I was sitting on an uncomfortable chair on a terrace of one of the few cafes that opened here long before the MAS. The cafe was, unlike the more recent cafes and restaurants at ‘t Eilandje, not struck by the hipster virus. From where I was sitting, I had a beautiful view of the MAS, which, like a lighthouse, a beacon of culture, towered above the water. I have to admit that I, probably like a lot of citizens of Antwerp, had my doubts about the Museum Aan de Stroom. No one had expected that this sidelined neighborhood would evolve into a tourist attraction full of trendy spots to eat, where you usually couldn’t get past the door and the raised eyebrow of the waiter unless you had a reservation. However, when the museum opened its doors in 2011, I couldn’t contain my curiosity. And soon, enjoying the view from the building that rose above the city where I was born became a regular item on my schedule. The terraces of the cafes in the neighborhood, and especially this terrace, would seduce me now and then.
On the water, luxury yachts were moored that looked so pretty and new, as if they had been taken directly out of a boat catalogue. I sipped my tea and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, he was sitting opposite of me at the tiny, silver table. It barely made me look up. We greeted each other briefly.
That’s when a familiar voice called out my name. I didn’t bother trying to hide my dislike when I replied to Koen’s greeting. He was standing alongside our table, holding his expensive vintage bicycle with his hands. He wore his favorite pair of jeans and a T-shirt I had never seen him wear before. There was an image of a monkey on it. He had probably gotten it from his new girlfriend.
‘What brings you here?’ he asked in a voice that showed no actual interest at all. Apparently he felt obliged to talk to me because we just so happened to have had a relationship for three years. He didn’t even look at J.P.
‘Just having a drink.’
‘Ah.’ He grinned somewhat sheepishly and swept a hand through his tangled hair. There had been a time when I found that I-just-got-out-of-bed-look attractive. ‘And I see you’re going for rose hip tea again. Living on the edge.’
Months ago, I had resolved not to let anything that Koen said get to me anymore, but just the underlying sarcastic tone in his voice made me feel like throwing my hot tea in his face. ‘Right. Living on the edge. And I’d like to continue doing so. Goodbye, Koen. See you later, because apparently that seems inevitable.’
‘H'm, right. I see you still haven’t changed one bit.’
I sat up straight. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘We’re grown-up people, Carine. But with you, there’s always this, this – negativity.’
This negativity. He had dropped the word again. In the last months of our relationship, he had continuously blamed my illness on the fact that I was so negative. As if positive thoughts just came falling out of the sky and magically took care of every problem. I looked across from the table, at J.P., kind of embarrassed that he had to witness this. But J.P. was studying the menu with his full attention.
‘Well, thanks for sharing your opinion. Have a good day.’
Koen shook his head, swept a hand through his hair again and threw his leg over his bicycle. ‘Whatever, bite me.’
I cleared my throat. J.P. looked up from the menu. For the first time, real emotion could be detected in his look, but it was an emotion I did not like: pity. ‘It isn’t easy, this state of being ill. This eternal lack of understanding of those around you doesn’t make it any better.’
I stared at the metal table top.
‘That’s because the average person is about as empathetic as a cactus,’ he continued. ‘If they haven’t experienced it for themselves, they can’t sympathize with it. That explains the success of self-help groups and forums. It’s sad that people can’t just assume that you’re having a difficult time simply because you say so without them having to experience it first hand. That’s how you lose a lot of friends, when you have a chronic disease. People come and go, that’s just how life is.’
Was I imagining things or did I see a tear sparkle in the corner of his eye? ‘I have looked up that phosphatidylserine. It looks like an interesting remedy.’
‘It certainly is. Do you know what I’m thinking about?’
I shook my head. I honestly did not know what was going through this man’s mind and I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to know.
‘That the Red Star Line used to leave not too far from here. A total of nearly three million people took the boat from here to the United States and Canada. Three million people. Can you imagine that?’
I couldn’t imagine it.
‘It had to have been a tremendous hustle and bustle on the piers. People were checked first, their luggage disinfected. The waiting queues must have been enormous. And then the voyage! For weeks, on a boat, at the mercy of the... of the ocean. And all those people were hoping that they would live a better life in the New World.’
He paused rather dramatically. His gray-green eyes searched for mine, his thin fingers were resting casually on the table top. ‘They left everything behind they had, their family and friends, their homes, their place of birth. It was a big step. Not everyone had the guts. Occasionally, you simply had to take a leap of faith. Let go of things, even if they’re really precious to you. Stuff that keeps you ill, that keeps you from growing. Old habits and thought patterns. By throwing away those things you make room for new, positive things that are good for you.’
I nodded, even though I had no clue where he was going with this. I looked into his eyes until I realized that I had been doing so for quite some time. He smiled faintly and slid a piece of paper towards me.
Rhodiola.
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’
J.P. stood up. ‘Look it up. After that, we’ll speak again. And who knows, you might make the grand crossing soon.’ Before I could say anything else, he threaded away gracefully. The couple that had taken a seat at the table next to ours during my conversation with J.P., looked at me with plain curiosity. I stuffed the small note in my purse.
Rhodiola. I had read about it once. It was a herb that helped with depressions, which improved your energy level and gave your brains a boost. And it should also help you burn more fat. I kept walking but my mind was elsewhere. When I walked into my living room, I couldn’t remember anything I had seen on the way to my house. I immediately turned on my laptop.
‘Rhodiola boosts your endurance by increasing the number of red blood cells. These, in turn, deliver more oxygen to your muscles, which improves your sports performances and counteracts feelings of fatigue. It also helps against infections. Rhodiola is a good remedy against chronic fatigue and reduces the effects of sleep deprivation. It lowers cortisol levels. Cortisol is a hormone that is released due to stress. When the cortisol level is too high for a longer period of time, this has a couple of negative effects on your health. The herb improves the general health of your brains by stimulating serotonin and dopamine, two important neurotransmitters. Because of its positive impact on your mood, rhodiola also helps well with people who suffer from a depression.’
I bit my lip. All right. That sounded good. But now what? Before I knew it, I had texted J.P.
‘Do I combine those two?’
He didn’t answer. My stomach grumbled. I made a rich pasta sauce with lots of vegetables. J.P. still hadn’t answered. I ate a big plate of steaming pasta. J.P. still hadn’t answered. I turned on the television and switched channels purposelessly until I came across a cheesy TV movie that looked like it had just started. The movie was predictable. Nevertheless, I kept watching. The titles announced that the story was based on true facts. J.P. still hadn’t answered. Not until I had started putting laundry into my washing machine, did I hear my phone buzz.
‘Tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Zuiderterras.’
I didn’t even bother answering. We both knew I would be there.