Friendships.

25. Two little boys, around six or seven years old, are wedged tightly in a 1.5 seat, the kind that seems to be on every bus here in Brussels and that never fails to puzzle me every time I see. (Why 1.5? Is it for lovey-dovey couples who can neither bear the thought of being separated into two seats, nor physically squeeze into one? For the Hulk? Or, perhaps, for the Iron Man and his chunky suit, when he is in town and needs to travel by bus?)

"Comment tu t'appelles?" sings one boy, an arm draped over his friend's shoulders, the other waving in the air, loosely to the music. "Je sais pas ton nom." continues the friend, giggling while drumming fingers on the other boy's leg. "Comment tu t'appelles?", the invisible microphone is passed back to the first boy, who, too, is now drumming, but on his friend's head. "Je sais pas ton nom.", sings the second boy, switching to tapping. "Comment tu t'appelles?"... Completely oblivious about the creepy Asian girl who watches them from afar, the boys merrily perform their little musical, two-line double act for the rest of the bus ride. 

26. The English Literature section at FNAC. Seen on a little green circle sticker on a book's cover (presumably to increase readership): an arrow piercing through a heart, and below that, 
  "GREAT ROCK! 
      MUSIC! 
CRAZY PEOPLE! 
       LOVE!" 

I need to get one of these stickers for my papers. It might work. 

27. "It is purple, see?" said Mario to Luigi, while tilting his head towards a tram passenger, who was, indeed, wearing purple. "No, I am still not going to wear purple," replied Luigi. "What if Princess Peach is going to wear a pink dress?", I generously offered a bargaining chip. "I am never going to wear a pink dress," Princess Peach spoilt my deal. On the tram at almost midnight, the four of us, scientists by training, were trying to convince each other to dress up as our Super Mario Bros characters; to which end, Luigi would need to wear a green and purple suit, Princess Peach a pink dress, and Mario something red and blue. We did not, in the end, succeed in making each other look ridiculous, but we did have a very pleasant evening together.

Some four hours earlier, nine boys and girls had met up to have a leisurely dinner at the cozy Pizzeria La Bottega Della, where starter plates were mismatched and individual menus were unavailable, but the antipasti, the pizzas and the tiramisu, oh the tiramisu, were delicious. To quote Hugo, "Tonight, we are in Italy..." As we traded slices of pizzas and passed around the bottles of wine, conversations flowed easily, switching from one language to another. Between us, there were at least six nationalities, and even more languages. At one point, having graduated from the How-to-read-one-line-on-the-chalkboard-menu and the How-to-count-from-one-to-ten classes, I asked Mario for his mother tounge's version of "Whassup, maaan!"; the question later went around the table. The Italian version was, by far, the best ("Come butta, amico!"); the Portuguese version was probably as so-so as the French one (respectively, something like "Yeah-ee!" and "Zee-va!", the latter apparently supposed to be the reverse of "Vas-y!"); and the German version was... well, whatever it was, it was by unanimity the lamest. 

The good Italian wine at dinner and the Belgian beer outside a corner bar afterwards probably contributed to making the evening enjoyable, but whatever the factors were, the evening couldn't have been anything but enjoyable, after its lovely start. When Mario and I arrived at the restaurant, Gisele, Hugo and his former flatmate have already been there. After the typically European hello kisses, Mario and I took our seats, mine between Gisele's and Mario's. Wordlessly, Gisele slightly leaned over across me and showed Mario her right hand. Looking at the sparkling diamond ring on her middle finger, I wanted to say congratulations but no word immediately came. The last time I had congratulated Mario for his "engagement", it had turned out that engagement in his country did not mean the same thing as engagement in, well, the rest of the world. So now, I thought, maybe diamond rings in Belgium did not mean the same thing as diamond rings elsewhere. Maybe Gisele had bought herself an expensive ring and wanted to show Mario her great taste in jewelry. But, I knew that Hugo had planned to propose, and there was no mistaking the joyous expressions on the faces of Gisele's and Hugo's, so I congratulated the engaged couple. Later in the evening, Gisele would make fun of Hugo for his choice of vacations ("Why would you want to go on holiday to suffer, camping out in the cold and sleeping with guys?"), and Hugo would joke about to whom he wanted Gisele to pass on the engagement ring (his sister, not her mother), in the unlikely case that he would not survive the upcoming hiking trip. Listening to them bantering through the evening, I felt a sense of happiness and hope. May they have enough love, patience and kindness to be with each other for the rest of their lives.

Maybe we should campaign to get them have a Super Mario Bros-themed wedding, where Luigi will actually wear a green and purple suit. 

Students.

22. Coke break. Snow White is telling Zoe and me about her day, "So, a student rang me in my office..."

'Hi, I played football today.' said the student. 

'Mmm, and?' said Snow White.

'It was physicians versus mathematicians.'

'And why are you telling me this?'

'I thought you might have wanted to know.'

23. Three times a week, without looking at the clock I can tell that it is 5ish when Geluck, my supervisor, comes to say goodbye. Leaving work any later would mean he misses gym. Despite the workload of a full professor, Geluck goes to gym with a commitment that makes me ashamed whenever I use work to justify my lack of exercises. So it's 5ish and Geluck is saying goodbye. Because I am impolite, I ask if he could help me with a research question, "Just five minutes?"; and because he's polite, Geluck agrees. "What if I can't answer it in five minutes?" he wants to know. "Then maybe I should start thinking about getting a new supervisor." Instead of pointing out, that with my kind of responses maybe he should start thinking about getting a new postdoc, Geluck just starts working through the problem, and eventually gives me a satisfactory answer. The whole process takes him an hour and a half, but I am not thinking about getting a new supervisor.

24. Tintin is transferring his clothes from the washing machine, located in the bathroom, to the drying rack. I am helping him. Watching my friendly behavior, Gaston can barely contain his giggles, "Someone needs to use the toilet!" 

It is safe to say that there will be no romanticism between Gaston and me in London next week, sharing a hotel room or not.

Logic.

19. During a Twix break under the sun with Zoe.

"I'm not going to cook just for two people. Actually, I'm not going to cook for you. It's like, I don't like to cook just for myself, and when there are only you and me, there is really only you. And, you are like myself, so I'm not going to cook for you."
[...]

"With the metro, you can't see anything. With the bus, you can. So I prefer the bus. Actually, I prefer the bike."

"Maybe you can give me a ride on your bike there?"

"No, it's strictly a one-person bike, so it's only for myself. And, by myself, I mean me, not you."

20. "She's a nurse," wrote my mother.

21. It's 4 pm, and all offices in my half of the corridor are wide open. Wonder Woman is standing in front of her office, I in front of mine. She is asking if I have her sandwich. Because she is Wonder Woman, she has been in back-to-back classes and meetings since 8 am, therefore having no time for lunch. Because I am me, I have been bumming around since 8 am, therefore having plenty of time to pick up sandwiches for both of us, plus Rainbow, who has kindly invited me to have lunch in her office. Located between Wonder Woman's and mine, Rainbow's awesome office has everything under the sun, including an enviable couch, a stuffed fish, a bathroom scale, and a Coke-filled bar fridge. Remembering this last part, I tell Wonder Woman that yes, I have her sandwich, and, "Oh, and let's buy some Coke from the office of..." 

Then come the longest seven seconds of my day. Staring at Rainbow's open door and feeling completely embarrassed, for the life of me I cannot remember what her name is.  I keep wanting to say Kate but I know Kate is French, and although Rainbow can practically point at any country on the map and legitimately claim to be from there, Rainbow is not French. 

Rainbow might never invite me to have lunch with her again. 

Steps.

16.  "So, do you think you'll join me for the running class on Tuesdays?" I am asked. 

"Maybe."

"The teacher - the coach? How do you call it? - he's yoong." 

"He's what?"

"Yoong. That would be a good argument for you to come." 

"It would?"

"Yes. And, he's almost handsome." 

As I try not to point out that a mother would actually be offended if her child is said to be almost normal, I wonder which was supposed to be the winning factor, yoong or almost handsome.

17. Hearing those familiar steps. You'd think that what with being in the same office forever and a day, I can recognize most of my colleagues's steps. In reality, headphones on or not, practically the only person I can usually tell without looking up is Miss Santa Claus, and even then, it's because of her keys, not of her steps. This morning reminded me that there's another person I can always tell without looking up, even if I haven't seen her for most of the last six months. Recognizing Kate's steps made me happy, partly because it means that my speech step recognition is not totally crap, mainly because it means that she's here.

18. We just come out of the Schuman Metro. Kate starts to make a turn, and before she completes the second step, I stop her. "Well, I don't know where this Rue Archimède thingy is, but it is not in that direction", I wave my arm in the general direction opposite to the Schuman Building. Spotting the needed street sign nearby, Kate admits that I am right. "I know", smugly, I say. "I actually live here."

"Mmmm", Kate smiles, and walks over Rue Archimède, in the elegant way that French girls, annoyingly, can always pull off. Navigating through the construction site that takes up most of the beginning of Rue Archimède, I tell Kate that this street looks like a nothing place. Kate smiles again, and as we walk on, she introduces me to crowded outdoor pubs and fancy restaurants, one after another.