My Name Is Jasper

De Lichtjes Van De Schelde

Zie ik de lichtjes van de Schelde

Dan gaat m'n hart wat sneller slaan

Ik weet dat jij op mij zult wachten

En dat je aan de kaai zult staan

Zie ik de lichtjes van de Schelde

Is 't of ik in je ogen kijk

Die zo heel veel liefs vertellen

Dan ben ik als een prins zo rijk

De Lichtjes van de Schelde – Anton Beuving (152)

I'm flying home today. The next few days will be a whirlwind of emotions and obligatory family gatherings. I hope my flight – I lost count how many times I boarded a plane these last few weeks – will give me a few hours of peace and quiet.

It's my first time flying with Indian airline Jet Airways. The rumbling meal tray comes to a halt at my seat and an exotic bouquet of aromas fills the air. "Veggie or chicken, Sir?" Chicken! "Spicy or American, Sir?" My built-in, but totally undeserved I'll-show-you-who's-the-boss mechanism kick's in and before I allow any rational thought to temper my decision I have already confirmed that I'll take the spicy chicken.

All I have to do is pull off the lid of the steaming dish and some of the spices are causing a burning sensation in my nose. What have I done? I remember having dinner with an Indian colleague in what many call Vancouver's finest Indian restaurant Vij's (153). With the expertise clearly on the side of my colleague, I let him order a number of small plates. He gladly took on his role as my guide, providing background and trivia to accompany each dish.

One of those dishes was a tiny plate with three tiny red peppers. I was told by my guide that these hot snacks were very traditional, but nevertheless he wouldn't eat them. Naturally my mechanism kicked in and seconds later my teeth cut through the flaming red vegetable. This is when I learned an important life lesson: if an Indian person tells you he or she won't have a certain food because he or she finds it too hot, don't eat it! And boy did I learn the hard way...

Me and my big mouth. A big mouth ablaze with flames from hell. As I swallow the most excruciating pain follows the food down my esophagus. Frantically I try to extinguish the fire by gushing down my water and stuffing my mouth with all the Naan within my reach. The staff brings me a bowl of yoghurt. "It will help Sir." I hate yoghurt, but with tears in my eyes I devour it in seconds. It helped. I lost several dimensions of taste that night.

Luckily the airline chicken's aromas are stronger than its flavour. No need for yoghurt this time!

...

Back in Belgium, my parents take me to the mortuary to greet Oma one last time. They warn me before we go in. "She has changed a lot since you last saw her, she was very weak in the end." A few seconds I look at the lifeless body of an old woman I hardly recognize. I avert my eyes as my father gently holds the hand of his mother. "Don't keep this image of her in your mind Jasper", I keep telling myself. The afternoon I spent at the deathbed of my other grandmother, Moeke, will forever remain one of the most intense moments of my life. No matter what I try, her final breath and spasms as she left this life behind after her long struggle against Alzheimer's, is the image of her that is burned in my memory. I'd prefer to remember Oma as I last saw her.

My father told my brother and me that he wants to keep the ceremony short and simple, with him as the sole speaker. I have many fond memories of my grandmother, but Oma failed at being a mom (154). I understand my father needs this moment to have some sort of closure.

Dad asks us both to provide one song for the ceremony. It doesn't take me long to choose the perfect song. Oma for me had been unbreakably connected with Antwerp's harbor and the mighty river Schelde, which had been the source throughout history of the city's power, growth and importance (155). Not only was Oma's apartment located in the old harbor, Bram and me spent hours as kids gazing at the cranes and cargo ships with our binoculars from Oma's rooftop patio. There is one song about the river that every Antwerpian knows by heart, and that perfectly captures all the emotions – sadness, melancholy, love and hope – that I am feeling. How could I choose any other song than de Lichtjes van de Schelde (156)?

After Oma's ceremony I find myself surrounded with new life. Together with my brother and his girlfriend, my parents and I went to a café in the heart of the Middelheim Park, an open-air museum that celebrates modern art. The once barren trees are growing fresh green leaves, and a duck is guiding her ducklings across the pond. After the tears and headaches of the ceremony, the drinks on the patio are a welcome change. Surrounded by masterpieces by Rodin and Coppens and warmed by the April sun we all start to talk. It doesn't take long for the first smiles to appear as we reflect on several fun stories (157). It feels good to be together, something that doesn't happen a lot anymore since I decided to move away across the Atlantic. My father may not have had his desired closure, and he may never will, but it was clear he enjoyed these few hours on the patio immensely.

...

Exhausted I arrive back in Toronto. I'll fly home again in two weeks: my friend Jeremy is getting married in Portugal and I will continue on to Belgium after the wedding. My flight home was brutal. Surrounded by various reasons never to have children. Even after a lifetime of listening to heavy metal it will be this flight that will go down in history as the moment I got permanent ear damage.

It takes forever to get my bags. A 30 minute drive later I finally walk through the door and up the stairs. Unfortunately, Julie is still at work. I sit down and kick off my shoes, put my feet up and close my eyes. I know it's just for a few days, but I'm happy to be home.

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152: Excerpt from de Lichtjes Van De Schelde (Decca, 1952) Performed by Bobbejaan Schoepen. Bobbejaan composed the music, but the lyrics were provided by Dutch writer Beuving

153: They will always make you wait in Vij's, but boy is it ever worth it! And the waiting area is actually part of the experience with some finger food and drinks. Look at it as an aperitif, at the start of a culinary exploration of wonder.

154: Actually, the more I think about it, the more I realize those fond memories mostly had Opa as the hero. Nevertheless as a kid and later as a young adult, me and my brother had in Oma a loving grandmother. Something my father was never able to feel coming from her.

155: I know Antwerp isn't a London or New York, but as any true Antwerpian will reassure you: Antwerp is The City and everything else is just a parking lot.

156: Literally translates as the Lights of the River Schelde. The song tells the story of an Antwerp sailor writing his wife and kids on his travels across the seas. The version I used for Oma's ceremony was the one recorded by Belgian musician Daan for the funeral of the original artist Bobbejaan Schoepen. Bobbejaan's funeral ceremony took place on May 29th, 2010 on the banks of the river less than 100 meters from Oma's apartment. This is also the song to make certified homesick whenever I hear it.

157: Apparently as a 4-year old kid I told my parents that I would live in the house when all grown up, my parents could live – with their wheelchairs – in the attic. What a nice boy I was...

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Thanks for reading this very short chapter! as always: leave me a comment with your feedback!