Leaving Belgium

You know, when I first got here, I didn’t expect to get any sort of a feel of Brussels . It’s probably true that, to a degree at least, I have not. But after being thoroughly confused by Brussels transportation the first day, yesterday I had 3 people ask me for guidance in what train they should take (only one spoke English) but I was able to help all 3 without issue.

I recall the first time I was able to figure out the DC metro system. It seems really simple to me now, second nature, but I remember that first time I was confused as all hell. Same thing, I guess. It’s just a matter of figuring how to interpret the maps and signs.

An English speaking roommate of mine in the hostel talked with me today, small talk. Normally I loathe small talk, absolutely hate it, but I think I talked his ear off. He had arrived only the night before, so I convinced him to see Bruges. Funny, I thought I wasn’t feeling the loneliness or isolation much anymore, but as is evident from my reaction, perhaps I’m still adjusting. I suspect the isolation might be harder on some people. I’ve always enjoy isolation to a certain extent.

My father warned me long before the trip that depression is very commonly manifested in people in my position, and I suspect this must be why. I m not unhappy, but I suspect I might be mildly depressed. At least, I’ve had little appetite since coming here, and this is a land in which food, drink, and dessert are the speciality. I’ve skipped dinner every night (unless you can call beer ‘dinner’) until last night when I forced a fast food hamburger down my throat , hoping that the protein would help my aching foot.

But depression, like isolation, I enjoy on some level, so long as it is mild. I tend to be both more honest and introspective that way. Sometimes it allows me to be more meditative, and sink into the serenity of the environment.

On another note, I’ve discovered that the Digger’s song is not about anything I had thought. I had believed them to be a bloody rebellious group. In fact, the Diggers were a bunch of poor people in England that tried to establish a sort of communism in England. ‘They got permission to farm the public land for the public good and allowed anyone who needed food they grew to take it. ‘If it’s public land, why not generate public food’ was their thinking.

They were met with great resistance from the government and the people alike. In the end, of course, they lost.

Apparently, in the 1960’s a new society popped up in the New York slums calling themselves the “Diggers”. I think they pooled money for the land, farmed that land, and gave it away to the general public. Some others put together a seemingly contradictory ‘free store’ dealing mostly in clothing. I’m not sure what became of them in the end, but the police toppled their shacks and someone set the free store on fire.

I find the whole thing kind of romantic, because I’m a communist at heart. I mean only that I want very much a world where every person has food, clothing, and shelter. Years back my forefathers wrote the bill of rights, stating that there are certain things each individual ought to have with little exception. The notion that there are certain things every person is entitled to be given was a very dangerous communistic ideal, I’ve always thought, even if we don’t interpret the ‘right to life’ as entitling a person to a means of maintain theirs ie healthcare. Nor does the right to a pursuit of happiness entitle one to shelter, a necessary thing for success or so I suspect. But whether or not these things are implied, in my perfect word these things (food, shelter, water, healthcare) belong to every person, and thus I long for a world where these things are considered rights.

I get this notion of rights from the authors of the constitution. Does haggling over the details make me a communist?