Celebration. Celebrating something. Going crazy about something. Eating, drinking laughter, arguing. I hate parties. Why? The next day you have already forgotten what the party was for and about whom or for what the party was held.
As an artist, you are asked for quite a few parties. Most of the time, I refuse. However, sometimes you can’t escape it and you have to push yourself to respond to the invitation.
A friend of mine, whom I still know from the academy, celebrates his birthday and I am invited. I have absolutely no desire to go. I’ve known him and his wife for a long time. Birthdays, awful! Make up with a gift. I always buy the wrong gift. Exchange. Money back or a voucher.
I drag myself to the birthday party.
Can’t park my car anywhere again. I ring the doorbell and force a smile with the gift under my arm. It’s just starting to rain, that too!
Classic birthday noise pours towards me. Is greeted by friend and foe. Gift handed over. Fortunately, this time well gambled. Pastry, booze, and a wild desire to run straight out the door, is slowed down by my social politeness.
Excuse. Everyone thinks it’s a shame. I pull the door shut behind me with a sigh. The rain drizzles my mind. Finally found my car. It’s late. Want to have a drink in t’ Hoekje? Amsterdam only starts to live after eleven o’clock in the evening. Seems like everyone has occupied the last parking spaces. T’ Hoekje is packed. Finally downed a large glass of beer at the bar.
