Tag: life

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remembrance

I came across your blog today. It’s frozen in time. Your last post was published Nov. 27th 2020. A few short weeks later you left us forever. I clicked the link because I longed for your voice. It was always like a warm hug, even when you were terminally ill. There was humour and sarcasm and not everyone got it. Some people are easily offended. You always knew that I wasn’t one of them. That’s why I got to read your mature pieces too.

You were my mentor. I don’t easily attribute that role to anyone, but for you it was true. When I was ready to disappear and give everything up in 2018, you hunted me down and found me on FB. You convinced me to keep writing, to persevere. You helped me find my voice and be okay with sitting in my niche. I don’t write modern poetry, never did. I write from the soul and you understood that before I did. I remember how I tried to fight it and to tell you that I was just another young bored housewife, but you didn’t allow me to celebrate my pity party. You stood up for me, for my voice when I couldn’t. I could never forget that and I will be grateful. Always and forever.

I’d like to believe that you are proud of me, of my writing, but also of the woman I became. You once said you love every inch of me. It was not meant to be suggestive, not really. What you meant was that you liked my mind, my way of thinking, even when I was overthinking. And I loved you back just as much.

I came across your blog today because I wanted to see how many are inactive. Too many to count. I unsubscribed from them all. But I cannot and will not unsubscribe from yours. I was wrapped in a blacket of grief that was completely unexpected. I think about you often, always with a smile. The smile is there now too, but so is the hole you left that will never be filled. No one was and no one will ever be like you Robert. Next week you will be gone for 5 years.

Thank you Batman

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The edges of me

I notice things I don’t always want to notice. Tiny things. A tone that slides a little too soft. A smile that doesn’t match the eyes. A pause that wasn’t there yesterday. I don’t look for these things. They just appear. And once they’re there, they don’t leave. I used to think this made me difficult or overly sensitive, but maybe it just means I’m awake. I’ve learned the hard way what it costs me when I ignore my own instincts.


I don’t mind quiet. I don’t mind distance. I don’t even mind secrets as long as they’re honest. What I can’t stand is the small twist in someone’s voice when they say something they don’t mean. That shift. That dishonesty. It sits in my stomach for days. I hate lies. I hate liars. Not dramatically. Just deeply. Quietly. Because it feels disrespectful. And because I can’t unknow what I’ve seen. And because I deserve more. Simple as that. I deserve more.


I don’t reveal everything about myself. Never. Only few people get to see the whole of me, and even they tend to misinterpret me. People think I share all of me all the time, but they mistake openness for honesty. They’re not the same. I play my cards close to my chest. I always have. Not to be manipulative, but because I trust slowly. Suspiciously. And sometimes I trust too quickly when I shouldn’t. There is no perfect logic to it. I read people well, but I still get surprised. And I hate surprises. They are scary. I like to think I’m emotionally intelligent. And yet I can be naive at the worst moments. Both can be true.


I protect people. Even when they don’t ask. Even when they shouldn’t need it. Sometimes I protect them from my own intensity. Sometimes from their own chaos. I used to argue everything. Now I let some things die quietly because they’re not worth the wound. I used to be impulsive and quick to react. I still am, just underneath a layer of restraint that people confuse with coldness. I think before I react and weigh my words carefully. My heart often beats too fast. My mind moves too quickly. No one sees that. They see the surface. They assume the surface is the whole story.


I am impatient. I am too strict with myself. I’m harder on myself than I admit, mostly because I know what I’m capable of doing wrong. I forgive too easily. I forget nothing. I want closeness but need space. I want connection but hate when someone reaches for me with hands that aren’t clean. I trust slowly but fully. I’m soft until I’m not. I’m suspicious even when I’m safe. I forgive things from people that I can’t reconcile in myself if I did the same. Contradictions everywhere. I stopped trying to make them fit.


And somewhere in all of that, there is a line I don’t cross: I don’t pretend. I don’t bend myself into shapes to make anyone more comfortable. Not anymore. I’m honest, but measured. I won’t use the truth to hurt unless someone pushes me into a corner. And even then, I don’t lash out. Not because I’m not passionate, but because some things happen for reasons I don’t always understand in the moment. What good does it do to argue something you don’t understand? I’d rather hold my ground quietly than fight blind. Some fights are not worth the wounds and the aftermath. And I respect people too much to hurt them on purpose. I won’t lie to make someone feel better either. There is a middle ground, not always obvious, but it is there.


If you asked me who I am to others, I wouldn’t know what to say. It depends on the day, the history, the context. People see versions of me. I see the whole thing; my whole self. And it is messy, and ugly sometimes. But it is mine.


There is one part of me that doesn’t shift with the rest, one part that holds everything together so I don’t disappear into pieces: integrity.
Not the loud kind.
The quiet kind.
The steady thread running through all my contradictions.
The part that keeps me aligned even when everything else in me pulls in different directions.


I am who I am because I was who I was. Think about it. You will understand that you are too.

Amor Fati.

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Throwback Thursday: Bicycle Randomness, Then and Now


I wrote the original Bicycle Randomness in 2018, a quiet burst of fragmented truths, scribbled from a place of unfiltered feeling, raw and a little chaotic. Today, I still write lists. But the feeling is different. The ground beneath me is steadier now. The words may have changed, but the impulse to name what is real to me remains. I invite you to see a scattered portrait of who I was and who I am. (Bicycle randomness 2018)

  • I no longer need to explain myself. That freedom is new, and I welcome it.
  • I like who I am becoming, and I do not feel the urge to apologise for who I was. No regrets.
  • There is calm in my mornings now, even when I fill the house with music.
  • I live in a home that fits me, even if it surprises others. It’s filled with colour, but it is not cluttered, I don’t like knickknacks. There is (unique) art on the walls, I cherish it immensely.
  • I still write every day. It is not a ritual. It is a pulse. It is my way to breathe underwater.
  • I do not need people to get me. I just want to be met with kindness. I am an acquired taste. Like wine.
  • I am not lonely. I just like my own company. It’s unusual, but it is true for me.
  • My hair is silver in places, and I like it more than I ever thought I would.
  • My kids are growing into themselves. Watching that is a gift. They are amazing people and they fill me with pride.
  • I love music that makes me move, that makes me think, that inspires poems. I love music. And I love silence too.
  • I show up with care, not with pursuit.
  • I still cry sometimes, because I care more deeply now, not less.
  • I used to seek meaning in every interaction. Now I let some moments pass.
  • Everything happens for a reason, but I no longer need to know or understand it. I know how to accept it and live with it.
  • I am good in my job as a preschool teacher. I do not need praise to know it.
  • I like small groups, deep talks, and early nights. And late nights too.
  • I no longer need to be understood by those who are not willing to listen.
  • The contradictions are a part of me. They are a part of my writing too.
  • I have boundaries now. They are firm, and they are kind.
  • I am not overwhelmed, just selective.
  • I do not share everything. That is not secrecy. I just don’t need anyone to know everything anymore.
  • I say no with ease. I say yes with care.
  • I am not chatty, but I say what I mean and mean what I say.
  • I do not chase. I respond.
  • I am not looking for drama. I am choosing peace.
  • I still love making lists. They keep me grounded.
  • I do not regret anything. Every path led me here, and I like this place.
  • I still read horoscopes, not for answers, but for the poetry.
  • I am more honest now. Especially with myself.
  • I no longer ask why. The answer is rarely satisfying.
  • I believe in consistency, not intensity. Though I know that I am both. Consistent and intense.
  • My softness is deliberate. My strength is quiet.
  • I know my worth. I know what I need.
  • There are stories I no longer need to revisit to understand myself. It’s called growth or healing. That doesn’t mean that the past doesn’t affect me anymore, I just know how to deal with it from a place of peace.
  • I am not waiting. I am living.
  • I am not holding on. I am here.
  • I am not unfinished. I am just in motion.

(…and I will keep going and going and going.)

Life is a work in progress. We evolve and change all the time, even if it feels subtle, but when we look back, it becomes visible. I am still the same, and yet I am not who I was. And I will become someone I am not yet some day too.

Cathy

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from absence to presence

Posted for Mental Health Awareness Month

Some things take years to name. And still, they shape every part of who we become.

I was born into absence. Not into poverty, not into physical violence, but into a silence that shaped everything I later became. There was a house, there were adults, there were routines… but there was no soft place to land. No arms that held me without conditions. No voice that asked, “How do you feel?”

Instead, there were expectations: be good, be quiet, be helpful. Love was a test I had to pass by sacrificing myself. If I loved my mother, I had to take care of her needs when I was only four. If I loved my family, I had to disappear when my presence became inconvenient. I was never hit, but I was unseen. I was never starved, but I was hollow.

I remember sitting by the window, dressed up, waiting for my father’s car to pull up. But I waited in vain… he didn’t come. The excuses were shallow. I felt forgotten and hurt. My grandmother would sneer and say that even my father didn’t care about me. She was also the one who told me I was not worth the air I was breathing… a waste of skin. My mother was too numb, too caught up in her illness to protect me.

Later, I learned my father couldn’t bring together the family he had left and the one he chose next. He didn’t know how… probably because of guilt. But none of that softened the silence he left behind. His absence was louder than words. I learned early that love could leave. That silence was safer than asking for more. That presence didn’t guarantee anything. That fear never fully disappeared. I still carry it… the fear of being too much, of being left, of not being enough to stay for.

There were days I wanted to disappear. Not dramatically. Just… fade. I often wondered if anyone would notice. Or care. I didn’t feel real unless I was needed. And when I wasn’t, I disappeared into myself. There were no diagnoses, no interventions. Just a little girl carrying grief that wasn’t hers. Until I was seven years old, I barely spoke to anyone outside my immediate family. I was silent at school, silent among strangers. It wasn’t shyness. It was something deeper… a sense that my voice didn’t matter, or that it wasn’t safe to use. No one did anything about it. No one felt the need to find out why I didn’t speak. And so I learned early that my silence was more acceptable than my presence.

I could have vanished. I could have become numb. I could have chased oblivion and found comfort in destruction. I didn’t. I chose a harder path.

I chose presence.

Not because I had help. I didn’t. I had three therapy sessions and one blister of medication. That was in 2019, when I was 36, proof that some wounds linger long before we name them. I couldn’t talk about what hurt because my voice was locked somewhere inside my chest. I survived not through intervention, but through instinct.

I wrote. I bled into pages. I listened to music like it was scripture. I held myself in the night when no one else would. And somehow, through all of it, I also held others. Quietly. Faithfully. Unrecognised.

And when I asked for help… on the rare occasion I reached out, raw and exposed… I was told to get professional help. As if all my self-healing, all the decades of surviving without imploding, meant nothing. As if I were still the damaged one. Maybe the idea of my wholeness makes some people uncomfortable… maybe they need me to stay small.

But I am not damaged.

I am someone who turned silence into language. Who turned emotional starvation into fierce love. Who broke cycles instead of repeating them. I am a mother who gives what she never received. I am a teacher who sees the invisible children. I am a woman who carries her contradictions with grace.

There are still parts of me I don’t often speak about. I used to hurt myself. Quietly. It gave shape to the ache I couldn’t explain. Pain made me feel real when nothing else did. I never hid it, but no one ever asked. I stopped, eventually… replaced the blade with a pen. But the memory of those moments still lives under my skin.

And there are moments, even now, when I am struggling. When I am thinking about how easy it would be to numb my fears and pain with a blade against my skin. Just once. Sweet relief. But I don’t. So far, I have been able to resist that temptation.

Sometimes, even now, anxiety sneaks in. My heart races. My breath shortens. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I recognise it. I let it pass. I stay with it now. I don’t run. That’s how I know I’ve changed.

There is still fear. Still sadness. Still those days when I feel like I’m unravelling. But I am not ashamed of them anymore. They are not signs of failure. They are the soft reminders that I have depth, that I survived, that I still feel.

I once said, “Despite it all, I turned out quite normal.” Someone laughed and said, “With all due respect, you are not normal.” And they were right. I am not. I am not numb. I am not simple. I am not easy.

I am still here in the quietest, most enduring ways. My husband has been part of that quiet. His support isn’t loud or showy, and we don’t speak about most of what’s written here… by my choice, but he is there in the small things. In the steadiness. In the way he leaves space for me to be as I am. That matters more than he knows.

I feel deeply and live honestly. I want to be seen… not to be saved, but to be seen simply as the person I am. And even when I fear I’m too much, I overthink and retreat. I quiet myself before anyone else can. I try not to take up space. But deep down, I still hope someone might see me and not turn away.

I turned from absence to presence by refusing to disappear. I stitched myself together with poems, small victories, and the decision to keep loving… even when it hurt. Even when it was not returned. Even when it would have been easier to break.

This is who I became: not someone untouched by trauma… but someone who made meaning out of it. Not someone who pretends to be okay… but someone who is okay because she stopped pretending.

I am not broken. I am whole… in all my layers. And I did it myself. And I am still becoming.

If you’re reading this during Mental Health Awareness Month and wondering if your story matters… it does. Even in silence. Even in struggle. Even when no one sees the work you’re doing just to stay. You are not alone.

Thank you for being part of my present.

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no drama (stream of consciousness)

As of May, all my poetry and writing is exclusive to this blog.

I quietly left Threads after reading Meta’s updated terms and conditions. No announcement, no fuss… just like when I left Facebook and Twitter. A silent choice that felt necessary.

I still have an Instagram account, but it is private, and I mostly use it to chat. I still use WhatsApp because I need it for work. I am not completely offline, and I am not trying to disappear.

But I have started to think more carefully about where and how I exist online.

And when it comes to sharing my writing, I am becoming more intentional.

At the moment, the only public places where my words live are here and on SoundCloud. And honestly, that feels right for now.

I know I am not Meta’s target… I am not famous. I am not a bestselling author. I am not a poet with thousands of followers. But I am a writer. And that counts for something… at least for me it does.

I put pieces of myself into every poem, every line, every strange little fragment I share. And I do not want my voice absorbed into some faceless system, used to train an AI… stripped of meaning, stripped of origin, stripped of consent.

I do not share a lot of personal details online anymore. I did for a while, and if you dig through this blog, you will still find glimpses of that. But I do not write to go viral. I do not write for algorithms. I write because I love it. Because it steadies me. Because it helps me exist more truthfully.

I love putting my words online. I love the idea of someone stumbling across a line I wrote and feeling understood. I want my words to touch people. I want to leave a trace. But I want to do it on my terms.

And I know they do reach people. Sometimes, I see the quiet proof… visitors from different corners of the world, stopping by, staying a moment. That means more than I can say.

If something here touches you, feel free to share it with others. Just a gentle mention, a link, a line… I only ask that it is done with care. These words may be personal, but they are not meant to be locked away.

Yes, I want to be visible. I want my words to reach someone, somewhere.
Maybe that is a quiet kind of longing we all carry… to be seen, to be felt, to leave something behind.

It might make me seem a little controlling. It might sound like I take myself too seriously sometimes.
But I care about what I create. I care about where it ends up.

And that care… it feels right.

We’ll see where the next steps take us.
But for now… thank you all for being here on this quiet journey with me.

Thank you. Merci.

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remembering September – a throwback post

Last month, I had the idea to walk down memory lane with the blog. After many years of sharing thoughts and poetry and everything in between, I wanted to compile a sort of best of, but that’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I am a harsh critic when it comes to my own creations. But last month’s post sparked the idea of doing this every month from now on. So here goes…

One post from the month of September since the beginning of the blog. Please enjoy and don’t spare the feedback.

2012:

none because the blog was born in December

2013:

moods…

2014:

Life goes on

2015:

the right moment in time

2016:

her mind is troubled

2017:

But that’s just a tiny part of me.

2018:

Music…

2019:

melting your clouds

2020:

Goodbye, Anathema

2021:

Musing

2022:

untitled_20220918

2023:

randomness_20230915

Just like last month, I am surprised by the amount of poetry I wrote over the years. But I also noticed that September is always a time for change, a time for reflection. September 2015 is a month that changed my life, even though it might not be visible at first glance, after that month, my writing changed a lot. Things happened that month, and without them, I would not be here today, I would not be who I am, and I would not have thought about getting a job either. September 2015 was one of the most important months of my adult life. And yet, not much of that was shared on the blog. The reasons stayed and will always stay privat.

Just like in August, there is a little bit of everything: music, short stories, musings, personal stuff, and of course, poetry. All of the above posts, all 11 of them are worth your attention. You’ll see how much I’ve changed and how much I’ve stayed the same

Take a look and don’t be shy to comment. You will notice that I am not spoiled with comments.

And if you want to know more about me and where to find me, this post is for you

about me

Thank you for your love and your curiosity. It matters. You matter. ❤

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randomness

Yesterday, I went to a wedding again. I think most of my friends, acquaintances and family members are married now. Apart from my younger sister, but she has time and no one needs to marry anyway – it’s a very personal decision after all.

It is nice to be at all these ceremonies. But it also makes me remember my own wedding and how much I would change it today. But times were different 17 years ago. And we were different too. I was 24 when I got married. Patrick was 29. But we already had our son, we had a house…

Anyway…

I think we were older when we were young.

It sounds weird, but I think now that our kids are all teenagers (14, 15, 19), we can be young again too. We had many responsibilities when we were young and they made us feel old or live an old life. Dynamics have changed lately. And that’s nice. We live like roommates right now. The teenagers do their own laundry and their own cleaning. Often (during the summer holidays) they also do their own cooking. And still. We have one meal a day together. If possible, all 5 of us. We laugh and talk a lot. We often have philosophical talks too during dinner. I like that. I like to hear their thoughts and their views on life and everything. And still, I am still their mom, they still come to me when something is not right and I still spoil them with one on one time. With 3 kids it is important that they can be on their own with a parent at times. It’s something we always did. Partly because they had and have different interests and needs, and partly because they deserve to be heard without their siblings present.

The wedding yesterday was very nice. And I felt very good too. That’s not always the case at social gatherings. I often don’t fit. It was different yesterday. It started with the fact that I had a good morning. My best friend helped choose my dress (via pictures). And from there, everything fell into place. My hair was easy to style. I simply put it up and the right curls fell out. It was not planned like that, I actually just put the hair in a clip when I applied my makeup. But it looked good and I kept it that way. The dress looked beautiful on me too. In my day to day life, I only wear black. I like it that way. And have for many years. But you don’t wear black to a wedding. And so, over the years, I assembled a collection of more colourful dresses. Yesterday, I had 3 to choose from. All of them had never been worn before. One was white with purple patterns all over. Very flowy and airy. One was teal. The cloth is like a tshirt made of jersey, and it was a very simple dress too. The last one was orange at the top and had a colour gradient that turns into dark blue. Flowy and airy too.

My best friend suggested that one. It was also the one I had in mind, even though I was worried it would be too flashy. After all, when I tried it on for the first time and Patrick saw it, he said I looked like a fluorescent text marker. So… I was dressed in my orange dress, with a very colourful little clutch. Blue watch (Bering) on the right wrist, my bracelet that I always wear on the left. Flat black sandals and blue nail polish. I looked good. And I felt confident too. I think it showed.

My eyes are closed in the photo, but apparently my smile makes up for that – that’s what I’ve been told. And yes, the dress really empathizes my chest.

I completely lost the plot here… I have no idea what I wanted to write and communicate in the first place.

I am 41 one now. I have the same life I had when I was 30, except that I am working now. I still have the same interests (music, writing, movies). But I also think that I am more settled now. A bit more confident in myself. A bit less moody. A bit more content. And maybe that comes with age.

A couple years back (2 years, actually) I felt old and all wrong. Because of my (on-going) shoulder issues, I had changed jobs in quick succession which made me feel like a failure in many ways. I was unsure which way to go and how to go on. Then I started a job that I needed to finally find closure. It’s there that I understood that my age and the many jobs I had were assets. Experience is an asset. And my entire outlook changed. 1 year ago I dared to take my current job as a preschool teacher. And I love it. Every moment of it (apart from the long long summer holidays – they make me restless).

Living means evolving. It means embracing change. It also means embracing the past, because everything happens for a reason, and every step we take leads us somewhere. We might not always like where we are. We might fight it. But in the end, we always learn from situations and experiences. We grow. And isn’t that a gift?!

I think, I need to be more grateful for everything I have. I tend to forget from time to time that I have a rather comfortable life.

Have a great Sunday ☀️

I will do what I often do. Reading, listening to music, texting back and forth with the people I love, and reminding myself to keep breathing.

(PS: today I am wearing black again)

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the bittersweet paradox

The capacity to feel deeply, to hurt deeply, is what allows us to also love deeply, to find joy in the midst of sorrow, and to discover the profound meaning that lies at the heart of being human.This emotional depth is both a blessing and a curse – the price we pay for being able to engage with the world and with each other on such a visceral, meaningful level. When we open ourselves up to the full spectrum of human emotions, we make ourselves vulnerable. We risk being hurt, devastated, consumed by anguish.

Yet, it is precisely this willingness to be vulnerable that enables us to form the deepest, most nourishing bonds. When we hurt deeply, it demonstrates our ability to invest ourselves completely in relationships and experiences. The pain of heartbreak is the flip side of our capacity to love passionately.

And it is this depth of feeling – our range from ecstasy to agony – that allows us to find profound beauty and meaning amidst the sorrow. In the darkest of times, we can still uncover moments of transcendent joy, profound gratitude, and abiding hope. Our emotional complexity is what makes us fully, viscerally alive.

This is the bittersweet paradox at the heart of the human experience. The very qualities that leave us susceptible to suffering – our sensitivity, our capacity for attachment, our willingness to be emotionally raw – are the same qualities that enable us to engage with the world in the most meaningful way.

To feel deeply is to hurt deeply. But it is also to love deeply, to find exquisite pockets of light in the darkness, and to discover the profound significance that lies at the core of being human. It is the price we pay for being fully, gloriously alive.

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reflections in broken mirrors

Shards of glass, once a mirror's face,
Reflect a broken, fragmented trace.
Each shard a window to the past,
Memories etched, forever cast.

I gaze upon these jagged pieces,
Wondering what each one releases.
A smile, a tear, a moment shared,
All captured, in these shards impaired.

The mirror's cracks reveal the truth,
That life is not a perfect proof.
It's a journey filled with highs and lows,
Where light and shadow are always in the know.

Yet in these broken, scattered parts,
I find a story that imparts.
A life that is painted in its richest hues,
If we look closely at the cracks we see a new view.

This mirror, once whole and pristine,
Now a reflection of what has been.
A reminder that even in the breaks,
Beauty and meaning still awakes.

The cracks reveal the truth within,
The scars that mark the path I've been
A first step, at last the journey's start,
A mirror of the human heart.

###

this poem was inspired by two things: my cousin with whom I had dinner tonight. Despite every obstacle she encountered in her life, she turned out to be an amazing woman. I love her very much.

and the other part of the inspiration came from this picture:

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scars

These scars, they are not blemishes,
But symbols of my strength,
Guiding me through the darkest times,
To find my light at length.

They speak of courage in the face of adversity,
Of wounds that healed, yet left their trace,
Reminders that I’ve weathered life’s storms,
And emerged with a stronger, wiser grace.

These scars, they are not flaws to hide,
But badges of honor, worn with pride,
For they represent the growth I’ve found,
The lessons learned, the ground I’ve ground.

They are the proof that I can endure,
That darkness cannot dim my light for sure,
That I will rise, time and time again,
Unbroken, unshaken, and without disdain.

In the depths of my scars, I see my strength,
A fortitude that knows no bounds,
A resilience that cannot be bound,
A spirit that forever resounds.

So I wear these scars with reverence and grace,
Embracing the story they boldly trace,
For they are the map of my journey so far,
A testament to the warrior that I are.

They remind me that I have the power to heal,
To overcome, to conquer, and to reveal
The true essence of who I’m meant to be,
A vision of hope, a light for all to see.

These scars, they are not burdens to bear,
But gifts that have shaped me, beyond compare,
Empowering me to face each new day,
With the strength to pave my own way.

So I celebrate these scars, my battle-worn marks,
For they are the proof that I’ve walked through the dark,
And emerged stronger, wiser, and more complete,
Ready to embrace the light that I meet.

###

“Joffer Cathy, why do you have these light lines there” [4 year old points to my arms]

“they are a part of who I used to be and who I became” [as soon as I said it, I knew I said too much and braced myself]

[shrugs] “may I have the felt-tip pens to colour?]

I had this conversation this morning with a little girl at work. I am 41 and talking about my scars and self-harm scares me shitless. Mostly because I know I could relapse again and again…

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about me

Greetings and salutations,

Hello, and thank you for being here.

My name is Catherine, but you can call me Cathy. I am a poet, a storyteller, and a collector of fleeting moments. I write because I do not know how not to. Words tend to spill out, sometimes uninvited, always looking for a place to land. This blog is where I give them one.

I was born in 1983 in Luxembourg. I live in the space between work and wonder, motherhood and music. When I am not writing, I work in early childhood education, helping small humans explore the world through play. I grow and learn with them, and together we find answers to questions that often matter more than they seem to at first glance. I adore my job.

I am fluent in Luxembourgish, French, and German, but English is the language where my inner world finds its voice most naturally. I write in echoes, in accents, in fragments of what I cannot always say aloud. My poetry is not soft. It is raw, honest, and often tangled with longing. It speaks of silence and survival, of love and loss, of all the things we hold on to and all the ones that slip through our fingers.

I did not grow up writing poems. That part of me came later, although I had written a few before I recognised them for what they were. It felt like finding breath underwater. Since starting this blog in 2012, I have been slowly carving out a space for my voice and letting it grow into its own shape.

Much of what I write is fiction, especially the poetry. But the feelings behind it are real. My writing is shaped by music, by film, by memory and by the need to make sense of the things I do not always know how to say. I write because something inside me needs to be set free. And if you are here, maybe something in you does too.


Where to Find Me

This blog is where most of my words live. But if you want slightly more:

SoundCloud – Spoken poetry and collaborations.

Bandcamp / Discogs – For those curious about the music that shapes me.


My Instagram is private. I post there, but not often.

Some of my words have found their way into books. If you want to hold them in your hands, you can find them here.

Collaborations & Contact

I have worked with musicians and photographers, blending words with sound and image. If you think my writing could be part of something you are creating, feel free to reach out: cathy@boom.lu.

Disclaimer

The words on this blog are mine. If they are not, I will say so.

My stories are fiction, even when they feel true. My poetry is truth, even when it is not mine alone. Any resemblance to people or places is entirely coincidental. No post is aimed at anyone unless clearly stated. The music mentioned or linked here is not mine.

Please do not copy, repost, or republish any content without written permission.

© 2012–2025 micqu.org. All content is original and protected.

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i remember

i remember it well, the first time that I saw you. You were walking toward me, not an ounce of insecurities were showing. I was a bundle of nerves watching you as you approached me. I immediately noticed that we couldn’t be any more different, you with your penguin scarf and me in my floor-length leather coat. As I stood there, trying to maintain a composed exterior, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Your confident stride contrasted so starkly with my own jittery demeanor that I couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the enigma that was you. The way your green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and the contrast of our attire, seemed to encapsulate the very essence of our divergence in that moment. Though our outward appearance may have painted us as polar opposites, the magnetic pull between us was undeniable, drawing me in with a force I couldn’t resist.

The enduring nature of our commitment to each other has been a source of great joy and strength for us. Over the course of 24 years, we have overcome numerous challenges and have remained steadfast in our dedication to each other. It is truly remarkable to consider the journey we have shared, from the early days of our marriage to now, where we find ourselves happily situated with our beloved children. The passage of time has only served to deepen our bond, and we have defied any expectations by growing stronger as a couple. Amidst witnessing the ebb and flow of relationships around us, we have held fast to our love, building a life and a future together that fills us with immense pride and gratitude.

The journey of life is indeed filled with ups and downs, moments of joy and challenges. It is during these trials that our resilience and persistence come to the forefront, shaping our character and strengthening our resolve. Navigating through mood swings and inner demons can be a taxing experience, but as individuals, we possess the capability to overcome these obstacles with unwavering determination. Finding the ability to laugh amidst difficulties and to push through moments of friction is a testament to our inner strength and adaptability. Embracing these contrasting experiences ultimately leads to personal growth and a deeper understanding of ourselves.

The story of how we met is one of those rare, serendipitous moments that seem straight out of a romantic movie. It was the year 2000, and I was just a month away from turning 17 when we had our blind date. I can recall the details as if it were yesterday. It was a crisp Monday morning, and I stood at the bus stop with my hair still damp from the shower. As I gazed up at the sky, I was greeted by the breathtaking sight of a shooting star streaking across the heavens. To this day, I am convinced that it was the celestial spectacle that graced the early hours of January 17th.

In that moment, I made a wish – a wish so pure and profound that it almost felt like a prayer. I wished that I would meet the man who would one day become my husband that very night. And incredibly, against all odds, that wish came true. It’s a surreal and almost magical experience that has stayed with me all these years.

I’ll confess that before that fateful night, I held little faith in the institution of marriage. Growing up in an environment where positive examples of married life were scarce, I was skeptical about the concept of lifelong commitment. Even now, to some extent, I still grapple with the idea of monogamy. Perhaps it’s a lingering effect of my youth, an insatiable yearning for a love so potent that it can never be extinguished or fully satisfied.

But while I am still longing for a deeper connection, I also know when I look at you, or when I put my head in your lap at night that we were meant to be in each other’s lives. Where else could I be myself? Who else would or could love me like you do? Who else could and would put up with my recent moodswings? Who else would or could make me laugh like you do?

the answer is: no one. No one. Because you and me, that’s what makes us us. That’s what makes this bond unique and strong and unbreakable. Are we passionless? Maybe to the outside world we are. Then again, showing our connection, whispering between us, long eye contact, laughter and light ribbing, that’s who we are. We love each other. You see, our love transcends the boundaries of ordinary affection. It’s a deeply rooted connection that intertwines our souls and brings out the best in each other. The world may not understand the depth of our bond, but in each gesture and shared moment, the strength of our love shines through. It’s in the subtle glances, the shared jokes, and the unspoken understanding that we find the purest expression of our love. And in this unique language of love, we are fluent, speaking volumes without uttering a word. This is the essence of us, an extraordinary love that defies expectations and flourishes in the quiet moments, where our hearts beat as one. This is the true beauty of our connection, a love that resonates beyond the ordinary, creating a symphony of emotion that only you and I can compose together.

We are perfect in our imperfections. I love you.

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love letter to my husband – 916 words – reading time: 5 minutes

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I’m thinking of…

… ending things. No it’s less dramatic than it sounds. I am Thinking of Ending Things is a novel by Iain Reid I began reading a couple of years ago but never finished. The title stayed with me. Maybe I should give it a second chance. It’s just, and I am quite sure many people feel the same: at times, reading can feel like a serene escape while at other times, sifting through lengthy narratives feels daunting when compared to the instant gratification of bite-sized information on the internet. 

Anyway… I am thinking a lot about music right now and how it affects me and my moods. For me, music is amongst the most important things in my daily life and it is hard to explain. After all, I am not a musician. I can sing a bit, but that’s about it. I am just a fan, a listener, a supporter. When I was a child, music became a safe haven, a refuge. A constant in my life that was there and took me as I was. It listened to me as much as I did listen to it. There was and still is a song for every moment in life. And even though my parents weren’t fit to be my parents (I say “my parents” because my dad is a good dad to my half-sister, I think) , they gave me the gift of music. My mom was a music lover in her own right and my dad has been in bands since he was 15. His love for music – new and old, is a faithful companion. And often when we meet, when we run out of topics to talk about, we gravitate towards music. We are both comfortable with that. Recently I was told again that I have a vast knowledge about music and bands in general, but I think I am in a bubble. I only know things about the ones I am interested in and have also the handful of artists I really really don’t like.

Last week, a musician approached me to write a review about an album that does not have a release date yet. The album is awesome, I think. Impressive and captivating. I have been listening to it on repeat and still discover and hear new elements in every song. I haven’t tired of it, which is a good sign. But finding the right words and writing an objective, informative review that also incites the readers to go and listen to (and buy) the music – that’s very hard. And I don’t think I have the right skills for that at present. I am looking at music blogs like Jeff’s and his writing is off the charts and always spot on. Other music blogs do it too, but personally, I think Jeff’s writing about music is the best. It’s easily said that everyone’s a critic, but doing just that in an objective, fair, and educated way is not easy at all. All these words to say, I am still thinking about it, doing it – writing the review, but right now, the chances are rather slim.

Sometimes, I wonder if I had the same thoughts if my life had been different. You know what I mean?

It’s a thought that often crosses the mind, isn’t it? The idea that our experiences shape the way we see the world and the thoughts that occupy our minds. If our lives had taken different turns, would our thoughts and perspectives be entirely different as well? It’s intriguing to think about how our personal journeys influence the inner workings of our minds. Whether it’s the people we’ve met, the places we’ve been, or the challenges we’ve faced, they all contribute to shaping the our thoughts.

Every decision made and every path chosen has contributed to the unique set of thoughts that occupy our minds today. It’s a fascinating concept, contemplating the interconnected nature of our experiences and our thoughts. Don’t you think? Perhaps in an alternate reality where our lives unfolded differently, our thoughts would indeed be unrecognizable. But in this reality, shaped by our experiences, the endless “what ifs” linger in the corners of our minds sometimes rear their heads to stir our thoughts.

Ah, there… typically me… jumping from one topic to the next without an apparent connection. But in my mind, everything I wrote above is somehow linked. When I start to pen down my thoughts, it’s like taking a leisurely stroll through a labyrinth of ideas and emotions. The connection may not be apparent at first glance, but upon closer inspection, the threads that bind it all together slowly start to unravel. It’s a bit like uncovering hidden links and meanings.

It’s fascinating how our thoughts can drift to unexpected places on a sunlit Thursday morning, with the warmth of the sun caressing our backs. In the background, the turntables spin a record, creating an ambiance that seems to both define and defy the moment. Today, it’s Pearl Jam’s “Lightning Bolt” (2013).

As I bask in the sunlight, it’s tempting to let the world turn and allow my mind to remain a pristine, unmarked canvas. However, that’s not who I am. Instead, I embrace the musings and the melodies, finding inspiration in the thin almost imperceptible differences between the ordinary moment and the extraordinary soundtrack that accompanies it. Each line etched in my mind becomes a verse waiting to be written, a thought seeking expression on the pages that now lay before me. And you.

My moods are improving, the darkness I felt for weeks and the demons that were attached to my skin are finally disappearing. There is some fragility left in me and it is always there, we know that. There is also an underlying strength and a lot of integrity ingrained in me. But something slightly shifted this week and allowed more light and more hope back in. As I wrote a couple of days ago – let’s embrace the beauty simplicity so that maybe the overthinking mind gets a rest.

Enjoy this Thursday. Listen to music. Sit in the sun. Write. Read. Think. Do whatever feels best for you right now in this moment. And allow me to thank you. For reading all these thoughts that have a meaning but don’t matter. Or maybe they matter but or meaningless? Perhaps, they hold deeper meaning beneath their superficial appearance, or perhaps, their significance eludes us, shrouded in enigma.

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musings – 1074 words – reading time: 6 minutes (this stream of consciousness turned out much longer and weirder than initially intended. Then again, we all know that my posts are never planned… My mind seems to be a bit like trying to find a path in the fog but not having a map and forgetting if you are walking or driving or maybe even flying… I’ll stop here 🙂

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Prompt

Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.

There were a couple of those encounters in my life.

There was the time two strangers hugged me. One November night in Brussels. After a concert of the absolute awesome band Her Name is Calla. They played a brilliant set. Took pics with fans and gave autographs. They were stars that night. And even though they had invited me for the gig, I was almost certain that I was forgotten after the show… I told the story of Adam and Tom often. It is one of the most important encounters of my adult life. To these strangers, I was a music lover, I was a woman, I was Cathy. I was not reduced to being the mom of, the partner of… I was just me. And they liked that person. They had drunk and laughed and sung with that person. An entire night long. And at the end of that night, they hugged me. Here comes the sentence I always write or mention: they hugged me so tightly that some broken pieces of my soul found a way back together. Cheesy? Maybe. But it is the truth for sure.

There was the time I spent a weekend with two strangers. It’s been on my mind a lot lately. In a good way. A very good way. I am not sure I would drive to the Netherlands like this again. But I did that weekend. I celebrated a birthday with them. And we had some very awesome days. Things happened that didn’t happen since. Which makes it all the more special. If I had just been less weird that weekend we would probably still be in touch. But, no need for regrets, I made those once in a lifetime memories. I will never forget.

And there was that time when I told a homeless addict the time and he treated me as if I had just given him a million bucks. I remember that moment very well. I was late for a job interview and this man approached me. I was almost certain he would ask for money, but he asked for the time. I told him and his face lit up. He then told me that he had asked several people and they had all ignored him. He also told me that they had all looked through him as if he didn’t exist. His expression became sad. He thanked me for having helped him out and for having held eye contact with him. Apparently, he was not used to that anymore. This certainly stuck with me.

It’s all me me me, but those or just 3 encounters that stayed with me and changed something inside of me. How about you? ❤️

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musings

Even in the darkest moments is a ray of light. Often we let it slip through the cracks of our minds because we are too caught up in our thoughts and too comfortable in our routines and daily patterns. But if we see the light, find the strength to grab it and the courage to hold on to it, life will change. It is hard, though, and I am often failing too.
It’s the small things that affect us the most. A word in a sentence that makes us snap at a good friend. A song on the radio that makes us dance. An unexpected text message that makes us smile. A voice message that lets our hearts race.
Life is a string of choices, decisions, and lessons. Life is filled with feelings and emotions; there is no logic – we cannot (and we must not) understand everything that happens. Sometimes we get hurt. More often, we are not. The expected pain is worse than what we are actually experiencing in the end.

Still, we chose to focus on our sadness and hurt too many hours of the days, and it keeps the light and happiness from our hearts and minds. If our energy were spent showing kindness, compassion, and empathy instead of taking every word, every view personally, it would mean a huge step forward in our emotional development.
Oh, I am guilty of negativity too. I wallow in it all too often. I feel neglected, abandoned, for no other reason than my mind suggesting that I am not good enough or lovable anyway. I ask for a kind of attention that others are not willing to give consistently, which pushes me in a vicious circle of evil thoughts. The thing is, I support and listen to people unconditionally and without judgment, why the f*** can’t I feel the same kind of support in return? Could it be that I am simply not able to understand the love or affection of others? Am I emotionally inept?

I read this on the almighty, all-knowing internet a while ago:

The reason why I am jealous is that my biggest fear is to be easily replaceable.

I don’t know who wrote it. It was an RT on Twitter that I wrote down in one of my notebooks (around October 2015), but it sums a big part of myself up. It’s part of my truth. I am afraid to be forgettable, to be replaceable. I want to be unique – and yet I want to be able to vanish in a crowd without being noticed.

I am a weird person. Full of mood swings. Overly emotional at times. Impulsive. Still, all those things don’t overrule my qualities. I care. I worry, and I want other’s happiness more than my own.

I know that I have a hard time finding my balance because I am not taking enough care of myself, my mental health, and my needs. To speak up when I feel neglected (even if it blows up in my face) would be to admit that I am demanding and damaged. It scares me. I don’t want to bother other people with my shit, and I don’t want to appear obsessive when I sent daily messages to the people who matter most to me. It would be important to allow myself to be and to realise that it is not selfish but healthy. I am slowly breaking out of my old patterns, and I am actively working on becoming and staying a better version of myself. But it is so damn hard.

Again, every choice I make along the way might not be the most popular or the one you would have made, but I don’t believe in regrets. Things that are set to happen will happen. In their own time. In their own right.
That said, right now, I feel the rays of light gently caressing my skin, and I plan on holding on – the winter will be long and cold as it is.

I am grateful for everyone who is with me on that journey. I apologize to everyone I hurt or will hurt in the process. Know that it’s not you, it’s me. (As cliché as it sounds).
I hope that you can find the light too, if you haven’t already. You are worth it. Because you are one of a kind. Valuable. Loveable. And this earth needs you. You matter, and I care. (More than I allow myself to show.)

xx
Cathy