Join Date: Oct 2003
Location: On an island with Marat
Here's the translated version of his little piece on Justine courtsey of Justineladivine. hope you don't mind me for posting it.
She’s a lime diamond, a water pearl, a paper cathedral. A giant sequoia strong as a poppy, a blotting-paper raft braving its way across the Atlantic, a crystal pickaxe chipping at granite.
If I hadn’t had the luck of already having a younger sister, I’d beg my parents to adopt her.
I could, I think, tell you about her without misrepresenting her, make you love her if you still had doubts you did.
But I won’t flout her modesty and won’t say anything which may impair the dignity of her silences, or go against her so often misunderstood choice of keeping aloof. Those so often misinterpreted silences which are but her own will to protect herself from risking yet another disappointment, yet another letdown.
What I want to tell you about her is that she has a life which has been broken all over, a heart covered with bandages, she has patched-up memories, enough pain for six lives, inconsolable moments of solitude, and she loves life with no hard feelings, no strings attached. She’s passionately Justine. I sometimes tell her she is like a character from a novel. One of these novels we indulge in thinking how good it would be if it could be true. Except that it can’t be. It’s just too much, too improbable… it must have been made up. And yet everything is true. On the day when Justine put her bag down in the hall of our house, it was altogether Pocahontas, Cinderella, Wonder Woman, Edith Piaf and Natalie Wood who walked into our lifes.
And ever since that time, we’ve just been wondering about the great joy and privilege of being in a position to accompany a living legend as she’s wending her way to an unbelievable destiny.
How about that destiny?
How could a little girl ever imagine becoming the most famous Belgian citizen in the last 175 years, without having to marry an heir to the throne that is? Being the one that made her country known for something else than a seedy criminal affair. The one that restored hope and pride to a whole generation. And some would dare blame her for moving away? Justine is the best example of our country’s inability to sincerely rejoice over her children’s success, of her embarrassing refusal to continue loving them unreservedly as they rise to the highest reaches, and most of all of her total lack of indulgence towards them at the first threat of weakness.
Are we in Belgium so prone to absolve the unworthy rather than forgive our heroes? Or have we just resigned ourselves to living in so dull a country that when one of us dazzles us with so many insolent achievements we can’t help finding them suspicious, or even despicable? For mercy’s sake let us not spit our jalousy on the flickering flames of fragile beacons such as Justine, Emilie, Amelie, Marie and all the others, for should they ever go out, our lives would suddenly grow very murky again.
Oh, I was about to forget. Justine is 22 years old. 22! How about us? Who were we? Where were we? What had we achieved… when we were 22?