Friday, February 29, 2008

Someone dies

I doubled fourth grade, for reasons that are not relevant right now. Because I doubled - I found myself in class with people who I experienced being significantly younger than me. The first day of that schoolyear, I had been standing with my friends - who moved to fifth grade, knowing I was required to go with the fourth garders. So anyway, after the bell rang - I got somewhat lost and didn't find my class immediately. When I found the correct classroom, the 'lesson' had already begun. I felt panic as soon as I entered the room, due to everyone turing their heads back - a lot of faces I knew from seeing - one person who doublled just like me, so I knew her, but not very well, as a matter of fact we didn't even get along - and then some completely new faces. I was terrified - will this be my class? The teacher gave the exact same speach she had given the preious year and I just laid my head on the bench and closd my eyes. This is a nightmare.

Hmm. intersting. i just reaklised something about my ego. It was able to 'grow' like it had, exactly because of the situation I was in (having doubled fourth grade). When with people of my own age, I'd always been more 'mature', more 'adult'. So now with people who were in fact a year younger than me -most of them, the discrepancy in attitudes became quite extensive. I remember I despised all people of my class, from the first day on. I felt very superior - and a lot of people of the class would soon start to see me as such, fucking admiring me.

me and some other guys, who I thought were not too stupid, would develop a group identity within the class. We'd mak fun of everyone else. There was a chap, who's name was Emmerik. He died. One day, our teacher stood before us and said "someone of our class has passed away..." Then someone shouted "Who!?" And she anwered "It's Emmerik." Bam. A lot of people bursting out in tears, because they had spend already a year with him, and thus they knew him best. What was my experience in that moment? I saw P. and S. and A. in heavy tears, especially P. He was crying like children do - kind of shouting at the same time, his face completely broken. At one point he turned around - because he sat somewhat up front - and I didn't undestand if he did it to show the extent of his grief to everyone, or to look who else was devastated, and how much. because he had a searching look on his face - very subtle tough. Hmm, I wonde if this is even true.... So what about me. I remember looking at C. - who, like me, didn't know Emmerik nor his entourage at school very well. C. didn't obviously feel a thing, he was looking around, hiding his amusement. And for a while I felt amused aswell. Who were all these people anyway? It was like an nervous laughter I had to keep in check within me. At the same time, I valued the moment because it had somehing real about it. These tears I saw - they were real. Emmerik was dead - that was real. There just wasn't any room for bullshit. Everything seemed to the point.

Friday, February 22, 2008

long hair

So when I was 12 me and my mom we went to the "kapper" (the barber?/hairdresser?) - it was a 'she'. And she suggested to my that I should let my hair grow - because it would look nice on me, she said. I thought this idea was exciting, because then I would look like "Reno Raines" in "The Bountihunter" - he had long hair obviously. When it came to cool/good looks, I thought he was certainly the man, when I was 12 - especially when he would tie his hair up on the back of his head ("paardenstaart".... he, zucht!). So this opnion I had of this actor, was the reason i went for it: long hair. My hair would remain long for fucking 10 years.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

pretending to be depressed

Some days after I had "run away", it was decided I should stay in Kortenberg, wich is a psychiatric hospital - I don't even remember who's idea it was. Anyways, my parents seemed to want to play safe - and there was a psychiatrist who thought it be a good idea. I dont remember if anyone asked my opinion, but I don't remember protesting either ! Finally my life was changing ! Exciting things were happening - everything was "moving" again.

This moring I woke up, having had a dream about me being in Zafaraya - the village in the complete south of Spain where we would go on holliday every year - and I was walking in the streets with my parents. All i remember is that I have some object in my hand - like a little crow and it's got to do with my parents, with their wedding or something. Suddenly I become so angry I trow this object in a near window, smashing the window and running away from my parents - out of fear for what I have done. I run to the top of the village. Then there is some flying around like a chicken - very strange, to "travel faster", to make a better escape, I fly over the streets in a direct line. I don't behave like a chicken, but the position of my arms is like when humans imitate chicken wings, actually very uneffective to really fly - but I apparantly do fly.

Then I fell asleep again (several times, sleeping a total of eight or more hours) and I wake up with a memory about Kortenberg. It was very strange, because as I remembered the "memory-sensation-picture-experience" I wanted to hide from it. I was caught by surprise, it seems. I started doing forgiveness immediately, but I knew this was a "very big point", so I oncluded I would have to fucking write about it.

The memory: W. and V. (two nurses) are asking me if I am really "depressed". I have been in Kortenberg now fo several months - people have been able to obsever me in many ways. Now they ask me this question, in front of the other members of my group - people of my age. I feel "attacked" because - off course - I know that I am many things, but "depressed" is certainly not one of them. Nontheless - I speak and act as if I am. Only me knows this, but I shouldn't be in this place - meaning: I am actually quite fine. I know this for certain as I observe other people, listen to their stories, etc. I was one of the few - maybe the only one - who wasn't on any medication-drug. I actually pretend to be depressed, so that I wouldn't be send home - and would be forced to take on my old life ! I was scared - very, very scared to go and live with my father again, to confront him. The hospital was my "shelter", there I was safe. I also enjoyed the attention that was given to me. People were noticing me again! It was the complete opposite of home. Here people seemed to 'care' and 'listen' to me. So I stayed a full 9 MONTHS in this psychiatric institution - doing nothing but hiding from the world, ignoring reality at full speed. Most of the time I wouldn't even think about the future, about me being "released". It became unimaginable for me that I would ever go back to "the normal world" where I "belonged". Most of the time I really believed I would never go back, I would find a way to never have to take on my life again - even if it meant lying to everyone. I wasn't concerned about my family or friends though - I never felt any guilt, because i knew they were a sham. I had completely said "goodbye" to my old life, there was no point in taking it back on.

I have always ignored this blatant truth to myself, until this very morning, when I woke up. I always was kind of aware of it - off course - but I have always been bullshitting myself into believing I was actually maybe depressed after all (sometimes?). No, I wasn't !!

Saturday, February 16, 2008

an experience of nakedness

Ok, I need to write this down today. When in fith or sixth grade of public school, we twice a year had to rite some short paper on a subject for 'religion' class. This time - oh, I dont remember the title, but it had something to do with children and empathy. Anyway, a week after we'd returned our papers, he gave us his general opinion of our text.

I was sitting pretty much in front of the class. When it was my turn, he adresses me - and I would get a bit nervous, because I never could foresee what he would say about anything, although I understood him to be very clever with words and just very intelligent. In my experience, it was a bit like a trial. Would I pass the trial or not? But if it was a trial, then what was at stake? Surely not my 'liberty'!

During the years at public school, I had come to define myself as a very intelligent young man. This definition was naturally a defense shield, and I was dead serious about it. You did not want to mess with my shield. Now I was good at words too, but because my parents did not pertain to the intellectual class of society, I had to 'work myself up'. I remember being ashamed when someone would point out to me that this or that viewpoint of mine was very 'conservative' or 'narrow-minded'. From fourth grade on, I develloped an immense ego - like you cannot believe. All defense and protection shield offcourse. I could get really hard on people with words, with no regards whatsoever for who they where or whatever. It was like punching with words. Once you master words and some intuitive psychology, it is very simple to deeply hurt and even traumatise people by saying certain words in a specific tone of voice and facial expression. So, most people did not want to mess with me. Actually, a lot of people were scared of me. I had no problem with putting someone to complete ridicule. Yes, I made people cry. I would humiliate people like they never had been humiliated before in their entire life. (I'll get to the different reasons as to why I created such an ego, but somewhere else.) Also, I was lucky to have a very deep voice. I had all the assets to play 'the part' effectively. People would always say I was very mature for a guy of my age.

Now, as to what the trial was about. Obviously, what was at stake was this specific ego-construct of mine. It had become my only source of selfworth. Now, this teacher - he could, if he wanted, take it all away from me, if he really wanted to. His (apparent) self-confidence was way above my own. I actuactually ddnt posses any, except when I stood before someone I knew I could deal with on an intellectual level - because them I could fool with my ego, they'd buy into it. I knew this teacher had done university - philosophy and something else aswell - and was one of the oldest around at school. It's safe to say that by most people he was considered the most 'wise' person at the whole school - he'd even impress his fellow-collegues. It had something 'socratic' about him. A silent wisdom and always wearing a smile inside his beard.

Now this guy, I could never fool. (I lived according to a picture hierarchy-structure in my mind: people that stood above me and below me, and some next to me (but not too close!). He stood way above me. The 'intellectual map' of my world. If this sound like a WAR-map to you, then you guess correct.) Ok, back to the class. He gave me some 'positive comments' on my paper, but then he started discussing my main thesis. My main thesis was: children don't know empathy, due to lack of experience. According to my view, children's ability to sense others peoples feelings was limited to their own experiences. Now, he looked at me -straight in the eyes - and starts talking about his son, a little boy. This boy - he said - had made a drawing because he felt sad, sad for a whoman that.... blabla, I dont remember the details. For some reason he felt very strong about this, he kept going on about it. And as he was 'presenting his argument' I started to sweat and I felt all the blood going to my head, because he didn't stop looking me in the eyes. I was in total panic, I wanted him to stop, otherwise - I feared - I might actually burst out in tears and collapse. I did not feel humiliated, it was even beyong humiliation. this feeling inside me, taking controll of me - and I didn't understand why. I didn't understand where it came from! (I was feeling very embarrased at the same time, for feeling the way I did) I could feel the tears ready to race, but I was holding back and cotrolling myself all that i could, all the same looking in a direction so no one would notice I was freaking inside. i felt like a child, being punished infront of everyone. As if someone was tearing the clothes from my body, the presentation i gave of myself, and putting me naked infront of everyone.

I just wanted to put this on record, because I know there's much work to do still in this direction. It is an interesting fear...

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Taking revenge

When I was about 14 of age, I was becoming very lonely - because I had lost all and every opportunity to feel wanted, needed, appreciated. I might have been 15 aswell, hmm. Fuck it. We have a library close to home and I would go there once and a while. Now, I was a great fan of Nirvana. It was the most beautifull music I'd ever heard. Anyhow, I saw this biography of Kurt Cobain, standing amongst the books of the library. I was amazed. I took it immediately, determined to read it completely - it was a thick book. It was very strange reading this book. It was someones lifestory - I had never read such a thing before. On many occasions I was very bored with what i read, but other times I would sit "on the tip of my chair". So amazing, to read someone's life - apparently. It covered all of his life. From up to his very childhood.

Once the book was lying around downstairs - I didn't expect anyone to be offended by it, because I didn't expect anyone to know who Kurt Cobain is. But my father, when seeing the book, said: "So, You're reading books about Losers?" He meant Losers in Life. (In fact his own father had commited suicide, but this i would only learn at a much later stage) It hurt me so much he said this, that i hid myself in the bathroom and cried.

It was as if I had walked along with someone - reading this book - and then in the end he kills himself, and I was left behind. I dont know from what perspective, but I found much beauty and dignity in the act of killing oneself. In my imagination, Kurt Cobain had become a god. This - I thought - is what real courage means. In the story of his life I saw how isolated he'd become from the world, getting somehow lost from his home and childhood - finding out there existed nothing that was actually worth living. I found myself in kind of the same situation. I was in public school, third year, and I had no real friends anymore. There was no one who had even the slightest idea of who i was, where I came from. I could just be anyone. I lost all sense of purpose, the world was closing in on me. This was the point where I realised my life was over. I could see nothing in the future that was worth waiting for, looking out for. My childhood was over and I felt worthless. I remember how life just became boring at a certain point. I often would sense this same sense of lostness in the kids of my class.

At home I was very much on my own. My sisters seemed to have their own world togther - since they now shared a large room together. Also, I wasn't interested in them anymore. They were becoming "stupid girls" - from my point of view. I did not understand them anymore - all three of us were learning to play the appropriate roles of "boys" and "grils". Especially me, I guess. I was now the adolescent one. My world was very limited - even in space. There was home and school, the train wich connected the two, and that's about it. I wasn't undertaking anything anymore, because I felt powerless. I constantly felt the weight of my parents expectations on my shoulders - I knew this life had nothing to do with me, but i went on living it, very much like a robot. The desperateness I had to supress, the desperedness of never being able to experience myself as a child again. I had no life-expectations left.

This was also the time I wondered if I might be gay. Now, in terms of sexuality, I think I must have been slow or something. The sexual interest didnt seem to 'awake' inside me. I remember how I would remain indifferent when some boys were talking about wich girls they thought were attractive. But neither would I experience being attracted to boys, not yet. Only when I was about 15, I noticed I would get mesmerized and experience strange movements inside me as I was staring at the legs of a man who was wearing shorts. I did not understand 'where this came from'. I was completely taken by surprise. The whole concept of being in a relation with someone, hardly ever caught my attention, by that time. It wasn't something I would give much thought. When I was in first grade there would be a rumor there were some girls who thought I was handsome or cute or whatever, and I absolutely wouldn't know how to handle this. I actually would feel ashamed of myself. I felt threatened by this - I paniced inside. The whole deal of sexuality was very alien to me. So, as I discovered the possibility that I might be gay - it seems I ignored it, even to myself. I didn't talk about it to anyone - I just thought it was another strange thing I just would hide inside myself, as I did with so many things. But I do remember the shame I felt towards myself. It was extensive. I wouldn't want to experience this 'strangeness' inside myself, I tried to ignore it as much as I could. I pretended it didn't exist.
Because I immediately feared, that if this would "show itself" to others, I would be done with. There were my parents, - with their expectations of me being so wonderfull, clever, high grades, an example to all other kids of the family - and also my sisters who were still in primary school.

It was as if the world was laughing me in the face. "What ya gonna do now, boy?" All my life I had done nothing but doing what I'd been told. And then wanting to be the best at it. Pleasing everyone by being number one. Surely, I figured out life was totally and completely meaningless. I decided it didn't matter anymore. I was living a life, wich I realised more and more, was pre-programmed by adults who made all the choices for me. I was sitting inside some attraction called "life", and I already knew it wasn't going to get me anywhere. The "gay-thing" wich I considered as a problem, just came right on time. Without it, i might have been able to live in some kind of hope, that someday I might still be able to make a compromise to my advantage out of this life - later on, somewhere in the future. But now all my chances were screwed. "Don't even bother buying a lottery ticket! There's no price for you!" Especially with regards to my parents, I felt ashamed. I didn't have the courage to take on all the challenges that were put before me, I was completely discouraged.

The desire to end my life was very real. But it was also - and maybe mostly - about revenge. As I sat on the train - supposedly towards school, but I wasn't going to school that particular day, because I had decided before weekend that I would leave on monday, pretending that I would be off to school - suddenly something occured to me. I remember the shock - a heavy shock. I suddenly realised - because I had a pretty materialistic worldview, even though it wasn't much elaborated - that I wouldn't 'survive my own death'. I would not be 'present' to witness the consequences of my death - that's what I believed. That morning on the train - on the way to somewhere secretly cut my wrists -was actually the first time I really, heavily reflected on death. It had never occured to me that all I believed in - I didn't believe in heaven or hell, and did not believe in anything 'supernatural' for that matter - implicated that after death, I would no longer exist in any state whatsoever. I would become non-existent. Now this made me sweat for a (very long) second, because I realised I didn't have a clue about what it was I was undertaking. I could feel the fear cathing on my breath and the heaviness of my heartbeat.

I gues I was just too proud to 'abort' my mission. Because what had I done for the last couple of days? The moment I had made the decission to kill myself, my main motivation had been to screw my world BIGTIME - imagining the looks on peoples faces, the horror, etc. It was a game I played for a time, every evening, while I was sitting on a bench, waiting for my train to go home again from school. I would imagine myself NOT taking the train back home. I would taste the excitement of this thought over and over again, as I would walk on the train. Something inside me screamed for it - for me to stop all and everything, to break the pattern, the expectation, as all my life was just an expectation of someone else. So, what I realised that last friday, was that it was actually possible to do this FOR REAL. I realised that it was mostly myself keeping myself in check, providing for my own repetitiveness. It was a realisation of absolute freedom. Now I was in power of myself again. Oh man, the excitement that I felt - I felt ALIVE. There had been nothing holding me back but myself! I realised there exist freedom in every moment. And that's what my experience was about, the days that would follow - the weekend. That's what was so cool about it. I had 'planned it in advance', so that i could 'enjoy the perspective of my descision'. It put my whole world in a totally different light! (I was leaving this existence in a couple of days and nobody knew this exept myself!!! It was hilarious!!!)

Ok, I'm continuing the story, not reading back my previous words, as I had stopped writing yesterday. Ok, I left off saying I had been too proud to 'abort' my mission. What does this mean? It means I did not want to go back to my previous experience of myself. Because, when I started fearing I might actually no longer exist in any way whatsoever, I still had the chance and the opportunity, to get off the train as usual and just go to school. Aah, now I remember. I actually had taken measures against this! In the weekend, I had trown away a lot of my school material and school notes... Hmm, the moment I threw them away it wasn't about measures, but about proving to myself that it was for real and that I was in no way going 'back to life as it was'. This i had done secretly. (My mum actually found the notes! I said: It's ok, it's all old material I dont need anymore from past semesters etc. and she believed me, off course. After all, why would I throw away al this very valuable material I needed so much? I had so much fun. Nothing of this world applied to me anymore.)

Back to 'killing myself'. well, obviously I didn't go through with it! Hahahahaa! I was basically too scared to make myself bleed - even if I had rehearsed in my imagination. In my imagination it seemed so damn easy... Just one deep stroke and that was enough. (just recently a friend of mine had explained to me how exactly one needed to cut in order to bleed effectively - but she wasn't aware, and neither was I at that moment, that I would soon try it out. Its strange - the experience I had when she showed it to me. She drew a line with a marker or something on my wrist - it was as if she was showing me the forbidden fruit. I wondered how she knew this kind of stuff.) I think my mom even made a remark about the line on my wrist. "Are you going to kill yourself? Hahaha!" she was just joking.

Ok, so I did not cut myself. (I only realised I wasn't up to it when actually holding the knife - I was afraid to hurt myself, can you imagine! Also I was afraid of destroying my body - cutting the skin... It suddenly seemed a very sick thing to do. Also I was affraid I would panic, once I would have made the cut. Yes, this was very prominent. I knew I wouldn't be able to just watch myself bleeding with my wrist cut open. I would go insane and scream like a pig! ...It was a real nightmare.) What then? I went, maybe I should run away from home then? At that point I was very much on the way of realising this was not good, not good at all, and I felt fear in my stomach. I would travel around a bit the rest of the day, wondering where to go. Going to one city with the train and in the evening i would eventually go back to Brussels. It's funny, I never realised - while it's so obvious - the reason I went back to Brussels, is that i wanted to be found. When I sat in the inside hall of the station - I was feeling very miserable - I started crying, because it was very late already and I knew people would be looking for me right now. I cried because there was the world again, as if it had never been gone. I had only fooled myself! The 'rush' of the experience of total 'freedom' was over, and I felt screwed like I had never been in my life. Suddenly there were this practical arguments again, in my head, about responsiblility and what I could not do towards my parents. I did not want to face them, nor anyone for that matter. I sarted wishing I had never done this stupid thing - I wanted the 'security' of my old life back. Unbelievable - but true. There I was, feeling sorry for myself. It was as if I understood, right there, that nothing could evere be erased - that eventually all and everything comes back to you. My 'world' (people at home and at school) felt like an undistructible entity. It was there - I could only try to forget it, but not for very long.

I actually just did not want to face any consequences, and I knew they were coming. How was I going to explain myself? What would my father say? etc. I didn't have any power left to run away anymore. And so - some friends found me and called home, and my father came to pick me up. Apparently the police was looking for me, because much 'letters' (wich weren't actually meant as letters for anyone! I kept them hidden in my burea) were found, where I explained 'my plan'. Was I completely stupid or something? Hahahahahaa! I would say, that when it came to killing myself - I couldn't have been more of an amateur! Haha!

When me and my father got home - I found my world to exist in much turmoil.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Fear of my father, unexpected note on my mother

I realised that i am somehow scared to actually say/write the words: "My father hit me." Why is that? There exist a reluctance to use the word "hit", because of the connotations that go with it. I seem to be scared to exagerate it - to make too much a deal out of it. When I was 17 or so I would visit a psychotherapist. One time - very early - I told her about the situation with me, my sisters and my father, and I talked about the violence at home. When I was done, she said: "It must not have been easy for you (me and my sisters) then..." Immediately I felt like I had overdone it, I wanted to correct myself, take back my words. Say something like: "It was not actually horrible, you know - there exist much worse, etc." I was afraid of painting a bad picture of my father, to give the impression that I felt sorry for myself. I felt like a traitor also, a traitor towards my father. I even was kind of ashamed of myself.

Once, she suggested - as an experiment for myself - that I should imagine my father was sitting in the empty chair that was left (the chair between me and the therapist, to the left of the small table that stood between us). She said, "if he were actually be sitting here right now, what would you want to say to him." The idea alone, made me freeze inside. I replied I couldn't, and I felt my body went al twisted inside, tense and frightened - I shivered. I did not want to even think about it.

There is not one person in the world of who I am more scared than my father. His presence alone in a room makes me feel unconfortable, like it even gets to my breath. I feel threatened when he's around, I'm scared he might talk to me. I'd prefer he never spoke to me again. Whenever I hear his footsteps, my whole attention becomes focussed on where he might be going (is he somehow walking towards me?). when I'm sitting with him at the table, I try to never look at him - to keep my attention focussed on what is happening infront of me and to the left, where usually the televison is on - and then I pretend I'm watching tv, but actually I'm not.

The moment we're sitting at the table - eating - is actually the only thing we do "together as a family". it's the only moment where I feel forced to be in his presence, where I cannot escape. There was a time the hairs of my neck would stand up straight with every sound his mouth made as he was eating - I would be consumed by utter repulsion.

So, back to the therapist again. Why was I so scared to speak bad words about him? Suddenly I would block myself - even though it did not feel as coming from within myself. It just felt IMPOSSIBLE. Many times I thought I'd rather die than to tell him how I feel about him. a couple of days ago, I was looking over leila's shoulder as she was typing on the chat. Somewhere she had written, "I hate my father." I felt much agitation and supression inside me as I read those words - I felt she shouldn't say that... It was my mind speaking.

I never allowed myself to express my anger towards my father - that is to say, to him personally. Nor even towards my mother, as she would stand besides him - in time of conflict. Ok, I'm getting overloaded right now. I'll type faster shorter.

Father hates me.

Mother hates me. She never intervenes, she causes every conflict with my dad by telling him 'what I had done wrong'. In the end I would justify HER by saying to myself and convincing myself that she was actually kind of retarded (there HAD to be something wrong with her!), and that that was the reason why she apparently could not - ever - forsee that my father would actually hit us and scream at us, when she told him how 'bad' we had been. And we could get so scared we would pee our pants. But she did it every fucking time again. And afterwards, when were left alone crying - father gone again- she would comfort us and say - it's okay. And me - stupid prick - I wanted to believe all this bullshit of her, i wanted to believe in her tenderness and kindness. I say 'stupid prick', because I allowed myself to become infected with her poison. I bullshitted myself wile knowing it was a lie - out of fear to lose her, because I believed I needed her, to be able to accept myself.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

changing beds and a plate of soup

When we were little, me and Maite used to sleep in the same room. In the evening, when we were send to bed, very often we wouldn't be tyred at all yet. So we would laugh together and jump on our beds. This was particularly annoying to my father, who would come up and scream at us - to shut up or something. Thisw as really devastating to me, because I did not understand what we did wrong. For some reason, we'd also like to change beds. We'd be put to sleep in our seprerate beds, but then we stayed up for a while, and eventually change beds. This was so much fun, to go into the other one's bed, to feel the presence, the warmth of another body inside this other bed, and fall asleep in it.

I must watch out not to want to 'try too hard to remember', because then I go into assumptions and interpretations. I just try to pick on what I still can experience - clear cut - and move on from there, to see what else I can discover. So much is temporarely lost into supression and locked away compartiments of myself. That's also the reason why my pieces, untill now - haven't been very long. It exists in fragments, spread around without any apparent meaning or order. Alos I've noticed how memories are never about what they seem. When I delve into them, sooner or later they seem to be connected to some greater door, like a key of wich I had forgotten the purpose.

When I was standing inside my room I could very often hear my father yell downstairs. The anxiety would become so intense, that I'd put an ear against the floor - trying to hear what is being said. And this I had done many times, holding my head aginst the floor, listening to my fathers voice, speaking with much agitation and nervousness - my nose would pick up the smell of the wouden floor and the dust that lay on it - it has a very particular smell. My fathers voice would seem to resonate into the floor - I always tried to discern if he was speaking my name. Then I'd hear a sound and think: "Was that my name? Did that sound like my name?" But I never could make anything of his words. I would hope and hope that he did not mention my name, that he was not angry at me - and I would be scared to go downstairs for a long while. In fact I don't remember my father being mad, except at us. So if he got mad, surely it had to have something to do with me or Maite.

Once me and my sister were sitting infront of a soup-plate. Now, at the table we'd always have the most terrible experiences, because we vey often refused to eat what was being served - we simply did not like the food. So, this particular time, with the soup infront of us, my father was getting really mad. We were the only ones at the table - my mum was standing somewhere and my father was walking on and off behind our backs. They were waiting for us to finnish our plates, so that they finnaly could get on to something else. But me and my sister, we said: "No."
To make ourselves better understood, we'd put on a face that signified disgust - we didn't hide anything, and this is what made my father snap.

Even with our fathers temper hanging above our heads, like a storm that was coming and I knew it was coming because this is what happened every time. I was really scared of my father getting mad at me, but I found the soup so repulsive that I prefered taking my chances. But then, suddenly, in one moment, I felt his large and massive hand against the back of my head and he smashed my face in the plate of soup. The same was happening to my sister, who sat next to me, and while he held our faces in the soup he screamed one sentence. He screamed and pushed - I felt very humiliated. It was not very long, but I feared it would never end. I was turned face towards my sister and I could see her face being pushed inside her plate aswell. My mother, as usual - did nothing. I was so surprised he had gone this far. I never expected this. Now I really started to figure out that my father was actually a pretty violent person - it reminded me of the violence in families I had seen in movies. I never would have thought I'd one day look at my situation from that perspective. It was so unreal - I felt panic inside. Was it possible my father did not love me? There was no other explanation. He clearly had revealed himself for all to remember. He actually hated us.

on public school

It was my mothers idea that I should try out an art school, because I was very talented at drawing. Talented, meaning that i was able to draw with much precision, accurately immitating physical reality on a sheet of paper. I complied, because I felt special in a way and priviledged, knowing most of my friends would attend a 'casual' public school. I remember how impossible it seemed that life could go on even beyond primary school.

The change was enormous. I came from this discipline-primary school and now I came into an establishment where there existed some kind of freedom. For example, we were supposed to find our own way to the classes, when the bell rang and it wasn't expected of us that we should form a row and wait for teachers to come. Also it was allowed for students to smoke, from third grade on, and many students did. When it came to clothing, everyone was allowed to dress exactly as they pleased. I became familliar with the differnt 'styles' of clothing, etc. There was somewhat of a skate-culture aswell. many guys wore very large trousers - I had never seen this before. So the change of enviroment was drastic. On top of that, there were a lot of 'older' students, who were twenty of age, because they had failed a year or two. When you doubled a year or two - it appeared to me, you became highly respected. The several buildings in wich the school was located also formed an experience on their own. They were quite old to start with and they didn't look like school-buildings at all. In the beginning i would often have the experience of being in some kind of prison, because some of the older students looked like what I understood from television to be criminals. But it was just the clothes off course. Remember, this school was in Brussels, and my previous one was in some neat town, where nothing would ever really happen.

There existed much frusration among the students, especially the older ones. A lot of people just seemed to be completely bored. Everyone was just standing and smoking - talking somewhat - or sitting in groups on benches. The first year I would still play during breaktime, but it would be mostly basketball. I had this 'best friend' freshly made, who was very good at it and he would play basket with me, together with some other people. Once he was dribbling and turning around himself in a backward movement, he just kept turning several times around himself and I would just run after the bal trying to catch it - so I was running one cirkel after the other (3 to 4 ) around him, really like a dog actually, chasing his own tail. He eventually stopped, because he couldn't keep himself serious - to him i was hilarious and he just stopped dribbling because his laughter became oncontrollable. The situation was particularly funny, because he had been dribbling very quick and low to the ground, so that if I wanted to catch the ball the way I intended (just by running fast enough) I was forced to run in a bent down way, with at least one arm constantly reaching downwards for the ball. I really believed I would eventually catch the ball ! For a moment I had been his dog. I didn't feel embarrased though, I liked running after it. And I was rather disappointed he had stopped, because my plan was that he would get tired at some point so that I would be able to just grab it out of his hands.

In first grade we had a lot of fun and I could still be a child. The teachers where allways pleased with me because I coöperated in class and my grades were the highest of my class. The reason why my grades were high, was actually due to the fact that the studdy matter was super easy. I had the impression that i had had to work harder when i was in primary school - and this was actually the case! There was just one boy who didn't seem to have as much trouble as the other kids in having high grades in my class. Apparently I had been supertrained in the school i came from, or maybe I was just much smarter than the others. In class aswell, there was a much nicer atmosphere than in the previous school. The teachers were friendly and they took me -especially - in high regard because I had the highest grades of my class, and also because my drawing talent was way above average, even in an artschool. So one could say I was 'popular amongst the teachers'. And I had the advantage I spoke french, so that I could match up with the cool kids.

I was particularly greatfull I could be friends with this one guy I mentioned eralier (I'll cal him C.E., for convenience). The reason why, is the following. Since I was in primary school I always used to have a best friend. I needed him, because I believed it was impossible for me to stand on my own. We would protect each other, we were loyal to each other. We stood as eachothers safety. This was nessecary, because life could get violent in primary school. Violent, from the perspective that children don't fear taking eachother on physicaly when disagreement or frictions arise. Fighting was much more innocent back then. You'd hurt eachother, off course, but you couln't break someones arm, because you simply are not strong enough (haha) and we were not that destructive. So, from that perspective, you had to have 'usefull' friends. Some children were known to be stronger than others, etc. Now, my best friend - he was strong, and also he wasn't afraid to stand up for himself. he had two older brothers who were both attending the same school and one of them was in sixth grade! So I was lucky to be friends with this guys 'little brother' (W.), because of the extent to wich the sixth graders were admired and respected. Apparently, W. would stand as my safety most of the time! But as his older brother left, our relation became more equal, I suppose.

I actually never had to stand alone. There had allways been someone keeping an eye on me, "protecting me". This was very dramatically exemplified by my first years at school with my mum. She was a teacher in a primary school in Brussels, and when I was 3 years old this is where she put me. Now, because my mum herself was a teacher in the school where I attended I enjoyed a number of liberties. Even if i wasn't aware of it, a protecting hand would always hang over my head - even if it only existed in the minds of the other children. I must admit, I don't have any fresh memory of this right now, but my mum told me I used to be able to take the ball from the bigger kids in school and they wouldn't dare to claim it back!

So, from that perspective I was looking for this protection when I would enter a new establishment. I remember how I noticed the difference in the way the teachers in my new primary school (the one I attended 6 years) treated me. It is then that it occured to me that in my previous school, I had actually been under some form of protection. I had to do it all by myself now. (I moved from school, because mum was pregnant of Leila, and had to stay at home - and she couldn't take me to school with her anymore. I remember she used to read me fairytale stories on the train, when we went to school together, from a huge book she'd take along - with a woolf on the light-green cover.)

The firts time the new teacher would get angry at me, I was shocked, like I did not expect it to be possible!

on primary school

When I was a child, I couldn't stand reality. I wanted to experience phantasy. Very often i would play games that were inspired on television series or something. I think I even used to play "Bioman" if anyone remeber that one. I always had to play phantasy characters. When in class, I would often dream away in phantasy, about the game I would play whan the bell rang and we had our breaktime. i can still feel the exitment I felt. My whole body trembling with excitment about the game I would be playing very very soon. At school there was inside - the class - and ouside -the playground - my favorite place in the world. Because there I could become anything and anyone. No boundaries existed. My imagination was powerfull, like you cannot believe. I could switch realities in an instant. To me, going to school was all about being able to play with my friends on the playground. Having fun together.

In class I would do my very best, competing with other children. There were allways one or two that were a real challenge to compete with, as they were very dedicated to being the best. I remeber my class-room experience being very tough. Everything being structured in space, the teacher standing on his little "stage", and we sitting in pairs at a bench. It is absolutely true that children are being brainwashed and trained into discipline in primary schools. The discipline that was expected of us. Being silent, paying attention at what the teacher says. The power this teacher had over us, unimaginable.... if I could travel back in time and stand besides me as I would sit in such a class, I'd probably murder the teacher without hesitation. It's so easy to tyrranize a group of children, so damn and fucking easy. I don't understand how any parent allows this, for their children to be butchered inside a school system.

The primary schools have nothing to do with learing. Proof, I had forgotten almost everything of what i had learned previously, when I got to public school. It is all about discipline and obedience. The "learning aspect" is nothing but an excuse and legitimization of the discipline and behaviour control that is being bashed into childrens troaths. If you literally want to anihillate your child from inside out, to destroy his very being, then I suggest you send him to school as fast as possible. There exsit no teacher in the world that actually cares about the children in his/her class, about who they are. Otherwise he/she would not want to "teach" them.

Every child knows the school system isn't doing what it is supposed to do, because they don't fail to notice woh easily they forget all their newly acquired knowledge. It all just fades away. But is anyone interested in their opinion? Has anyone actually taken a child seriouly, when they say school is stupid and useless and ruining their lives? The only reason why playtime exsist is to not make the children aware at what is really going on.

poison inside

Lats night I had several dreams. this is one of them. I went to a party - a meeting and there I met a girl. She took me to her house, but i don't remember seeing her face. All I saw was her neck and her back. She was wearing a dark red summer dress, with a light colored (very little)flower motief. We were at her house - she leaves the room for a while - and suddenly I have to pee. Then I am like half on my knees and peeing on the floor into the corner of the room, and at the same time I'm looking out for some toilet paper to clean the mess up, but I can't find any even if I feel certain there must be somewhere. I am peeing and thinking, ok let yourself go, i'll clean up afterwards. (I've had many dreams with this uncotrollable peeing next to a toilet, completely missing the target, and feeling helpless).

Then there's blank spot (no memory). Now there seems to be some kind of a relation between me and this woman/gril, that I seem to care about very much, even though we just met. That's the reason she brought me home and it seems there is a natural prospect that we will be sleeping together (I'm not sure if sex was part of prospect, maybe I just want to sleep with her in a bed and hold her). I know she's very fond of me. i think we like each other very intimately.

But then at some point - it's like if much time, like days, has passed, or maybe just an hour - I start to change physically. I start losing the skin of my face, my neck, shoulders and chest, revealing a metallic structure underneath. This metal shines a bit, fluorecent colors, like if I consist of pure poison inside. I see myself standing, losing my appearance and turning into a robot (not completely, just top area of body and still with much part of skin not yest uncovered). My head looks smaller suddenly, my eyes seem bigger and my teeth are disclosed, there is no mouth left. The moment i see myself like this, I understand my relationship is over, because I could not hide myself. It's as if i had forgotten this part of me and suddenly it says halo again, but on a very bad moment. I look for the girl/woman in and around the house, yard... There is someone else too, someone connected to the girl, a man, but I don't know who he is. He sees me change infont of his eyes. The woman seems to be gone. I feel helpless again, but I try to supress the reality of what is happening. i still expect to find her and have a word with her.

nothing of me remained

When I was in sixth grade of primary school I went to Switserland on a skying holliday, with the class - a school event. I want to write about the last day we were there, the day of departure. It had been announced, we would be allowed to visit a touristic shop before leaving. So everyone was looking forward to this. I remember there had risen some kind of a problem, because a lot of children were planning to buy a swiss knife and the teacher wasn't all too confortable with it. I thought these children - who dared buy such a knife of their own initiative, by themselves - to be very far away from where I was standing. I don't know if it was true but they claimed their parents had agreed in it, when they left on holliday. I remember being jalous, when eventually the teacher decided to let them buy the knives. The deal was they had to put them away immediatly in one of their big bags and leave them there until they were home again. I hadn't even thought of asking my parents such a thing. And I was too afraid to lie because it could end up wrong - with my parents getting mad and the teacher finding out I was a liar.

So finally we stood in the shop and everyone was buying stuff. I could not even get myself to buy me something for myself. I bought presents for my two sisters and both my parents, until I had no money left - or maybe some, but not much anyway. When we were done and standing outside, I was trying to convince myself how nobel it was of me to not even buy a gift for myself. And I wanted to show it off. Look at what good person I am! A girl replied she bought ONLY things for herself and she didn't feel the least embarrased. I remember, bullshitting myself by saying: it's ok, my present is the fact I was allowed to go on this holliday. I hoped my parents would be 'proud of me', because I had given them a thought. The Swiss franks I had were ofcourse trusted to me by my parents to do with how i pleased, but still I felt obliged to just give it back to them, it wasn't my money and I didn't understand how the other children did not feel any constraint spending it. I didn't have the right to do so, like I wasn't worth it. I even felt guilty for the fact that I was on a holliday they were paying for.

For many years - when I got somewhat older and figured that I would have to live by myself at some point - I thought I would never work, because there was no point in sustaining myself. I did not need myself. When I was alone, I would always think of others and fantasize myself in their presence, making a joke or having fun. Nothing of me remained. I figured I'd rather kill myself than to live and work for myself and being alone with myself. The prospect became unbearable. But this specific thought I would only have at some point when I was in Kortenberg and that's another story.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Star Wars II

To me, Star Wars really was the greatest story I'd ever heard and seen. When reading back my words, it occured to me that I had left something out of the picture in 'Star Wars'. I had not mentionned fear, specificly.

Now, in in the Trilogy Luke had to face Dark Vader - his biggest fear - to become a fullblown jedi. first time he faces him, Yoda and co. had warned him 'it was too soon and he hadn't finished his training'. But Luke wanted to 'save his friends' and this made more sense to me than what Yoda was expecting of him (that he would have discipline and finish training while letting his friends perish), because I thought Jan Solo was way too cool and brave to be left to his demise. But this whole enterprise ended in a disaster. Jan Solo got freezed inside some stone-toomb blok, and Luke - not being up to Dark Vader yet - lost his right hand and had to retreat, leaving Jan solo behind in the hands of the enemy and trown away like garbage to some bountihunters - because to Dark Vader he was of no real importance.

I never understood why Luke - in the third movie - just surrendered to the enmy, because he believed 'there was still some good inside his father'. He thought he could bring him back. Interestingly, Dark vader was a half machine. He needed al this protheses to be able to live normally and a breathing mask, without wich he would die. So, when Luke lost his right hand to his fathers lightsaber, a process was set in motion that would eventually make him end up like his father. When recovered, Luke received a Robot hand, that was like a real one on the outside. When D V spoke to his son, it was actually a machine speaking. It was poisoned words and deceit. I couldn't believe Luke actually thought he would be able to 'talk to his father'. Had he already forgotten what had happened the last time? This crazy guy chopped off his hand!! So, that whole part I did not like. I was of the opinion Luke should have massacred his father on the first occasion. But then came the ending. What happened in the end? Luke beats up his father, but only because he had 'given in' to his anger (wich - for some reason - was unacceptable, to him.) Then he sais. 'I'm a jedi' to the emperor, who just laughs and starts electrocuting him with his naked hands. And on the brink of deing, just when I feared Luke wasn't going to make it and perish in the hands of the emperor, there stands his father - next to the emperor, he had gotten up a while ago, while luke was being electrocuted - and suddenly he lifts the emperor up and throws him into a massive hole/turbine, with the last strenth he has inside him.

What i did not understand is why it took D V so long to reveal himself? because, while Luke was being electrocuted - burned alive - for a long time DV was just standing there and doing absolutely nothing. Even, when all had ended well, I thought luke should have played safer, and he had taken too many risks, because he 'believed in something'. Even when Luke was burning the corpse of his father and was standing besides the fire, I stil could not understand how he could love him after all he had done. It was as if he had gone mad or something.

Very often I would fatasise over this fantasy world. And I remember how often I felt regret, because none of it was even real.

Star Wars

Black seemed an obvious font-colour for me to pick. It reminds me of Star Wars, of Dark Vader, because he too was always dressed in black. I used to be very scared of Dark Vader, but at the same time, I would admire him extensively, because he mastered the 'dark side of the force' wich - actually - seemed much more fun than the 'Obiwan Kenobi - let's be a good boy side of the force.' I really identified myself with Luke Skywalker - oh boy, what have I started... Star Wars, yep - because, when Dark Vader told him he would seduce Leia and bring her over to the dark side, I could actually feel with Luke, because he was not allowed to get angry - getting angry and actually using his anger, would mean to become a slave to the dark side and the emperor. It was as if I really understood - as a boy - what this polarity meant. To master yourself as a jedi - this was just self-control, defined as 'good' -, or to become seduced by anger, rage and sadness, wich would make you very powerful for a moment - but by wich you'd become consumed eventually, and this was the great perill, the danger of the dark side, for wich I so much lingered, but where I was afraid to go.

Parents are so lost in their belief systems. I once offered my nephew, who was six years jounger than me, to borrow him the Star Wars trilogy. I don't remember how old we were exactly, but his parents would immediatly interfere and argue that he was to young to be able to understand this movies. He was too little, supposedly. Next time I saw him, he gave me back the Trilogy and ha was very greatfull. He said he had really enjoyed it. And I thought back at how his parents had reacted - and realised, with a certain sense of surprise, that they had been mistaken. When I offered him the film I knew he would understand and have the time of his life. And so he did. I don't remember how many times I've seen Star Wars, but it was extensive. It was my number one movie, the one my parents knew they could never erase from the cassete - without turning me against them.