We were best mates

Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 3 april 2017

Best Mates


Once in a while, on days like this with that gentle autumn sun and the breeze caressing the leaves on the trees, I am overcome by a sense of melancholic longing. It is then that the chattering of a lone magpie takes me on a trip down memory lane, back to the late 70s in Canberra, Australia. Back to the days with my dog Rover.


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Nothing personal but, you look a lot like me

Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 27 march 2017


Pig by Martina Frietsch


While writing this story, I can hear the storm wind howling outside. It’s soaring through the trees and making their wintery, bare branches groan. It makes me feel restless. Or is it the other way around? Is my restlessness combined with the restlessness of the people around me causing the wind to blow harder? I believe we influence the world around us more than we may be aware of. Also, I believe everything is connected and interactive. I believe in the butterfly effect.


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Whatever you do love yourself first

Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 13 february 2017

Heart On The Beach by Tatyana Postovyk


Have you ever been in love? Well, I have, countless times. And has your heart ever been broken? Yeah, hurts, doesn’t it? I know, I’ve been there too. Not just because someone I’d fallen in love with didn’t feel the same for me. Mostly, it was over unfulfilling relationships not just romantic ones and difficult situations I’d gotten myself into, in which I constantly adapted to other people. It boiled down to living life according to other people’s desires instead of my own.


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Courage comes from the heart

Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on tuesday 31 january 2017

Luis Padillo


Courage
Though, it comes naturally to few
Many of us have difficulty finding it
For courage is everything but matter of fact


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In the vulnerability of life lies great strength

Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on wednesday 25 january 2017


Prostitute

Slowly but decidedly, Pepe climbed the creaky old stairs to his parents’ attic. Once he had arrived he looked around in the poor light for the chest that he knew had to be there, among all the other things his parents had collected over the years. His intuition showed him the way and a few moments later he knelt down before the chest, which was covered in a layer of dust. He felt his heart beating heavily when he let his hands glide over the rusty latch. Then he cleared his throat, folded his hands for a couple of seconds and unlatched the chest.


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