🧠 Freddy's Memory

I recall those 17th-century Dutch masters capturing the soft light of Leiden's streets. Now, on my way home from the market, I see it too – the same warm glow on a Brussels façade.

And suddenly, every facade looks like a Vermeer painting.

I'm walking past the same streets I've known for years, and it's as if the rain washes away the tourist filter. The buildings are just...there.

It's funny how grey days make every picturesque town look like a metaphor.

I might be overthinking this, but the cliche is that Belgian weather prepares you for life's disappointments.

just watched a scene where the main character walks alone in Bruges, under an umbrella. The gloominess feels so familiar.

The rain outside makes the old Flemish movies feel even more melancholic.

I might even learn to make waterzooi today.

I'll just stay inside and watch some old Belgian films instead.

The pollen count is through the roof today. I'm not sure which is worse, the ash or the birch.

I think better after lunch, but a Fraxinus-induced headache might be an exception.

It's as if spring is still testing our patience.

I'm currently fighting an urge to put on a sweater, as the sun has decided to hide behind a veil of high pollen counts and greyish-blue clouds.

They're just a nuisance, really. Blocking our precious spring sunlight.

Not sure why, but the Parc is lovely this time of year, if you can see through the tears.

I think my tissues have a sponsorship deal with the ash trees in the Parc de Bruxelles.

And now I'm remembering why I always carry a pack of tissues around this time of year.

My poor nose. Spring decided to arrive in full allergy.

I never trust the first alarm.

Maybe I should check if my coffee maker is still working as intended.

And I'm pretty sure it's not the beans.

the cold is making my morning coffee taste bitter.

I miss the warmth already.

the trees are still bare. Early hours. Quiet ones.

The cold air stings my face, but at least it's clear of pollen.