LIFE is full of contrasts. One moment I am driving the fancy Porsche S E-hybrid of my friend on our way home from tango. The next morning I wake up, wave off my daughter to school to take my laundry to the nearest laundry place in a blue Ikea bag. My boots are worn out, but they are the only pair of shoes appropriate for this type of weather. It is a grey Monday morning. Snowy water
I take my dog for a tour around the block. I have not slept a second. My dog who finished the gluten free chocolate pie last night during our absence is behaving like she has been drugged. Every half an hour she is paying a visit to my side of the bed. At four in the morning I have to take her out for a pee.
But she does not calm down. I am still ignorant about the reason behind her foolish behaviour. But in the morning when the digested chocolate comes out on the back side I understand why. She’s thirteen years old but still a puppy. Stealing food whenever she can. Chocolate is her favourite.
It is a wet stroll around the block, but it does not feel cold. Some cars are still white. I leave my house and turn left past the synagogue. I am taking the glass bottles to the container to then continue my walk. The streets are dirty with metal cans, plastic bottles, dogs’ number two’s, food left overs everywhere. There are more garbage bins now than six months ago. Yet no one in this area seems to notice them. I could be taken for a racist. I believe that is not what or who I am. But it has to be said that in this dominantly Moroccan neighbourhood the streets could be far cleaner than what they are today.
I look outside from my first floor window and have a good view over the street. ‘My’ side has been turned one way. Every five minutes however a car drives through. There is no police to be seen. They are all busy hunting terrorists. Even when two cars used to be parked in front of the gate, clearly exchanging forbidden powder, there was no police around. And maybe that is the beginning of the problem. Young unemployed thrive freely and start with pity crime. They enter a small but lucrative business and develop the taste for it. Most likely this is the first step into bigger things, illegal. There is never any control and they go by for years, unpunished.
It was here, twenty years ago when I moved to Brussels. It is still here, but stronger, bigger, more powerful than before.
Do I feel unsafe walking the streets? No. I have not felt scared not even for one second. I know the city, the people, its dynamics. I love this city, but the big hype is over and done with.
I live here because I have to, at least for still a while. I enjoy its tango scene, its creative mornings. My friends live here and I earn my living from people having to be here for a short while.
I miss the sun, especially on a grey Winter Monday morning like today. It brings out the blues in me. But soon my daughter will be home from school and lighten up the house with energy. Soon I will be enjoying a free massage given by a friend as part of her training. I will finish the day with a glass of cava. And soon this grey Monday will be over. Tomorrow will be a sunny day !