Love letter to Cumberland

Cumberland,

How do I even begin to express my love for you? By dancing in your streets, hugging all your people, writing you a love letter? I didn't know which one to choose, so I decided to do it all. I left you this morning, after four months of bliss and sunshine. The winter months made me doubt my love for you, but that's a personal thing. It's not you, it's me. I'm a summer child and you definitely brought the child out in me these past months. Running around the forest, skinny dipping in the lake, digging in the dirt. 

Three seasons in four months, it felt like we were only together for five minutes when actually I lived a lifetime with you as my witness. I felt lost under all those layers of clothes, out of my element in the cold. You made me feel at home and lit the fire. I arrived by myself and I left with a family. Being part of a community is something I longed for dearly, and you welcomed me with open arms. My search for work got answered by four jobs. I got to write! For a living! And meet the most amazing people, collect their stories and be a sister in the Cumberland family. A wild woman in a bunch of even wilder women. A travelling spirit finding a place to rest. 

I fell in love and made dear friends. I'm leaving with a heart overflowing with love. My creative spark is alight, leaving books of poetry in island houses. The mountains cradle my thoughts. The trees clear my mind of any worries. The ocean's salty water attracts me every time, clothes off in a heart beat. Waves spit me back out on the beach, making me a better person. It's the combination of all of this, that makes me feel so good. But it's the people that make it a home. A place filled with love. A valley full of memories, I take them with me wherever I go.

And I will always come back.

Love,

Joke

Life right about now

Oh what a wonderful day! Waking up feeling free, birds singing it's time to shine. Morning coffee rituals with friends in the garden. Long lost catch ups of two days not seeing each other. When coworkers turn friends turn family, 24 hours feels like a long time without hugs. Cuddles, stories, laughter. We decide who will be the bun and who will be the hot dog in the middle. Two buns make a sandwich but they will feel the cold wind on their backs. It's best to be the dog, stay warm in winter time. All with a serious face. I nearly hit the floor laughing. Life is sweet, I think.

Last night's tipsy texting tells me summer is here. My heart skips a beat all the time. Caffeine keeps me going but everything happens with a shiver. I burnt my face in that first sun. In burnt the burn the next day and now I'm like a snake shedding skin but still smiling. Some days I wake up feeling like a wild woman, ready to take over the world. Dancing naked to yeasayer eating chocolates in the shower, all the good stuff all at the same time. Finding a forgotten taco like a treasure in the fridge. More coffee. More shivers. Wearing only glitters. Half a day off and I'm having a one woman party. I write, trying to pour my excitement for life into words. I kiss the paper, make ink stains on hands and cheeks.

Strawberries ripen just by looking at them. I close my eyes and smell memories of summer fields of joy, cheap champagne picnics, swaying hips on festival grounds. I taste the salt of your body while swimming in the ocean. Cold water is my morning alarm. Hair still wet, slamming car doors, almost late for work. I see myself in your sunglasses and smile every time you walk past the window. 

The rain makes life less heavy, the air is clean, plants are relieved and the pavement smokes. I love the smell of rain on a hot day. I get out until my feet are muddy and my legs can't dance anymore. I've got something for you, you say and push a piece of paper in my hands. 1920s typewriter ink, fingers moving fast, mistakes are made easily so you flipped the page and there it is. A poem named Joke the Wild. Words get blurry as my eyes do too. I smile and hug and hug some more. Summer rain makes for starry skies. Coming home tastes like your words on my lips. 

Belgian holidays

One month in Belgium seemed more than enough. To surprise friends, enjoy family Christmas parties, visit people all over the place and in the mean time I would stuff my face with chocolates, waffles and mama's food. That was the plan. Little did I know last December would be one of the craziest months of my life. Days and nights were so much fun, I never wanted to sleep.

I was in a constant limbo between dreams and waking life, jetlagged and voiceless. And then Toni Braxton's Unbreak my Heart came up on a karaoke night. That was the end of me. With even less voice and even bigger bags under my eyes, I scraped myself together for one last night of dancing, laughing, hugging, kissing before I curled up in a ball on the plane and slept my way back to Canada. 

After three months of working and living in Toronto, my body started to ache for new adventures. Getting out of the freezing cold big city life to hide under blankets and listen to stories on friends' couches sounded like the perfect soul soothing holiday. So I booked tickets to my homeland without telling anyone. I would do it all again, just for the looks on friends' faces. 

As much as they were surprised by seeing me walk through their doors as if it had only been a week instead of a year, I surprised myself with my reaction to Belgium. Usually it's something like going to an ugly cafe filled with staff I love. I go there for the people, not so much for the place itself. Oh, and for the chocolates you get with your coffee. This time, things were different. I didn't seem to have control over one specific facial expression as I walked through streets with my mouth and eyes wide open. Totally in awe of the beauty I saw. I didn't take anything for granted. Not the views of endless fields through train windows, not the cobblestones under my feet, not a second I spent with my friends and family. 

For the first time since my travelling life, I came back to Belgium and really felt at home. The community I long for wherever I go, I already have it. A tribe of the finest kind, the reason I will always go back home, even if it's just to kiss their gorgeous faces. 

Kensington Market Sundays

My brain is brewing with ideas and projects, but while the sun is out, I want to explore this city as much as I can. Getting to know my neighbourhood makes me such a happy woman. Little Portugal is not only packed with beautiful parcs and pasteis de nata, it's also leading the way to my favourite place in Toronto: Kensington Market. There is something about the colourful houses, vintage shops and funky bars that reminds me of London. It's the vibe. The people, their extravagance. It draws me in. 

After a rainy Saturday afternoon filled with writings, pancakes, Irish coffee, Nina Simone and conversations that made me fall in love, Sunday brought out the sun. All-day breakfast bars bring their tables outside. Sunday brunch never comes in moderation. Overflowing plates, coffee cups and hearts. Rosey cheeks didn't even try to hide the feeling of perfect Sunday bliss. The caffeine got me shaking, twirling around in my sunflower skirt. Strolling the Kensington streets, buying plants, walking hand in hand, making plans of wedding dresses and glitter suit pants. 

Black Rocks ocean river love

Camping in beach side 

forest freedom

waking up to birds songs

your eyes are close to touching 

mine your lashes 

caress my cheek

where are we

let's never go back

go anywhere 

else 

but here

I feel the sand 

crispy between my teeth

lick my salty lips

grab a handful of Australian days

seize them 

dunk them in love

until rivers flood 

with desire to stay 

let's stay

and keep floating

for the rest of our days.

Melbourne days

Sweet sweet Melbourne,

You have been great. I feel fueled up, running on nothing but love. Days and nights were filled with conversations, wine under stars, creative journeys in the garden, eyes shining bright with joy, feelings of pure bliss. So much love. Far too fruity to put down on paper. 

Saying goodbye was hard. Pep talks and back strokes were much needed to keep me from swimming through the water in my eyes. Very few things motivated me to leave the cocoon of the city's warm arms. Friends all gathered in one place to make my days. Thank you thank you! Gorgeous people in my beloved Melbs. You rock my socks. 

Bruxelles ma belle

Brussels, you glorious city. You are so easy to fall in love with. If you were a bearded man, I'm sure we would be married already. You would take me out on dates all over town, show me palaces and cobble stone alley ways. You throw in surprises like live blues jams on random Mondays and late night talks which end in blurry bike rides under full moon light. Oh you love music and theatre and you treat me to dance performances that leave me speechless. I've shown you my portion of dance moves but instead of watching me while smiling in silence, you turn up the volume and magically add hours to the nights, so there is more time to dance before the sun comes up. 

There have been sunrises and plenty of orange coloured skies, but no stars. Not in the center, there aren't. Until I arrive in Sint-Gillis, where the doorbell says my name and night skies turn starry. That's when I grab my keys, realise I have a home. A place to rest my head and heart when you've been too much. Too overwhelming and loud. Don't get me wrong, that's what I love about you. But I need to escape from time to time. Your wind blows me to forests and lakes. I can't believe my eyes. You've got it all. 

I'm happy you love my friends as much as I do. They adore you, you know. 

You're making it really, really hard to leave. 

Love you long time,

Joke

Perfume letters

Today I heard a story. Of an old lady who loves so deeply it makes my heart do a little dance. She loves a man who had to move to a nursing home where he spends most of his days in bed. His joy is (what many of us will agree is the best thing in life): receiving love letters from his lady. He can't read them so the nurse sits down next to his bed and reads the written words out loud. Even though his eyes are not working so well anymore, he sees the geraniums blossom when he opens the envelope. He takes a deep breath and smells her presence. 

On every letter she writes to the love of her life, she adds a drop of essential oil of geranium. So he feels she is with him. Scents have the power to take him back to a moment in the past. To a time when he sat next to her at the breakfast table, sharing strong coffee and sweet words. When their home was still home. Where geraniums blossomed. To a time when she smelled like geraniums. To a time when the flowers smelled like her.

A love letter to Melbourne

Dear Melbourne,

Thanks for treating me like the daughter you never had. You've been good to me. Sorry I acted like a sixteen year old most of the time I was here. A club rat, dancing until the sun came up and not waking up before dinner time. But what do you expect when you give me a nightly playground full of rooftop terraces, hidden clubs and dj's who fill the city with funky beats?

It was you who told me about the secret gig De La Soul played next to a train station. And it was you who decided to turn the heat up that day. 41 Degrees equals one small sauna full of uncomfortably hairy people for a Belgian girl like me. So don't be surprised the walls and ceiling were dripping as fifty screaming fans danced their asses off in a bar so small it could be somebody's bathroom.

Melbie, you're a handsome bugger. You've got it all, don't you? Your concrete center decorated by colourful art, cosy pubs and interesting people from all over the world. Parks and gardens where you can spread your picnic blanket and chill in the shade. Neighbourhoods embraced by bearded hipsters. Packed with vintage shops, garage sales and live music. The beach, where guys and gals get to show off their muscles and golden bikinis while working on that tan.

You also satisfied the fat kid inside of me. I had at least one huge chunk of cake, pie or another unholy big piece of sweetness a day, without feeling like a pervert. You make the best damn sticky date pudding in the galaxy. Now everywhere I go, I bring an extra twelve kilos as my plus one.

I squeezed the bejeezus out of every hour spent with you. You've been a great friend, the kind that tells me when I have stuff in my teeth. I'll miss you.

Now, off to Tassie!

A love affair: mister postman

This one is about my love for snail mail. And the huge smile on my face as mister postman parked his bike at the door, rang the bell, looked deeply into my eyes and handed me 4 envelopes. All the way from Spain, Holland and Belgium: love letters, postcards and written awesomeness. Thanks Mire, Juste, Sileken and Katleen. You girls rock!

I'm all about the letters. The fact that somebody spends time to grab pen and paper, sit down and write nice words, lick a stamp and walk to the mailbox just to let you know they are thinking about you - that's true love, man.

So go and set the world on fire with your letters!