Sheltering Sky
"He did not think of himself as a tourist; he was a traveller. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveller, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, during periods of years, from one part of the earth to another. Indeed, he would have found it difficult to tell, among the many places he had lived, precisely where it was he had felt most at home". PAUL BOWLES
After a certain point in life there are two kinds of love: the one that strikes you by surprise and the one you cultivate patiently and knowingly because you know you should. The first one -thunder love- is based on instinct. The second one -conscious love- is based on reason. I couldn’t say which one is the best. A matter of taste, I presume.
I felt in love with Moscow at once. I can even remember the exact moment. It was during my first visit in the summer of 2000; I was dancing on the deck of a river boat, very early in the morning. The sun was rising over the golden domes of the Kremlin. I looked around. I had been drinking vodka all night -there were friends and girls- and I thought: I want to stay in this city. It was like a thunder coming out of the red summer dawn. It took me more than a year, but in the end I returned to Moscow to stay. Moscow never let me down; personally and professionally it delivered all that it had promised. And more.
Ever since I knew what I wanted to do in life I knew that sooner or later I would live in Brussels. The city was there, hanging in some abstract and inevitable future. Yet, when two weeks ago I finally arrived to stay, I felt no special emotion. I walked out of the train, looked around and thought: “I have to love this city”. My life is somehow tied to Brussels. It’s a love I’m working on. For what I’ve seen, it’s got potential. But it’s going to be that other kind of love.
I felt in love with Moscow at once. I can even remember the exact moment. It was during my first visit in the summer of 2000; I was dancing on the deck of a river boat, very early in the morning. The sun was rising over the golden domes of the Kremlin. I looked around. I had been drinking vodka all night -there were friends and girls- and I thought: I want to stay in this city. It was like a thunder coming out of the red summer dawn. It took me more than a year, but in the end I returned to Moscow to stay. Moscow never let me down; personally and professionally it delivered all that it had promised. And more.
Ever since I knew what I wanted to do in life I knew that sooner or later I would live in Brussels. The city was there, hanging in some abstract and inevitable future. Yet, when two weeks ago I finally arrived to stay, I felt no special emotion. I walked out of the train, looked around and thought: “I have to love this city”. My life is somehow tied to Brussels. It’s a love I’m working on. For what I’ve seen, it’s got potential. But it’s going to be that other kind of love.
previous posts
the place where I come from: older posts
- August 2005
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