Some books you fall in love with head-over-heels.
Some books are a slow burn.
Some books are an on-off-on affair.
Some books you revisit over and over and the spark is always there.
Ah, books.
Apparently, making these kinds of declarations out loud in public allows your friends to label you a weird nerd. Let me assure you: I wear the label with pride.
life
The city
The bookworm side of me has been plenty on display by now but the city side is long overdue a telling.
Hear me tell.
The city I call home is Rotterdam, which gets its name from the dam that was built in the river Rotte back in 1270. Sometimes it really is that simple.
The area had been lived in for a couple of hundred years already but people got tired of getting their clogs stuck in the mud, and the dam was the first start of regulating water levels.
Water regulation is still happening today because 90% of the city is lying below sea level and it requires a lot of dams, sluices, dikes and tanks to make sure we all stay dry.
The city is something entirely different from other cities in the country: no pretty leafy canals lined with gabled houses in the city center here. No cobblestoned squares and no picturesque drawbridges either. Rotterdam used to have all that as well, but most of it got destroyed during WWII.
This meant there was a lot of rebuilding to be done and it was done in an efficient, modern way.
But, you can get all that from a guidebook or a wikipage.
What really makes this city, is that the vibe is no-nonsense with a can-do attitude: we push up our sleeves, dig in and get things done.
Rotterdammers tell it like it is, and don’t have patience for blowing smoke or bullsh*t.
Anybody can be anything here, but please, don’t be cocky about it and just be.
If you’re waiting for a door to open that’s not an automatic, you won’t be told to “push”, but to “push, princess”. If you can’t laugh about that, this city isn’t for you.
(It’s not done to be rude, hurtful or offending: it’s done to remind you that you shouldn’t expect things to happen if you don’t put in the effort.)
Showing off is not appreciated and expensively designed buildings, streets and art get mocked with alternative names.
Years ago, there was a lot to do about the expensive purchase of the Santa Claus statue. It was promptly hidden away in a museum courtyard where it was ridiculed and renamed Kabouter (gnome) Buttplug.
It gave the statue cult status and after a while it was decided that it deserved a more visible, prominent spot. It’s now standing proud in the city center where it’s become a true landmark and hardly anybody remembers its original name.
I’ve lived in different parts of this city and enjoyed them all, especially the city center. While living there was amazing, I could only afford to do so with roommates and tired of that concept, I eventually found a spot in the more affordable southern part of town.
The south is the most no-nonsense part of a no-nonsense city and being a no-nonsense kind of gal, that suits me perfectly.
Other parts of town are only a short walk, bike ride or metro ride away anyway, because distance here is all relative.
Like any big city, this one has its air share of problems (criminal activity, housing crisis and pollution just to name a few), but I’ve never felt unsafe, threatened or scared: I can travel alone on public transport or bike home on my own, at any time of day or night.
To be able to bike home after a night out is something I took for granted until living abroad for a while. Now, it’s something I cherish deeply.
Librarians attending the IFLA WLIC conference this summer, will get a chance to discover the city, and some of the amazing libraries in the area (and beyond). If you’re one of them and want a guided tour by a fellow librarian/reader/nerd, feel free to reach out.
Bliss list
To counter the Bitch & Moan list, I thought about the unexpected stuff that makes me super happy.
It’s my Bliss List:
- Opening a book and discovering that the chapters have titles.
- Finding money in a purse or jacket pocket. It’s like winning the lottery, even though it was my own money in the first place.
- Turning on the radio to an all-time favorite song.
- Spotting someone reading a book I really like. It feels like we could become instant friends but I never dare to interrupt their reading time.
- Thinking I missed the train or bus only to find out it had a slight delay and still being able to hop on.
- Spotting a new stem or flower on one of my plants. Makes me feel like a proud plant mama and a personal thank-you for caring.
- Doing a puzzle in pen and not having to cross anything out.
What makes a bookworm
How does one become a bookworm? This is my story.
The first books I remember being read, are the Miffy books. We had several of them and my mom knew them by heart and would tell them while cooking and doing the dishes. My siblings and I would sit at the kitchen table and got to turn the pages ourselves when she told us to.
Then: Nobody’s Boy (more recently translated as Alone in the World) by Hector Malot.
I was seven and remember it so vividly. It was the first time a story broke my heart. We were all bawling. Because of the story itself but also because our mom told it so beautifully (which, she likes to remind us, we complimented her about in-between sobs).
It was that experience that made me realize there was magic to be found in books. The trip to the library became a weekly delight.
Roald Dahl, Enid Blyton, Astrid Lindgren, Thea Beckman.
Donald Duck, Tintin, Asterix, Lucky Luke and Michel Vaillant comic books.
I still re-read them every now and then because they were so good.
I wasn’t a bookworm in the sense that I was only ever reading: none of my friends were big readers so we never read on playdates or sleepovers, and we never talked about what we read. Instead, we ran around outside, played games, and hosted dance shows.
I was also busy with sports and music lessons, and as soon as I was allowed to, had a paper route that took up a lot of time.
Reading was limited to the backseat of the car during summer vacations, and in bed.
I read way past my bedtime. Whenever my mom spotted the light on late despite earlier warnings, she would come in and unscrew the lightbulb, forcing me to stop.
Then, in school, the best thing ever happened: reading! For homework! Exams about books!
While my classmates moaned and dragged their feet, I happily skipped to the library to pick up George Orwell, Daphne du Maurier and Charlotte Bronte.
Getting to discuss these; thinking about structure, symbolism and language. I loved every minute of it.
During college I kept on reading, putting aside study books and using novels as a reward / distraction / palate cleanser.
Freshly graduated I went to live in Ireland, where I didn’t have a library card but discovered second-hand bookshops to feed my need to read within budget.
Being stuck on busses during rush hour in Dublin, got me into the habit of always carrying a book in my bag. Commuting turned into reading time.
Moving back to the NL, I remained a book-buyer until I ran out of space and money.
(Buying books is an expensive hobby which is why 95% of my collection is paperback.)
So, I became a library card owner once again and have since enjoyed the heck out of that, all the more so, since two years ago a library branch opened about 500 steps from my front door. Good times.
I try to limit my book buying to vacations (I don’t want to risk losing a library book while travelling!) or special occasions (a Christmas present to myself!), and that’s helped a lot. One year I managed not to buy any books at all.
I was so proud of my restraint, that I rewarded myself with a trip to my favourite bookshop…
I still always carry a book with me wherever I go. And if a book is almost finished, I make sure to bring a backup.
I still tend to read past my bedtime.
I love talking about books so much, I’m even writing about it.
I now have a lot of reader-friends to discuss and exchange books with.
Am I a bookworm or did books worm their way into my heart? I think the latter caused the former.
Books should come with a warning sticker. Highly addictive. Will open your eyes and your mind and might break your heart.
Bitch & Moan
Friends and I were talking about pet peeves recently and we decided to write ours down, rationalizing that visualizing things, would make them less important/annoying/a Thing. (I think that’s what it was: it happened in a bar and we’d had a drink or two by this point.)
As we started to write on the backs of our coasters, we landed on a big discussion on what is the difference between a pet peeve and an annoyance. So, I called my list what it truly is: Bitch & Moan (would also make an excellent stage name for a duo).
On my list:
- Ordering a book online and having it delivered with a different cover than the web shop had pictured. (We’re not supposed to judge books by their covers, but is there anything worse than the cover of the movie adaptation?)
- Wrongful use of literally. I wish I wasn’t one of these people, but honestly, hearing it used the wrong way, hits my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
- People making (video) calls on speaker phone. Whyyyy.
- People checking their phone while we’re talking. So rude.
- Men ordering my food or drink. I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions.
(this only happened once, but it was one time too many and immediately earned itself a spot on this list) - People being snobs. Whatever it’s about. Don’t act like a d*ck.
- People being fake. Just, no.
- Guilty pleasures. Why should we feel ashamed of something we enjoy? I don’t care to admit that I enjoy romance novels, eating ice cream and listening to 90’s boybands.
Anybody else have a list? Does writing things down actually make them less annoying?
Bookworm in the City 