For a year I have been travelling around the world, maybe two years, it’s difficult to let space and time coöperate so I do not remember. First I went to Ireland and stayed there for quite a long time. It was not a holiday or such a thing. I do not like to be a tourist, like all tourists with decent working brains.
Sorry for that.
I need to talk about my father. But for today the time is over. All I have to do is to paint a white square in the upper left corner. I think I lost track of him. I think I lost track of a lot of things ( things are people too, and vice versa ). What did I write in Part 1, and Part 2, and Part 3, etcetera? I do not want to read it back now, so there might be some repetitive subjects. Do not worry. This afternoon, a friend of mine told me I was writing in Dunglish, a language somewhere in between English and Dutch, as you may presume. First I was shocked, because I thought I had failed. Even with the autocorrection. The second thought was I do not give a fuck, this is the language I do, if someone want it different, go ahead, my story stays like this, my story. Stop.
My father got himself a life insurance, for himself. He died at the age of 57 because of liver failure. He stopped drinking eleven years before so he didn’t see it coming. His life insurance was for his own long life. The money that was left went to the insurance company. In his younger years he sailed around the world as an underpaid sailor and fell into the ship’s hold. He was in the hospital of Seattle for three months.
My mother died eight months later. Of heart failure. She only drank white wine in the morning and some instant coffee in the late afternoon. She never ate anything and smoked like a steam train. No need to worry about that, it was a long time ago. I think I will visit Canada next.
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten