Why a blog?

I give up, easily.
Anything. Everything.
Because of a lack of confidence.

People won't like me, laugh at me, think I'm stupid.
That is why my entire life I hid away, in dark clothes.
Black, dark blue or grey.
Anything to make me invisible.

I never used make-up in high school because I didn't know how.
My hair was always the same because I had no idea what to do with it (ponytail, tightly pulled back, in case you're curious).

When I was 18 I got married and I wanted a change.
I wanted the real me to come out.
But I still had no clue how.

At 26 I started this blog.
So that I wouldn't give up, wouldn't forget where I was going.

This is my journey, feel free to walk it with me, every step of the way.
All my failures, all my mistakes.
But also my winnings, my happy moments and my bliss.
I'll be honored to have you with me.

Under my umbrella...

PersonalPosted by Fashiondisaster Tue, January 27, 2015 11:22:28
Yesterday, after my noon break,
I went back to work.
On foot, in the pouring rain.

I had my favorite umbrella with me,
From Ikea,
A red one.

Suddenly I heard noise coming from around the corner,
A lot of yelling and honking.
I supposed it was an aggressive driver,
With little patience.

A bit curious I speedend my step.
When I reached the corner,
I saw somebody,
On the ground.
In the middle of the road,
With a big truck in front of him.

There have been roadworks,
For ages.
Cars are forced to take the mid path,
Normally for busses and trams.
The truck had been driving backwards,
And had hit an old man,
On his bike,
Crossing the street.

I had to cross that same street,
Only a few meters from where the man was.
I felt hopeless.
And I had a constant need,
A need to do something.

I couldn't just walk on by.
What could I offer?
A woman was sitting beside the man, holding his hands.
The guys from the truck were controlling the traffic,
And somebody else was on the phone.

Everything was taken care off.

I was already crossing the street when I changed course,
Going straight for the man and the woman sitting beside him.
They didn't notice me.
His leg was torn open, he was shaking.
He looked to the sky and I could see his panic, his fear.

"Miss", I called for about five times.
She looked up.
"Here, take my umbrella".
She took it and looked straight back to the old man.
Still in shock.

I walked on.
To work.
Getting soaked.
But it didn't bother me.
Because I knew, I had done something.
Something so that the old man wouldn't get soaked.
The rain wouldn't drip in his eyes anymore.

And I realized,
I wouldn't miss my favorite umbrella.
It wasn't important.
The only thing on my mind, for the rest of that day,
Was the hope that that man would be allright.

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