10–16 May
What a week. I barely had time to post on my last walking day, and now here I am, a week later, back in Laeken and carrying everything that happened in between.
Sunday 10 May (day 23) I was back at the square, working and meeting people. I’ve decided to write “home” in as many languages as I can on Sybille l’atelier mobile. I started with the languages I know — French, English, Dutch — and then Francis, who I met that day, taught me the word in Kinyarwanda: iwanye (singular). Curious how many more will follow.
That evening I left Sybille l’atelier mobile in Luc’s cellar — Luc, who I met at the Parcours d’Artistes in Sint-Gillis and who lives right in the neighbourhood. I think he’s going to be a friend.
Monday was a Zinneke workshop. Tuesday and Wednesday I was supposed to be writing a subsidy application and I completely froze. Stuck solid. It was one of those weeks where not doing the thing takes more energy than the thing itself. I spent a lot of time trying not to drown in the stuckness and just be a little bit kind to myself about it.
Thursday I took the train to Ath for the première of Guilty, the new show by Les Six Faux Nez. I’d already seen it the Friday before at the Roseraie, and it was good — but in Ath it had grown into something even better. They’d worked so hard and it showed. The weather held, which felt like a gift. 🌤️
Friday was Vincent’s 60th birthday. We phoned with the boys, which was lovely, and then I sat down and wrote the application. All of it. Something unlocked. I sent it in and I was genuinely proud of myself for pushing past that “I’ll never get money” voice and the “who do you think you are” voice and just doing it anyway. We’ll celebrate the birthday properly later — 60 deserves a real party. Money is energy. I keep putting energy in. It’ll come back.
And woven through all of it — meeting Francis, from Africa, at the square on Sunday. Meeting Luc. And then, because I was there, Luc and Francis meeting each other. That’s the whole point, really. Not the walking, not the cart, not even the question. It’s what happens in between.
Yesterday I walked the Pride parade with la Bande de Clitos, and oh, what joy. 🌈 To be an organ that exists entirely for pleasure, marching with thousands of people who are proud to be exactly who they are — there was so much colour and laughter and aliveness. I walked 17 kilometres by the time I got home. Every single one of them worth it.
Today I’m back in Laeken, and I’ll see where the day takes me. Everything’s good. We’re getting there.
