#10 All well, nothing in order (English)

Last week, when still in Holland, me and my friends went out for my birthday dinner so I called the local Italian place to book a table for seven. Last-minute another friend decided to join us, so I rang the restaurant again to change my reservation into a table for eight. I hesitated whether it was even necessary to call again but I considered it polite to do so anyway. Good that I did as we surely needed a bigger table with eight people, so they told me. I arrived first and soon friend 1 and the first couple were there too. Slightly surprised my eye went over the table: they were only four empty chairs left while we were expecting five more friends. Right. A little embarrassed I walked over to the restaurant owner to tell him it was actually nine of us, for him to raise an eyebrow of course. What happened? Well, I’d simply forgotten to include myself in my calculations. Once complete, a friend commented I fit right in into the messy Italian life, with my chaotic state of mind. I couldn’t help but smiling, well aware and a little guilty. 

However, am I really such a chaos myself too?

One of the first things I learned last summer in Naples was the standard reply to the question “How are you?”, which goes: “Tutto a posto, niente in ordine”. Translated: all good, nothing in order. I don’t think I could have described the life in Naples – and actually in other parts in the south of Italy too – more accurately. I do love the chaos, the unpredibility, the spontaneity and the inventivity. However, am I really such a chaos myself too? I let my mind wonder over the past Christmas holiday and straight away, that guilty smile appeared on my face again.

There we were, in a car – of which you couldn’t look through the windows anymore due to the hot steam of the tea – with its two front wheels sunk in the mud of a construction site, feeling pretty defeated

It started out so well. On Friday, the international part of our friend group of six flew back to the Netherlands, from respectively Ho Chi Minh, London and of course, Rome. On Saturday, we had planned a good old girls’ night out now we were finally all together again. I decided to be the one driving that night and it came to half past three when the three of us got in the car and I got to bring home my two friends who were both staying with their parents too during the holidays. The parents of friend 1 had recently moved into a new apartment on a block which was still under construction. Despite her clear instructions on how we could exit the block we took a wrong turn anyway. Friend 2, who was still in the car with me, distracted me as she was questioning me about what ABBA song we would play next. Before I knew it, the two front wheels of the car were stuck in the mud behind a curb. My friend was convinced she could easily push the car out of the mud on her high heels but I immediately realised that the only thing we would accomplish was that she would get stuck in the mud too with her entire 10 centimeters of heels. After we had called friend 1, who had only just entered the apartment, and asked her to come outside again to help us, a pretty funny scene developed. First, we tried to put the car mats under the wheels for a firmer grip (clever advice from Google) but after a few attempts trying to get the car out of the mud, the engine refused to start and were we stuck with yet another problem. Then we stopped a passing taxi-driver who claimed that there was something wrong with the key for the car not so start anymore. (At that moment, this thought seemed rather absurd to us, with our rich knowledge of cars. However, when the breakdown assistance arrived the next day the key turned out to be the issue). Anyway, after we had tried and tried for another 45 minutes and the three of us had watched a vlog called “what to do when your engine doesn’t start” – which didn’t teach us anything new – we realised we had to surrender. Now heavily shivering from the cold (so why does that stupid heating not work if the engine’s not running?) friend 1 went back in to get us three cups of hot tea and some christmas bread. There we were, in a car – of which you couldn’t look through the windows anymore due to the hot steam of the tea – with its two front wheels sunk in the mud of a construction site, feeling pretty defeated. We realised there was only one option left: to wake up my dad. “Hi dad, you awake? Eh, we might have a little situation…”. The scene my dad found at five in the morning must have been pretty hilarious: the three women of the world completely trembling from the cold waiting in a stuck car with a cup of tea to finally be released from their highly uncomfortable situation. All this for an ABBA-song.

Obviously, this adventure became a story about which we have laughed a lot the next day during our all girls Christmas dinner. However, it didn’t stop there

Obviously, this adventure became a story about which we have laughed a lot the next day during our all girls Christmas dinner. However, it didn’t stop there. The dinner was good fun and the hours were flying by. It was already past midnight when my mom texted me: “Anne, do you have a key of the house?”. Eh, oops… Could you stay up a little longer perhaps, mom? Then on the Monday we had to do the grocery shopping for our British Italian Extravaganza Christmas party, for which my uncle had very kindly offered to cook. Clearly my cousin and I had thought about the menu but the recipe – and so the ingredients we needed – for the tagliatelle al ragù? Eh, we still had to google it in the car on our way tot he shop. Finally arrived, we could start collecting everything we needed but the moment we went in my cousin and I bumped into a stall giving out freshly baked waffles. Wait, so what did we need? And who had the shopping list again? Thank God my uncle and aunt came with us… 

Safe to say you can call me the Queen of Last-Minute

By now, there have already been quite some anecdotes and the Christmas holiday hadn’t even finished yet. Every year, we throw a big theme party for New Year’s Eve, and every year it involves a good outfit and dito hairdo. Like always, my mom is the chosen one to do my hair for the night and every year we agree somewhere mid December that we’re going to do some try-out hairdos to prevent stress on the 31st. It probably doesn’t surprise you the least we have never ever made even one hairdo to practice and it came to four o’clock when the curlers went into my hair. At five o’clock I had to be at the venue, so it was up to my mom to turn me into a real Tante Annie including the big hair and old-fashion curls in less than an hour. I really don’t know how she does it, because my mom never does anyone’s hair except for mine on the last day of the year, but she always manages to create a true masterpiece. Two days later it was the second of January – my birthday – and by tradition my family came by at night. Already mid December I found out I had to make a video for a job application I had done, however I also knew the deadline was January 3rd, giving me all the time to record that video the following day, right? A certain restless feeling got me checking the e-mail again, just in case. And there it was, clearly stated in bold letters: before January 3rd. Aight. I had just finished recording it (it took a few takes as it was complete improvisation) when everybody came stumbling in. Safe to say you can call me the Queen of Last-Minute.

That’s not something I know, but rather something my intuition has told me ever since I was born

Before you start thinking now, oh my Lord, wat a chaotic girl, I do want to sketch a fair picture. Because never ever have I missed a deadline in my life, I’ve never lost my passport, I memorise all birthdays, I organise perfect parties down to the last detail, I always arrive very much in time for a flight, and I have a great memory: my friends always check with me when that party holiday to Croatia took place again or when we had our first Christmas dinner. Yet, a little bit of chaos is what I like: I need to feel the pressure of an approaching deadline to have my creativity to start flowing. When I start thinking too long and too much about a task, the outcome will always be negatively impacted. That’s not something I know, but rather something my intuition has told me ever since I was born. My mom always tells me that when I was a toddler, I only found my peace to go and play quietly after I had distributed the contains of the boxes of lego, doll clothes and other toys all over the floor. In the midst of this chaos, I would sit down and make a drawing. Needless to say, my mom wasn’t always too happy about this particular habit of mine.

My theory: if you don’t need to catch a particular bus at a certain hour, you can never miss it

So when my dad took me to the airport last Tuesday and he asked me how I would get home from the airport in Rome (bus? taxi? train?) I didn’t have an answer yet, because I only figure out those details the moment I actually arrive. My theory: if you don’t need to catch a particular bus at a certain hour, you can never miss it. That keeps my stress levels down. So when I had just explained this self-conceived logic to an Italian friend this weekend, she bursted out in a hysterical laughter asking me whether I was sure to be Dutch. Well, I guess that friend at my birthday dinner was right: I fit right in here in Italy. Tutto a posto, niente in ordine…