Recently I started to watch the HBO-series "Girls". Several months ago, in the cold winter of Prague, someone told me I remind her to one of the 4 characters. Of course I like to know how others perceive me (hello, I am a social being), but I forgot the name she mentioned. Months later, after watching 2 seasons, I still don't know which character I am. I have something from them all... or maybe I don't want to accept how others see me... but that is another story. I want to start this message with one of the main concerns of the main character, a wannabe-writer... You need experiences, great story... to have enough inspiration to write. But... what kind of inspiration do you need?
Today I am pickpocket. Yes, pickpocket. I came back from my work in Ghent, by carpooling, and had to take the metro in the heart of Antwerp to one of the quarters, where I live now, with the two dogs of my cousin. I was reading the "new Twilight"; the Iron Fey Series by Julie Kagawa, when tram/metro 5 came. I put my iPhone (yes, the number 5...) in the pocket of my coat, embarked the tram, and put the tram card to the machine... and then someone told me someone else took my phone. First I didn't realize it, then I ran behind the guy, lost him, cried... took the metro, cried there, people in the tram told me to go to the police station close to my house... When I arrived there, it was closed. Then i started crying. A whole bunch of muslims passed, and the woman stopped, and asked me what was going wrong. I explained, and then the whole family came around me. They were from Kosovo. The boys and the two men brought their aunt and her children back home, "coz it is not safe to let women and children walk alone", and they didn't understand why I was alone. They took care of me, helped me, and brought me to their Pakistani nightshop keeping friend, who let me call the police. The police on the phone sent me to Handel, in Antwerp, which is not the neighbourhood where you want your kids to wander around. It seemed I was in a world with only horny Arabic man.
After 2-3 hours I came back home, and thought about the different emotions.
At some point I was so angry... so disappointed... maybe even racist at some point in my mind... until these warm muslim family from Kosovo came. There were girls, with big black eyes, the young boys were giving their opinion and called foreigners bad... it was funny, seen from one perspective, how a blonde white girl in a trendy coat, and a whole group of muslims, from different ages from 6 until 30, helped me and let me smile, and let me feel back strong.
Maybe I am too tired to tell the magic I felt from this family, even in this hard evening. Maybe I need a short film to show my gratitude how happy I am.
I am a bit sad... of course. I lost a lot of money, also important numbers, notes, (instagram -yes, I am an instagram hipster)... and even messages which inspire me a lot. Recently I wrote someone about passion as stones, and love as the ocean who can erode stones... I liked that metaphor... but someone stole it from me, and I hope the person who got this message from me yesterday, will send me back.
Sometimes... things are not lost. Even in this world you can find back magic and solidarity from lost times...
Today I am pickpocket. Yes, pickpocket. I came back from my work in Ghent, by carpooling, and had to take the metro in the heart of Antwerp to one of the quarters, where I live now, with the two dogs of my cousin. I was reading the "new Twilight"; the Iron Fey Series by Julie Kagawa, when tram/metro 5 came. I put my iPhone (yes, the number 5...) in the pocket of my coat, embarked the tram, and put the tram card to the machine... and then someone told me someone else took my phone. First I didn't realize it, then I ran behind the guy, lost him, cried... took the metro, cried there, people in the tram told me to go to the police station close to my house... When I arrived there, it was closed. Then i started crying. A whole bunch of muslims passed, and the woman stopped, and asked me what was going wrong. I explained, and then the whole family came around me. They were from Kosovo. The boys and the two men brought their aunt and her children back home, "coz it is not safe to let women and children walk alone", and they didn't understand why I was alone. They took care of me, helped me, and brought me to their Pakistani nightshop keeping friend, who let me call the police. The police on the phone sent me to Handel, in Antwerp, which is not the neighbourhood where you want your kids to wander around. It seemed I was in a world with only horny Arabic man.
After 2-3 hours I came back home, and thought about the different emotions.
At some point I was so angry... so disappointed... maybe even racist at some point in my mind... until these warm muslim family from Kosovo came. There were girls, with big black eyes, the young boys were giving their opinion and called foreigners bad... it was funny, seen from one perspective, how a blonde white girl in a trendy coat, and a whole group of muslims, from different ages from 6 until 30, helped me and let me smile, and let me feel back strong.
Maybe I am too tired to tell the magic I felt from this family, even in this hard evening. Maybe I need a short film to show my gratitude how happy I am.
I am a bit sad... of course. I lost a lot of money, also important numbers, notes, (instagram -yes, I am an instagram hipster)... and even messages which inspire me a lot. Recently I wrote someone about passion as stones, and love as the ocean who can erode stones... I liked that metaphor... but someone stole it from me, and I hope the person who got this message from me yesterday, will send me back.
Sometimes... things are not lost. Even in this world you can find back magic and solidarity from lost times...
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