many a potion.
‘Yes, what is it now?’ Ebeneza said growling. Ms Crampit had bothered her much these days, Ebeneza thought. A few times it had been to simply ask Ebeneza if she would like to check the potion that had been made? (to which the answer was always ‘yes’, as Ebeneza didn’t like the thought of not making it herself. She would test every single one). Instead of considering Ms Crampit a very hard worker for the little money she paid her and the mushrooms she took, it made Ebeneza just very grumpy.
Ms Crampit didn’t seem to be bothered by this. She was a very loved chef at the working floor. With six interns (‘they cost less!’) it was Ms Crampit who made the business run smoothly.
‘Well’, started Ms Crampit nervously.
‘Yes?!’ Ebeneza’s impatience grew by the second when somebody didn’t state their business the very first seconds.
‘Well, Ebeneza, Ms, it’s gonna be Christmas. Usually, all businesses are closed with Christmas’, Ms Crampit looked down. Ebeneza looked at Ms Crampit very, very annoyed.
‘Fine, take the day off’, she said, nearly offering Ms Crampit some tea. Ms Crampit nearly cheered. She smiled at least. That annoyed Ebeneza.
‘Just come in early the day after!’ Ebeneza added. Ms Crampit’s smile disappeared. This pleased Ebeneza. She hated happy people.
As soon as she was no longer spoken to, Ms Crampit fled to the working floor and send everyone home for Christmas, leaving the building herself shortly after.
It was also time for Ebeneza. She went home, making herself a cup of tea and a kettle of soup. Then, she made a mistake. A small urn of ashes – of Ebeneza’s even less admired grandmother- fell in the kettle. It made a purple mist, that turned into blue, green and yellow bubbles, before her grandmother Edna’s head appeared. She had long been diseased.
‘Grandma Edna!’ Ebeneza shouted in fear, as she had just added a bit of salt to her soup, something grandma Eda had always disapproved of. Salt was too expensive to be used in vain in her opinion. She tried to hide it with her hand. Grandma Edna laughed. Like nails scratching a blackboard.
‘Oh dear, what a hassle over some salt?! I’m here to tell you something much worse’, she squeaked. Ebeneza knew that was Grandma Edna’s way of laughing. It sounded horrid. She took a sip of her soup. She liked soups, for they were cheaper to make and filled enough for an entire night.
‘You see, you will be visited by some mighty big mushrooms. You’ve mistaken their power for yours and now they will show you! It’ll start at midnight! ‘ Grandma Edna squeaked again.
Ebeneza wasn’t very happy about this message, nor was she impressed by it.
‘We’ll see’, she simply said, as she finished her soup.
She went to bed after that, blowing out the mushroomscented candle on her nightstand.
Ebeneza heard the clock turn 12. She looked around her bed. Nothing.
‘See? Nothing to worry about. That daft Grandma Edna!’ Ebeneza told herself. Then she smelled something weird.
She sniffed it. And again. And again. What was that?
‘Oh blimey, did I forget to take out the stove?’ Ebeneza wanted to get out of bed, but tripped.
Over a giant mushroom.
‘Haha! No, you didn’t forget to take out the stove, I just farted’, the mushroom said. Ebeneza waved her hand about.
‘Oh don’t be silly love, you smell much worse, I assure you!’ the mushroom gasped for air as it pulled her out of bed.
‘Now what?!’ Ebeneza shouted.
‘Well, you’re going out of here, that’s for sure!’ the mushroom just spoke, pulling her by the feet
‘To do what?’
‘Well, you’re the meat to my soup’, it said, pulling her down the stairs, into the kitchen. It seemed to know what it was doing. It very carefully chose the biggest knife Ebeneza had in there. She usually used it to cut small calves to use their marrow for puddings. In awe and full of disbelieve she just observed the mushroom. It cleared out her sink, took out all kinds of fresh vegetables from Ebeneza’s special cabinet.
‘You may want to turn it down a little?! That’s about fifty pounds worth of totally good herbs!’ she whined a bit.
‘We can’t make proper soup without proper herbs, now can we?’ the mushroom spoke. When it appeared to have everything ready on the sink (massive kettle on the fire, herbs, vegetables, salt, pepper, carrots, leeks, potatoes, all kinds of things Ebeneza never used, really, for she thought them to be far too expensive), the murshroom spoke:
‘And now my main ingredient: YOU!’ it simply threw Ebeneza on the cutting board and tied her up with ropes and belts. Then it started to sharpen the biggest knife it had just displayed. Ebeneza screamed.
‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll taste quite lovely! I’m an expert at this, trust me!’ the mushroom spoke, walking with the knife to Ebeneza.
Ebeneza fainted from fear.

When she woke up, she was on the floor next to her bed.
No kitchen, no horrible mushroom.
She just fell out of bed, explaining why she dreamed to be on the sink, probably. Ebeneza got up and quickly layed herself back in bed.

When she woke up after a while, there was a mushroom next to her bed. It looked different from the previous one, but Ebeneza was alarmed.
‘Why are you here?’ Ebeneza asked, quite rudely.
‘Mostly because you need a bath!’ the mushroom pulled Ebeneza by her ear to the kettle that was still hanging in the fireplace, dropped her in it.
‘There’s no reason to ruin perfectly good soup!’ cried Ebeneza.
‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong’, the mushroom spoke, as it started stirring the soup.
‘I can’t feel my legs!’ Ebeneza shouted after a while.
‘Ah yes, that’s them being boiled and cooked. Soon you won’t feel anything, that’s when the soup is done and served. Don’t worry, you will be dead by then’, the mushroom spoke as if it was a cozy Nan, comforting a sewet grandchild.
‘Aaaah!’ Ebeneza shouted, waving her arms and legs about fear.
She woke up, appeared to be still in bed.

‘Whoa, what the freaking noodle was THAT?!’ she panted. She felt her clothes. She couldn’t be much wetter of all the sweat. But she was alive and not in a kettle!
Relieved she fell asleep again.
Only to be woken up what seemed only five minutes later. A humming sound this time. She looked around, heard hammering and didn’t see a thing. When she tried to reach for her candle, she noticed she was trapped. Inside what? Her arms and legs tried to sense what was going on.
‘You’re in a barrel, mate’, said the one who’d been humming.
‘In a barrel of what?’ Ebeneza enquired.
‘A burial barrel’, the whistling continued, as did the hammering.
‘You can’t bury me, I’m alive’, Ebeneza protested.
‘Well, that’s what you say. You smell pretty dead to me!’
‘Are you a mushroom?’ it did seem like an odd question, but she wanted to be sure.
‘Yes, why?’
‘I have a bad experience with your type’
‘Oh yeah, like what?’ it enquired.
‘Well, one of you tried to slice me up, another one to put me in the soup and now you’, she explained.
‘Ah yes, but didn’t you use all of us for your own good without giving anything in return?’
‘Well…’ Ebeneza thought for a moment.
‘Yes, well, that’s why’, it merrily carried on hammering and whistling.
‘There must be SOMETHING I can do to make it right, surely?!’ Ebeneza cried. She didn’t like small rooms and this barrel, as she noticed it was, was very moldy too.
‘Well, you could. But it’s nothing that would ever interest you’, it started hammering again.
‘Please tell me what it is, so I can decide myself’, Ebeneza yelled really loud, as the hammering wasn’t that easy to get through to.
Thankfully this mushroom appeared to be willingly.
‘OK, donate a year of your mushrooms profits to anyone who REALLY needs it. And bath, for heavens’ sake!’
‘Allright allright I will do that!’ Ebeneza said annoyed. She was sick and tired of mushrooms telling her to bath. Especially with these heavy consequences!
‘And who would be the beneficiary?’ apparently, it wasn’t enough to just say it. Ebeneza thought for a few moments. It wasn’t that easy to pick someone. And at the same time, it was.
‘Ms Crampit’.
‘Excellent choice, Ebeneza’, that voice sounded familiar.
‘Grandma Edna?!’ Ebeneza shouted.
‘Yes, dear. It was about bloody time you gave that poor woman something back in return. Do you know she has eight children to feed on that louzy salary you give her? One is about to die thanks to you!’
‘Oh wow, I had no idea, how come?’
‘Because people don’t tell you anything. You smell like shit and mushrooms. And not in a good way. Open the barrel, boys, I have a feeling things are about to change now’.
And so it did. Ebeneza started bathing and treating Ms Crampit properly and mushrooms were never taken for granted ever again.


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Posted by on October 31, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Vaste Rituelen /Usual Habits

‘Seffie, wanneer gaan wij nou eens eindelijk enorme sex hebben?’ het had intimiderend kunnen klinken, maar het was Huib maar. Seffie proestte. Een reflex, waar het Huib betrof. Dit onderwerp maakte deel uit van de Vaste Rituelen die ze hadden, in feite.
‘Jeeeeezus, kun je niet heel even wachten tot ik de voordeur op z’n minst open heb gedaan?’ vroeg ze, zogenaamd geërgerd. Ze stonden voor de deur van haar studentenflat, de armen vol boodschappen.
De supermarkt op het studententerrein was super. Die was altijd open en had tenminste beschikking over de basisbehoeftes.
Huib gaf niet op. Hij was ervan overtuigd dat het ooit zou gebeuren. Er was teveel wat erop duidde dat ze voorbestemd waren. Het feit dat ze dezelfde muziek leuk vond, dat ze dezelfde soort films bekeek, dat ze nooit geërgerd was als hij over zijn principes met handdoeken begon, dat ze de boter op precies dezelfde manier uit de vloot haalde en dat ze zijn hobbies uit kon staan. Het was teveel, dat moest toch wel iets te betekenen hebben?
‘Het lijkt me gewoon een geweldig idee’, begon hij z’n argumentatie dus opnieuw, terwijl hij een pakje uit haar boodschappentas redde, dat dreigde over de rand te vallen.
‘Kijk, ik red zelfs je kippensoep, ik ben een held’, voegde hij eraan toe.
‘Het is een geweldig idee’, beaamde Seffie, die eigenlijk de naam Josephine droeg, ‘vooral omdat ik me totaal niet tot je aangetrokken voel en ik net zomin jouw type ben. Prachtige combi, zeg ik je’.
Josephine had foto’s gezien van zijn grootste verliefdheden en had alleen maar tot de conclusie kunnen komen dat ze niets weg had van het soort meisjes waar hij op viel. Na wat hij over ze verteld had, wist ze bovendien dat ze niet de karaktertrekken bezat die hij zo aanbad in zijn vrouwen. Josephine geloofde niet in tegenpolen die elkaar aantrokken. Als ze zich dood ergerde aan iemand, wat bij Huib vaak zat gebeurde, wilde ze die uit de buurt hebben, niet dichterbij.
Eindelijk stak ze de sleutel met succes in de voordeur en hipte naar binnen. Huib kon nog net de deur binnen glippen achter haar, want omdat ze met haar schouder de zijkant van de deur had geraakt, viel die nog harder dicht dan gewoonlijk.
‘Ik kan een papieren zak over m’n kop trekken?’, opperde hij in het trappenhuis. Zijn woorden galmde door de stenen hal. Ze lachte. Een rollende spotsalvo.
‘Is goed, dan blijf ik stokstijf liggen met m’n benen wijd. Kun je het niet doen als ik slaap? Dan merk ik ook niks, ben ik meteen van het gezeur af’. Ze waren op de verdieping van Josephine aangekomen inmiddels.
‘Ja maar hoor eens, hoe weet je dan of ik goed bezig ben? Misschien ben ik fantastisch en dat mis je dan allemaal!’ Josephine grijnsde en stopte haar boodschappen in de koelkast.
‘Okee, welke film kijken we als eerste?’ vroeg ze toen. Het onderwerp was weer eens afgesloten. Het gebeurde elke keer op een ander moment, maar het moment kwam hoe dan ook.
Josephine had de prettige gewoonte (vond Huib) dat haar impulsaankopen vrijwel altijd uit films bestonden. Had hij er ook nog wat aan. Haar smaak was uiteenlopend. Niet alleen romantische komedie, ze kocht ook actie- en horrorfilms, omdat ze fan was van bepaalde filmsterren.
Huib bekeek de selectie eens grondig. Het was niet veel soeps deze keer, omdat ze ook vaak iets kocht om met Jenna, Hanna en Pien te kijken. Die waren juist van de romcoms, zoals ze romantische komedie waren gaan noemen.
‘Hmm, doe Miss Congeniality dan maar’, zei hij toegeeflijk zuchtend. Josephine klapte in haar handen.
‘Ja, mee eens!’ riep ze vrolijk, terwijl ze naar de speler liep, die onder de tv in de hoek stond.
‘Is toch met die gast die jij zo leuk vindt?’ vroeg hij nog na voor de zekerheid.
‘Jazeker’, zei ze simpel, terwijl ze de afstandsbediening tussen de kussens van de meest versleten bank ter wereld vandaan viste. Er kleefden nog stukjes schuimrubber aan en toen Huib ging zitten zakte hij zover weg in het meubel dat hij zich verwonderd afvroeg of hij niet net zo goed op de grond kon gaan zitten.
‘Precies, dan heb ik er misschien toch nog wat aan’, sprak hij zelfverzekerd.
‘Blijf dat maar denken, dan kan ik kijken en kwijlen en jij kijken en kwijnen’, klonk haar lachsalvo. Huib bond in. Hij wist dat hij geen kans maakte. Geen echte.
Terwijl ze op de bank zaten, kwamen er druppelsgewijs huisgenoten binnen in de woonkeuken. Enkelen vertrokken nadat ze wat eet- en kookgerei hadden neergezet. Vermoedelijk eerst naar de buurtsuper.
‘Wij gaan nog even boodschappen doen’, meldde Jelle, ‘kan ik voor iemand nog iets meenemen?’
‘Nee dank je’, zei Josephine vrolijk terug. Ze genoot van de film en Huib z’n bijpassende gegrom op de achtergrond. De bodem van de bank prikte pijnlijk door z’n broek heen, maar hij kon niet meer overeind komen.
‘Welke film is dit?’vroeg Hannah vanaf de keukentafel, die uitkeek op het breedbeeldscherm in de hoek. Huib lichtte haar in.
‘Jemig, da’s niet echt een kwaliteitsfilm, of wel?’vroeg ze lachend. Josephine schaterde.
‘Hey, mijn lieverdje speelt erin mee!’ Hannah viel van pret bijna met haar gezicht in de tofu die ze stond te snijden en kruidde.
‘Och god ja, da’s waar ook’, zei ze toen. Hannah wist heel goed van Josephine’s filmliefjes af. Ze waren raar en het hoorde bij Josephine, dat was het enige wat je daarvan moest weten. Hannah studeerde film- en theaterwetenschappen, iets wat niet altijd even vlot samen ging met het soort films die Josephine naar huis sleepte.
‘Is het een leuke film?’ vroeg Hannah belangstellend.
‘Nee’, zei Huib.
‘Ja!’, antwoordde Josephine tegelijk. Ze keek Huib streng aan.
‘En daarom slaap ik niet met je!’ en daarmee was het basta.

‘Seffie, when are we finally going to have some major sex?’ it could’ve sounded intimidating, but it was only Huey. Seffie snorted. A reflex, where it came to Huey. This subject was part of their Usual Habits, actually.
‘Jeeeeeeeesus can’t you wait until I opened the door at the very least?!’ she answered, pretending to be annoyed. They were outside her studentflat. Arms filled with groceries.
The supermarket on the terrain of the student flats was fabulous. It had all the basic needs covered.
Huey didn’t plan to give up that easily. He was convinced it would happen one day. There was simply too much that indicated they were meant to be.
The fact she liked the same music as him, that she liked the same films, that she was never annoyed if he started about his principles with towels again, that she scooped her butter to put on a roll in the same way that he did and that she could stand his hobbies. It was too much, it had to vouch for something, surely?!
‘I think it’s simply a great idea’, he started his argumentation again, while saving a package from one of the bags, that was about to fall out.
‘Here, I just saved your chickensoup. I’m a hero’, he added.
‘It is a great idea’, Seffie, who was actually named Josephine, agreed, ‘especially because I’m not attracted to you in the least bit and I’m nowhere near your type. A bloody lovely combo I tell you!’
Josephine had seen pictures of his biggest crushes and could only conclude she wasn’t even close to what he seemed to desire in a girl. After what he told, she also knew she didn’t have any of the characteristics that he seemed to adore so much in these girls. Josephine didn’t believe in ‘opposites attract’. If she was highly annoyed by someone, this someone being Huey more often than should be the case, she wanted him or her as far away as possible, not nearer.
Finally she managed to push the key inside the lock of the door successfully and skipped inside. Huey only just managed to get in behind her, as her shoulder had touched the door in such a way it fell shut even harder than normally.
‘I can put a paper bag over my head?’ he suggested at the staircases. His words echoed in the stone walls. Josephine laughed. A rolling laughter.
‘Alright, I will hold still with my legs opened. Can’t you do it while I’m asleep? At least then I won’t notice and I’m finally done with your whinings’. They had entered the floor Josephine lived on. Amongst the others.
‘But how would you know how I am? Maybe I’m fantastic and you’d miss all of that!’ Josephine grinned and stuffed her fridge with the just bought items.
‘Okay, so which film do we watch first?’ she then asked. The chapter had been closed again. It always happened at a different moment, but it always happened.
Josephine had the lovely habit (Huey’s opinion) that her impulse purchases were nearly always films. He could work with it. Her taste was very diverse. Not just romantic comedies, also action and horror, as she was fond of specific actors and actresses.
Huey checked the selection of this time. It wasn’t much, as Josephine also purchased films to watch with Jenna, Hannah and P, who were much more into the romcoms.
‘Hmmm let’s go with Miss Congeniality then’, he said, permissively accepting. Josephine clapped her hands.
‘Yes, agreed!’ she said merrily, putting the film into the player that was under the tv in the livingroom.
‘That’s with that guy you like so much, no?’ he informed to be sure.
‘Oh yes’, she said, simply taking the remote from the most discarted couch in the universe, pieces of foam rubber still attached to it from its insides. When Huey sat down on it he disappeared so much he wondered if he couldn’t just have sat on the ground instead.
‘Well, exactly, so maybe there’s something in it for me after all’ he stated, confident.
‘Keep thinking that if it makes you happy. Meanwhile I will look and drool and you can look and be miserable’ Huey knew he lost. He couldn’t win this. Not for real.
While they sat on the couch, some roommates came into the livingkitchen, if you will. Some of them put stuff down only to leave the room again, others stayed a bit.
‘We’re going to the supermarket, anybody need anything?’Jules asked.
‘No thanks’, Josephine cheerfully answered. She was enjoying her film and the growling of Huey in the background. The springs of the couch poked through his trousers and into his legs, but he couldn’t find a way to get up.
‘Which film is this?’ Hannah asked, who could see the tv in the corner of the room. Huey enlightened her.
‘Wow, not really a film of quality, now is it?’ she asked laughingly. Josephine joined her laugh.
‘Hey, it’s my sweetheart playing along in this one, that’s all that matters!’ this made Hannah laugh so hard she nearly fel with her head in the tofu she was preparing.
‘Oh heavens, yes!’ she replied, ‘I had forgotten’. Hannah knew about the actors and actresses Josephine loved. They were weird and they stuck with her anyhow. That’s all one needed to know. Hannah studied Film- and Theatre Sciences, which didn’t always go smoothly along with Josephines choice in films.
‘Is it a nice film?’ Hannah enquired.
‘No!’ Huey answered
‘Yes!’ Josephine answered at the same time. Josephine looked at Huey stern.
‘And that’s why I don’t sleep with you!’ and that was it.

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Posted by on January 26, 2015 in Daily life, Humour


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Wiskundeleraar/ Mathematics teacher

Hoewel ik heb begrepen dat wiskunde, in het algemeen, als saai wordt gezien, zou dat natuurlijk voor elk vak kunnen gelden. Er zijn weliswaar vakken waarbij de instant ‘vermaakfactor’ tamelijk hoog is, maar als ik terugdenk aan m’n eigen schooltijd, waren het eigenlijk vooral de docenten die een vak leuker of vervelender maakten.
Ik kende niet veel mensen die Frans een leuk vak vonden. De dame die dat gaf trok haar neus dusdanig hoog op dat je je soms afvroeg of ze de vloer überhaupt weleens zag. Laat staan de brugpiepers.
Degene die Duits gaf was daarentegen weer dusdanig lief dat je als leerling totaal geen drang voelde om aan je werk te beginnen.
Hoe dan ook, ik begon dit stukje over docenten wiskunde en het toeval wil dat ik eigenlijk alleen maar leuke docenten heb gehad in dat vak. Met een ervan had ik een vriendschappelijke vechtpartij in het lokaal (kan dat dan? Ja, dat kan), waar een andere, die ik later had, het werk van een ander over ging schrijven.
Dat laatste was opmerkelijk. Er zijn wel meer leerlingen die elkaars werk overschrijven. In dit geval was de leerling in kwestie daarmee bezig geweest, van tafel gelopen om bij een andere tafel een gesprek over iets heel anders te beginnen (Montessori-systeem, dus geen klassikale les) en had het over te schrijven schrift op z’n tafel laten liggen. De leraar, die zijn gebruikelijke rondje door de klas heen liep, merkte op een goed moment de lege stoel op en keek eens in het schriften die er lagen.
‘Goh, dat kan ik ook wel’, sprak de docent, nam plaats naast de twee andere hoogst verbaasde leerlingen, en begon het geheel over te schrijven. Opwindend gegiechel alom, want we hebben het hier over een leraar die niet snel geneigd was dit scala aan grappen uit te halen. Eerder de persoon om je met de ernst van een priester toe te spreken als je iets fout had gedaan. Daarnaast was het nu de kunst om te zorgen dat de jongen die van z’n tafel was weggelopen, niks zou merken. Een soort surprise-party.
Puur vermaak. De jongen in kwestie was niet dom, maar wel degelijk hilarisch onopmerkzaam voor z’n omgeving.
Nadat bijna het halve schrift was overgeschreven, dreigde hij weer terug te lopen naar z’n tafeltje. De wiskundeleraar sprong haastig op en liep terug naar z’n eigen plek.
De jongen nam plaats, zijn tafelgenoten deden braaf of hun neus bloedde, en richtten zich op hun eigen schriftjes. Ondertussen werd de jongen, zonder dit door te hebben, door de hele klas bespied. Zijn gezichtsuitdrukking ging van nietsvermoedend (‘oh ja, daar gaan we weer’) naar verbaasd (‘huh?’) om vervolgens op te kijken, omringd te worden met starende ogen die hem vervolgens uitlachten. Hij lachte net zo hard mee, want hij had het handschrift dondersgoed herkend.
Dat waren nog eens tijden…

Even though I’ve understood that Maths is considered to be, generally, a dull subject, this could be the case for any subject, obviously. Ofcourse there are some with a certain ‘entertainmentfactor’ is already present, but thinking about my own past attending school, it was mostly the teachers that made subjects either fun or horrid.
I didn’t know many people who truly liked French class, for instance. The lady teaching the subject held her nose up in the air so high there was doubt if she ever noticed the floor. Or the small juniors passing her.
The one who teached German on the other hand, was such an utterly sweet lady that no one ever felt the need or the urge to work hard. Or at all, for that matter. You expected the kettle to sing its merry song any minute and the biscuits to be served.
However, I started this piece about Maths teachers and the fact is, I really only had fun teachers for that subject. With one of them I had a friendly fight in the classroom (is that possible? Yes, it is), and a different one wrote someone else’s notes into the notebook of a student.
That last one was quite remarkable. There are pupils who will copy each others work, this is a known fact. In this case the pupil had started to copy someones work, had left the table to start a conversation with someone else about something completely unrelated to Maths (Montessori-system, which is without a teacher to teach the lesson, this is done individually by need) and had left his notebook open on the table. The teacher, browsing the classroom, noticed the two notebooks open on  the table, checked what was inside.
‘Oh well, I can do this!’, said the teacher, sat down between the two highly surprised pupils who shared a table with the boy that just walked off, and started to write. Excited giggles all around, since this wasn’t part of the kind of behaviour we were used to from this particular teacher. He was more the preacher kind of type if you’d done something wrong. And now we had to make sure the boy who’d left his table, wouldn’t notice anything.
Like a surpriseparty.
Pure entertainment. The boy wasn’t stupid, but very hilariously unaware of what was happening. After practically copying half the notebook, the boy seemed tempted to return to his table.
The teacher swiftly returned to his desk in front of the classroom.
The boy was seated, his table companions pretended like nothing happened, concentrating their attention to their own notebooks. Meanwhile the boy was being observed closely by everyone in the classroom. His facial expression went from unsuspectlingly (‘here we go again’) to surprised (‘huh?’) looking up from his notebook, being surrounded by all these eyes being pointed out to him, to a full classroom laughing at him. He joined the laughing matter just as much, while turning scarlet, for he knew the handwriting very well.
Those were the days….

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Posted by on November 25, 2014 in Daily life, Humour


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