Monday, April 27


Now that I have less time for men I have more time to read. Moto Taxi Guy is currently in Turkey for a holiday with his wife, I am at home reading Seneca “On The Shortness Of Life” (Life is Long if You Know How to Use It). What Seneca describes comes very near to Buddhist philosophy: don’t think about the past or dream about the future, try to be here now because this moment is your life. The only reason why I bought this book is because of it’s title. There where other titles in the series which were equally appealing (On the Pleasure of hating, On Art and Life, Why I am So Wise) but one has to start somewhere. Even if it is not always possible, one should organise every day as though it were your last. Seneca writes: “You must match time’s swiftness with your speed in using it, and you must drink quickly as though from a rapid stream that will not always flow.” But the best part is his description of Livius Drusus: “ it is uncertain whether he died by his own hand, for he collapsed after receiving a sudden wound in the groin, some people doubting whether his death was self-inflicted, but no one doubting that it was timely.”

Tuesday, April 21


Perhaps you are wondering how it ended between Moto Taxi Guy and me. On Friday morning he dropped me off at the airport in one of his many cars. I felt quite grateful, because otherwise I would have taken the train. He kissed me on the mouth as if it was the last kiss ever, and strangely enough I did not know it was. At the airport I sent him a text message to which he replied: you’re welcome have a safe flight x. I tend to read much more into an x than there actually is. He then returned to his safe suburban home and spent Easter with his wife and child. I put my phone into my suitcase and did not look at it for five entire days. Three months ago he would send the sweetest and corniest text messages ever: I miss you my darling x / I spend a lot of time thinking about you x / you are so yummie x / Last night was great x / Did you sleep well? x / Are you awake yet? x / At what time do you finish work? x / What would you like for breakfast? x / Can I give you a massage? x
There was always an x at the end of every line. At the end of this three month affair I’m thinking if I can blame him for giving me what I apparently needed: superficial contact and shallow pick-up lines.

Monday, April 20


A few days before leaving for London my mother was hit by a car. She came to my house in shock, her head covered in blood and her arms full of bruises. Half an hour later a policeman dropped off her bike and checked to see if she was all right. We spent the evening at the hospital where her arm was x-rayed and eventually put in a cast. She nearly fainted when the nurses came to check on her. Since the accident we have different conversations than we had before. She tells me to worry less, to just enjoy, that happiness is easy if I just stop thinking for a while. She says I have the strangest taste in men and that I don’t respect myself enough. This weekend we watched Susan Boyle’s performance on You Tube for about five times in a row. So amazing it just makes you want to cry.

Wednesday, April 15


On Friday morning I flew to London to escape from myself. A visit to a Chinese acupuncturist had helped me to find out I wasn’t pregnant, which was probably the biggest relief of the year. According to the Chinese doctor my blood wasn’t flowing properly. Too much casual sex had blocked my chi. I boarded the airplane with a suitcase full of presents and a sense of happiness I had not felt before. The relief of not having to raise children, of being able to move freely and go anywhere in the world. I was allowed to be selfish, to spend all my money on make-up and things I didn’t need. My brother and his son came to pick me up from the airport. Later that day we hit the shops at Oxford Street. I bought three different outfits and a lot of yellow underwear. London felt like a strange city; I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to survive.