Sultan

Yesterday I wrote about Sultan, here is his picture, as a picture says more than a thousand words.

I truly hope Sultan rests in peace.

Friends

Earlier this evening I walked past a house in which a friend of mine, Sultan, lived some er -it's hard to grasp-23 years ago. We were about 17 years old at the time or perhaps he was a few years older. His name was Sultan. A talended guy, with a lot going for him. His looks, his brains. He had a good sense of humor, he was articulate, he was lucky in love.

For a few years we shared an intense friendship. Long conversations about life and about love. It was a time that I will never forget, the time of experiencing first loves, first sexual encounters and forging one's identity.

I cared deeply for Sultan. We were friends, not lovers, but the friendship was extremely intense. One day, though, in winter, Sultan stepped in the ice-cold water of the sea. And kept walking.

He has been dead for some twenty years now. Like many of his friends and relatives I'm left with many questions, even after all that time. Could we have done something to help him? What would have become of him had he lived?

I am a mother now and it saddens me greatly that Sultan will never be a father. I sometimes see his father though, on his bike. It's a strange world.

The only thing left for me to do is remember Sultan, make sure to remember him, to keep the memories alive. Like Jacques Brel used to sing about his friend Jojo, six pieds sous terre, tu n'es pas mort.

Take the rough with the smooth

Working from home has many perks. I really relish being able to share many things with my son Thomas, in that way I feel as blessed as many a stay-at-home mum. I earn a very decent living and feel like a career woman at times, too. I carry out translation assignments in my own home, in a study that suits my tastes, in confy clothes, with music that I like as a backdrop.

But I do complain quite a lot about the pitfalls, I hate to admit. One of them is the fact that people (even those quite close to me, depressingly enough) do not always take my work seriously. Understandable in a way, they see me having coffee in town now and again when I have a break, they are not there to see me work till late at night in the weekends, which I also do on occasion. They do not see me struggle with my fluctuating income or with the renewal of an anti-virus programme on the computer. But I have resolved to take the rough with the smooth, what else can one do?

After all, I have never regretted my choice.