Dreaming of Paris

Have you ever had this... a fierce twitch, an extremely strong urge, to completely turn your life around? 

Ever since I visited Paris in July earlier this year, I've had it. A little dream, no matter how tiny it is. Barets have found their way into my wardrobe. Instead of 'hi!' I say 'bonjour', and for some kind of reason I've been eating many baguettes - even though none as delicious as the ones I found during early strolls through the city de mes rĂªves

Well well, I've been living up to the stereotypes, but would it be a possibility too....? Who knows. Is it because of my internship, long days, that I'm trying to escape? Or do I actually want to emigrate? Framing makes the difference - we all know that - but ... we'll see. 

Have you ever felt this need to do something completely out of your literal comfort zone? 


A few days ago I traveled to my parents to spend an evening drinking tea, listening to Elvis, and eat pepernoten* way too early for this time of the year. At a certain moment we were talking about the old days (because that's what you do when you're lying on the couch with glasses on your nose and way too much candy in your stomach). At one point my mother told me that when I was young and my parents took me to a movie - it didn't matter whether it was a stupid Disney movie or some kind of thing I did not even understand - my sister always had to comfort me after because I always started crying once we were walking back to the car, back home. 'Sjoukje, it's just a movie!', I imagine having been said - but apparently it wasn't about the emotional or cinematic qualities of the movie, but about the fact that it was over.

At a certain point I got older and movies were visited with friends and rather than with tears my cheeks were covered with nacho-crumbs, but I can remember that I have always been extremely sad when something had ended. A holiday ('I do not want to leave Corfu-hu-hu-hu, I said cryingly), a family occassion ('so, what now?!'), et cetera. 

This hasn't exactly changed. In my head it's never the good memories that are dominating, but the fact that something will never be the way it was. 'But, it was good, right?' is a counter-argument which makes me angrier than anything - as the 'was' shows that something belongs to the past and 'is' not anymore. And what does something that 'is' not bring you?

I do have to say that this tendency has been developed by the way my head is wired, or by the way I actually wired it myself. I always lightly torture my own feelings and brain by watching old photos (of pictures of others on my worst enemy, Facebook - I blame you!) - or by thinking of times in little boats when I stroll down the Oudegracht and memories come marching into my brain like the little men of Buena Vista Social Club. Well. I usually delete confronting photographs from my laptop, phone, walls, whatever could hold them - but I also attach memories to everything that remains. Doesn't really work either.

That's one of the many things my head does I honestly can't comprehend. Why are things that used to influence my life in the past but now do not anymore still so all-overpowering? It will probably have something to do with chemicals in your brain that are looking for a certain kind of comforting happiness-feeling that you cannot find because it simply doesn't exist anymore, which results in an anti-climax counter-reaction. But why don't the things that happen to me now satisfy me in the same way old memories seemed to? Am I addicted to nostalgia, which would mean I am one big contradiction as a person? Maybe I am jealous of the old version of myself - though I'm pretty sure that's not the case.

Oh well.

I luckily don't cry anymore when movies end (unless they were beautiful), and going home after a holiday doesn't make me as sad as it used to anymore. All that's left now is finding a solution for my all-overpowering memory-problem. Maybe more candy. Or wine.

Some things I missed

So. Hello. 

You might not remember me. 

On a very very standard day, more than three years ago, I was lying on my parents' couch with about three liters of tea in my stomach. Back then I had been writing little things for as long as I could remember and I finally built up enough confidence to share those things with 'the world', as the Internet is often called. I thought of a fancy French-sounding name nobody had ever heard before and registered a little place on the internet which has been here since.

I started writing about makeup and fashion and food and more things I find a bit superficial now, but people seemed to like it. I built up some kind of following, started earning money, wrote my days away... but then realized the sponsorships I accepted did nothing but add money to a bank account for causes I did not support, and the bags and watches I had been sent only ended up in a far-away corner of my room because I was not really interested in the material things that came with being a 'lifestyle' writer on the web.

So I stopped. More than one and a half year ago I just decided I'd never write anything for Lemontierres again, and I kept up with that pretty strictly.

Loads of things have happened since that boring day in 2014. I left my parents and moved to Amsterdam, started studying philosophy and journalism, made new friends, read tens of books, got a boyfriend, lost that boyfriend, drunk thousands of cups of tea but even more wine, and altogether forgot about this little space on the internet.

I never stopped writing, though. I formed a Dutch blog because at that time I could express myself better in my native language, wrote some opinion pieces for another website, and of course for my studies produced many articles I spent all my energy on.

The 'need' for writing has never stopped, the outlet just changed. 

Today is another boring day. I was spending some time on the internet again and decided to check out some comments left on this blog. I was overwhelmed by how often some articles had been read, how many remarks I had missed, how some people had told me my words 'inspired' them in some kind of way... and was about to have a huge panic attack - but then realized I could use this as a little excuse to actually start doing this thing I loved so much a few years ago again.

I will not ever write about bags and watches and makeup again. Books might be involved, maybe, maybe plants - but as you might notice I have grown up, and so my topics of choosing have as well. 

So. Here I am again. I have no clue what to do with this newly found fit of inspiration but let's see. 

Hi former audience, if you have grown up with me... welcome back.

Books in my backpack

Hela hola bonjour - you guys must've thought you'd never hear from me again! The fact that my last (decent) blogpost appeared more than four months ago is something I won't talk about - nobody's got time for 25 kilometers of excuses and reasons and well, to be totally honest - my bullshit. Hah! Well, I'm back guys. I guess. To get back into the blogging bizz (question mark-question mark?) I combined two of my favorite material goods today: books and bags. THEBAGSTORE (link) sent me a beautiful backpack (whut whut to me?! Woohoo!), and I also recently added some new books to my to-read collection. I was planning to read them during my summer holiday but it turned out to be a bit less calm than I thought it would (no no, I promised, I won't talk about my absency). Keep on reading to see photographs of the awesome bag - and to find out which books I want to read over the course of the next few weeks.