Découvertes sur des Anges

Angels are very special. We all know that. They exist the world over in all shapes and sizes. You cannot see them, they are to be believed in. They move in the realm we call religion and religion owns them. But one need not be religious to get an angel. Or rather, given.

Indeed. Given. You do not get an angel for yourself. An angel should be given. But even if he is given, an angel is not steered or owned. By no one. He makes his own choice. He chooses the 'giver' as well as the 'receiver' by pointing in the right direction. By calling out. He is heard by those willing to hear. Some of us will never hear an angel and some of us several times.

Your angel has a purpose for you and for himself. He will show the way as your guide. When the way is before you, his duty is done. He might decide to stay to see how you get on. However, if he knows his subject will be just fine, he could well leave. To find someone new in need of guidance. Sometimes we see him again and sometimes we don't.

These are the ways of the angels. Only to be respected for there is nothing we can do to change them. There is nothing we should do to change them. If they change, their purpose will be lost and there is no one left to show us the way.

Don't look for your angel. Let your angel look for you. He might come in different forms and ever so often you will not see him. But he is there. To help. To guide. Let him do his duty and show you the way. Accept him. Listen but don't force. Just listen. And when it is time for him to leave, let him go.

The third phase

Knut is dead. Bye bye Knut. We all remember Knut? The white teddy bear in the Berlin Zoo. The white teddy unexpectedly kicked the bucket.

It is strange that Knut remained the little cute white teddy he once was in the public mind despite showing more of the ice monsterly features so common among his kind, according to recent photographic evidence. And now he's dead. Dutch broadsheet De Volkskrant devoted an entire photo special to the event. Pictures of mourning people, flowers and teddies in front of Knut's cage.

Flowers for a dead polar bear. We like laying flowers these last years. More and more so, it seems. It only takes someone well-known to die - human or not human - and we don't know how fast to make it to the florist to be able to participate in the public mourning. We started with Lady Di and now we lay flowers for a dead polar bear. The third phase this is.

Yes I know, the third phase is really the other way round if I have understood my sister's explanation on the subject. The third and last phase in human-animal relations is the stage at which the animal is completely at man's service. We do not need the animals anymore and do no longer depend on them. This phase is beautifully illustrated in the inconsiderate killing of thousands of pigs, hundreds of cows or goats and sheep when they are thought a threat to public health. What makes this the third phase is the fact that most of these animals are all healthy. Some of their kind have unfortunately caught a dangerous disease and the mere fact of being a cow, pig or goat as well means you have to die. Regardless if your stable is miles away from the infected farm. You are a potential threat and should therefore die a preemptive death. Who thought of laying flowers at the empty stables then?

No-one. Not even a comforting note to the gate of the farm concerned. Why should we mourn these animals or pay our respect to the devastated farmer? After all, it was 'only' livestock. Doomed for people's plates anyway. Not so Knut. A polar bear dies and it is almost a day of public mourning. And as he was definately not murdered in any way for any reason, we must conclude that Knut was sick. His vet was either too late or powerless to save him. Perhaps this is just as much the third phase as the pre-emptive killing of farm animals. Knut too was completely in our service. Instead we made him a merchandised living teddy. Hardly a polar bear at all, free to roam the ice in search of tasty seals and therefore just as little animal as the ready-to-be-eaten pigs. One a walking ham, the other a public teddy, but neither as they are: animals.

Emigration fun

Everyone who has moved at least once in his adult life will be able to attest to the fact the one of the more unpleasant features of moving concerns the bureaucratic consequences. Happy as one is with their new home, you know, more space, better neighbourhood, great view, whatever it was that made you move, that unhappy one becomes as soon as the many administrative issues have to be addressed. This is true for any move. It is at least triple true if you're moving across borders. Unhappy is then probably an understatement as it will soon turn to frustration and various degrees of agresssion, all depending on the country.

I know, there is always worse. In some countries you have to queue outside in the hot sun if you want a passport. However true that may be, I think we can agree that the French bureaucratic system within Europe at least, has a bit of a reputation. In fact, I like to think it is notorious. True, it doesn't make me wait outside in the burning sun but then, it arguably doesn't make me wait at all because I can never go to the institutions concerned. Reason being that they are open from nine to five and not a minute longer. No evenings, no appointments, no Saturday mornings. Consequently, I have been wondering for about three months how I can take care of all the matters that need my attention. Including getting health insurance, import a car and register in the new country.

Why it is that the French state apparently insists on me taking a day off work, eludes me. It can hardly be in its economic interest to have people take days off because they need to pay the Prefecture a visit. When I am not in the office, I am not making any money for myself or the company I work for. I am not paid that day and therefore do not pay any taxes over that day either. Part of my tax money is the Prefecture-employee's salary so arguably it costs both me and the state money to go the said Prefecture as the government will have to fill up that financial gap on the unlucky employees pay-slip.

Could I therefore suggest that the Prefecture and other government institutions open their doors to the public one evening a week or perhaps a Saturday morning to allow people with full-time jobs to take care of their administration? Hopefully it will also result in a decline in frustration levels. Better for everyone's well-being and some people's bloodpressure.

Beginnings and continuity

January again. Another year gone by, a new one starting. Like a year ago the initial excitement over the endless possibilities a new year potentially brings, quickly evaporate as soon as I switch on my computer and read immediately over people being killed by a bomb in Pakistan. And so this time round, being somewhat cut off from festivity by being in a small village in the French countryside, the old makes way for the new in a rather quiet way. No fireworks, no champagne. No Abba on the radio. In the French countryside, life just goes on. If a bit strange at first, it is actually quite pleasant not to get worked up about a new year.

What's more, I have no high hopes for 2011. It is an odd number and I have no particular feeling about this year. Besides, good things should not happen in a year that ends in 11. I would get on my nerves as I am rather perculiar about numbers. Let me explain. Even numbers are better than odd ones. Except odds that end in 5. Those are good. But it being a 1 year, nothing exceptional ought to happen.

Luckily, so far, it hasn't, even though things look better than a year ago. I have a job. My own flat and by this time next year, a car. Hopefully. Added up, perhaps this is exceptional. I am finally earning a living and I would never have thought a year ago that I would consider buying a car in the relatively near future. However, things would not be right if I was entirely satisfied and happy. Not that I am particularly unhappy, but suddenly, it is rather daunting to spend several years in one place, doing the same job. My sister said a while back that I had not yet settled down. I realise now that perhaps I haven't.

I can stay here, but I am not certain I want to. There are other exciting places to go to. More languages to learn. New people to meet. If you leave, there is always the possibility of better than before. Or worse. In any case, it will be different. I worry I have come to crave difference. New experiences. That I find it difficult to stay in one place. It being a new year however, perhaps it is something I should try. To stay. For a year at least. If I can...

Eyes wide shut

Eyes like saucers and mouth open wide with my lower jaw practically reaching my knees. That must have pretty much been how I looked hours after returning to my flat in Ecully. Before elaborating on my complete astonishment and the reasons for it, I should probably set some things right. Three weeks in I had already accused some of my colleagues of merely tolerating me rather than liking as such. Ever since coming back however and showing my face at work, I almost start thinking the opposite. Everyone is very friendly, I do not know why but perhaps I will find out one day. Maybe I changed after four days on my own in the country. Maybe things here changed. Whatever it is, people wait for me before going off for lunch or otherwise drag me with them by my hair, they say hi really quite enthusiastically and one of them came to see me on Wednesday evening.

Karmen is her name and she was in the training group with me. Apparently she had spent a large chunk of the weekend by herself which made me feel a bit sorry for her because it can get quite lonely then. So she came over to check if I was back. Coming in she announced to be in a bad mood due to some issues whilst buying chocolate. As she had perhaps been a little alone over the weekend and moody I figured my marbled teabread, tea and chocolate Easter eggs were the way forward.

Over tea and chocolate she updated me on the latest developments at work involving another of our colleagues and some of the interns. Her story resulted in the huge eyes and overall totally unintelligent look on my face. Astonishment and sheer disbelief took hold of me. I will explain. As it happens the youngest colleague we have has not been very well for the last weeks. Nausea and throwing up. Now if that takes a day, food poisoning is a logic explanation. Bit longer…some kind of odd virus, infection, whatever. But longer and being a girl, that makes people think. As she too was in our training group we had fairly soon inquired whether pregnancy was a possibility. Technically yes was the answer. Since Wednesday, the technically is no more. The girl in question was sent home by our boss and told to think about it very very carefully. Overall impression amongst new colleagues about this approach.

Strangely though, where older women tend to wait sharing this kind of news until the third month, a 17-year-old, or perhaps just this one, managed to have everyone on the floor know within hours. To say some of the reactions are rather surprising is an understatement I suppose. Most of the female interns were very enthusiastic, one even started crying apparently. I now wonder whether me and the two other girls that are not over the moon about it are the odd ones out. Does not anyone of them grasp the implications of this? That the girl is 17, going on 18? That she has no certificates whatsoever? That she has no fixed job either as this is seasonal work? That in her behaviour she is still fairly young? Does none of them see all this? Or do I have to conclude now that there is a serious age difference here? That the older you get, the more you worry and the less impulsive you get? Or is this what they call ‘experience’?

It is a somewhat strange sensation though to know that someone who is a lot younger, is pregnant. Next week she comes back and I will look at her and think that when she has reached 26, she’ll have a nine-year-old, abortion not being an option to her. I will look and wonder how she’s going to cope. Taking care of herself is a major challenge as it is. How is she going to take care of a baby? Luckily her parents are very enthusiastic too. I don’t understand but perhaps this child then is wanted by some if not entirely by its mother at the moment. I will look at her and realise that despite being nine years older, I am nowhere near ready to have a child and not because I cannot take care of it, financial issues being left out of consideration. The mean reason is that a child means huge responsibilities and living to your child’s clock and needs. Baby first, self second, or that is how my parents told me it should be. At seventeen, I doubt she can do it. At twenty-six, I do not want to do it, but then, I have the luxury of thought.