Paris

Many people have a negative feeling about the world today. They see misery on the Internet and television and think that that footage represents the world. It's become so obvious now to be 'pessimistic' that anyone who is optimistic, like me, is considered a ‘naive deviation’. But a positive conclusion can also result from careful and intelligent considerations.

This year I quit following the headlines in the news, because I see a pattern of repetitions through the decades that bores me. Right now, with the Paris-incident,  I see the lamentations and expressions of support on Facebook and i think, "Here we go again!"

The pattern, as I see it, looks as follows:

increasing emotions:

- perceive incident through various media,

- Develop angry and fearful emotions,

- develop opinions at home,

- Collect as many videos, quotes, headlines and cartoons for sharing at Facebook etc.,

- Sympathizing with the victims,

- pointing a scapegoat (mostly America, Putin of Muslims. Preferably all three.)

phase of mocking

- mocking the country, culture and customs applicable

- mocking  national political ministers involved,

- Mocking national committees concerned,

- Mocking national military forces,

- mocking World leaders

increasing feeling of powerlessness:

- participating digital/live protest

- calling a national sense of unity,

- mocking the national unity feeling

- Laughing at various comedians that repeat the mocking in more intelligent way

- Not seeing the wood for the trees any longer

- developing pessimistic conclusions about Europe, America, national army, the UN, NATO and many international organizations working hard to clean up the mess.

After this last phase there is the moment insightful and contemplative programs start popping up on internet and TV. Historical and cultural viewpoints are considered and solutions are found in long-term strategy. It’s time for talk shows and documentaries. The same media enlarging the whole incident in the first place are now participating in this as well. Probably they have several ‘war-rooms’ in such editors-buildings.

But here is the problem, the very moment the "collective" - ‘we’ - returns in it’s own energy again - the moment it exhales so to say - and with that finding it’s own force again, on that moment that same media - from the first war-room again i guess -  reports a next incident, which is enlarged again. The exhaling abruptly stops, is not completed, and anxious inhaling starts again. 

Bottomline: we never find peace. And most importantly, never return in our own power.

Well, that is why I stept out of that ‘chain’. Not that I am in my power now but I must say that many is spared to me these days that doesn't really matter. For example I am the only person in my country who does not know what ISIS is (i’m not joking). Also, I know nothing about the Ukraine and Ebola. Because, again, these examples are patterns that keep on rising and disappearing, leaving a lot of people exhausted and not leading to anything. If the shit really hits the fan I’ll hear about it. What is far more interesting is to see the changing self-image and self-understanding of Muslims against the background of greater international pressure. And more interesting than calling Putin a 'dictator', a Muslim a ‘woman-hater' or Africa a "hopeless" continent is developing an understanding that different cultures have very different needs, needs that I can never understand from my own western point of view. I believe in Democracy, Human Rights and Separation of Church and State. Period! But that is not everyone’s believe. I therefore don’t hold the truth. And that's an exiting acknowledgement.

I wonder if you, with your negative feelings and opinions about the world, ever consider what the source might be of such opinions, as the examples supporting those opinions don’t originate from your own observation - unless you have super-powers, being everywhere at the same time. The examples are taken from reports of others, selected for you, from places you never visited. They come from journalists and press-agencies, with power-structures that you and I do not understand. From regions in the world with do’s and don’t's that you do not know of. And every time I talk to local people who live in the places that we are reporting about so negatively - i meet them frequently through my job with an airline - they often show that somewhat ashamed silence, wonder and sometimes anger, about mis-information in the headlines ... what they see in their hometowns and country is different.

So I question our ability to really know what goes on in the world and i state our dependency of the media. But anytime i do that, people respond irritated by stating that they damn sure have their own opinion about things! But in that sentence is a contradiction. It assumes that the ‘own judgment’ on headline-news is proof that one's opinion is independent. Because that implies the word 'own'. That, in other words, their ‘own’ judgment about ISIS, after independent research and reading, means that they think independently. But that's not true. Making your own judgment about ISIS, or Russia, is not a sign of independent thinking, but thinking about a topic that has been selected for you to think about. You are not independent. Our planet is huge, and not only consists of a few lunatics in a desert decapitating people, but is mostly created by people of good will. And while we are hysterically typing and responding on Facebook, our opinions and fears and anger, we have no clue how powerful we are; this big, beautiful planet continue to rotate in a mysterious universe, orbited by more hands reaching each other in love then pushing each other down.

Those few real problems in the world that really matter, need people who can focus their energy on it. By full inhaling and exhaling. Not by panting.

Aussie and Philly (english)

One day, in my Filipino resort, on Siquijor, two new neighbors move in, in the hut next to me. An older western man with a young Filipina far below the 'date of consumption'. Later I figure out: he is sixty-five and she is eighteen. Well, every man may meet his match, right?

After a brief encounter with her, earlier that day, I have a - let's say - 'strong opinion' about them.  But in the afternoon, after an unintended 'charm-attack' on their side, i'm talked into a couple of beers and i stick around at there place. Everything around me is so azure-blue and postcard-sunny, so right now, everyone is special and very interesting to me! We make jokes about our difficult names and, to my surprise,  I hear myself come up with nicknames; Aussie (he's from Australia), Philly (she is Filipina) and they call me .. Ingie.
Hello stupid holiday-humor.
A little later, the cord of my adapter breaks off and he is so generous to lend me his, and in the evening they invite me to come over for dinner. Things go that fast. She cooks delicious.

And so I end up drinking a beer with him. The sunset is beautiful again. She prepares food. Then he tells me his story. How he met his girlfriend. 

"I visit the Philippines for a long time now. And always as a sex-tourist. I'm not ashamed to say that. Because this is the place to be. I fooled around here and I fooled around there. Well, you know what I'm talking about"
I shift a bit and take another sip of my beer. Oke, I see were this is going.
"Well, this time I went to this special island (he gives me the name). You know that island?
"No," I reply, just a little too sharp.
Well this time he went there. And that island is the place to be; the final heaven, the ultimate fuck-paradise of the Philippines. Oh boy, a long avenue where it all happens in bars for little money. "Easy does it. And those girls ..? Well. I just did what I did."
I hold my tongue and 'scent' a story..
This time he decided to visit a small bar at the end of the street. Why? No idea. He walked in, had a beer, untill a young girl - that's Philly - walked to him.
"She only worked there for three days yet and I was the first man she approached. So she was as good as a virgin. Well, she has a young kid but that didn't leave any trace, if get what i mean.. But that was so special about it: of all the men she could have approached, she took me! Unbelievable, isn't it? "
Aussie looks me deep in the eyes, as if I must be convinced of a convulsive conclusion. Since i do not respond, he thinks he has found an ally.
"In fact i was the second man in her life. Well you could feel that.. nice and tight ".
 

From a moral point of view, this is the exact moment to finish my beer and go. But in their hut my dinner is made and frankly, I'm too curious about the rest of this absurdity.
"Unbelievable isn't it," Aussie's face is shiny, "she looks at me, has no doubts and comes with me to my hotel. Isn't that special? "
I sit with my beer in my hand, and..well.. there I sit with my beer in my hand; is he that naive or does he really believes his own crap?

But we are not there yet. The two have sex but there is more. The sparks jump off. Assie is in love. And not just a little bit; "Big Time, brother". Well, I understand Aussie all too well.. my sparkles jumped off even before I met her; what a horny creature. But no no no..that's not what Aussie means. 

"Are you crazy! It's a deep, profound spiritual spark".
Thus, the word has fallen.
"I am a very spiritual person, Ingmar. I 'chant' (...?) And I am a hypnotherapist. I see that you are at a crossroad in your life, aren't you? "
(Fuck off .. go play poker. Every westerner on this island is at a crossroad)
Aussie 'feels' things, 'experiences' things. Man, if you only knew. And it goes deep. He falls in love with Philly. Instantly.
"I'm sixty-five, but have never met such a wise woman".
Well, when it comes to Philly-girl, she has sparks too. Especially when Aussie suggests that if she leaves the child with the family he takes her on a trip through the Philippines. Six weeks at his expenses, plus an extra bonus afterwards. Well, Philly has nothing else to do and that sexbar .. that would eventually not result in a - lt's say -  'relaxed working atmosphere' So, no sooner said than done. But first Philly runs an acute urethra inflammation (I know.. but once you start a story, you should not forget the details) And before Aussie even realizes,  he's in the local hospital, paying $250 for his freshly picked, yet haunted soulmate. But everything turns out to be good and they start their journey. 

"And the things that happened since then, man! The conversations we had and how she teached me to open up in life. This is pure karma, buddy. And the sex .. (he shifts to make room for his sixty-five years old dick, that bounces up, due his continous rattling) The whole trip is like: 'man, what the fuck happens to me!' And well.. Jesus.. what sixty-five year old dude has a eighteen year old girlfriend, right? . Hahaha ...What do you make of it, right??"

 Aussie looks at me. His cheeks are red.
"That's no coincidence. Such a strong bond? I believe in reincarnation and I just think that we know each other from a previous life "
'...'
At this point, I think, its expected of me, that i respond.  So, i murmle something like: "Eh..how did you guys do after that?"
Aussie looks surprised.
"Huh? No, I only know her for a few days now. It's the beginning of my holiday. Man, this will be the best trip of my life. "
 

I slowely start to realize that this 'big child' really means what he says and I shut my mouth. I just don't come up with a matching look for this twister. But Aussie takes a run and continues: "Really, I feel like I enter a completely different stage of my life with this woman. (And that he surely believes, because the next morning this sixty-five years old child and his princess are dancing, on his porch, on cheap teenage-dance music. I'm not making this up) And as for that age difference dude .. How was it with you again?"

(Oh shit, I've been too personal without checking first... Fuck and now I can't go back).
"Eh .. seventeen years" I mumble.

"Yes, exactly! Fuck age difference! That's not important. You know, of course the two of us have no future (wouw, you learn fast) but you have to live in the 'Now' dude. And this girl, you know, I'm sixty-five but I have learned more from her than in my whole life before.."

(for some reason i'm not surprised).

"..She knows how to touch me with her open heart. This girl and me .. that is about respect man.
"Honey, bring another beer. Yes,  do it now"

While I listen to him, i remember  his spiritual sister, his fuck-goddess and love angel coming over to my hut earlier that afternoon. He is gone walking and she's just standing there, bored, while i read, lying in my hammock.
"How long have you and your husband been travelling now?" I ask, with the emphasis on husband.
"He's not my husband," she says a little too quickly. She curls her belly in my direction. "He is eh ..", she lifts her lips, "he is .. you mean .. ?'. She points to their hut. "Mwah .. my 'boyfriend' .. at least .. What are you reading? "
'You've been travelling a long time now? "I just continue.
" I met him in a bar where I used to work. You know. But I didn't do anything with clients. He is only the second man in my life that I have sex with '.
She looks me straigh in the eyes. But I don't respond and suddenly the curtains fall.
"I had blood .. "She points down, right under her belly, a little clumsy. Suddenly, she is so eighteen years old ..
"I don't  know why I went travelling with him."
"Attraction? (stupid respons)
'Mwah ..'
"Do you know what you want in life... after all of this? '
"I want nothing. I live for my child '

Madeleine (english)

One evening I was sitting in a taxi in Manila, when four women visited me. That evening was loaded with an obscure feeling. It made me calm and excited at the same time. My taxi was – as always in Manila – in a traffic-jam. I just visited my girlfriend and I was on my way to my  regular hotel in Intramuros. Little lights, far out on the sea, sparkled in a diffuse way right into my little, half-lit cabin. I thought of my sweetheart and felt warm.

The taxi-driver, a friendly man in his late 50s, had his arms on the steering wheel and stared outside. We both had our own thoughts for a while. Then he broke the silence.
' Are you here for business or holiday? '
This sentence is usually not addressed out of interest, but to entice the customer to a dubious deal; concerning women, or hotels. But the man had such a quiet and open look that I decided,  against my habits, to answer.
"I'm here for my girlfriend. She is Filipina and lives in Caloocan’.

The man turned his head towards me and looked attentively. With obvious suspiciousness I searched for irony in his eyes, but I didn’t find such.
' You are here for love? That is good '

He put his arms back on the steering wheel. We were silent for a moment. Then he continued:

' You come here often? '
I told him I did so, despite a rapidly shrinking savings-account. I winked at him. He did not respond immediately.
' Your girlfriend must be a special woman '.
I could not cope with the strong look in his eyes and the unusual respect I got as a westerner with a Filipino girlfriend. The man grabbed me inside, in no time, there, in that little cabin, somewhere in nightly Manila. To break the tension I asked him a question.
' Do you have a wife? And children? '
' Yes, two.
"what are their names? '

He mentioned two American names, the first of which was Madeleine. I found that a rather unusual name for a Filipina and I told him that. He looked at me with twinkles in his eyes.

' Do you know how my daughter got that name? '
I shifted, expecting a nice story. And it was.
' I have worked in Saudi Arabia. I was the personal driver of Madeleine Albright, the US Secretary of Foreign Affairs in the Clinton administration. She really liked me and I liked her. We talked a lot, about many things. But she also often asked about my wife, who lived in Manila and with whom I was just married. It felt good that she took an interest in my personal life.
Then I went home for a holiday. Well, you understand, when I returned to  Saudi Arabia, my wife was pregnant. I felt like not staying any longer, resigned and returned to Manila and started working as a taxi-driver. And my daughter was born; Madeleine, named after my special friend'.
I hung on every word he said. This man did not speak about his wife, but about a lover. He didn’t show too much emotion on the outside but his voice was unusually soft and cautious when he mentioned her. The traffic-jam, fortunately, did not move too fast.
Then, unexpectedly, his phone rang. It was his wife. He started talking in English – probably because I was there.
' I’m on Roxas Boulevard -- Yeah, nice! A Dutchman -- Mmm ...we're talking ... about love and such'.

He turned to me and winked. His serious attitude had changed all of a sudden. With a slight blush and nervous moving fingers on the steering wheel he continued the conversation.

Then his wife must have said something teasing, because they both laughed shy. And while I was contemplating on the secret of two people, married for so long already and still having a great time, he said the words that touch me to this day:

 ' But darling, don't worry. Somehow you always appear in my conversations '.
It really hit me. Probably because I recognized myself in that sentence. But also because four women touched me, right there, in that small cabin. They reminded me that everyone on this planet is interconnected and that being together with those you love is the most important thing there is.

We continued talking about the subject of love but I don’t remember more of it. It was late, my driver spoke beautiful words, his taxi was cosy and my sweetheart closeby.