Invitation Wording For Baseball

Brussels, mon amour

footing during a trivial at Parc Royal, watching the darkening pink sky behind the palais des beaux arts, I had an epiphany: I'm in love with Brussels.

petty philosophy says that we realize the value of things once you are lost. I have not lost yet this city and yet I already feel the nostalgia and no, listen and André De apsetterò tomorrow for nostalgia.

What I love about this city? I love it so much the contradictions that make me angry or I love the people that have crossed my path?

I could not answer, and I love her enough. And a little 'love this, no? To love without knowing why and suffer.

After a week's holiday in France I returned to my work with the fear of not finding someone. Someone's gone, someone has arrived. I still do not get used to the routine of the center made of welcome and goodbye. I still shed tears for every good-bye to me in spite of social workers I have to repeat from one year to make me the bones, or mad to distance between these walls.

Maybe I'm really mad because I see things I never thought to see elsewhere: a Somali mother who takes a small Chechen arms and cuddle as his own son, Kosovar Albanians Serbs and Roma who play billiards together, Cameroon which the Albanians call "brother" ... I wish the world would go crazy and see what I see on the street, the supermarket, school and public squares. Too bad that this madness will develop only in the cage of despair.

Dog Suddenly Drinking Lots Of Water And Feels Hot

Head down

I live in a borderline neighborhood where cross Turkish and Muslim North African immigration and legalized prostitution. The
by looking at the sidewalk, not looking up.
If you do not look at the ground, to risk tripping over too many kilos of immodizia piled on the sidewalk.
If you do not look at the ground, I would see the bodies of semi-naked African girls waiting for their customers, lying languidly in a chair covered with dirty towels, in front of a window overlooking the street. On the same street
gypsy children play barefoot and alone, playing in the street, between the legs of people. Playing football or running a bicycle, stopping every few yards to pass through or clients of prostitutes. They play in front of the windows as if they were playing in a park.
If you do not look at the ground, cross the lustful gaze of men who cazzeggiano close to the walls (in Algeria are said to have a job to prevent the walls from falling), that when I step say "bonjour Mademoiselle, ça va?" and that, if I'm not around, I cry "putain" . Never raised his eyes, lest they receive a minimum notice of consent to their advances vulgar and crude.
Sometimes I feel responsible even exaggerated attention I get! Why not begin to cover their heads with a hijab? Why wear a skirt? Look, Cecilia, your neighbors are well protected by long burka and do not show their ankles, let alone the knees!
Disorientation.

Really Tight Chest Cough

WONDER: sm; sudden and great wonder, amazement.

Yoani Sanchez, Cuban blogger who writes posts that talk about the reality of an illiberal regime, in order to have access to a computer that is connected to the network must enter illegally in hotels reserved for foreigners claiming to be one of them. for a quarter of an hour of freedom in which the hands and knees tremble spends a very high figure ... without calculating the risk they might run.
I could write a post every 5 minutes, but I do not. Not for lack of ideas, but they are too lazy. There it is never too little account of the fortune you have.
Many emotions went through my veins these last weeks. A meeting
unexpected. I had lost track of Chechen boy transferred to another center for more than three months. The farewell made me cry of rage and pain that I could not tell him because I do not speak Russian and he does not speak any language I know. I had lost all hope of being able to find one day ... then one morning I see him in the hallway of the center. I can not explain in words what happened to my body: at a certain point, you are twisted and made me cry. We spent long moments to be covered with tears because I was crying but without being able to say we were happy. Fortunately, the case went to the harp a lady who speaks Russian and that sometimes makes the interpreter for the social workers could finally ... give a name to our emotions. I understand that friendship has no color or alphabet, just flesh, bones and blood.
An unexpected request.
- Belli your earrings, give it to me!
- No, Madam, are mine.
- I like, give it to me.
- No, Madam, are a gift to which I will not give up.
- Give it to me, I'll give you a couple more in return.
- No, Madam, I like my earrings. It 's why I have chosen them.
- ...
- ...
- One day they will lose those earrings! sentence followed by a mocking smile.
- If this happens, I'll know where to find them.
An unexpected coincidence.
ricomninciato I have my own business as a translator. This time I had to translate from French to Italian ee from French to German to an Italian and a Swiss who came to visit the center for trade (ENAR for operators in shelters).
We meet in front of the station Rixensart, greeted by a colleague of mine.
train in front of me two young people. I make so many trips by train and I stopped listening to the conversations of several traveling companions ... unaware of being spied upon (a task which amused me much when I took the train once every three weeks). I head off the train, followed by a couple of people, to my colleague. They were the two players! Et voila, the coincidence!

time expired, it's time to pick up my clothes clean and smelling in the coin-operated laundry in front of house ..

Constipation After Percocet

This is the end, beautiful friend

It's time to pull the strings. Missing 99 days at the end of my European Voluntary Service in Belgium and are more confused than when I left.
It was like a detox treatment based on cigarettes and coffee.
When people ask me what life is answer with a metaphor: it is a walk in which people take you and accompany you for a while and then let go with new experiences. This year has been the journey of Santiago de Compostela where the hazard, the case was king.
Each meeting was random: I could be there, how could I not be there, but as I was, there was ... and has carved a part of me changed forever, shocked, angry or just making me showing angle of scene never considered before.
There is no turning back. Human experiences are not to do and redo the experiments, we have a chance, and we have to play better.
is why I suffer to see people of my age, or simply people who, were it not for this stupid political and bureaucratic system could be my neighbors with whom to go to drink a spritz, could be my classmates, or simply might be people master their lives, are forced to do anything: this is forcing people to wear.
Offices of social workers of the center are covered with posters praising the courage of asylum seekers: yes, it takes a lot of courage to be treated as a domestic animal which feeds and to which it provides a litter and a cushion to wait for a very uncertain outcome on which depends the rest of his life (life, not a part of it, but it in its entirety).
Waiting. The waiting is the action that there is more treacherous: you can not do otherwise. And I laugh when I think that I get nervous if I wait for a friend late appointment when there are people waiting for a piece of orange paper to live their lives, piece issued by people who judge you after an interview after which he returns home to his little family in the beautiful villa in the middle-class neighborhood to plan their holidays abroad and the asylum seeker if he returns to the limbo of maybe. What
disgust that. In
Betrothed Fra Cristoforo, commenting on the injustices of Don Rodrigo, said the day will come ... but will it truly the day when things will change? I'm skeptical.