This is what the weather looks like in Singapore.
Just to make sure you understand, this is where we are right now, at this very moment.
For at least another 30 minutes.

32 °C

This is the weather in Belgium.
We are going there 'on holiday', and we are leaving in thirty minutes.

17°C

'Holiday' to me somehow means sun, beach, swimming pool, glass of bubbles, bikini, surf, sunscreen, late nights, late mornings.
Oh, wait - I have that now actually. I'm not on holiday though. Something is wrong. 

I am confused. 

As we fly tonight ,today was 'packing' day. I never pack up front, I try to make lists to remember what to pack. But I don't succed as I keep losing the lists. Or I will start different lists in different booklets (I have about 7 wandering around my house). In the end I give up and pack at the very last day, trying to remember what I need to bring. 
It is that very last day that I spend in a kind of schizofrenic packing panic. Not completely here anymore, but also not there yet. 
It's a transition stage between today 'at home here' and tomorrow 'at home there'.

Looking at that weather forecast words like vest, socks and raincoat pop into my mind.
I keep a sunny brain though and I pack t-shirts, shorts, skirts and strapless dresses.
Then my brother texts me: "bring something warmr!"
I take out a warm jumper and I happily toss it in my luggage. I still feel sunny.
Then my mother calls: "the wind is very chilly, bring something warm"
I am starting to get worried now and return to my luggage, open it up again and review everything.
I number down the t-shirts and shorts, I put some extra socks and jumpers in it. 
My sunny brain is getting a bit foggy as I open up cupboards I have not been in for several months.
Where are those long trousers? Where are those long sleeves?

Somewhere down the years I decided for myself to travel light.
And it seemed a good idea to leave my warm clothes in Belgium, as I knew I would not wear them here.
The problem is I forget what I have left behind. I only notice I don't have anything 'warm' here, I have nothing to pack.

A couple of days ago MsLollipop came home from school, uterly and totally disgusted. 
She looked pale and couldn't hide the fact she had an upset stomach.

I knew immediately what had happened.

The PE teacher had shown the class a movie "Supersize me" where a guy takes a challenge to eat only McDonalds food for 30 days.

Now, I like a McDonalds every now and then. And allthough I say that, I know I am disappointed every time as well. 
Every time McDonalds seduces me into a quick and easy meal, it starts with anticipation. I can smell the fries, I can taste the pickles.
The first bite is delicious, the first fries are wonderfull. And then it happens, I am full after two bites. No more. 
I try to finish the meal but can hardly finish my burger, forget even the fries (or vice versa) and I feel so bloated for the rest of the day I tell myself 'never again'. And I won't .. untill the next time. 

I forgot to ask MsLollipop why a PE teacher would decide to show a movie about McDonalds, instead of having the kids doing 'Physical Exercise". 

I just presume now it was raining so hard the grassland behind the school was a complete mudpool and there was really no other possibility than showing this movie ... really.

I mean, you cannot ask them to run around in the big assembly hall, can you. Or have dodge ball there, or skipping a rope, or playing tag. 

Maybe the 'E' of Education needed a bit more emphasis and as these 9-10year olds are really at an influential age, this movie seemed like a good idea. 

I have found a 7 min synopsis , but MsLollipops class saw a full version of it. 

The vomitting in the car after he ate the "quarter pounder and cheese" ? MsLollipop saw the 'real' vomit!

MsLollipop has an amazing memory for visual input. 
At age 5, we could not beat her anymore at the "memory" game. 
It was so frustrating. She would hop around the cards, stand on her head, hang upside down on the couch, move from one side to another. 
Meanwhile MrGuzzi and I were staying firmly in the same place determined to memorize the bloody cards, because we would win this time!!
We did always win a few rounds, 2 - 3 maybe.
And then it happened, MsLollipop would get up, focus and flick flick, flip flop.
One by one she would get the pairs out until the whole game was over. MrGuzzi 2, Mummy 2, Ms Lollipop 11. 

So imagine what effect this movie has on her imagionation ... just imagine, 
She remembers every single detail ... every ... little ... single .... detail. 

She cannot walk past a McDonalds now without feeling sick.
We have to pass by one almost every day.
Cut onions, mustard, pickles, a bun ... it all reminds her of the movie and , of course, the vomit. 
The fact the guy ruinied his liver,and 'nearly' died, mum!!

We have upset stomachs every day now, and we do not want to go to McDonalds anymore.

I cannot say I am totally unhappy with that fact,
But still, the remedy was a bit , well , let's say a bit harsh...

And then we found another McDonalds-movie on the big world web.
An attempt to answer the question "Why does your burgers never look as good as the advertised ones".

MsLollipop and me watched it together.
I love the way they stress the ingredients are the original ones!

MsLollipop looked at me at the end and said: "You remember the vomit mummy, eeeueuuuww!!!"
and we had another upset stomach once again.

Enjoy your dinner tonight,
Evelyn

Last August at the start of the schoolyearl a fair was organized in the assembly hall. The purpose was to give information on what was going on outside the school. I estimate there were about 30 tables. The activities ranged from sailing/surfing lessons, music lessons, art lessons, NZ wine to order on line, cupcakes, chinese lessons,  counselling, yoga, bootcamp...

One of the tables said : "Sewing workshop"
and I tought YESSS! this is it! This is what I want to do this year!
My whole life I have envied people who could sew, who could use a sewing machine, who could make and design their own clothes!
I could hardly put a thread through my needle...

As usual my dreams are big.
I dreamt of making my own fashion line for evening wear, or designing dresses for MsLollipop, I would definitely become the next exclusive haute couture designer!!

I picked up a leaflet. 
A very energetic french lady approached me. There was only 1 place left. I took it on the spot. 

That very energetic lady was Cathy, and her sewing workshop is called 'Couture Nomad'.
I love this energetic lady and I am in sheer admiration of her passion and what she does with it.
She lived in Tokyo for a couple of years and decided to join a 3 year couture course at the university... in Japanese!
She succeeded and when she moved to Singapore she decided to set up her own business. 

Every thursday morning I would have my 'sewing' lessons, and Cathy would be there guiding us, full of energ, full of passion. 
I am not sure what she tought of me that very first lesson. I was so nervous! I had no clue what I was doing. 
As it happens, when I have no clue, I keep quiet... 
The machine in front of me was a big mystery, and the language (straight grain, hem, topstitch...) could have been Japanese as far as I was concerned.
I really started from 0 and I felt at times utterly stupid asking obvious questions.
But Cathy stayed as cool as she always is and with a wit and a smile and a lot of patience she explained it all.

I loved it! This new world of fabrics, materials and jargon opened up to me and I was dazzled.
It was exactly what I needed to get started in this fairly new city I now lived in. 

I am sure at times MrGuzzi and MsLollipop were wondering what on earth I was doing.
I came home with these small pieces of samples and I was completely enthusiastic about my perfect topstitch, or buttonhole.
"Look! Look what I did today!"
They always looked very puzzled, not sure where my excitement came from. 
Strangely around that time some leaflet of counselling somehow always ended up on my bedside table, and MsLollipop gave me extra hugs and kisses. 
I can see now why ...

Slowly my projects made more sense. At least to me.

Just before Christmas I finished my very first real wearable piece of art. 
I made a skirt for MsLollipop. She jumped up and down, threw her arms around me and was utterly surprised.
I could not tell if that was because she just really liked it or because I finally made something she could recognize. 
Today, she is still wearing it with pride and joy.
She will tell anyone: "My mummy made this, it's my favourite!"
The feeling that shivers through your spine when you hear your child saying these words.. 
The pride you hear in her voice. The goosebumps it gave me the first time MsLollipop said it.
It's addictive. 

Of course we did not stop at just skirts and dresses for little ladies.

Cathy took it a step higher up with us and showed us how to adept a pattern to our own body.
First you pick a pattern. Than you adept it, according to your own measurements. 
You make it first in 'calico' ('balenkatoen' in Dutch) so you can adjust anything and everything to your liking. 
And finally you make it in the real fabric.
It allows you to make mistakes first and discover the traps, before you actually start cutting your real fabric!

Look at me! 

I had a lot of fun , doing this workshop.
I met a lot of amazing people.
I had the weirdest mixture of languages as we mingled English, French, Spanish, Japanese...
In the end we all understood each other. 

A couple of weeks ago we had a goodbye drink. 
Bubbles for the ladies, dressed in a home made gown. 

Cathy is moving to Shanghai.
I will miss her.
I will definitely not become the world's next haute couture designer, but Cathy will!

Have a look at  her website www.couturenomad.com
She has some amazing step-by-step patterns for the whole family, easy to print, easy to follow.

My brother Mr2m is visiting. 
He is very tall, and skinny.
I love my brother. 
He is the only one I have.

As kids  we played together.We were 'brothers in arms'. 
We constructed playmobile cities in our living room. 
They ended up so big and vast my mum couldn't enter the kitchen anymore. 
We screamed in unison when she told us to break down our fortresses , trainstations and indian camps. 
We built camps in the woods around the house together. 
One of them we called our 'Pino nest'. 
Remember Pino? from Sesamy street?
The nest was built from pinetree branches. 
I have no idea now where we got them from.
Blank memory.
But I do remember the nest, high up in a cherry tree.
Tucked away in the nest we would pick and eat the cherries and be lazy in the afternoon. 

One day , we had built another camp, and we decided to built a fire in it.
My mum chose that exact moment to enter the construction.
That is what mothers do. Their antennes are set so they know when we are doing silly things.
It got even more silly when Mr2m sat down on the fire, to cover it up. 
I can't remember what mum said , or did, but I will remember his face forever. 
He did not move a muscle!

As students we lived in the same appartement. 
We saw each other each day at the appartement and each night at a party.
He met some of my boyfriends, I never really knew his girlfriends. 
To this day there is only one he allowed us to meet. 
I love her too, but  if she ever breaks his heart, I will personally kill her. :-)

My brother will always be there for me when I need him, no matter where he is, or what time it is. 
I can call him, I can show up in front of his door.
He is the most secure and safe person in my life. 

He is my 3-year younger brother and remembers vividly how I used to read to him. 
I can remember vaguely.
He told me how I would make up stories for him at night when we couldn't sleep.
I do remember that, as it got me into trouble for coming out of bed.
He remembers how I used to create little booklets, with stories and pictures I made up, to read to him in bed.
The booklest are gone, lost during a move. 
I really regret that. 
I would have loved to see my imagination as a child. 
I am sure it would have inspired me.

Enjoy your evening
Evelyn

Passion is a word with many feelings connected.
It is not a calm word. It is full of twists and turns, activity and chaos.

That feeling that eats your belly, and makes you uneasy by the mere sound of it. 
That endless adrenaline rushing through your veins, and makes you feel you can conquer the world.

Often enough we connect passion with people. The love for that one other, the steaming sex connected to it.

The sweat on the skin after it, in the dim light of the evening sun.
The blockbusters are very good in showing us what passion looks like on the big screen.

I looked the word up in the dictionary and I was absolutely surprised it had a biblical origin. 
The first explanation: the suffering of Christ.

Wow, that is a turn to events for me.
I have no passionate feelings when I think of the suffering of Christ.
My stomach might turn in the same way, but the comparison ends there.

I also discovered that in Dutch the word 'passion' , besides the suffering of Christ, is merely connected to 'love'. 
The very deep 'love' for something or someone. 

In English however it is also connected to anger and rage. 
Passion translates as a very strong mixture of feelings, hence the connection to love and anger. 

"fly into a passion" means apparently you have an outburst of anger
With my Dutch 'passion' background I would have completely misunderstood this one....

My passion for languages, my passion for writing, my passion for reading, my passion for adventure and travel.
It is indeed a mixture of emotions.

Last night MrGuzzi showed me this little video.
It is a speech of the writer Neil Gaiman at the University of the Arts, Class 2012.
It is by far the most inspirational speech I have ever heard


He has a passion,
and I share it.

Enjoy your day,
Evelyn