You know there is work to be done when the most controversial topic in a whole morning of discussion on fostercare placement is the suggestion that you might want to ask kids what they think...

A child has a right to have parents. That comes before parent's right to have a child.

Just typed this huge blog-post but really, the essence is this: I am happy I am who I am and even if I could, I wouldn't change the past, because it's made me Me.

If I die tomorrow I can be content.. But let's hope that's some seventy years away because there is still so much to do and learn and enjoy. I really hope everyone can look at their life and say the same, because it's a lovely and comforting feeling.

Snow

Snow,
Bitter white and cold,
Casting everything in a silent,
Silent Mold.
The sun reflects and hurts our eyes.
And as we flee from silence,
As we flee from freezing whites,
We find someone to hold
And pray for warmer times

The snow is gone,
Unfrozen and now warm,
Water, dirt and crushed down grass,
We wander out from stones and glass,
And find a grey,
But warmer world.
We go and
Find ourselves alone
Somehow
Wish for snow

Going on twenty-three

Going on twenty-three

Am twenty-two, going on twenty-three,
Come take a look at my life and see;
I'm growing up, I'm settling down,
In the adult ways upon which I used to frown.

Am twenty-two, going on thirty-three,
Take my own responsibility.
Cook my food, pay my bills,
No pizza or fries because it kills.

Am twenty-two, going on forty-three,
My days no longer free.
I go to work from nine to five,
Earn my very own way through life.

Am twenty-two, going on fifty-three,
Have to look respectable now, you see?
Will never wear clothes in black and grey,
Well, that's what I used to say.

Am twenty-two, going on twenty-three,
But tonight I am age-free.
Bring out the sexy dresses, bring out booze,
Sometimes even pretend-adults have to let loose.

A bit of nonsense

A bit of nonsense, or 'Fiddle x Tuba love'

Hiddle di diddle di fiddle di fall,
A man with a fiddle sat on a wall.
Fiddle di jiggle di diddle di doe,
A man with a fiddle said hello.
Twiddle di hiddle di middle di my,
For a man with a tuba just walked by.
Diddle di siddle di fiddle di fack,
The man with the tuba said hi back.
Fiddle di diddle di biddle di boo,
And our one man orkest suddenly counts two.
Hiddle di diddle di fiddle di fall,
And than they went silent once and for all.

About Love

Love… It’s strange and beautiful and often breaks hearts, at one point or other. Yet we can’t help but throw ourselves into it head first, time and time again. We keep pining for it, for its warmth and its soft caresses, for the pleasure and the feeling of being wanted, of being together always.

Love is different for every person. For every time it assaults a person, even. Because love is not something you find only once. It’s something you make and form and agree on, it’s something that can be made and broken, given the right time and effort. It’s something you make together and therefore it’s different for every combination of two people. Love might change, even within the same combination of two people. Because no person doesn't change. Doesn't change as a person alone, doesn't change as a person within a relationship and doesn't change because the person is in a relationship. Change doesn't have to be bad. While one might get up one day and realize that, really, both of you are completely different from that day, so long or not so long ago, that it all started, you might've changed together and then, change is good.

On the contrary, one might get up one day and realize that both of you have changed, both of you are different from the start, and these two people, these different people are too different and it doesn't work anymore. It might seem like the end of the world. It isn't. Love doesn't die. It was never alive.

It might be described as a phoenix, dying time and time again, and rising up from the ashes; a new bird, so much alike the old one but a different one all the same.

And so does love. It might perish, but is never really dead. Because for that different person, the new person that doesn't fit with the other new person anymore, there will always be another. Someone who does have the right mold to fit. And then the phoenix is reborn and starts its life all over again. There is nothing wrong with that.

Love isn't necessarily about sex. One can love any person, and any person can love you, and they can love each other dearly… Yet never even feel any desire to be physical. Best friends, parents and their children, teachers or hero’s, they can all be loved in a way that has nothing to do with sex. Such a love has no less value, no less importance. On the other hand, there can be love without affection, too. Love without friendship. It’s not the most gentle of loving, but it can be love indeed.

For me, love knows no gender. I love, sexually or otherwise, those who are worth loving and I don’t really mind. For others, love is something bound to one gender, the man who can only feel appeal to other man, or the woman who can only love other women as friends, and is only attracted to men, or any other variation thereof. That’s alright too. It’s all love and it’s all the same and it’s all different and that? That makes it so beautiful, so desirable.

It hurts and it’s addicting and it’s so amazingly good when applied right. It’s a drug I’m happily addicted to. More than anything else though, it’s a risk worth taking.