Thirteen going on Thirty

I finally got rid of the last of my teenage diaries. They had been burning a hole in a cupboard at home and it was only a matter of time before Dad found them and scanned them for posterity. I had destroyed half of them in the stove last year, reading selected hilarious passages to Mom….

Gold Dust Woman

I don’t know who decided that jewellery was going to be my thing. I suppose the realisation that I could and would wear anything was convenient when it came to buying presents (no sensitive ears for this girl). This is still the case, thanks to Dad and his travels. Some gems include gold Pharaohs from…

Cold: Enclos des Fusillés

Does your apartment overlook a tiny cemetery in Schaerbeek? Do you get ready for work every morning, aware of the plain grey crosses on the other side of the garden fence, but not really affected by their presence? If so, I have to apologise if you glanced up from your breakfast this morning and were…

Je suis Charlie

The rain that fell this morning felt like tears on my cheeks. When I got home from my run and turned on the television, France was holding a minute of silence for those shot and killed yesterday in the terrorist attack on the offices of Charlie Hebdo. The people standing on the streets of Paris also…

I Could Have Danced All Night

I don’t know if anyone has noticed the titles of my recent blog posts, but I’ve had musicals on the mind. Specifically, My Fair Lady. In the midst of my quarter/third life crisis of 2014, I got a part in the chorus of this massive BLOC (Brussels Light Opera Company) venture, along with over 80…

You don’t bring me flowers anymore

  In typical Sylvia style, this week I was sick while the November sun was shining and got better when the November rain began. This is all part of my so-called sabbatical: the ability to stew at home with a cold, instead of being cooped up in an office, and to change my wet clothes at leisure,…