Showing posts from November, 2012

Bicky Burger

Someone once told me when I arrived in Bruxelles, quietly so not to be heard, you can't really experience Belgian cuisine until you've had  a Bicky Burger. 
First thing, I'm not even sure if it's Belgian, but it sure is available here at almost every friture. Yet it's taken me nearly three month to have one. 
I get the feeling after talking to people about the Bicky, that it's one of those "secret" indulgences, the likes of ball-park food, reserved for special occasions, or after late-night binge drinking. 
They must be fairly popular, because when a local chip/crisp manufacturer quizzed its customers on what it wanted for a new flavor, Bicky was the choice that won. I have tried the chips too, but found them underwhelming.
But I do get the draw of the Bicky Burger. It's a deep-fried patty of mystery meat (typical of the friture burgers) but topped with (what I believe to be) French's (or the equivalent) fried onions, and the three Bicky sauc…

The Test (The Kiss)

Sojourned I have forgotten the sad truth One of us had passion in our eyes The other a comfort, but I sought proof: That I'm hopeless, or love is a lie.
Oceans Apart, life lived without you has made me long for our love's first embrace, But I warn myself of our last one too. I return with uncertainty to face.
All dissent my exodus- proves your love. But I want fire, I want our flesh to burn, I want our sin to enrage God above: The sweat upon our skin, screaming in turn.
Yet I know not does this reality exist. Homecoming trades my loved life for amour. My hubris of hope may be the sad twist. If I lose both in my heart and mind's war.
One day it came to me a test to run Watching Parisien bisous of others, their deep endearing kiss never seemed done. Will departure have made us these lovers?
On that day I return  home when lips meet. A single kiss will decide the mind's truth: That I've fought and won your heart's love complete.
Should we fail this turn, we need …

Where the story ends.

When I wrote this, I thought I'd be stronger. I thought I'd had come to terms with the ending by now. This week however I'm an emotional wreck. I'm still keeping it fairly private (up till now), though there are moments where I shield my face from friends as emotion seeps from my soul. I get that feeling in the back of my throat, and suddenly my speech slows, as each word dares to break the concentration that holds back the flood.

 It's to the point it's too hard to talk about leaving with anyone. Considering in one month, most of us are packing our bags for "home" and, most of them are happy to do so. My friends' mouths water over foods they miss, and the arrival home in time for Christmas movies and spirits.While I do miss all of these things, I do not have the same fervor to abandon this world I've called home the last four months. This adventure which has made me, shaped me, and where the city of Brussels has become as much a part of me a…

Oceans Apart

Ever further is my dusk to her dawn. I ride this train alone into the night. Destination unknown, our life gone. Last call for love, departing out of sight.
Your chaos not my burden, I've let go. To live this life of wanderlust and dreams. The stranger I am now, you do not know. Impending self-murder by return screams.
The trench of sacrifice demands more blood. Self evolution, strangers once lovers, Sugared words drown the emotional flood. Should we try again to find each other?
Find the home I never again can go? Three clicks to an empty reproduction. This haunted homecoming I do not know. I consider unthinkable action.
That dreamt and that real again interchange. Upright, unbuckled, a choice must be made. My green mile ends in rendezvous strange. As I choose, part of me begins to fade.
Ever-after a crack of light of sun, Beckons me, taunts me to return To give up capitulation and run, Oceans Apart where broken becomes one.

Santiago de Compostela | You don't choose a life. You live one.

Imagine this. After five days of walking through the mountains of Spain on ancient Roman roads with nothing but a sack on our backs, a worn down walking stick, and our bruised and bleeding feet we arrived to the final hill overlooking Santiago de Compostella. Our dirty faces, and raggedy clothes hung from out bodies as we hunched over from the magnitude of the pilgrimage. Then we saw it. "Santiago de Compostela?", one of us asked. -  "Si", another cheered. "Si" we began yelling. Arms in the air "Si! Si! Si!". Yes we had arrived, just five kilometers from the Cathedral, and the burial chamber for Saint James. We began running down the hill, jumping, yelling "yes" in Spanish till we arrived at the city limits. Days earlier we were no one, strangers, but  today we were the heroes of our own stories, finishing a chapter of our lives.

Upon arriving at the Cathedral of Santiago, I dropped in the pew with exhaustion and stared up at Jesus han…