Ready or Not...Part I

 

Hamburg (courtesy of Reisroutes)

5 min. read

Hello, is anybody out there? 

Following a lengthy-ish summer hiatus from posting on LVC, it was always going to be tricky working out if/when to return. It’s not as if I have an army of subscribers eagerly awaiting my titbits. In the end, it’ll be the compulsion to write that will have me coming back despite myself.

I’ve enjoyed the respite; just living life without the obligation to document everything. The past couple on months or so have been so packed, it would have been a challenge in any case.

Let’s get the less pleasant aspects out of the way first...

 I am still job hunting. It’s not how I would have liked to spend the aestival months but needs must. I have one interview in late August, during my mother’s first Belgium visit (more on that later), with an anti-racist organisation. I love the sound of the role but taking it would mean a significant pay cut and a continuous search for something more financially sustainable. I am upfront about this in the interview. Some might question the wisdom of this. I can’t say I’d be so bold again. Nonetheless, it feels like the sensible thing to do at the time. The interview otherwise goes swimmingly (as far as I can tell). The feedback in the rejection email is very encouraging. Yet, it is still a refusal when all is said and done. Psycho-emotionally, it’s the usual rollercoaster; some days I feel plucky enough to weather the storm. Other days are so dark I can’t see past them.

There have been moments of reprieve. I take the all-night bus to Germany in mid-August to spend the long Assumption weekend with my dear friend, Coral. We haven’t seen each other in the flesh since early 2020, mere weeks before the global lockdowns. Meanwhile, she’s left Dresden and moved across the country to begin a new job and life season in Hamburg. 

I arrive early Saturday morning but we don’t step out until evening, it takes that long to catch up on our news (well, mainly me and my monologues). Not being familiar with Hamburg, it’s also a chance to be acquainted with what turns out to be an attractive city (the main train station notwithstanding). 

My good friend, Brenda – a Hamburg native – provides some culture tips beforehand. I cross most off my list thanks to a comprehensive city tour, Coral’s guidance and my own curiosity. I also benefit from Germany’s subsidised nationwide summer deal, thanks to which one can traverse the country for a mere nine euros all month.

It’s a soothing break. Coral’s great listening skills and sagacity are forever welcome. Plus, she spoils me rotten, not allowing me to pay for anything.

Shortly after my return to Brussels, I host my mother for the first time since I moved to Belgium. Owing to other commitments, I can only entertain mum for under a week. One of the few advantages of being between jobs is that I can focus on her visit.

I make an itinerary, including a city tour (also a first for me in Brussels), an evening at a traditional Belgian restaurant, a ramble around my local environs, an indispensable trip to the African quarter, Matongé and as many park visits as can be squeezed in. At some point I start feeling flu-like symptoms. I’m too nervous to test in case I have to self-confine. Neither can mum afford to be holed up in Belgian for an extra week. I wait to see how things progress. I do make a swift recovery, save for some coughing and sneezing. I remain masked up and persevere with showing mother dearest a good time.

To my relief, mum likes my Brussels accommodation, as different as it is from my Strasbourg residence. She enjoys her five day visit and promptly books a follow up in the Autumn. TBC.

The famous Matongé Mural (courtesy of Le Vif)

Almost immediately after mum’s departure, I’m off to Namur, Wallonia for my first ever silent Christian retreat. It’s on the condition that my symptoms have  subsided enough not to expose anybody else to risk. I’ll discover on arrival that there are elderly and immuno-compromised guests present.  It’s a tough call. It would’ve been incredibly depressing to quarantine in my flat, especially so soon after mum’s visit. (I do test when I get back to Brussels and it shows up Corona-free).

The journey to Namur is a little madcap. There aren’t many participants in possession of a car and none that live in Brussels. I’m supposed to travel with friend and former church member, Jana, courtesy of a lift offered by another participant living in Flanders. When our ride pulls out, we’re left floundering. Jana researches alternative train routes. By a hair’s breadth, I miss the connection which would have reunited us en route. I remain in touch with Jana by phone whilst I catch a different train.

There is one plus about missing my original connection. I’m not forced to travel with Lorenzo. Yes, it’s a bitter irony that I still run into him at the events in which I once encouraged him to participate whilst we were on good terms. I am thankfully forewarned by Jana that he’ll be attending, she being apprised of the decline in relations. I am not shocked by the news. There was always the outside possibility. I can’t pretend his presence has no impact on the experience. 

By chance, a few weeks before the retreat I speak to Melissa, the mutual friend who introduced me to Lorenzo. At the time I’m unaware of how much she knows about the state of play. A lot, it turns out. He had apparently given up on the friendship long ago, citing flimsy and at times even judgmental reasons, from what I glean from Melissa. 

The River Meuse, Namur (Routard)

He appears to share more with her by IM than he ever does with me on or offline. This revelation sparks a fresh wave of grief. During the retreat I alternate between being courteous but distant (not so hard with most of it spent in silence) or avoiding him altogether. Lorenzo, for his part, prefers the latter. From what I can tell, he's done his utmost to disassociate from me and the situation. It sticks in my claw to see him play the perfect gentleman with others. 

Anger, hurt and betrayal stir within me. 

Before we depart, I nevertheless slip a note under Lorenzo’s door, as encouraged by one of the retreat organisers in the know. It’s with much apprehension. Lorenzo and I are long past reconciliation. Besides, it can’t be a unilateral decision. I’m tired of consistently being the one to reach out; remembering his birthday for example when he can’t be bothered to do the same.

Still, I recognise we need to clear the air. It would otherwise be hypocritical, particularly before breaking bread for Holy Communion on the last day. Lorenzo does acknowledge the note but confesses he’s yet to read it. We have a couple more civil exchanges before everyone goes their separate ways. 

At the time of writing, Lorenzo is yet to respond to my brief letter. No remorse shown. From cowardice or callousness, I have no idea.  It is a needless reminder that this person is not – and probably was never – good for me.

Yet, despite this added challenge, it doesn’t define the getaway. The retreat has an aquatic theme, owing to the centre’s proximity to the River Meuse. The workshops, shared sessions and a temporary art installation all have a therapeutic effect.  I find genuine solace and rest within the comfortable accommodation as well as the scenic surroundings. I while away time in the chapel or sat by the Meuse. The weather continues to be kind, which will soon change when September arrives. It’s a delicious novelty not having anywhere to be; not to be a slave to my own self-imposed schedule. It's something I usually struggle to achieve, even on holiday. The serenity naturally makes it easier to connect with God, although it takes a moment to reach this point. 

The retreat is not perfect, nothing is. The available literature and music is very Eurocentric and male-dominated, for instance. I am the only non-European in the group. However, I have no regrets about attending. It enables me to turn down the volume of my mental traffic, even if I can't completely switch it off. 

Once that precious long weekend is over, I reflect on how to carry forward the tranquillity into my everyday life.

Part II