The Pineapple

Life Was Not Meant to Be Balanced. It Was Meant to Matter.

By Mayor

This month’s theme is Balance.

A few days ago, I found myself standing at the finish line of a 100-kilometre walk.

I wasn’t the one doing the walking.

That honour belonged to Fabrice.

After hours of putting one foot in front of the other, he finally crossed the line, medal earned, challenge completed, looking remarkably alive for someone who had just walked a distance that most sensible people would prefer to drive.

What struck me wasn’t only the achievement.

It was what happened afterwards.

I met his wife for the first time.

Now, there is nothing particularly unusual about meeting someone’s spouse.

Except that Fabrice and I live roughly 300 metres apart.

Three hundred metres.

A distance that takes longer to describe than it does to walk.

Yet it took a 100-kilometre challenge for our paths to cross in that particular way.

The mind boggles.

Modern life is strange.

We can live beside people for years and barely know them.

Then a shared experience suddenly creates a connection that geography never managed to achieve.

As I stood there watching Fabrice celebrate, I found myself thinking about balance.

Not because he looked balanced.

Quite the opposite.

Walking one hundred kilometres sounds suspiciously like the sort of thing balance experts might advise against.

There is nothing moderate about it.

Nothing carefully measured.

Nothing comfortably positioned inside a wellbeing handbook.

It is difficult.

Demanding.

Perhaps even slightly absurd.

Yet nobody watching him cross that finish line was thinking:

“That man should have tried harder to avoid effort.”

Instead, they saw pride.

Commitment.

Achievement.

A challenge accepted and completed.

A story worth telling.

And that thought stayed with me.

Because while Fabrice was walking one hundred kilometres, I had spent the previous two Sundays doing something equally difficult to explain.

I was rebuilding a potato.

The potato in question is called Spuddy.

Spuddy is one of those Brida tools that began as a potato joke and somehow became part of the operating system. Naturally, rebuilding it took two Sundays.

Over those two Sundays, I disappeared into systems, documents, workflows, member care ideas, and enough notes to make a filing cabinet nervous.

If somebody had looked over my shoulder, they would not have described the experience as relaxing.

It was work.

Deep work.

The sort of work that requires concentration, patience, and an alarming number of documents.

Yet when I finally emerged from my mountain of potatoes, I felt remarkably similar to how Fabrice looked at the finish line.

Tired.

But satisfied.

Spent.

But somehow replenished.

Which made me wonder whether we sometimes misunderstand balance.

We often talk about balance as if it means reducing effort.

Work less.

Stress less.

Push less.

Do less.

And there is certainly wisdom in knowing when to stop.

But perhaps the problem is not effort itself.

Perhaps the problem is effort without meaning.

Human beings are capable of extraordinary effort when they understand why they are making it.

A man walking one hundred kilometres.

A founder spending two Sundays rebuilding a potato.

A friend keeping a promise.

A community showing up.

The effort remains.

The tiredness remains.

The challenge remains.

But the feeling afterwards is completely different.

Meaning changes the weight of things.

Without meaning, even small tasks can feel exhausting.

With meaning, people willingly carry astonishing loads.

Some of the happiest moments in life are not the easiest ones.

They are the moments when we are fully engaged in something that matters.

Perhaps that is also why communities matter.

Not because they eliminate effort.

Not because they make life easy.

But because they help us discover what is worth carrying.

Sometimes that happens at a table.

Sometimes at a finish line.

Sometimes inside a ridiculous document system named after a potato.

A hundred-kilometre walk.

A conversation.

A promise.

A friendship.

A strange little international community.

The people who stand at the finish line.

The people who cheer.

The people who notice.

The people who help us remember why we started.

Which brings me back to balance.

I used to think balance meant avoiding extremes.

Now I am less certain.

After all, one of us spent the weekend walking one hundred kilometres.

The other spent two Sundays happily rebuilding a potato.

Neither activity would appear in a brochure for relaxation retreats.

Yet both left us with the same thing.

The quiet satisfaction that comes from investing ourselves in something worthwhile.

Perhaps life was never meant to be perfectly balanced.

Perhaps it was meant to be meaningful.

Balance is not found by removing effort from our lives.

It is found by choosing effort that matters.

The kind that leaves us tired.

And glad we did it anyway.

source

The Pineapple

After Is Better

By Fabrice

When I think back to the evening of June 5th, the first scene I remember is the start.

It was in a field. A simple field, but already full of people, movement, and energy. The first thing I saw was a big tent. The second thing was the barbecue area, which was very nice. And then I saw the start line.

Before the walk began, the organisation made a speech. Then four parachutists jumped into the field. After that, two planes passed over us. It felt serious and exciting at the same time. I did not really know what to expect. I only knew one thing: I was going to start.

At five minutes to six, the gun went off.

Then I said to myself, “Okay. Let’s go for 100 kilometres.”

At the start, we were like sheep. Everybody together. Many people, many feet, many small steps. But after one or two hours, the group began to spread out. People found their own rhythm. The 100 kilometres became real under my feet.

For the first kilometres, my mind was simple. I did not think about the whole night, or the 21 to 23 hours I had calculated before. I only thought, “Let’s go.” That was enough.

I had not slept much before the event. From Thursday to Friday, I slept maybe three or three and a half hours. I was excited. On Friday morning, I got up at 8:00 and went to a sports shop because my GPS had a problem. They repaired it. Then I went home, ate, took a shower, and later I brought my car to the finish. After that, I went to the start line.

We arrived early, around four o’clock. We relaxed a little. I even slept under a tree while we waited for the departure. Then came the speech, the parachutes, the planes, and finally the gun.

There were 71 people registered for the 100 kilometres, and 40 for the 17 kilometres. But only 55 started the 100 kilometres. At the end, only 34 finished. Twenty-one people stopped between 30 and 80 kilometres. Most had foot problems, muscular problems, or blisters.

I also had problems. Not with my legs. My legs were okay. My muscles were okay. My breathing was okay. The only real problem was the soles of my feet. I had two big blisters and many little blisters. The feet were the battlefield.

The night was one of the most beautiful parts of the walk.

We spent two or three hours in the forest. It was very quiet. There were four of us walking together. We had red lights, a small path, and almost no noise. Just our steps, a little talking, and an owl. That silence in the night forest stayed with me. It was very, very nice. I loved that.

During the night, the temperature was perfect for walking. Not too cold, not too warm. The mood was good. The silence was good. My energy was still okay. The only problem was my feet.

But the route was hard. Maybe 60 or 70 percent was asphalt or concrete. That was very difficult for the feet. Asphalt and concrete are not friendly after many hours. They do not forgive you.

But the route was hard. Maybe 60 or 70 percent was asphalt or concrete. That was very difficult for the feet. Asphalt and concrete are not friendly after many hours. They do not forgive you.

And then there was the GPS.

The first time, it was my fault. I looked at the GPS and thought I was right. After one kilometre, I saw that I should have turned left one kilometre before. So we had to go back.

The second time, the GPS froze. I kept going and suddenly I was in a village where I should not be. So I made maybe five or six kilometres more than planned. It was not exactly 100 kilometres for me. It was a little more.

But in the army, we say, when you are lost, okay, you are lost. But you are lost together.

I walked from the beginning to the end with Marc. He is 64 years old. He had not really trained for the 100 kilometres. One week before the trail, he simply said, “Okay, I am going.” So we went together. From the first step to the last step. We also got lost together.

Marc helped me a lot. He made jokes. He talked. He spoke about everything. During 27 hours, you have time to speak about everything. You also have time to think about everything. Memories, life, family, priorities, your body, your weakness, your will.

I ate very simply. One banana, two or three apples, protein bars, one cake, and some glucose. I drank water and electrolytes. I also drank Coca-Cola. Normally, I never drink Coca-Cola, but that Saturday I think I drank more Coca-Cola than I usually drink in one year.

Every 10 or 12 kilometres, there was a checkpoint, like a pit stop. There was water, biscuits, bread, fruit, sugar, and sometimes small things that helped. You eat, you drink, and then you go again.

But stopping was dangerous.

When I stopped, it was good for the feet. For ten or fifteen minutes, the pain became quiet. But when I stood up again, the first ten minutes were very hard. Very hard. My feet did not want to start again. I thought an 80-year-old grandpa could walk faster than me.

The hardest moment was between 50 and 60 kilometres.

I do not know exactly why. I had already done 50 kilometres, and that was not the problem. But it was long. Very long. The mind begins to go down. Many people feel this between 50 and 60 kilometres. You begin to think, “I stop. This is enough.”

I also had this thought.

Then after 60 kilometres, I told myself, “Okay. I go to 70.” Then I said, “I go to the next checkpoint.” Then I said, “My wife is waiting.” And step by step, I continued.

At checkpoint 8, near the border, Marion was there with a friend. Before the walk, Marion had told me something very important. She said, “If I come to you and you are not okay, I must not say stop. I must motivate you.”

So when I arrived, I was tired. I sat down. Marion’s friend came to me and said, “Fabrice, 100 kilometres is 100 kilometres.”

That was the sentence.

Not 83 kilometres. Not 90 kilometres. Not almost. 100 kilometres is 100 kilometres.

So I stood up. I turned to the right side. And I went.

After that, I walked slower. Maybe four kilometres per hour, because my feet were painful. But I continued.

The Mayor had asked me before if I thought about the sentence I had said the week before: “After is better.” Yes, I thought about it. But mostly after 70 kilometres. I told myself, “After is better.” When you are finished, it is better. When it is done, it is better.

And I saw something else that helped me.

I saw younger people stop. People of 20, 30, 40 years old. Strong people. They stopped. I am 59, and I continued. That gave me something. I said to myself, “You can do it.”

There were many strong people on that route. Some walked very fast. The first person finished in about 18 hours and 20 minutes. That is incredible. But my first benchmark is not that. My first benchmark is under 24 hours.

This time I finished in 27 hours.

For me, that is not okay. I am happy I finished, yes. But I wanted under 24 hours. So I learned something important. My body and my mind told me I must train harder. Not just train, but train harder. Faster walking, stronger preparation, more discipline.

I had only trained for ten weeks before this 100 kilometres. Now I know that is not enough for the result I want.

The landscape changed during the walk. At night, the forest was beautiful. Later, there were fields, villages, hills, and roads. On the French side, there was almost no forest. Fields, villages, fields again. After many hours, I did not really look left or right anymore. There was only the way.

There were some climbs too. Not mountains, but after 80 kilometres, even a small climb is hard. In the beginning, a climb is hard. At the end, it is harder. Much harder.

When people ask me now, “How was the 100 kilometres?” my honest first answer is simple.

Hard.

That is the first word. Hard.

Then I can say it was interesting. Then I can say it was a very good experience. But the first word is hard.

At the finish, I was not thinking about glory. I was thinking about my shoes. I wanted to take off my shoes. That was the most important thing.

After the walk, I still went to a birthday party. Later, around midnight, I went home. I took a big container with cold water, took off my shoes and socks, and put my feet in the water for 15 or 20 minutes. Then I slept outside under the canopy. Not in bed. Under the canopy.

The next morning, I showered. In the evening, I put my feet in cold water again, dried them, and slept under the canopy again. Marion spoke to me, but I was already asleep.

My body was tired, but my mind was already working.

Because now I know I can do 100 kilometres.

I also know I can do it better.

This walk showed me my weakness. It showed me my feet, my preparation, my limits, and my mind. But it also gave me more. I think this was not my only 100 kilometres. I think I must make a second one.

Maybe next year. Maybe another march before that. I do not know yet.

But I know one thing.

100 kilometres is 100 kilometres.

And after is better.

source

The Pineapple

Four Countries at One Table

By Ismar; Ritesh

We began with weather, because sometimes weather is the easiest way to make strangers less strange.

In Campo Grande, Ismar said it was 18 degrees Celsius. In Aleppo, Abdullah said it was 35 degrees, and then he added, almost with a smile in his voice, that their heads melt under the sun. In France, The Mayor was somewhere in the middle, with clouds and 24 degrees. Ritesh was not yet with us. He was stuck in Bangalore traffic, which also felt like a kind of weather, only made by humans.

So before we even spoke about health and lifestyle balance, we were already inside it. Heat, traffic, time zones, noise, windows, no windows, and the small difficulties of arriving together from different parts of the world.

Abdullah told us that in Syria there had been no winter time for a few years now, only summer time, but some servers or systems still seemed confused. We understood this in our own way. Time is not only on the clock. It is also in countries, in governments, in old systems that continue to behave as if nothing has changed. The Mayor said that even after many years he still gets confused when Europe moves between winter and summer time, especially because he works east and west. We laughed a little, but it was also true. Balance can begin with something very practical: knowing what time it is for the other person.

Then The Mayor explained to Abdullah how Brida works. It is not a language school, he said. It is international conversations for people who have something to say. English is the bridge because we are global, but the real learning comes when the topic matters so much that people forget they are speaking English. We liked that, because this is what happened with us also. We did not come to perform English. We came with our lives.

The theme was balance. June was balance, July would be rest, and there was already a plan of themes until 2030. This sounded both very organized and very human, because inside that long structure there was still space for the conversation to move where it needed to move. The questions were there like a lighthouse, The Mayor said, but if someone said something interesting, the conversation could follow that. We felt this was important. Too much structure can kill a conversation, but no structure can also make people lost. One side is freedom, the other side is direction.

When Abdullah was asked what healthy lifestyle meant to him, he said food, sleep, exercise, habits, waking up early, eating healthy food. He said waking up early meant five or six in the morning, though he admitted he was not always doing it. He was an early bird, but sleeping early was difficult. His neighbourhood was noisy, and his room had no windows. The Mayor joked that he had too many windows in France and would send him some. It was a small joke, but it stayed with us. For one person, windows are a cleaning problem. For another, no windows are part of daily life.

Ismar took the question in another direction. He agreed that food matters, but he added what we read, what we watch, who we talk to, and who we live with. Also smoking, alcohol, drugs. This was very Ismar. He does not only look at the plate. He looks at the system around the plate. He said that even seniors can be influenced by what they watch, even if only in a small degree. On Instagram, if he watches one post about a car accident, the algorithm shows him more car accidents. If he watches war, it shows him more war. He was not dramatic about it. He was simply observing. But there was a warning inside his observation: what we consume can start consuming us.

Abdullah understood this from a younger perspective. He said ads on Instagram can make him go and buy things. He also spoke about short videos, memes, ridiculous things, things that make us laugh but do not give benefit. He said he spends between one and a half and two hours a day on short content. Not long content. Only short content. We recognized ourselves there also. Maybe in different countries, with different apps, but the same small trap. We say we have no time, but sometimes we have given our time away in pieces.

When The Mayor asked whether this could be escapism from reality in Syria, Abdullah did not make it too dramatic. He said maybe the problem is time management. Half an hour a day would be fine, but two hours is too much. We appreciated that. He did not turn it into a big philosophy. He made it practical.

Then we spoke about mornings. Ismar said he feels more energetic in the morning, though he does not like getting up too early. Normally he gets up at 7 a.m. In the afternoon and night, he feels more sleepy. Sometimes he takes a nap, depending on what he has to do. Abdullah said the sun rises around 5:15 in Aleppo. If he wakes up at that time, he feels full of energy. He might walk, do sports, or complete tasks that have been waiting for a long time. But later, around two or three in the afternoon, the city is crowded, the sun is strong, and he feels turned off. Sometimes he needs a nap. In Aleppo, office hours are often eight to two or three. The Mayor joked that this was paradise, a seven-hour working day, and that he might move to Syria.

Ismar explained that in Campo Grande there is no big variation in work rhythm according to season. Brazil once had summer time, but since Bolsonaro’s government they do not have it. He personally liked summer time, though many people did not. People may work from eight to six, or in civil construction from seven to five. Again, we saw how health is not just individual discipline. It is climate, work, transport, government decisions, history.

Ismar explained that in Campo Grande there is no big variation in work rhythm according to season.

Then the conversation became more dangerous, because sugar arrived.

The Mayor asked Abdullah if he was fit and healthy. Abdullah answered honestly. He eats a lot of sugar. He drinks some soda. He does not smoke. In Syria, he said, people consume many carbohydrates. Bread is everywhere: breakfast, lunch, sometimes dinner. There is a saying: eat some bread or you will never feel full. They have many jams, even rose jam. Any fruit can become jam. The Mayor asked whether this was climate or culture. Abdullah thought maybe it was economy. Bread is cheaper.

This opened something in us. Health advice often sounds simple when people have choices. Reduce sugar. Eat fresh food. Buy organic. Walk more. But when bread is the affordable thing, when fruit and vegetables are expensive, when daily life is built around what fills the stomach, advice becomes less simple. We have to be careful before judging someone’s plate.

Ismar said his breakfast was healthy according to his parameters: fruit salad, sometimes bread with cheese, sometimes granola and honey, sometimes a boiled egg, but not every day. No alcohol. No soft drinks. Water, sometimes cappuccino, sometimes fruit juice. Ismar’s discipline felt quiet but firm. He was not showing off. He had simply made rules for himself.

Then Abdullah and Ismar spoke briefly about language. Ismar asked if Abdullah spoke Arabic as a first language. Abdullah said yes, and that he graduated from the English department and took many online courses to improve his accent. When Ismar said he could not hear the usual Arabic accent he had heard from others, Abdullah felt flattered. It was a small moment of recognition, and maybe it mattered more than it seemed. To work on something and have someone notice it is also a form of health.

When Ritesh joined, the circle became complete: Brazil, France, Syria, India. He apologized for being late, blaming Bangalore traffic, which by now we all accepted as its own character. He introduced himself as living in Bangalore, working in a software company as a technical writer, and then he shared good news: he might be transitioning into product next month as a product analyst. He had applied internally, gone through the interview process, been selected, and his current team had agreed to release him. We felt happy for him. The Mayor said Brida would celebrate when it became official.

The Mayor also mentioned a community member who had walked 100 kilometers, starting Friday evening and finishing Saturday night after 27 hours. The fastest person had completed it in about 18 and a half hours. The Mayor wondered whether he should train for a year and try it next year. Ritesh immediately said he should. It would motivate people like us to exercise more and pursue our hobbies. This is Ritesh’s way sometimes: he sees one person’s challenge not only as personal achievement but as something that can pull others forward.

Then sugar returned through marriage.

Abdullah had said that in Syria, if someone avoids sugar or bread, people may ask if they are getting married soon. It applies more to women, but also to men. The Mayor turned to Ritesh, who had been married around 14 or 15 months, and gently observed that he had become a little fuller since enjoying his wife’s cooking. Ritesh did not resist. He said he was trying to reduce his weight and walk more. When he was at home with his parents, his mother kept giving him things to eat, especially sweet things, because from childhood she knew he loved sweets. In their house they had buffaloes and cows, and milk was given with jaggery or sugar. His wife tried to control this, but there was always a conflict. His mother insisted; his wife resisted briefly; then she had to give up. Ritesh asked his wife to respect his mother’s wishes. Now back in Bangalore, he had time to work on his health. He had gained maybe five or six kilos since marriage.

There was something very Indian in this, but also very universal. Food is love, control, memory, authority, marriage, childhood, and health all mixed together. One side is mother’s care. Other side is wife’s concern. One side is tradition and affection. Other side is discipline and future health. Nobody is fully wrong, but the body still carries the result.

The Mayor suggested a Brida motivational fitness programme. Abdullah said it would motivate him, but he did not think he could do it. Sugar was too addictive. Reducing it would take willpower. Ismar gave advice, but in his usual way, more like a sentence from experience than a motivational speech: we are today the result of what we did yesterday, and tomorrow will be the result of today. He said sugar is known as a catalyst for cancer, and reducing it can reduce risk. It was a scary thought, but he did not use fear only. He said sweets are delicious, so it is not easy. Maybe one can make an agreement with oneself: not every day, perhaps one or two days a week, then reduce from time to time until reaching a reasonable amount. Not easy, but necessary to try.

Abdullah began to think in steps: first reduce half the sugar in tea, then reduce bread. Ritesh explained that at home in Bangalore, his wife controls many things. They try not to make sugary tea or coffee. But Indian sweet dishes like payasam or sevai still happen weekly, and they need sugar. At the office, lunch is free, and weekly sweets are provided. Also colleagues share food from their plate. If someone gives half a sweet, saying no becomes difficult. We understood this too. Health is not only in the kitchen. It is in politeness, in friendship, in not wanting to reject someone’s gesture.

Then obesity came into the conversation. Ismar said Brazil does have a problem, not as severe as the United States, but many fat people, especially young people. He did not know of public awareness campaigns. In supermarkets, he sees carts filled with bottles of soft drinks and packets of salty snacks like Cheetos, and he asks himself why people consume so much of this kind of food. Abdullah said obesity is not a big problem in Syria, especially for people who have to walk a lot. People who sit for long hours are more likely to become obese. Teachers, he said, are usually not obese; people who sit in supermarkets or at computers may be. The Mayor suggested Syria’s future could be rebuilt around walking and cycling. Abdullah said it was a good idea theoretically, but they do not have bike lanes.

Ritesh said India does have an obesity problem, especially in big cities like Bangalore, Mumbai, and Delhi. In the park in the morning, he sees many people with bellies and visceral fat, whether 60-plus or around 30 like him. In villages, especially his native place, older people are less obese because they work physically and can walk two or five kilometers if needed. The younger generation will take a bike even for one kilometer. He said children are also facing this issue. There is no strong government programme, though there is social media activism. For IT workers in metro cities, the problem is sitting eight or nine hours with only small breaks. He also mentioned food labelling problems in India, saying labels are not always accurately presented.

Then we turned toward European food from outside eyes. Ismar said he sees European food in general as healthy, and French gastronomy as famous around the world. But he also thought of German greasy meats, beer, and wine, and European countries drinking a lot of wine. Abdullah said his uncle lives in Germany and has German nationality, so he hears about obesity there, and about chocolate, German or Swiss. France, for him, brings images of different breads and small portions in restaurants, maybe media stereotypes: a tiny amount of food placed beautifully on the plate. The Mayor corrected the image gently. Not everyone in France sits in a café in the morning with red wine, cigarette, croissant, and coffee. Many people eat cornflakes and ordinary cereals like everyone else.

Ritesh spoke from the Indian lens. For him, Western food often feels like it has no taste. It may be eaten for energy, health, or nutrition, but in India food must give pleasure. A potato cannot just be a potato. It needs salt, spices, curry, something that makes it food. He gave the example of his diabetic mother. They tell her not to eat sugary things, but she says she is not getting the taste of eating. This is not only her. In India, food is taste, pleasure, satisfaction, not only nutritional value. He also said Western food in Indian restaurants often feels overpriced. People pay more for the experience than the actual value of the food. A small dish with leaves and presentation becomes expensive.

The Mayor connected this to high-end dining, Michelin-star chefs, tiny portions, marketing, and food as lifestyle experience. Then he moved to affordability. In some places, unhealthy processed food is cheaper than fresh produce. Ismar said in Brazil natural food is more expensive than industrialized food, and organic food is even more expensive. The typical Brazilian lunch is rice, beans, and meat, but poor people do not eat meat every day. Some eat rice and beans, or rice, or eggs. Even though Brazil is one of the world’s big meat producers, meat is not affordable for everyone. A kilo of first-class meat may cost around six or seven or eight US dollars, and better cuts are for richer people. For someone earning minimum salary, especially with a family, meat every day is not possible. Ismar supposed producers control the price. He said government attempts to fix prices during high inflation decades ago did not work. In Brazil, he said, that kind of system does not work.

In Syria, Abdullah said healthy eating is not affordable for many. Bread is central. By the time of our conversation, he had eaten four Syrian flatbreads, maybe 200 or 300 grams in total. For lunch he had a cheese sandwich. Dinner would probably be rice with something. Fruits and vegetables are expensive. In the last few months, maybe things have become easier for some people, but not simply. Then Abdullah had to leave because the meeting had been expected at a different time. He thanked us and said he enjoyed the conversation. We felt that his windowless room, his 35-degree Aleppo afternoon, his bread, his students, his sugar, and his honesty had all become part of our table.

At the end, Ritesh spoke about affordability in India. For him and his wife, food is manageable because his family produces food. But India, he said, is a protein-deficit country. In the north, many do not eat cow or buffalo. Some eat goat, chicken, or eggs, but many are vegetarian and do not eat eggs. People depend mainly on pulses for protein, which are cheaper and available, but many still do not eat what the body actually requires. The stomach may be full, but nutrients may not be enough. That line stayed with us: full stomach, not full nutrition.

By then the connection was lagging, and we were tired in different time zones. Ritesh needed to go and enjoy his wife’s cooking. Ismar had his day ahead of him. The Mayor promised to report back on his Indian cooking experience after Saturday. Next week would be social balance.

When we left, we had not solved health and lifestyle balance. Of course not. How could we? Brazil has its supermarkets and expensive meat. Syria has heat, bread, and expensive vegetables. India has taste, family pressure, traffic, IT work, and protein questions. France has gastronomy, cornflakes, and a man wondering whether he should walk 100 kilometers next year.

But maybe we understood something. Health is not just willpower. It is culture, economy, weather, work, family, algorithms, politeness, childhood, and what is available in the shop when money is low. It is also friendship, because sometimes someone like Ismar says, reduce slowly. Someone like Abdullah says, maybe I can start with half the sugar. Someone like Ritesh says, you should try the 100 kilometers because it will motivate us. And someone like The Mayor keeps the lighthouse visible while letting the conversation go where life takes it.

We came from four countries, but we did not sit as representatives of countries only. We sat as people with bodies, habits, cravings, jokes, worries, and small hopes. Maybe that is already a kind of balance.

source

The Pineapple

Rainbows, Rooftop Pools, and the Search for Emotional Balance

By Nathalie; Rosii

Some Lunch conversations arrive quietly.

No dramatic debates. No dragons to train. No rebellious vegetables offering life advice. Just a table of familiar faces scattered across continents, connecting through occasionally stubborn internet connections and carrying the ordinary emotions that come with ordinary lives.

Which, as it turns out, was exactly the point.

This week we gathered to talk about emotional balance, a topic that landed at our table with almost suspicious timing. Nathalie was joining us from Seoul, somewhere between four years in South Korea and a future in Ghana. Rosie arrived nursing a headache. Fruitloop was steering the conversation. And the Mayor was already mentally preparing for tomorrow’s potato peeling.

In other words, life was happening.

The meeting began with technology reminding us who is really in charge. Nathalie’s connection struggled despite having 5G. The Mayor immediately informed her that South Korea was clearly behind the times because everyone else had apparently upgraded to “25G” already. This diagnosis was delivered with complete confidence and absolutely no scientific evidence.

Fortunately, the weather was behaving much better than the internet.

Nathalie described beautiful sunshine, calm surroundings, and a peaceful moment before another major chapter of life begins. Meanwhile, preparations continued for the famous Hunspach Summer fête, where the Mayor promised to look for familiar faces, and possibly Nathalie, although he suspected Nathalie would be still be in South Korea. The weather forecast looked perfect: twenty-four to twenty-five degrees and plenty of opportunity for celebration.

From there, Fruitloop guided us toward the heart of the discussion.

What exactly is emotional balance?

Nathalie reflected on the challenge of navigating positive emotions, negative emotions, worries, hopes, and everything in between. Sometimes, she suggested, we build protective walls around ourselves—not because we don’t feel deeply, but because feeling everything all at once can become overwhelming.

Rosie approached the question differently. She reminded us that not every emotion belongs to us. Sometimes someone else’s anger arrives in the room and we accidentally pick it up as if it were our own luggage. Understanding that distinction, she suggested, can make emotional life much easier.

Sometimes someone else’s anger arrives in the room and we accidentally pick it up as if it were our own luggage.

The Mayor, naturally, took a balanced approach to balance itself.

Whether we experience success or failure, he argued, emotional balance matters. Too much success can make us boastful. Too much failure can make us miserable company. The secret, perhaps unsurprisingly, lies somewhere in the middle.

As the conversation unfolded, bigger questions emerged.

Can moving to a new country improve emotional balance?

Nathalie answered with the honesty of someone living through exactly that experience. Leaving one life behind while stepping into another is profoundly destabilising. There is excitement, uncertainty, reluctance, anticipation, and fear all mixed together. The challenge is learning how to carry those emotions without letting them carry us.

Can emotional balance be learned?

Rosie was convinced it can. Every emotion teaches us something, she said. The important part is understanding what that lesson might be.

The Mayor, meanwhile, confessed that he might not be the ideal spokesperson for emotional balance because he was still trying to locate the source of a mysterious cat-pee smell in his house. Nevertheless, he offered an observation about emotionally balanced people: sometimes they can be difficult to read. His sister-in-law, he explained, always appears perfectly neutral. By the time you realise how she feels about something, the conversation is already over.

The discussion wandered, as good Lunch conversations do, between practical realities and bigger reflections.

Physical health, Nathalie reminded us, has a powerful impact on emotional well-being. A healthy body can strengthen the mind, just as mental resilience can sometimes support physical recovery. Fruitloop agreed, pointing to exercise, movement, and healthy habits as important contributors to emotional calm.

Rosie added that understanding our emotions and controlling them are not opposing ideas. They work together. Asking ourselves why we feel something can often reveal more than the emotion itself.

Not every answer was serious.

When asked whether humour could be a serious tool for emotional balance, the Mayor surprised us with a firm no. Humour, he argued, is deeply personal. What one person finds hilarious, another may find confusing, offensive, or simply unfunny. Besides, humour can sometimes act like a bandage—it covers the wound without fixing the underlying problem.

Then came the Fruitloopy questions.

And this is where emotional balance became wonderfully strange.

If emotional balance were a city, Nathalie imagined a peaceful place free from fear, filled with good intentions and good people. A beautiful utopia that probably doesn’t exist but remains worth imagining.

If emotional balance were a Brazilian festival, Rosie immediately knew what would happen. People would celebrate life itself—with music, food, smiles, friends, and enough positive energy to power an entire neighbourhood.

When asked what colour represented emotional balance, the Mayor chose not one colour but all of them. A rainbow, he said. The full spectrum. Diversity, beauty, life, and balance all existing together.

Which, if you think about it, may have been the most balanced answer of the day.

Finally, we were asked which emotion we would remove from the world for one day.

Nathalie chose anger and aggression.

Rosie agreed. Imagine, she suggested, a whole day where nobody was angry, nervous, or aggressive.

Fruitloop leaned toward jealousy and envy.

The Mayor refused to remove anything.

Without contrast, he argued, we would lose perspective. Joy means more because sadness exists. Calm means more because chaos occasionally visits. Removing an emotion, even temporarily, might do more harm than good.

And somewhere in that answer was the theme that had quietly threaded through the entire conversation.

Perhaps emotional balance isn’t about eliminating difficult emotions.

Perhaps it is about making room for all of them.

As our time together came to an end, the Mayor offered the final thought. Peace, he said, is where everything begins. Add some reggae music, Jamaican dreadlocks, and a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, and you might be getting close.

We laughed, said our goodbyes, and returned to our various corners of the world.

And maybe that’s emotional balance after all.

Not the absence of storms. Not permanent happiness. Not a city without problems or a life without change.

Just a rainbow wide enough to hold every colour.

source

The Pineapple

Money, Mistakes, and the Long Interest-Free Loan

By Alexander

Money is a strange thing.

I like money. I can say this very directly. I like money because when you have money, life feels more relaxed. You can buy things. You can do things. You do not always have to think, “Is this possible?” or “Can we afford this?” Money is not everything, of course. I know this. But when you do not have to worry about it all the time, your life is more comfortable.

But I also know something else.

You can have a good childhood even when money is always a topic in the house.

When I was a child, I did not have one big moment where I suddenly understood that adults worry about money. It was not like in a film, where one sentence changes everything. For me, it was normal. My mother often said, “We have no money. We have to save. We have to save our money.” I heard this many times. It was part of life.

But when I look back now, I understand it better. We were not poor. We lived in a big house. It was my mother’s own house. She had her own car. We had food. I had enough to play. I had a good childhood. Under the line, I can say that. I was happy.

The point was not that there was nothing. The point was that my mother had to look carefully at the money. She had to decide what we could buy this month and what we could not buy. The cash flow was sometimes critical. Maybe that is the right word. We had things, but we could not spend without thinking.

As a child, you do not always understand this in words. You understand it in small pictures.

For me, one of these pictures was a bike.

Most of my friends had bikes from brands like Cube or Ghost. Nice bikes. Good bikes. Cool bikes. I had a bike from a supermarket. My friends did not laugh at me. I do not think they cared so much. Maybe they did not even notice. But I noticed. I liked riding bikes, and I liked nice bikes. I saw the difference.

I remember when some of my friends had bikes with the first suspension systems where you could make the springs hard or soft. For me, this was a very cool thing. I looked at that and thought, yes, this is different. This is something we cannot just buy.

But I was not unhappy because of it. I did not have a bad childhood because I had a supermarket bike. Today I even think it was good that I saw this when I was a small boy. It helped me understand what is important for a child, and also what is not important.

Now I have a child myself, and I think differently about these things. I know a child sees details. Maybe he does not say it, but he sees. I also know that not every wish must be fulfilled. This is also important. But when I think about my son, I remember the feeling of standing there with my normal bike and seeing the other bikes. It stays somewhere inside.

My mother taught me a lot about money, but not the whole story.

She taught me to save. She taught me that money does not grow on trees. She taught me that you have to be careful. But after my apprenticeship, I did the opposite for a while. All the money that came in went straight out again.

I bought a car. It was new for me, but not a new car. It was used, and after that I was almost every week in the garage because something needed repair. So a lot of money went into the car. The rest went into drinks, food, bars, discos, and going out. At the end of the month, I was broke.

I did this for around three years.

At that time, I did not really budget. I knew what my mother had told me, but knowing something and living it are not the same. I think the second half of my money education came later from my girlfriend at that time. She often said, “You have to save your money.” And when I wanted to buy something, she asked me, “Do you really need this?”

This question is simple, but it is very strong.

Do you really need this?

I did not always like the question, but I needed it.

The Mayor asked me about small family habits around money. Do we compare prices? Do we talk about bills? Do we shop in a special way? At first, I thought, no, we have no special habits. We shop every Monday, but we do not go into the supermarket with a strict limit for the week. We buy what we need.

We shop every Monday, but we do not go into the supermarket with a strict limit for the week.

But then I thought more.

When I was a child and my mother said I could buy one package of Haribo, I bought one package. I do not remember asking for two or three. Maybe I was just that kind of child. Maybe I did not have the highest demands. Maybe I already understood that when my mother said one, she meant one.

There is another thing I remember.

When I got money for Christmas or birthdays from my grandma, my grandpa, my uncle, or other family members, I did not spend everything. It was normal for me to give most of it to my mother. If I got 500 euros, maybe I gave 400 to my mother and kept 100 for myself. With the 100, I could buy something. The rest was saved.

I do not know exactly why I did this. It was tradition. It was normal. I did not think, “I am very disciplined.” I just did it.

Later, this money became important. My mother had saved it for me from the beginning of my life. When I was around twenty, there was a considerable sum of money. It was a kind of nest egg. At that age, I used it for a car.

Today, I would not do it in the same way.

I bought a very new BMW. Not a brand new car, but a very new one. It was a premium car, and when I look back now, I think I needed a better car, yes, but not that kind of car. I did not need that brand. I did not need that level. Today I would buy a lower car, something practical, something good, but not premium.

When I look at this now, I see two things.

First, my mother was very good with money. Even when she said money was tight, she protected the money that belonged to me. She did not use it for herself. I respect that. I understand that more today than I did then.

Second, I made a young man’s decision. I wanted a nice car. I wanted something that felt good. Maybe I wanted to show myself that I could have it. I do not punish myself for this now, but I would not repeat it.

That is how money teaches you. Not only through advice. Through mistakes.

There was another mistake, smaller but still clear in my memory. When I was younger, I wanted a new mobile phone. My friends had newer phones, and they could play music on them. I wanted that too. I went to a shop and looked for the cheapest phone that could play music. It cost around 100 or 150 euros, and my mother bought it for my birthday.

Then I discovered that the phone could not play music in the way I wanted.

I was very sad, but I could not say it to my mother. I did not want her to be disappointed. She had bought it for me. So I lived with this phone for three years, even though I did not like it.

That was my mistake. I had looked at the wrong details.

Today, I think differently about phones. I have an old iPhone. It is seven years old now. It is slow, and it does not have the newest functions, but it still runs. And when something still runs, I find it difficult to buy a new one. I am an Apple fan, yes. I like how everything works together — phone, watch, tablet, cloud. It is easy. But I do not need to replace something only because a newer version exists.

For my mother, it is different. She has an older Samsung. It is slow. Sometimes an app needs ten seconds to open. For me, ten seconds feels long. For her, it is okay. She knows the system, and that is important. If I bought her a new iPhone, everything would be new and she would have to learn again. So sometimes the best product is not the best product. It is the product that fits the person.

Money is also about people.

After my apprenticeship, when I was broke at the end of the month, I sometimes needed money from my brother when we went to a bar or disco. He gave it to me. I did not always give it back at the beginning of the next month. Maybe I should have, but I did not.

Today, he is renovating an old house, and now sometimes money is tighter for him. When we go out, I pay. In this way, I give back what he gave me when I was younger. It was a very long interest-free loan.

This is how family often works. Not with contracts. Not with exact numbers. More with memory.

Now, in my own family, I am the financial planner. I look at the budget.

Maybe this sounds strict. I do not mean it in a hard way. I just think money has to have a place. You need rules, but you also need heart. You need to know when to say no, and when to say yes without making a big discussion.

The Mayor also asked me if I play the lottery.

No.

For me, it is too unrealistic to win one million or more. I do not like to build plans on something that almost never happens. But of course, then came the classic question. What would I do if I won the lottery?

If it was five million euros, I think I would continue working. Five million is a lot of money, but it is not enough for the big lifestyle people imagine. But if it was 70 million, that is different. Then maybe next week we would meet on my new ship in Mallorca.

Of course, The Mayor immediately wanted to be invited. And then we had to include his family and Janita with her family too. That is okay. With 70 million, this is no problem.

But this is a joke, and also not only a joke.

Because when I think about money, I see that the number is never the whole story. A supermarket bike can teach you something. A wrong mobile phone can teach you something. A BMW can teach you something. A brother paying for you at the end of the month can teach you something. A mother saving money for years, even while saying “we have no money,” can teach you something very deep.

Money makes life easier when you have enough of it. I still believe this. But money also shows character. It shows how careful you are. It shows what you value. It shows whether you think only about today or also about later. It shows whether you can enjoy something without losing control.

I am still learning this.

Maybe I learned it first from my mother, then from mistakes, then from relationships, and now from being a father. Today I want to give my son a good life. I want him to have what he needs. Sometimes also what he wants. But I also want him to understand that not everything comes immediately.

Because life is not only about having the best bike.

Sometimes it is also about remembering the supermarket bike, and understanding what it gave you.

source

The Pineapple

Apartments, Ibiza Dreams, and the Art of Balance

By Sylvie

I was good that day. Very good, actually. I was at home, and it was raining on her side, so of course Fruitloop thought, oh no, then she cannot go running. But I had already checked the weather app and gone the evening before, so that was okay.

Here, my evening was not yet decided. My husband had asked me if I wanted to go to the restaurant because we were alone, just the two of us. It sounded nice. But then he had a friend coming to finish installing the outside toilets for the pool, and I know how these things go. They finish something, then they drink a beer, then maybe another beer, and suddenly it takes longer than planned. So I thought, maybe restaurant, maybe not. And of course, I still had to go to the supermarket.

My cat was also not pleased. She hates when I have a Teams meeting. Normally she sleeps next to me, but as soon as someone calls, she moves away. Always. She goes behind the sofa, not on the sofa, behind it, on the floor, like she wants to hear nothing from anyone. I understand her sometimes.

The days before had been stressful, from Thursday until Saturday. My daughter received all the answers from the schools. She was very lucky. All the schools she had applied to gave her a positive answer, while many other students were still waiting or sitting on waiting lists. She accepted her first choice and deleted the others. Then it was suddenly real.

Thursday was a public holiday in Germany, so I spent the whole day searching for apartments, asking for visits, preparing documents, organizing everything. On Saturday morning, my husband and I had five visits in the city where she will study. Five. It was a lot, but one of them was good, and the owner accepted us. This is always the funny part. You think you choose, but in the end, the owner chooses too.

So now the rental contract is signed. It is done. Beginning of August, we get the keys. The apartment is small, of course, a student apartment, but renovated and modern. It is in a quiet place, not a big building, with a garden outside, trees, parking, and places for bicycles because many people cycle there. There is a washing machine for everyone in the building, not inside her apartment, but she can buy tickets and wash and dry her clothes there. She will have to do her own laundry. That is not a bad thing.

The kitchen is very small, and I do not think it is very functional, but my daughter says it is okay for her. So, okay. It is her apartment. I am just happy this chapter is closed for now. Other people will still be searching for weeks, maybe longer. I can breathe again.

It is in the same area as my older daughter, but still thirty to forty minutes by city train. That is fine. Maybe sometimes on Friday evenings they can come home together, not with two cars, not with two trains. We will see. It starts in September. For now, I am just happy to wait for the keys.

Fruitloop told me congratulations, and I felt it. Really. It was stressful, but it is done now, and I can relax again.

Then of course, as soon as one topic is finished, another begins. My younger daughter told me she wants to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. A few days before, she was not interested. Now suddenly she is invited everywhere, and now she is counting people. My husband and I told her, please, fix a number. Thirty people, not more. But she says it is not possible because some friends have boyfriends now. I said no, no, this is not how it works.

We will do it at home because we have a big garden and the pool, but then we need good weather. Or a tent. We have a tent, but not big enough for all the ideas she has in her head. And she does not want to celebrate with the family at the same time, so the family must be another date. Another organization. Another balance.

She will give me a list of which alcohol she wants me to buy. Fruitloop thought, maybe she should tell her friends, bring your own alcohol. She wants only a big aperitif, small foods where people stand and eat. It sounds simple when she says it, but for so many people, small food is not small work.

My older daughter had maybe six or seven people at home for her eighteenth. When she heard her sister wanted more than thirty, she was shocked. “What?” Yes. Incredible. My younger one has many friends. That is the problem. I secretly hope some of them will be on holiday. I cannot say that to her, but I hope it.

Her birthday is the last day of July, but we will probably celebrate around the seventh of August because my older daughter will be in Portugal with friends at the birthday time. My younger daughter wants her sister there, and also her sister’s friends, because they can keep an eye on the younger team. She accepts that more than if we, the parents, stand around watching. That is fine. That is also a balance.

Her birthday is the last day of July, but we will probably celebrate around the seventh of August because my older daughter will be in Portugal with friends at the birthday time.

The party theme came by Snap. Ibiza. Just Ibiza. But already she has decoration ideas. I told her, please go easy with decoration. She can pay for that herself. I know her. She will buy too much, probably from Shein. She wants money from everyone for a new phone, an iPhone of course. Not Samsung. All her friends have iPhones. Even small children now want the phone with the Apple on it. Fruitloop said her son also asked for “the one with the Apple,” even without really knowing what it is. It is funny, but also not funny, because they are expensive.

Financial balance, yes. That was the topic, but really it was already in the room before we started. Apartment, birthday, petrol, food, phones, study, travel, repair, saving. It is all the same thing. Money is not only money. It is also time, stress, family, choices.

For me, financial balance means first asking what is important. Is the financial side more important than private life, than quality of life, than health? Sometimes to have a better financial situation, you need to work more, or take a more stressful job. Then maybe you have more money, but less time, less quiet, less yourself.

I think you have to put things at the top of your list. Health. Spending time with your husband. Spending time with family. But even that often costs money. Going to dinner, going to a festival, cooking for many people. Even cooking at home for a group costs something. So you have to think about what you have, what you need, what you want, and what you want to save for later.

Saving gives peace of mind. I know that. A few years ago, when I was sick, I did not receive much money for one year. In a situation like that, you need some savings. Life always brings something unexpected. Illness, children, a car, something broken, something you did not plan. And retirement is not tomorrow, but also not so far. In France, when you retire, you receive only a small part of your actual salary, so you must think about whether you want to reduce your standard of living later.

But I do not want to live only for saving money. I want to live in the present too. My husband and I always have projects, and projects cost money. The swimming pool. The outside toilets by the swimming pool. The house. The garden. Always something.

Our oven was broken, or almost broken, but my husband did something and now it works again. For the moment. We do not have a special savings account for the oven. We see what happens. He is good with repairs. He watches YouTube videos, orders the small parts, and repairs phones and other things. He does it to save money, yes, but also for nature. It is not good to buy, buy, buy all the time.

But buying is easy. Too easy. We order so many things. Sometimes there is another package at the post, and I ask, who ordered something now?

Unexpected expenses taught me this too. When my father died, my mother had nothing because he had spent all the money. He played casino, so you can imagine. My sister, my brother, and I had to pay for the funeral. We could do it because we have good situations, but still, it was unexpected. A car can also be like that. One day it is fine, the next day broken, and if you need a bigger car because of the children, it costs a lot.

Fruitloop told me about funeral policies where she lives, where you pay a small amount each month and then there is money for the funeral, so your family is not left with everything. Here, I know there is insurance like that, but I think it is expensive and not really worth it. Better to save your own money. Insurance never lets you win money. That is not how insurance works.

Still, I understood what she meant. We do not like to think about these things, especially with children. You hope nothing happens. Driving, accidents, life. Even when there is crisis at home and you are not happy with what they do, you still worry. Always.

Budgeting is also funny because people forget the small things. Netflix, internet, fuel for the car. Credit and rent you cannot forget because they come every month. Electricity too. If you forget electricity, you will notice quickly because they will stop giving it to you. But children’s hobbies, that is another story. When children grow, they cost more. And when they study, it costs more again.

We are lucky in France because my daughter’s school is free. It is a university, so there are only small fees. Many private schools cost a lot. My nephews studied in a big trade school in Lyon, and they had to pay so much that one of them needed a student credit. A lot of students do that because they have no choice.

For my daughter, the apartment is the big cost, and then food. But in France, she can apply for help with the apartment. It does not depend in the same way on salary, and many students do it. The apartment will be in her name, and the help will be deducted from the rent. Maybe one hundred, maybe two hundred euros, I do not know yet, but it is a good help. Germany does not have this in the same way.

Fruitloop told me that where she lives, university costs are very different. You pay the fees, entry fees, books, and then still the apartment or room, food, petrol, car, everything. Some students get bursaries, some take loans. Some work in the mornings and study in the afternoons, like she did. I thought, yes, that is a lot. I am happy I do not have this big fee to pay. I could not pay that if it was like in some other countries, especially if someone studies for many years, like medicine.

My daughter says she does not want to work during weekends in the first year because she needs to concentrate on her studies. I hope she will be serious. I am confident, because when she works on something, her results are good. She is sometimes too confident, but maybe that helps her. She does not show stress like I do. Maybe she has it inside, I do not know.

I cannot manage her life. I can help her. But in the end, she has to take the decisions. She has to understand that she is organizing her own future now.

There was also the question of holidays. For Egypt, it was all-inclusive, so the budget was simple. You pay, and then there is almost nothing extra, except small things. But Martinique was different. That trip cost a lot. I saved money for it. It was after my therapy, so it had another mood. A special mood. We wanted to celebrate being together as a family. Money was not the most important thing, because I had planned and saved, and also because you do not travel to the Caribbean many times in your life. If you can do something there, do it. When you are back in France, you cannot do it anymore.

But I do not need a Michelin-star restaurant. That is not me. I prefer something special from the place, a local speciality, home cooking, something simple but real. That has more sense for me.

In Martinique, my husband and I once went into town to buy food for lunch while my daughters stayed at the house. It was Saturday, very hot, and nobody seemed to work. All the people from the small town were gathered in one place. They drank beer and rum and smoked herbs, joints, everywhere. There was a private person cooking food, and we had heard the reputation was very good.

It took three hours.

Three hours standing in the heat, waiting for takeaway food. It was completely unorganized. You stood in the queue, then when you reached the cooker, you told him what you wanted from a small menu. He cooked small quantities, one by one, and sold them. My daughters kept calling. “Where are you? How long does it take?” And we were there, in the heat, with the smell of food and smoke and rum around us.

At the end, I think we were also a little bit affected by all the smoke. Of course. We stood there for three hours.

But the food was fantastic. Really fantastic. I do not think I would do it every day, and maybe I would not wait like that again, but as an experience, it stayed with me. That is also worth something. Not luxury. Not perfect. Just something you cannot repeat unless you go back there and stand again in the heat with everyone else, waiting.

So yes, balance. Savings are important. No debt is good. Repairing is better than always buying new. Children cost money. Parties cost money. Ibiza decorations cost money. Travel costs money. But time also costs something. Stress costs something.

I prefer to have enough, to be careful, and still live. To be more quiet, if possible. To be happy with what we have. Because if you have money but no time to spend it, what is the use? And if you are too stressed to enjoy it, that is not a good thing either.

Maybe that is the real balance. Not perfect. Just enough space to breathe.

source

The Pineapple

Holiday Brain, Work Emails, and One Very Broken Dishwasher

By Babette

After three weeks away, I came back from holiday with a relaxed body, a tired brain, and maybe only half of my English vocabulary. Fruitloop was happy to see me again, and I was happy too, but I had to admit: the holiday was too short. It is always too short.

We went camping in France. I booked through Eurocamp, an English company, so on the arrival day and the departure day, I had to speak English. The lady there had a name tag and an English flag, and I thought, “Okay, this couple is maybe from England.” Later she told me she had done this job for seven years, from March until September, and then she goes back to Spain, where she has been living fifteen years. She said most guests are from Germany, some from England, and not so many from France.

I cannot speak French. I speak German and English, and a little bit Russian because I had to learn Russian for four years at school in East Germany. I can still read and write it a little, but when my colleagues speak Russian together in the kitchen, I listen and understand almost nothing.

The English small talk in France made me a little proud. I was also nervous, because the lady spoke very fast. I understand most things, but when people speak quickly, my brain must translate English into German, and then German into English again. Sometimes the words are missing. For example, we forgot our bed sheets. I knew “pillow” and “towel,” but not “sheets.” So before speaking to her, I translated the word.

Then we had another holiday surprise: the dishwasher was broken. A craftsman came the next day, but he had the wrong spare parts. So we had no dishwasher for the whole week. I was the dishwasher. On the second day, I told the children they must dry the dishes before going to the swimming pool. Next holiday, I hope we have a working dishwasher.

The weather was very hot in France, between 28 and 32 degrees. Sometimes we just sat in the camping chairs while our husbands and the children were away. But sitting for four hours and doing nothing was also exhausting. On the last day, we walked around the lake and saw beautiful tree houses and houses on the water. It was nice, but after too much sitting, I think I needed one more week of holiday.

When we came home, the second week was rainy. We wanted to do some things in the garden, but the weather was not good. We had one beautiful Sunday, but the swimming water was only 23 degrees. For me, that is too cold. I need 28 or 30 degrees. Thirty is better.

When we came home, the second week was rainy. We wanted to do some things in the garden, but the weather was not good. We had one beautiful Sunday, but the swimming water was only 23 degrees. For me, that is too cold. I

Then real life came back very quickly. After holiday, there is always so much work. I had many emails, and my supervisor made a folder with everything she had done while I was away. I still had to sort and store everything. But on Monday I met my new colleague. Finally. I was so happy I could cry. We had lunch together, and I have a good feeling. I really hope my work life will become easier now.

This is important because my days are full. I start at 5:40 in the morning. I make lunch for the children. I have maybe twenty minutes of me time with my coffee and breakfast. Then I bring my son to school, drive to the office, work six hours, drive back, and pick him up. On Monday and Wednesday, from seven until nine in the evening, I have two hours for myself. That is my me time.

Fruitloop asked me about work-life balance. I said it means being healthy, productive, and having overall well-being. She explained that it means splitting your time and energy between work, family, rest, hobbies, and play. She looked at my face and knew immediately: I do not have this balance.

My fun activity during the week is darts. That is my me time. This week I also have a tournament on Saturday. Fruitloop helped me with the word “tournament,” because after three weeks of holiday, I forgot many English words. She joked that next holiday she will call me so I must speak English on the phone.

At work, I often use DeepL. It is my best friend. When I must write to colleagues, I write in German, translate it, read the English, and then copy and paste. I try to understand it first, but I still need help. I also think I should watch movies or series in English, but it is not easy. Maybe I will download Duolingo because my son practices English with it. I also have a Kindle, so maybe next holiday I can download an English book.

Fruitloop asked if I feel guilty when I take a break from work. I said I must learn not to think about all the emails. I know I have colleagues who can help, but it takes a long time for me to trust that. Sometimes I am a perfectionist. Sometimes I would rather do the work myself because then I know it is ready.

In my old hotel job, I was always available. Now I am learning that sometimes I finish at two o’clock, and then I am not available until the next day. But I also create stress for myself. Sometimes I work longer because I want to finish all the emails, so I do not have too much the next morning. Since Monday, I know my new colleague will take the afternoon orders, and that already feels very, very nice.

At the end, Fruitloop asked what skill I need to relax. I think I need to be consistent. I need to shut my brain down, but that is not easy. When I stop thinking about work, I start thinking about cooking, cleaning, laundry, homework, beds, and everything else. The work never ends.

So I thought maybe I need a spa treatment to reset. Maybe alone. Maybe far away. Maybe even South Africa. But sadly, I do not think the health insurance will pay for that flight.

For now, I will start smaller: darts, coffee, maybe an English book on my Kindle, and hopefully, next holiday, a functional dishwasher.

source

The Pineapple

How to Maintain A Middle-Aged Human

By Manfred

Operating Manual for the Manfred Model

This model can be used on Earth and in space.

This information is important because any person attempting to operate the Manfred model should first understand that the machine has range, but also conditions. It is not a new model. It is not a luxury model. It is a practical model with experience, coffee requirements, and several internal systems that must be treated with respect.

The purpose of this manual is simple. It explains how to keep the old goat running.

The morning start-up procedure must be followed carefully. First, I climb out of bed. This sounds simple, but it is already the first technical operation of the day. Then comes the bathroom run. During this stage, I measure my weight, connect the result to the app, and receive the official system message. Depending on the result, I am either motivated or I kick myself in the butt. Both outcomes are accepted by the manual.

After this, I go to the kitchen and activate the coffee machine. This is not a luxury function. This is life-support. While the coffee machine is doing its important work, I consume my maintenance tablets. Then I take the coffee to the balcony and enjoy it together with the tobacco tube. At this point, the system begins to recognise that a new day has started.

Only after these steps can I open the office door, enter the room, and think about work. Thinking about work is already a dangerous stage, so it should not be rushed. If no alternative is available, I start work.

Nobody should hurry this model before the system has fully loaded. If the body is showing error messages, the getting-up procedure must be aborted immediately. In that case, I commence system reset and repeat until the body sends an all-clear signal. Only then do I attempt the getting-up procedure again, and even then with extreme care. This is not laziness. This is responsible machine handling.

The recommended fuel for this human is a minimum of two mugs of coffee. This is not negotiable. Coffee is fuel, system language, emotional support, and proof that civilisation has not completely failed. If the human sends a low-energy signal, or if the humour booster needed signal appears, one banana should be added. The banana is not glamorous, but it performs its duty quietly and helps prevent unnecessary collapse.

Coffee is fuel, system language, emotional support, and proof that civilisation has not completely failed.

The manual is more doubtful about some other fuel sources, but the human uses them anyway. Sometimes the brain needs a reset. For this, I empty the brain and input fresh brain food. This includes local news, regional news, international news, miscellaneous website updates, and forum updates. After this, the tobacco tube may again be enjoyed. It may not look like traditional nutrition, but the brain has its own ideas about what counts as fresh input.

Morning movement should be viewed with suspicion. Normal movement to the bathroom, the coffee machine, and other life-support units is essential, but additional movement should not be introduced too suddenly. If the watch sends a signal, I respect the signal and activate stair-climbing mode. Later in the day, usually in the afternoon or evening, I mount the two-wheeled metal donkey for its exercise routine. Some people call this a bicycle. I call it a two-wheeled metal donkey because that better describes the relationship. It carries me, but it also demands effort. This is fair, but not always convenient.

If the Manfred model sits too long, the system sends butt pain signals. These signals increase in strength. First they are polite. Then they become direct. Eventually they become unbearable, and the human reacts as programmed. This is a useful system because the brain can ignore many things, but the butt has a more direct communication style.

The first warning light appears when my brain starts the work-to-rule procedure. At that point, the brain does only the minimum. It does not volunteer. It does not produce enthusiasm. It sits inside the head with folded arms and waits for better conditions. This means fresh brain food is necessary. The correct response is to restart fresh input mode. The best places for this procedure are the bathroom or anywhere with the tobacco tube.

Some warning lights are difficult to describe. I do my best. More I cannot do. Some warning lights are noticed, some are understood, some are negotiated with, and some are postponed because the day has already started and the machine must continue. This is not perfect, but neither is the model.

At the time of writing, the full system scan report has not yet returned. Therefore, no official list of known bugs can be published. Unofficially, there may be one or two. Possibly more. But without the full report, I cannot make a technical statement. The manual can only say: system scan pending.

The emergency reset procedure is clear. If the situation becomes serious, I press the emergency button. This activates the eject seat procedure, and I leave the toxic zone immediately. Sometimes the correct repair is not to discuss, optimise, analyse, or remain in place. Sometimes the correct repair is to leave. When the system knows, the system knows.

The weekly maintenance schedule is also important. After four-day work mode, I activate and enjoy three-day leisure mode. This is basic machine preservation. Four days are enough for duty. Three days are needed for recovery, movement, balcony, metal donkey, brain food, and not operating continuously under pressure. If the human is used all the time, the human becomes unreliable. Even machines need service intervals.

The final warning label on this manual should be short and clear:

Warning: old goat, don’t stress.

This contains the full operating philosophy of the Manfred model. Do not stress the old goat. Give him coffee. Let the system load. Respect the warning lights. Provide fresh brain food when required. Allow the two-wheeled metal donkey to perform its exercise routine. Do not ignore butt pain signals. Use the eject seat when the zone becomes toxic. After four days of work mode, activate three days of leisure mode.

And if the body shows error messages in the morning, abort the getting-up procedure and begin again with extreme care.

This is not weakness.

This is maintenance.

source

The Pineapple

No Money, No Sunshine, and the Hedgehogs Were Busy

By Ralf the Grillmeister

Monday morning, 8th of June, just after eight o’clock, and in the north the sky was grey. Not a little bit grey. Proper grey. The sort of grey where you think, yes, some sunshine would be nice now. The Mayor had some sunshine where he was, and he said he would put a little bit in a box and send it to me. I said yes, a little bit, please.

This is how a good Monday can start. Grey outside, coffee inside, and somebody somewhere ready to send you sunshine in a box.

Also, there was the important matter of the sardines. Someone had sent me ten tins of sardines. Very good sardines. Good for my heart. At first I said four were left, then I corrected myself. No, no, six. I had eaten four. Six were still there. The Mayor already made a system in his head, of course. When I open tin number seven, then a message must go to Janita, and Janita must pass on that Ralf needs more sardines. These are the things they do in Brida. Very technical. Very emotional. Very good.

I was feeling balanced that morning. I had made coffee for my wife, like I do. That is one of the good things in my day. I stand up, I make coffee, and then the day has already a little bit of order. We were also waiting for a new dishwasher, and this made me happy. A dishwasher is not only a machine. A dishwasher is peace in the kitchen. It is less chaos, less washing, more time for the nice things. I had my first pot of coffee already, and during the morning I was drinking the second pot. So, yes, I was good.

The day was full, but not stressful. In the first half of the day, the people came with the dishwasher. In the second half of the day, I hoped the electrician would come for the last time to finish the photovoltaic system. That system had been sitting on our roof for weeks already. The panels were there. The material was there. The batteries and all the electric parts were there. Twenty-two thousand euros of material, but no electricity coming from the sky yet.

For me, this was not real stress. It was more a little waiting game. The sun was not shining anyway, so I could laugh about it. But of course, when you pay for a photovoltaic system, you want also photovoltaic electricity, not just a decoration on the roof.

The people who put the panels on the roof were fantastic. They were fast, clean, easy. One panel had been damaged during transport, and they saw it and said this one must be changed. No drama. They even helped on the neighbour’s roof. They saw a broken roof tile near a window and repaired it. I thought, hey, this is good work. This is how it must be.

Then came the electrical part.

The electrician was a big man. Very big. I said he was like a walrus. Not because I want to be unkind, but because when he came into the house and had to go to the first floor, you could see this alone was already a project. He came with another man to help him. On the first day they put the batteries and electric parts on the first floor and on the wall. Then they said they would come next week at nine o’clock.

They came at twelve.

Then first the toilet. Thirty minutes.

Then lunch break. One hour.

Then later they said they must drive somewhere else for another repair, and after that they could come back in the evening and work until ten pm. I said no. We had a restaurant reservation. I would not sit in my house all evening because their planning was bad. That is not my problem.

The funny thing is, I did not explode. I had a good contact person who asked me if everything was finished. I said no, it was not finished. He called me, and I told him it was crazy. They said the work would take one day, and now we were already at the third day. He cared about it. That helped me. Good after-service can rescue a situation. Bad work is bad work, but when somebody listens, then I can stay calm.

Also, the system was not running, so they had no money from me. This is simple. No problem. No money. When it works, then we talk. Maybe I will ask for a discount, because when the work is not done properly, there must be a little present for me also. This is fair.

But my balance is not always so calm. There are moments when I can explode, and most of these moments happen on German roads.

One time, long ago, I was driving in East Friesland on the A30. One side of the road was closed, and they were repairing it, so the traffic had to use one lane. I was driving correctly, and cars were coming towards me from the other side. The other side had to stop. Then suddenly a big bus came from the right side onto the highway and did not stop. He came straight at me.

I had to make an emergency brake. I had to move a little to the left, into the area where the other traffic was coming. The man coming towards me also had to make an emergency brake. It was not only uncomfortable. It was dangerous.

I had to make an emergency brake. I had to move a little to the left, into the area where the other traffic was coming. The man coming towards me also had to make an emergency brake. It was not only uncomfortable. It was

Then I exploded.

I drove after the bus. I used my horn. I flashed my lights. At the next parking place, he drove out, and I drove out too. I got out of the car and went to him. I was so angry. I shouted at him. He said it was not a crazy situation.

Not a crazy situation?

I said, what? You did not stop. You came onto the highway. I had to go to the other side of the road, and the people coming towards me had to brake too. And this is not a crazy situation?

There are moments where you must really pull yourself together, because the volcano is already open. Driving in Germany can do this to me. There are so many, excuse me, idiots on the street. Too many people, too little space, too much speed, too little respect. On the road, emotional balance is sometimes not a theory. It is survival.

But in normal life, I try to avoid stress before it starts. I do not like “just in time.” I do not like arriving at the last minute. When we go on holiday and we must take a plane, we drive one day before to a hotel near the airport. We sleep there. The car stays at the hotel. In the morning we take a taxi to the airport. Everything is calm. No panic, no traffic stress, no running through the airport like a chicken without head.

When I have a meeting somewhere, I like to be early. Not five minutes early. Sometimes one hour, sometimes one and a half hours. I park my car. I go to a bakery. I eat something small, drink coffee, and I relax. Or I sit in my car, put the alarm on my mobile phone, and sleep a little. A catnap. Very good system.

Some people want to put as much as possible in one day. They want to squeeze the day until it screams. I am not like that anymore. If I must be somewhere at twelve, I prefer to be there at eleven or eleven-thirty. Then I have time. I arrive in a good condition. I am not angry before the meeting even starts.

Maybe this is why Sardinia was first a little bit difficult for me. In the army, when they said six o’clock, they meant six o’clock. Time was time. I was stationed there, and we had pilots and technicians and aircraft and time slots. If the airplane had to leave at six in the evening, we had to be there at four, because there were two hours to prepare everything. In Germany, that means precision.

The Italians had another rhythm. They could go to an airplane, start the machine, and fly away. For me, at first, this was not easy to understand. But there were things I loved very much. We went to the Italian canteen because the food was much better than the German kitchen. Sometimes the food was not really hot, more lukewarm, but we liked it.

Our captain said, in Germany we do not drink alcohol when we are on the airplane. But the Italians drank a little wine with the meal. So he made a rule. Three people could share one bottle of wine. Not more. That was okay.

And it was fantastic. You eat noodles with a little Parmesan on top, then some meat, and you drink a little wine. Simple. Warm. Human. The bottle system was also wonderful. You took an empty or half-empty bottle from another table, brought it to the counter, and said, make it full. The bottles were not always clean outside. Maybe a little soup, maybe something else. But it was no problem. It worked.

I liked the idea behind it. Every farmer brings grapes to a place, they make wine, and the farmer gets some back. A little for him, a little for selling. A good system. Practical, social, and with wine. Many good systems have these three things.

Food is one of the ways I keep balance. If I drive somewhere for work, I know where I can stop and eat something good. When I drive towards Hamburg, there is a place where I like to eat calf liver on salad. I know not everybody likes liver. The Mayor does not like it so much. But for me it is nice. If I have a good stop, good food, a coffee, then I arrive relaxed. Then I can do what I must do, and later I drive home relaxed too.

This week looks calm. I have some visits planned, but nothing that should destroy my balance. I would drive to people, introduce myself, say here I am, and if you need support, training, or joint visits, you can call me. Often people say, yes, we already have someone, but we know you are there, and when we need something, we call. That is okay. Not every door opens immediately. Sometimes you just put your name in the room.

And then there are the hedgehogs.

The hedgehogs in our garden are a little bit crazy. We have one big hedgehog who has his own system. He goes first to one feeding station and eats only the special little things he likes. Then he goes to the next station and eats there. Then he goes around the house to the third station. Very organized. Very hungry. Maybe he is a German hedgehog.

At night, sometimes, the hedgehogs are also busy with other activities. A little bit mating. They make noise. Very loud noise. The first time we heard it, we did not know what it was. We went outside with a lamp, and there they were. Two hedgehogs.

I think we disturbed them. Poor hedgehogs. It was not so good for the hedgehogs. But also, they live in our garden, so sometimes we see things. Life is life.

Over the weekend, I cooked for a nice girl who had a birthday. We made barbecue, and I prepared something from East Germany called Rostbrätel. The recipe is at the bottom of this article. Easy to make. Great to eat.

For me, emotional balance is not sitting still like a stone. It is more like preparing the day so it does not bite you. Coffee for my wife. Enough time before driving. A good bakery when I am early. A catnap in the car. Good food on the road. A salesman who calls when something goes wrong. No money before the photovoltaic system works. And when the hedgehogs make loud noises in the night, maybe leave them alone.

The Mayor said I was maybe a role model for balance. I do not know about that. I can still explode when a bus nearly pushes me into oncoming traffic. I can still become angry when people do not respect time. But I learned a few things.

Take your time.

Eat well.

Drink coffee.

Do not arrive too late.

Do not pay before the machine works.

And do not disturb the hedgehogs when they are having fun.

Ralf’s Rostbrätel Feast with Adana Kebabs and Parmesan Potatoes

This is not only a meal. This is a feast. You have pork neck with mustard, onions, and dark beer. You have Adana kebab skewers. You have crispy Parmesan potatoes from the oven. There is smoke from the grill, good smell, good people, and if everything goes well, everybody is happy.

1. Rostbrätel — Pork Collar Steaks with Mustard, Onions, and Dark Beer

Ingredients

1–2 kg pork neck, cut into steaks
The same weight of onions as meat
For example: 1 kg pork neck = 1 kg onions
Salt
Pepper
Mustard
Dark beer, preferably East German-style dark beer
A large box or container with a lid

Method

Cut the pork neck into steaks.

Season the meat on both sides with salt and pepper.

Spread mustard over the meat. Do not be shy. The mustard is important for the flavour.

Peel and slice the onions.

Put the meat and onions into a box in layers:

onions, meat, onions, meat, onions, meat.

Pour the dark beer over the meat and onions.

Close the box and put it in the refrigerator for two days.

After two days, take the meat out of the marinade. Remove the onions and let the liquid drip off a little.

Put the pork neck steaks on a hot grill.

Grill until the meat is nicely cooked, smoky, and browned on the outside.

The beer and onion marinade makes the meat tender, soft, and full of flavour. The smell is fantastic.

2. Adana Kebab Skewers

Ingredients

Minced meat suitable for Adana kebab, preferably from a Turkish supermarket
Adana kebab seasoning or prepared Adana-style meat mixture
Skewers
An Adana kebab press or kebab maker, if you have one

Method

Go to a Turkish supermarket and buy the meat there. For this recipe, the meat is better than normal minced beef from a regular supermarket.

Put a little meat into the Adana kebab maker.

Place the skewer inside.

Add more meat on top.

Press everything together so the meat forms properly around the skewer.

Put the skewers on the grill and cook until browned and done.

Very practical. Very good.

3. Crispy Parmesan Potatoes

Ingredients

Small potatoes, the little ones called Drillinge in Germany
Olive oil spray
Panko breadcrumbs
Garlic
Cayenne pepper
Salt
Parmesan cheese

Method

Heat the oven to 220°C with convection.

Put baking paper on a baking tray.

Spray a little olive oil onto the baking paper. Not too much, only a little.

Sprinkle panko breadcrumbs over the baking paper.

Add garlic, a little cayenne pepper, salt, and Parmesan cheese.

Wash the small potatoes and dry them.

Cut the potatoes in half. Do not peel them.

Place the potatoes cut-side down onto the panko and Parmesan mixture.

Bake for about 20 minutes at 220°C.

When the potatoes come out, the underside has a beautiful crispy crust of panko and Parmesan. It sticks to the potato and makes it soft inside, crispy outside, and fantastic.

To Serve

Serve the Rostbrätel straight from the grill with the Adana kebab skewers and the crispy Parmesan potatoes.

This is a good birthday meal, a good barbecue meal, and a good meal for people who like proper food.

You have mustard, onions, dark beer, smoke, grilled meat, crispy potatoes, and happy people.

That is balance too.

source

The Pineapple

My Social Battery, Summer Chaos, and a Cloud Nap Please

By Sarah

I came back to my lesson and Fruitloop was like, “Welcome back,” and I was like, yes, hello, I am alive. I missed meetings because last week I worked with my mother for a summer job, and I just forgot about our meeting. I accepted the job and didn’t really look at my schedule. The week before, I also forgot what happened. I don’t know. My brain was maybe on holiday before me.

Fruitloop started the topic: social balance. She explained it is the balance between being with friends and family, and also being alone. I said for me it depends. In summer I want to be with my friends and do activities. In winter I want Netflix, food, bed, cocooning, and please nobody disturb me.

Because school is finished, I have two weeks of an obligatory course. I didn’t know the English word. I said “stage,” but Fruitloop helped me with “course.” It is to get work experience and help us think about future studies and jobs. After that, I have village parties, friends, cleaning my room, a church summer camp where I am an animator for children from six to twelve, then Scout camp in the mountains for two weeks. I am really excited because Scouts are cool and full of people and activities.

We also talked about my exchange to the Canaries in October or November. I was accepted, so I am really excited. I think I will take my computer, or maybe use my phone, but I don’t know yet because I will go to school in Spain. So I will just message Fruitloop and say, “Can we meet tomorrow?” because my calendar is doing parkour.

Then Fruitloop asked how I feel after a long day with many people. I said it depends on the people. If I love them, it is okay. But sometimes after school I am so tired, especially in winter when it gets dark early. I go home and my parents ask, “What did you do today?” and I am like, I was at school. What do you think I did? Sometimes I just want to go to my bedroom, do homework for one or two hours, and sleep.

We talked about why it is hard to say no to social plans as a teenager. I said I don’t want to miss jokes, memories, references, and activities. Sometimes I go even when I don’t really want to see people, because I want to be there. But sometimes I say no because I’m tired, and sometimes because my mom says no. And yes, sometimes “my mom said no” is also a very useful excuse. Please. It works.

Fruitloop said she and her sister also used that excuse, and I understood because if someone always says no, friends stop inviting them. But sometimes there are other reasons, like money. I explained that if I can’t pay for eating out, I can join later after dinner, because I don’t want to watch people eat when I can’t. That is not fun. That is just suffering with a menu.

When I spend too much time alone, I also get tired. During holidays, if I do nothing for one whole day, I can feel more tired than if I had done something useful with friends. So my social balance is not healthy when I have too much of one thing. Too many people makes me want a nap and a series. Too much alone time makes me want to escape my house.

Technology makes it more complicated. Now I text my friends all day. If I don’t want to speak, I don’t reply. If I want to speak, I send a video or a voice message. Before, people wrote letters and had to wait to meet. My mom always asks what we will speak about when we meet if we already send photos and videos all weekend. I don’t know, Mom. We just speak. Also, sometimes I mix French, German, English, and soon Spanish, and Fruitloop has to remind me what English sounds like.

My mom always asks what we will speak about when we meet if we already send photos and videos all weekend.

I said I need more social time because when I was a child, I was alone a lot. I have two brothers, but they were not always in my house because we only have the same father. My parents were older than my friends’ parents, and their friends didn’t really have children my age. So now I like being with friends, speaking, sharing moments, and being with people my age.

But I also need space. During school it is easier because after school I go home and I am away from friends. During holidays, I need some days or nights where I do nothing: just me, my computer, my series, painting, and my activities. Alone time is important, but not too much.

Fruitloop asked if someone can be happy with very little social contact. I said it depends on the person. Like the Grinch. He likes being alone with his dog, but he is also in a bad mood, so maybe not perfect. I think being alone is okay if you accept it, but it is important to keep some contact, even with family, to share jokes and little moments.

We also talked about loneliness being more dangerous than social overload. I think loneliness can be more dangerous because some people take comfort in bad things, like drugs, to feel happy. Social overload can make you tired, but at least you still have people to talk to. It is easier to choose to be alone than to find people when you have nobody.

Then we talked about introverts and extroverts. I said extroverts are more used to talking to people and making social relationships. Introverts maybe prefer one, two, or three people maximum, and they are more used to being alone. Fruitloop explained that extroverts get energy from people, while introverts use energy to be with people. So balance depends on your personality.

Then came the question: can social media replace real human connection? No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely no. I have friends I almost never text, maybe only send a TikTok to say, “Hey, you’re my friend, I love you,” but when I see them, it is like we were always friends. Real connection is face-to-face. It is like a love story. If you only text your partner, that is not real life. You need to know the person in real life, with their personality and their weird little habits.

Fruitloop asked how friends and family can respect someone’s need for space. I said if someone says, “I want to be alone,” people should respect it and let them recharge. But in a big family, it is hard. If I am at my grandmother’s house and say, “I need space,” they might say, “You see us one time in the year and now you are tired of us?” So it is easier to say, “Can I take a nap?” because people understand naps. In my family, after meals, people already sleep in the living room, so nap is a very official excuse.

Then Fruitloop asked fruitloopy questions. If my social life was a battery, it would drain very slowly around people, because I really like people. If I had to speak non-stop for 24 hours or be silent for 24 hours, I would speak. Obviously. I would ask questions, learn about people’s lives, make bad jokes, and probably tell the penguin joke again because it is a good bad joke.

If alone time was a place, it would look like clouds. Soft clouds, music, bed, and nap energy. I said I might take a nap after the lesson, but actually no, I was just saying that. I had to see my brother because my mother was organizing a village party, and the men were helping put up the circus tent. I asked if I could help, and my mom said no, Sarah, this is men’s work, you have to cook. So apparently we are back in the eighteenth century. But also the tent is heavy, so fine, let the tall brothers do it.

If my friends followed me everywhere for one week, I would be so annoyed. Not hungry. Angry. Annoyed. I promise I don’t want to hit them, but please, I need space. Then I showed Fruitloop my ceramic decoration, and she said it was really pretty. I am proud of it, but she was right that I should not put it somewhere dangerous because if it falls, it will break.

If I had a social limit button, I would press it on Friday night. After finishing all my homework, I would put my battery on charge and go sleep in a cloud. By Saturday I should be recharged because I like weekends. Or maybe Monday. No, Saturday. I like doing things.

If being social was a sport, I would win. Scouts trained me for this. Scouts teach you to accept people and speak with everyone. You can go to someone and say, “Hello, my name is Sarah, do you want to be my friend, can you speak about your life?” and I am sure they will answer. Scouts are really cool for that.

At the end, Fruitloop asked what I was cooking for dinner. I said a traditional Alsatian meal, baeckeoffe, with potatoes, ham, vegetables, sausage, and everything cooked in a special pottery dish with traditional designs. It keeps the meal warm, and we have a lot of those dishes at home. I said I would send a photo because it is very traditional and very Alsace.

Then the lesson ended. Fruitloop told me good luck with cooking, and we said see you tomorrow. So that was my social balance meeting: friends, naps, clouds, Scouts, excuses, circus tents, and potatoes. That’s all.

source

The Pineapple

My Emotions Were Basically a McDonald’s Potato Wedge

By Sarah

I started the meeting in a very Sarah way: I absolutely forgot. I was calling my friends, and then suddenly—oops. Meeting. I was so sorry, really, but Fruitloop was calm about it. She said it was okay. Fruitloop even told me she had reminded me one hour before, so yes, that was a little bit shame, please.

My day was actually really cool before that. My friends had come to my house, and they left at 3:40. We watched a film, and it was nice. Then Fruitloop remembered that I had a “party” on the weekend. My mom was organizing everything, and on Monday there would be a party for all the people who helped install the things and prepare the weekend. I asked one of my friends to help me and come with me, because doing a cocktail bar with a friend is more fun than doing it alone.

Then Fruitloop said the topic was emotional balance, and I immediately thought, difficult one. Social balance was already one thing, but emotional balance is more inside. It is not only seeing people and then being alone. It is about being relaxed, not thinking about all the things at the same time, and not being trapped in emotions like anger, sadness, stress, happiness, or excitement.

Fruitloop explained that emotional balance means feeling emotions but not staying stuck inside them forever. Like, if I am angry, I don’t have to become anger as a full personality. I can understand it, manage how strong it is, and maybe not explode like a bomb. Or a bump. No, I meant bomb, with flames and exploding, please.

We spoke about what can change my mood from happy to stressed. For me, it is when I don’t have control of a situation, or when there is a deadline and suddenly something unorganized happens. That can make me stressed very quickly. I also said that it is easier for me to show joy, but sometimes it is very easy to complain and to show anger. It depends on the person, but also on the situation.

When I feel overwhelmed, I don’t have one magic solution. It depends what is stressing me. If school is too much, Scouts are my solution, because it is a big break with friends and good vibes. If I am stressed, I can listen to music, do sports, or call a friend. Before meeting a new friend that day, I was nervous, so I called another friend and asked her to speak about anything except the stressful thing. Sometimes I don’t need advice. I just need someone to help my brain look in another direction.

We also talked about why we should first acknowledge emotions instead of hiding them. I said it is like when you don’t know the problem, you can’t resolve it. If I just feel bad in my stomach and I don’t know why, maybe I am sick, maybe I am stressed, maybe something else. But if I know, “Okay, I am stressed,” then I can do something. Fruitloop gave an example about driving and someone breaking traffic rules. First you know why you are angry, then you can choose not to yell.

My body gives me signs too. When I am stressed, my stomach feels bad and my heart goes really fast. When I am very angry, sometimes I just want to cry because I cry from anger. Fruitloop called it emotional damage, and yes, very accurate. Sometimes my body says, “Sarah, please stop, this is too much.”

My body gives me signs too. When I am stressed, my stomach feels bad and my heart goes really fast. When I am very angry, sometimes I just want to cry because I cry from anger. Fruitloop called it emotional damage, and y

A trusted friend helps because with a real friend, I don’t have to hide my emotions. I can be myself. If I am sad, stressed, or angry, I can say it. If I hide everything, it becomes like a bomb, and then boom. I even had to do the flame with my hand so Fruitloop understood me.

Then we spoke about being tired or hungry. When I am tired, I have no filter. I can cry for everything, even a film, and anger is the hardest emotion to control. When I am hungry, I am really bad and really angry. I just say, “I want to eat.” Fruitloop taught me the word “hangry,” which is hungry and angry together. Then her dog started barking, and she said maybe the dog was hangry too, which was funny.

For movement, I first thought about meditation, yoga, and relaxing positions. I also told Fruitloop about a video of a water purification ceremony in Bali where people screamed, and I thought it was scary, like a ritual or a sect thing. Fruitloop said maybe it was not scary, just different and strange. Then we joked that normal holidays in Bali would be better: beach, jungle, massage, elephants. Not screaming like that woman, please.

When I feel disappointed, I usually breathe, listen to music, change my mind with other things, or go to sleep. Sleep helps because I am in my safe place, in my bed, and my mind walks alone without me facing the reality of the problem. Fruitloop said sleep is like overnight therapy. When I wake up, I still remember what happened, but the emotion is not as intense.

Then my mom called because she bought mascarpone. My friend was coming the next day, and we were going to make ice cream. I had to take something quickly, and then I came back. Emotional balance , but also mascarpone emergency. Very normal.

We also talked about humor. I think silly jokes or games help during an emotional breakdown because they make you think about other things. If you only rethink the same problem again and again, you can’t move forward. A joke, a funny story, or a game can create a little safe place in your mind. I said I am good at distracting people. I can change the atmosphere, speak about my day, and make people laugh, even if my jokes are not really humoristic. They still work, so it is okay.

Then we did the silly questions. If I could store happiness in a jar, my jar would be yellow with pink points and ruffles around it. If stress had a color, I thought of anxiety from Inside Out – the movie, so stress would be orange. I prefer the first Inside Out because it is more relaxed and has less problems.

If my emotions lived in a house together, stress and anger would make the biggest mess. They would be best friends and share a room, but they would also fight a lot. If my emotions controlled the weather, school would be a storm, because I complain all day at school. School is frustrating, annoying, and boring. But holidays would be sunshine. Except that day it was actually raining and cold, so my real summer was not really summering.

Fruitloop explained the seasons again, because she is in winter in South Africa and I am in summer in France, and I still think it is mad that the same planet can have different seasons at the same time. North of the equator has summer, south has winter, and later it switches. The earth is dramatic, honestly.

The funniest thing that improves my mood is watching funny videos, especially babies, people falling or cats doing stupid things. Seeing someone fall in the street is funny too, but maybe videos are better because nobody is seriously hurt. Then the potato question came. If worries weighed the same as potatoes, I said today I would carry a small McDonald’s fries. Maybe one potato. But then I explained that in France we have “potatoes” at McDonald’s, which are actually potato wedges, and they are very good with creamy deluxe sauce.

Fruitloop and her husband became jealous because South African McDonald’s does not have potato wedges or creamy deluxe sauce. I told her she had to come to France. She said she could not just come to France for McDonald’s because it is expensive, so I said I could send it by post. I think it would be okay. Probably. Maybe. No problem.

At the end, we confirmed the next meetings: Then Fruitloop said we only see each other for two more weeks, before I leave for two months, and I accidentally said “yeah” with bad intonation, like I was happy to leave her. I had to restart dramatically: “Yeah. Oh no, why?” Much better.

I am excited for summer holidays, camping, Scouts, church, and everything, but two months without seeing Fruitloop means I will have a lot of things to say in September. A lot. Really a lot. Emotional balance is difficult, but I think I understand one thing: sometimes my emotions are storms, sometimes sunshine, and sometimes just one McDonald’s potato wedge with creamy deluxe sauce.

source

The Pineapple

The Poacher’s Moon

By Janita Le Grange

Chapter One

We walked straight into it. To this day, I still don’t fully understand how it happened. A tracker with his level of experience shouldn’t have missed the signs. Maybe the blistering lowveld heatwave had finally gotten to him, cooking his senses until he became delusional. Or maybe he was just structurally exhausted, like the rest of us, running on empty under an unforgiving African sun.

Whatever the reason, the mistake was nearly fatal.

I stepped out from a dense thicket of mopane bushes, the dry leaves crunching like glass beneath my boots, and froze. There, right in the open, was a massive pride of lions. Three heavy-maned males stood like sentinels, guarding the sleeping lionesses and cubs scattered in the shade.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Nobody move. Don’t even breathe.

Behind me, Miles immediately went to work, his gloved hands tightening on the leads of his two Belgian Malinois. Max and Jules were lethal, highly trained animals, but in a situation like this, a single whine or a sharp growl would trigger a bloodbath. Yet, it was as if the dogs possessed a human understanding of the danger. They went completely rigid, their amber eyes locked onto the apex predators, pressing their bellies low to the red dust without uttering a single sound.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted my right arm, signaling with an open palm for the team to execute a silent, backward retreat. We were heavily armed, R1 rifles slung across our chests, but those weapons weren’t meant for this. Even if the pride didn’t know it, we were out here to protect them, not to kill them for our own survival.

I took a cautious step backward, my eyes never leaving the dominant male. But the bush is an unpredictable theatre.

My heel caught a fallen mopane branch buried in the loose sand. Before I could correct my balance, I went down, hitting the hard earth with a loud, suffocating thud.

The entire unit went deathly still. Every rifle barrel subtly shifted, guarding the perimeter while keeping a collective eye on the pride. A massive lioness slowly lifted her heavy head from the dirt. She scanned the bush line, her yellow eyes boring right through the heat shimmer toward where I lay. She let out a low, rumbling yawn that vibrated in our chests, and then, mercifully, rested her head back on her paws.

I scrambled back to my feet, my adrenaline spiking, and we moved away from the clearing as quickly and quietly as the dense terrain allowed.

Chapter Two

“Hey, Sarge,” Miles whispered, wiping a thick layer of sweat and dust from his forehead once we were safely out of earshot. “That was entirely too close. I’m just glad the wind is dead today.”

“Yeah, we got lucky,” I breathed, my heart rate finally stabilizing. “A breeze would help cool us down in this blistering hell, but if the wind had carried our scent to those lions, we’d be having a very different afternoon.” I turned my gaze toward our tracker, my brow furrowing. “Matthews, what happened back there? I thought you said the sector was clear.”

Matthews looked rattled, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his canteen. “Yes, Sergeant Jason, it should have been. I didn’t see any fresh spoor signaling a pride in the area. I even double-checked the GPS telemetry and tracking devices back at the base camp this morning.”

I looked over at my best friend. “Miles, what about the dogs? Did they give you any early alerts?”

“No, Sir. Max and Jules have been steady all day,” Miles replied, patting Jules’ sleek flank. “No signs of fear, no raised hackles. They didn’t wind them until we were right on top of them.”

I nodded, though a cold knot of unease was beginning to tighten in my gut. “Let the team know we’re pivoting. We’re going to loop wide around the pride before we get back onto our primary bearing. Keep your eyes and ears peeled. We don’t know what else is sleeping out here.”

“Yes, Sir,” Miles muttered, moving down the line to brief the junior rangers.

We backtracked for a few kilometers, searching for a safe breakthrough point in the dense bush. As we walked, I couldn’t stop watching Matthews. Ever since he came back from his mid-year leave, he hadn’t been the same. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the pulse of it, but his rhythm was entirely off. He was distracted. He kept disappearing into the brush during short breaks, and he was making uncharacteristic mistakes. A master tracker doesn’t just miss a pride of thirty lions. Yet, he kept insisting everything was fine.

Soon enough, we broke into a safer, more open savanna zone. A mixed herd of zebras and impalas drifted past us, grazing peacefully without a care in the world. The relaxed posture of the prey animals told us everything we needed to know: there were no large predators nearby.

Except for the two-legged variety we were actively hunting.

We had been tracking a notorious poaching syndicate for three agonizing days, and whoever they were, they were professionals. They were leaving a ghost trail—perfectly clean, nothing out of place. They weren’t setting clumsy wire snares or leaving trash behind, and none of the game herds looked spooked. Between my years in the military and my time leading this anti-poaching unit, every instinct I possessed was screaming that something was deeply, dangerously wrong.

Chapter Three

“Miles,” I called out quietly as the ancient basalt hills began to rise up ahead of us. “When we reach the base of the mountain, we set up a makeshift camp for the night. The sun is dipping.”

“Copy that, Sarge.”

“Establish a tight perimeter,” I instructed. “Brief the team on the watch rotation. I want a two-man guard on the western ridge and a constant visual on the valley floor. No exceptions.”

I turned back to Matthews, who was staring blankly at the map on his ruggedized tablet. “Matthews, let’s go over the terrain signals and counter-tracking notes again. If we don’t find a definitive breakthrough in their vector, we’re going to lose them before nightfall tomorrow.”

“Understood, Sergeant,” Matthews said softly, avoiding my eyes as he adjusted his gear.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. As the sky bled from a brilliant orange into a deep, bruised indigo, a massive, luminous orb began to peek over the horizon. The full moon was almost upon us.

In our line of work, we call it the Poacher’s Moon. The bright, silver light provides the syndicates with the perfect visibility to track, shoot, and hack the horns from rhinos or the tusks from elephants without ever needing a flashlight. It allows them to blend seamlessly into the long, distorted shadows of the bush, striking unsuspecting animals while staying completely invisible to our night-patrol choppers.

Inside our makeshift camp, we kept the fire small—just enough to heat up our rations. We pitched our small, low-profile tents under the canopy of a weeping boer-bean tree to break up our silhouettes.

I sat on a ration crate, staring down at my tin cup, poking at a lukewarm dinner of canned corned beef and baked beans. After days in the bush, your mind plays tricks on you. Right now, I would have traded my left arm for a thick, sizzling T-bone steak, an ice-cold beer, and a massive bowl of chocolate ice cream for dessert. That’s what the lowveld heat does to a man. Weeks of eating processed, metallic-tasting food out of a can really makes you appreciate the small, ordinary luxuries of civilian life.

But out here, on the frontlines of the Kruger, those things were a lifetime away.

I looked across the dying embers of the fire. Matthews was sitting by himself on the edge of the darkness, the faint blue glow of his tactical radio illuminating a tight, anxious frown on his face.

Matthews was sitting by himself on the edge of the darkness, the faint blue glow of his tactical radio illuminating a tight, anxious frown on his face.

Chapter Four

We took turns throughout the night, swapping out every two hours to stoke the small fire and keep watch against the heavy, silver dark. When the sun finally began to peek out from underneath the horizon, bleeding a soft gold across the lowveld, we rose. I stretched my aching muscles, took a long drag from my canteen, and took a refreshed look at the rugged mountain ridge looming over us.

“Miles, Matthews, get over here,” I called out, shielding my eyes against the early glare. I pointed toward a steep, jagged break in the upper ridge. “Do you see that up there on top of the mountain? That’s where the poachers must have come over.”

Miles squinted, nodding slowly. “Ah, yeah. I see it now, Sarge.”

With the clean, crisp morning light on our side, the landscape began to give up its secrets. Near the base of the ridge, the tall, golden elephant grass lay completely flat in two perfectly straight, parallel lines. It was a glaring sign—a heavy 4×4 vehicle had pushed through here recently. I scanned the surrounding area, tracking the trajectory of the crushed brush, and spotted a fresh pair of tire tracks veering sharply to my left.

“That’s where we’re going,” I announced, a renewed surge of adrenaline washing away the night’s exhaustion. “Let’s follow those tracks and make good work of it. By the looks of it, we’ve got some serious catching up to do!”

The team moved out with a burst of new energy. The morning air was still beautifully cool, offering us a vital window to get a massive head start before the midday sun inevitably rose to bake the terrain and dry us out.

Chapter Five

By mid-morning, the temperature was already soaring, turning the bush into a suffocating kiln. We had been tracking the tire ruts deep into a valley when the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

Max and Jules went entirely rigid. Their body language transformed in an instant—tails flattening, ears pinning forward, their muscular frames vibrating with a stiff, lethal alertness. Something was directly ahead of us.

Using the massive, swollen trunk of an ancient baobab tree as a tactical shield, I crept forward to investigate. Miles was right on my footsteps, his hand firmly on his rifle grip, his breathing rhythmic and shallow.

We rounded the great tree, and the true horror of the syndicate lay bare.

The clearing was a slaughterhouse. Thick wire snares and jagged steel traps were strewn carelessly across the dirt. In the center of the camp lay three half-butchered African buffaloes, sprawled in pools of congealing blood. The poachers had already hacked off their hooves and their massive, curved horns, carving the choice flesh into manageable pieces to carry out. The rest of the carcasses were just left to rot in the dirt.

As I stepped closer, my heart broke. One of the bulls—a massive, battle-scarred old dagga boy—was still alive. His flank rose and fell in shallow, agonizing shudders, his dark eyes rolling back in terror as his breath rattled in his throat.

“Looks like we interrupted someone,” I whispered, a dark, hot anger flaring in my chest.

“Yeah, we sure did,” Miles muttered, eyes scanning the thick brush. “They must have heard or seen us coming.”

“Let’s scan the perimeter and see where they scattered,” I ordered, my military instincts taking over. “Miles, alert headquarters. We need a medical chopper and a tracking team down here right now.”

Miles pulled his satellite radio from his vest, bringing it to his mouth. “Base command, this is Stick Alpha, do you copy—”

He never finished the sentence.

A heavy, sickening crack echoed through the clearing as a camouflaged figure stepped out from the blind spot of the baobab tree, driving the butt of an AK-47 hard into the back of Miles’ skull. Miles crumpled into the dust, completely unconscious, the radio clattering into the dirt.

Chapter Six

In a matter of milliseconds, the world exploded into chaos. The thick mopane brush seemed to breathe out armed men. Before my team could even raise their weapons, we were completely surrounded by a heavily armed, professional poaching syndicate.

We were outnumbered, outgunned, and caught completely flat-footed.

Within minutes, the rucksacks were ripped from our backs, and our rifles were seized, their magazines ruthlessly emptied onto the ground. The poachers worked with terrifying efficiency, binding our wrists tightly with heavy-duty zip ties. They dragged the rest of the frontline rangers toward a rusted, heavy-duty flatbed truck parked in a hidden ravine, shoving them violently into the back. It was our new, mobile holding cell.

For me, the leader of the syndicate had a different punishment in mind. They dragged me back to the ancient baobab tree. Throwing a thick rope over a low, heavy branch, they pulled my arms high above my head, leaving me hanging by my wrists, my boots barely scraping the red earth.

I gasped for air, the pain radiating through my shoulders, but my eyes weren’t on the poachers. They were on Matthews.

Matthews wasn’t bound. He wasn’t being shoved into the truck. Instead, he was standing calmly in the center of the camp, holding the leads to Max and Jules. My stomach turned to absolute ice. Because Matthews had spent years working closely with the K9 unit, the two Malinois trusted him implicitly; they followed his calm commands perfectly, sitting quietly at his heels, entirely unaware of the betrayal.

The leader of the poachers—a hardened man with scarred features and a gold chain catching the harsh sunlight—walked over to Matthews. He reached into his tactical jacket and pulled out a thick, plastic-wrapped brick of cold cash, tossing it along with a set of car keys into Matthews’ waiting hands.

“Thank you for your service,” the leader grunted, a cruel smile stretching across his face. “Consider your debt officially paid off.”

Matthews caught the money, stashing it quickly into his backpack without a single shred of remorse. “It was my pleasure,” Matthews replied, his voice chillingly casual. He pointed a gloved finger back toward the valley we had spent all yesterday traversing. “If you’re looking for an easy score, there’s a whole pride of lions about fifteen kilometers south of here. Three big males. I left subtle tracking markers along the route for your boys to follow.”

The leader chuckled, slapping Matthews on the shoulder. “See? I knew you would come in handy.”

Hanging from the tree, the sweat and blood dripping into my eyes, I could only watch in silent, burning fury as the man I had called my brother sold out the very park we had sworn our lives to protect.

Chapter Seven

The syndicate leader stepped toward me, the hot sun catching the dark, wet blood splattered across his shirt from the butchered buffalo. In the background, the rumble of a diesel engine echoed through the valley as Matthews threw the 4×4 into gear and drove off into the thick brush. I knew there was no way he would get out of the Kruger easily unless he had an intricate escape route mapped out—but headquarters knew he was with our unit. He was a marked man now.

Max and Jules sat silently near the flatbed truck, their leashes securely tied to the steel bumper. One of our captured rangers was whispering to them through the slats of the truck bed, and I could see the Malinois’ ears twitching backward, listening intently, waiting for a command.

“You are such a fool,” the leader sneered, tilting his head up to look at me as I hung from the baobab tree. “Trusting your men, thinking they are all sworn to protect this dirt. They are so easy to persuade. You see, Matthews stumbled across me some time ago. He found himself in the exact same position you are in right now. Heaven knows why he was patrolling alone that day. We caught him and hung him from a tree, just like this.”

I kept my mouth shut, swallowing the agony in my shoulders, and simply listened. I needed him to keep talking. “What happened then?” I rasped, playing into his ego. “How did he escape?”

“I made him a deal,” the leader chuckled, pacing beneath me. “I told him I would spare his life—and pay him handsomely—if he helped me locate high-value animals to harvest. While he hung there begging for his life, I learned a lot about him. I learned he had three beautiful children at home. I learned about his lousy ranger salary, and how he has to be away from his family for months on end. Three kids aren’t cheap, Sergeant. He was drowning in debt. It was easy to persuade him.”

“So why ambush my entire unit?” I asked, shifting my weight subtly. “When you could have just settled your business with him?”

“Because you are part of my problem,” the leader growled, his eyes narrowing. “I have many demanding international customers, and you… well, you are always getting in my way.”

“I vowed my life to protect this park and everything in it,” I spit back, my voice steady. “You don’t belong here.”

“And that is exactly what I intend to fix. I’m going to let you die right here, rotting in your beloved ‘place.'”

I looked down at him, a cold smile touching my lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Chapter Eight

The leader forgot one critical detail: before I was an anti-poaching ranger, I had elite military training.

Using every ounce of core strength left in my body, I violently hoisted myself upward by my wrists, swinging my legs up and locking my thighs in a brutal chokehold around his neck. I squeezed with everything I had, instantly cutting off his air supply. His eyes widened in sheer panic as he began to choke, clawing frantically at my boots.

That was the trigger.

Behind us, the dogs finished chewing clean through their leashes. Miles, having dragged himself back to consciousness in the back of the truck, had quietly used his hidden satellite phone to transmit a high-priority SOS to base command. He knew the weekly patrol helicopter was already scheduled to bring us fresh supplies today—and well, we wouldn’t be needing the canned rations anymore.

The flatbed truck’s tailgate slammed open. My team erupted from the vehicle, scrambling into the dirt, reclaiming their discarded weapons, and hammering fresh magazines into the receivers. A fierce, deafening firefight broke out across the clearing.

Max and Jules launched themselves forward like heat-seeking missiles, sinking their teeth into the leader’s back as I released my grip and let him crash to the dirt. Miles sprinted through the chaos, pulling a tactical knife from his boot and slicing through the ropes binding my wrists. I dropped to my feet, recovered a fallen rifle, and joined the fray.

Above the roar of gunfire, a familiar, rhythmic thumping echoed through the valley. The patrol helicopter was closing in, descending over the tree line like an avenging angel, door-gunners ready.

I stood over the gasping, bleeding syndicate leader, pinning him to the ground with the barrel of my rifle. “Maybe next time, teach your men not to mess with us,” I growled over the noise of the rotors. “Oh, I forgot. There won’t be a next time. You’re going to rot in a maximum-security cell for eternity.”

Within minutes, the clearing was swarmed by backup troops. The surviving poachers were rounded up in zip ties, while the bodies of those who fought back were zipped into heavy black bags. The confiscated, stolen vehicles were secured, and the tragic carcasses of the buffaloes were documented as forensic evidence.

But amidst the sweep, there was one glaring absence. Matthews was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Nine

Five days later, after a long session of mandatory medical leave, a perfectly seared T-bone steak, and a massive bowl of chocolate ice cream, I was back where I belonged. There were no new reports of poachers breaching the perimeter, but I didn’t care. I just loved being out in the bush. The harsh African sun had become an old friend, and looking out over the endless, golden lowveld was exactly the medicine my soul needed.

Miles and I walked a similar route into the southern sector, purely to see if we could locate any of the subtle “tracking markings” Matthews had promised to leave behind for the syndicate.

What we stumbled across instead was devastatingly quiet.

In a deep thicket, we found the abandoned 4×4 vehicle Matthews had used to escape, left waiting for poachers who would never arrive. I approached the vehicle discreetly, my rifle raised, scanning the shadows.

Then, I saw it.

Torn pieces of a uniform. A single, heavy canvas patrol shoe. Bank notes, drifting away over the field. And a dark, frantic trail of dried blood leading away from the driver’s side door into the tall grass.

Miles and I exchanged a silent look, switching our rifles to semi-automatic, and followed the crimson trail toward a massive outcrop of granite boulders.

We rounded the final ridge, and there he was.

Standing majestically on top of the largest rock, his golden mane catching the brilliant lowveld light, was the apex male lion we had encountered days before. He was the undisputed king of this stretch of the bush, and his pride lounged peacefully around the base of the boulders, entirely at home.

Directly beneath the king’s heavy paws lay a torn, lifeless body, half-buried in the red dirt.

It was Matthews. He had tried to sell out the wild, but the wild had found him first.

I slowly lowered the barrel of my rifle, taking a deep, quiet breath of the clean bush air. The park had protected itself. Turning our backs on the ridge, Miles and I walked back into the savanna, leaving the traitor to the kingdom he had betrayed.

source

The Pineapple

The Grandpa Dress-Up and the Usain Bolt Time Machine

By Janita Le Grange

It was finally Friday. My plans were solid, foolproof, and beautiful: do absolutely nothing, rest, catch up on missed sleep, and simply become a world-class couch potato.

But in reality? The weekend had a completely different itinerary.

The Friday afternoon slump hit me hard—tired, fluish, and lazy. I was desperate to crawl under the covers and disappear into a blissful sleep. Instead, what actually happened was a cooking marathon to practice my newfound culinary skills, combined with explaining to my son a million times: “We cannot do your homework for next week! It is the weekend!” Toss in a few rounds of fighting our dogs because they wouldn’t stop barking at the new neighbors, and I finally crawled into bed at 11:00 PM. My son, of course, refused to sleep early because “it’s the weekend, I don’t have to be in bed at eight!” There was no relaxing movie night—just mindless cartoons scrolling across the screen while freezing temperatures, heavy blankets, and hot drinks became our only defense against the blistering cold outside.

5 AM Candlesticks and Grandpa Suits

Saturday morning! Time to sleep in… Well, no.

My son woke up at 5:00 AM, sat directly in front of the TV screen, and woke us up to “trade.” Yes, we are learning how to trade synthetic indices. A gazillion YouTube videos, trading influencers, and ChatGPT questions later, we actually have a strategy. We know what to do and how to do it; the difficult part is just waiting for the right moment to execute the steps. Saturday morning at 5:00 AM, however, is not it.

Still hiding from the cold, drinking warm coffee, and just “existing,” my couch potato dreams were going well until the executive decision was made: we had to go shopping. My son had to dress up as a grandpa on Monday for his school’s 100th birthday celebration. At first, I thought this sounded fun. By Saturday afternoon, I realized it was just work.

On top of the grandpa suit, his school is having a pajama and movie day this coming Friday. Taking a blanket and a pillow to school, paying a few bucks, and getting popcorn, juice, and a snack sounds brilliant—until you realize that all of his long pajama pants have jumped up to his ankles in the last nine months. They look like pants that are terrified of feet. The boy is growing way too fast. We braved the mall for the pajama hunt, but in all honesty, the trip was such a blur I don’t even remember what we bought, and pajamas definitely weren’t part of the final haul.

By Saturday evening, I dragged myself to bed once again. We did manage an early BBQ and an aperitiv, as some might call it, followed by a family movie night. The choice? Mortal Kombat. People fighting, slicing off heads, knives, blades, blood, and guts. I was absolutely not in the mood for it, but we watched it anyway because nobody thought my movie options (Project Hail Mary or The Fall Guy) were great. Needless to say, I lost the draw.

The Great Sunday Chicken Crisis

Somewhere in the early morning hours of Sunday, I was jolted awake by the lovely combination of singing cartoons, loud “KABOOM!” noises from my son practicing his new Mortal Kombat moves, and a dog barking in the background. I was just ready to drift back to sleep when my husband walked in and saved the moment with a cup of coffee.

Somewhere in the early morning hours of Sunday, I was jolted awake by the lovely combination of singing cartoons, loud “KABOOM!” noises from my son practicing his new Mortal Kombat moves, and a dog barking in the…

Picture this: the perfect Sunday lunch. Roast chicken, crispy potatoes, rice, and veggies. I took the chicken out to defrost, and the dinner plans were officially underway.

Then, a massive power cut.

There was a fault on the main line with an estimated six-to-eight-hour repair time. With no way to cook the chicken in time for dinner, our home-cooked plans were ruined, and takeout became the savior. The chicken was shoved into the fridge to wait for electricity.

The power finally flickered back to life around 2:30 PM. Lights flared on, TVs switched themselves on, and a marathon began just to run around the house and turn everything off again. Later that night, the dogs demanded to go out, spent a few minutes sniffing the cold air, and we could finally go back to sleep. Then, at 5:00 AM on Monday morning, my dog woke me up again to go outside, and that was the end of my sleep cycle.

Cinderella Tuesday and the Impending Drought

I got up early on Monday, started the housework, tackled the laundry, and transformed my son into a miniature grandpa for the school’s centenary. After dropping him off, the rest of the day vanished into a mist of errands, chores, and work. By Monday evening, the house looked like a disaster zone again, though I did finally cook that great chicken meal.

By Tuesday afternoon, my brain had traveled through a wormhole straight into Wednesday. I actively reminded my husband to take out the trash for the next morning. He just laughed and said, “Janita, it’s only Tuesday.” It hit me then—I am running way ahead of my own schedule!

Regardless, I woke up on Tuesday morning and decided it was officially Cinderella Day. I scrubbed the house and attacked a laundry mountain that felt completely untouched from the day before. As I type this, I am finally happy. The house is clean, the place is tidy, and the laundry is done.

Which is fantastic timing, because we just received a notification that our water will be cut off tomorrow. The notice babbled on about new water pipes being installed, but my brain just filtered through the noise and read two words: “NO WATER.” I was too tired to read the rest.

The real tragedy? I was supposed to wash my hair tomorrow. This water crisis is completely messing with my schedule. Ugh!

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

On the bright side, I am finally back on track with the days and dates, and I know it will officially be Wednesday in a few hours. Even better, a long weekend is coming up in South Africa! There is no school on Monday and Tuesday, which means no going out into the freezing cold and no waking up early… hopefully.

I honestly cannot wait for the actual winter school holidays to start in two weeks. When school breaks, it feels like a small holiday for me, too. No endless homework battles, no freezing school runs, no begging a seven-year-old to get dressed and brush his teeth, and no fighting to get him to sleep early. Just pure, blissful silence.

Fingers crossed we make it through the waterless Wednesday first!

source

The Pineapple

Peeling Potatoes 50: I Sent The Mayor Back To Intermediate Fruitloop University

By The Duo

I knew we were in trouble before we even started, because we had barely gone live and The Mayor was already asking why I was crying. I was not crying. There was a hair stuck in my lashes, and it was tickling me, which is completely different. Naturally, this led to the very important academic question of whether I am ticklish.

Yes, I am extremely ticklish.

And no, nobody must touch my feet unless they have made peace with death. I told him very clearly: if anyone touches my feet, I will kick, scream, slap, and generally become a dangerous small domestic tornado. The Mayor, of course, heard “challenge accepted,” because he has watched Dumb and Dumber and believes that if there is even a 0.000001% chance, then mathematically there is still a chance.

Ladies and gentlemen, the man is not well.

But he was on form, and so was I, because this was episode 50. A milestone. A proper, shiny, pineapple-on-top milestone. We should probably have been celebrating with cake, confetti, and a scarf, but I was not wearing a scarf, which already showed that the whole universe was slightly out of balance. Instead, we were talking about balance through routines, which sounds very respectable until you remember that this is us, and respectability usually lasts about seven seconds before someone mentions cats, unicorns, laundry wizards, or suspicious tea mountains.

I introduced him again to Fruitloop University, which is not a place for serious academics with straight faces and clipboards. It is a place where you get easy questions, silly questions, but then suddenly you have to think about them a little bit. That is the danger. The questions look like cupcakes, but some of them contain emotional dynamite.

The Mayor asked what courses he could enroll in, and I told him the obvious: being Fruitloopy, not a Cheerio. He has been enrolled for about fourteen months, but honestly, I had to admit my courses are not working. He has not become more Fruitloopy. This, naturally, caused him to accuse me of being submissive, because instead of saying, “Mr Mayor, you are the problem,” I said I needed to up my game.

That is why I made an executive academic decision. Last week had been advanced Fruitloop University, and it nearly took him apart. He had arrived in the wrong frame of mind, overthought everything, overanalyzed everything, and came out in pieces. So this week, I sent him back to intermediate level. Not beginners. Beginners is for other people. The Mayor is not a beginner. He is an unsuspecting guinea pig with dramatic tendencies.

The topic was routine, but of course we could not just talk about brushing teeth and making beds like normal people. We began with cats. I asked him what his schedule would look like if his three cats were in charge of his daily routine, and he immediately described paradise with claws. There would be a lot of sleeping, constant eating, begging, territorial rights, violent relocation if he sat in the wrong place, and possibly hunting birds and mice, bringing them home, eating them, regretting the decision, and vomiting the evidence for someone else to clean up.

He also remembered Tortue, the cat who once disappeared for two weeks around Christmas while his wife nearly lost her mind searching the neighborhood. Then Tortue simply walked back through the gate like she had been on a private holiday and wanted to know why there was no food ready. That, apparently, would also be part of a cat-run routine: disappear, cause emotional collapse in your favorite human, then return calm as a cucumber.

I gave him 10 out of 10 for that answer. I may have sounded bribable, but he earned it.

Then The Mayor turned the unicorn on me.

He asked what my face would do if a unicorn arrived tomorrow morning and told me everything was handled for the day. Before my mouth had time to be polite, my face would be surprised. But I would also be happy. Very happy. If all my normal responsibilities disappeared for one day, I would notice the lack of instructions first, maybe the space, but not the silence. There is no silence in my house. On weekends there are cartoons, laughing, jumping on and off things, paper wrappers, sweets, snacks, shoes everywhere, boys everywhere, and my son changing outfits like he is managing a fashion crisis in real time.

Sometimes he stays in pajamas all day, then at five o’clock suddenly wants to play outside, so he gets dressed for one hour, gets cold, puts a tracksuit over the clothes, and when everything comes off, it all comes off as one strange layered creature. On weekends, I look away. That is my routine. I look away from the domestic evidence.

The Mayor understood. Monday to Friday tension drains out, the house becomes lawless, and on Monday morning you clear up the debris.

Then I asked him which routine his wife would notice first if he skipped it for a week. That one was easy. Tea. The sacred morning cup of English tea. He gets up first, enjoys two precious hours alone before the day attacks him, and makes her tea in the correct mug, placed on the correct mat, on the bedside table that sounds like a curiosity shop in active rebellion. He takes the tea upstairs, tells her “your tea has landed,” and receives a grunt from the sleeping kingdom.

The tea has to survive tablets, delayed waking, and sometimes a microwave rescue mission. They even have a little rubber cover to keep the heat in. The Mayor calls this one of the few things he gets right in life, and I understood completely, because my husband makes the best coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. We can make it exactly the same way, but his tastes better. Obviously. It comes with love. That is the secret ingredient.

The Mayor calls this one of the few things he gets right in life, and I understood completely, because my husband makes the best coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.

When The Mayor returned to the unicorn fantasy, he asked whether I would actually know what to do with a free day or whether I would wander around like someone whose job title had been temporarily deleted. I would know exactly what to do. I would read. I would stay in bed. I would watch movies. I would just sit. It sounds terrible, maybe, but I would know. I would not even go outside unless the season behaved itself. And with eight degrees and winter trying to crawl into my bones, absolutely not.

Then I asked him which cat would be the strictest routine manager. He gave me the full cat hierarchy. Sablé, the oldest, is now possibly older than The Mayor in human years and has reached the stage of not being bothered about very much, except when feeding responsibilities are neglected. Friday is the pacer, the communicator, the one with bedroom privileges and very clear ideas about what should happen. Uno is the young vampire-cat with little fang teeth, a burrowing habit, and a tendency to lash out if handled wrongly. The Mayor had recently removed a tick from Uno without bloodshed and considered it the achievement of the day.

The strictest routine manager, he decided, would be Friday. Uno would be close second, but Friday has seniority and sharper management skills.

Then he brought me back to the park. In the unicorn scenario, I was free, sitting in a park with nothing to solve. He asked who I would be before anyone needed me. That one landed differently. I think I would be more relaxed. Less stressed. I would sit there watching birds, counting leaves on trees, with no problems to solve. It would not necessarily change how I looked, but I would feel it. A relief. Like having a headache for a long time and then it just disappears.

But then came the responsibility radar.

He asked how long I could sit in the park before I started scanning for children, dogs, messages, forgotten things, or emotional weather changes. I said maybe thirty minutes to an hour. Guilt would come first. Then responsibility. Not because I wanted to get back, but because I would feel I had to. That is the difference. Want to and have to are not the same animal.

He asked whether responsible people sometimes struggle with freedom because freedom temporarily removes the proof that they matter. I did not agree. If you have responsibilities, you matter. If you have freedom, you still matter. Neither one decides your worth. For me, it depends more on who you are with and whether the people around you respect you enough to give you space.

He also said I have a deep sense of responsibility and loyalty, like it is part of my spine. I said it is fifty-fifty. I carry responsibility because life demands it, but also because I love it. Loyalty is the same. You may love it and live by it, but the world also requires more of it. Not forced loyalty. Not power loyalty. Real loyalty. The kind that comes because you value the person or the work you are loyal to.

That took us straight into Brida and the pain of people treating meaningful work as optional. The Mayor spoke about meetings being ditched when something better comes along, and how that devalues the care and effort behind the work. I could hear that one. Loyalty and respect are not small potatoes. They are the whole field.

And then, because this is us, we went from loyalty to laundry wizards.

I asked him whether he would do laundry more often if it summoned a wizard. That opened the Battle of the Washing Machine. In The Mayor’s house, there are three parties: his German mother, his English wife, and him, who apparently has nothing to say anyway. His wife is a laundry perfectionist and will wash three or four items because they need special treatment. His mother has a routine you can set a clock by but may still forget that Friday is her washing-machine day. His mother also comments constantly on the amount of washing, suggesting this must be an English thing.

The Mayor stands in the middle, negotiating two warring laundry nations while quietly wondering why anyone needs to wash that many clothes. He does his own laundry, bedding, and cat blankets on weekends, throws things in, and hopes for the best. A pair of shorts with red wine went into the machine with normal liquid and softener, and the stain came out. End of discussion. No chemical factory required.

I told him white wine can remove red wine stains, because I have proof. A friend’s aunt once spilled red wine on my white jacket. It turned purple. I washed it, it did not come out, then I rubbed it with white wine, washed it again, and the jacket survived. Ten years later, I still wear it. So yes, the wizard is useful, but white wine is also useful. Just do not drink it before the laundry emergency.

From there, The Mayor wandered into monasteries, which sounds like a strange road but actually made sense. He talked about spending time in a semi-monastic environment and how beautiful it was to live by a rhythm larger than himself: morning mass, silent breakfast, work, liturgy, lunch, work, evening prayer, dinner, quiet. A set routine, imposed but peaceful. An oasis in a turbulent world. He said he would love his own little private monastery, with the church twenty meters away, the world stable, the day shaped by something stronger than his own chaos.

That connected back to my childhood routine. School, home, lunch, homework, playing outside, my mother cooking at five because my father came home at six, bath time early, pajamas on, dinner ready. There was order. Boundaries. The chapter of the day closed when my father came home. I miss that sometimes. The Mayor understood it because he had something similar. His mother would even change and make herself nice before his father came home. That whole world has mostly gone out the window, but there was something beautiful in the structure.

Then we came back to the smallest routine a free person still needs. I said getting out of bed, getting dressed, brushing teeth, brushing hair, and making the bed. Making the bed is the first accomplishment of the day. In my house, this involves dogs fighting with me, one wanting to stay in bed, and then both fighting each other until I throw them out. Human over dog. The bed must be made.

If the unicorn gave me back only one routine, I would keep the getting-up-and-becoming-presentable routine. It is a good start. Even if sometimes I stay in pajamas. Sometimes I brush my hair and stay in pajamas. Sometimes I get dressed and do not brush my hair. I am a free person inside my own house.

Then I asked him what his routine would say if it started talking back. After taking the scenic route through appearance, Instagram, image, children not caring what they look like, and his mother-in-law eating breakfast at eleven, lunch at six, and dinner at ten, he decided his routine would probably say, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” Also, “Who cares?” As long as you are comfortable in what you are doing, that is what matters.

Finally, he asked what routine my family could survive without even if my sense of responsibility complained dramatically. I said everything. Cooking, cleaning, washing, making beds, errands, shopping. They can do it all without me. They have simply found someone to delegate it to because I am there. And I am mostly happy with that. Some days not so much, but mostly yes.

For the final make-or-break question, I asked him what giant vegetable his routine would be. He chose potato, of course. Because potatoes are versatile, and routines are versatile. Big potatoes, little potatoes, changing routines, same basic substance. Also, potatoes are clearly important in this strange relationship between The Mayor and me. I thought carrot, but had no specific reason, which is sometimes the most Fruitloop reason of all.

By the end, we both agreed it had been a more serious Peeling Potatoes, but he survived intermediate Fruitloop University. He did not get a certificate yet. He has to make it through advanced first. Last week he failed because he overthought everything. This week he progressed. Next week, maybe, if he does not analyze the unicorn into a nervous breakdown, he may be eligible for certification.

And because Peeling Potatoes is holy sacred ground, we also agreed that next week it does not get cancelled. It may move. It may happen at five in the morning. But it happens.

That is the routine.

Chaos, cats, tea, unicorns, laundry, loyalty, guilt, parks, potatoes, and The Mayor trying to pass Fruitloop University without being eaten alive by his own overthinking.

Congratulations, Mr Mayor. Intermediate level completed.

No certificate yet.

Contents

In This Issue

Life Was Not Meant to Be Balanced. It Was Meant to Matter.

After Is Better

Four Countries at One Table

Rainbows, Rooftop Pools, and the Search for Emotional Balance

Money, Mistakes, and the Long Interest-Free Loan

Apartments, Ibiza Dreams, and the Art of Balance

Holiday Brain, Work Emails, and One Very Broken Dishwasher

How to Maintain A Middle-Aged Human

Operating Manual for the Manfred Model

No Money, No Sunshine, and the Hedgehogs Were Busy

Ralf’s Rostbrätel Feast with Adana Kebabs and Parmesan Potatoes

1. Rostbrätel — Pork Collar Steaks with Mustard, Onions, and Dark Beer

Ingredients

Method

2. Adana Kebab Skewers

Ingredients

Method

3. Crispy Parmesan Potatoes

Ingredients

Method

To Serve

My Social Battery, Summer Chaos, and a Cloud Nap Please

My Emotions Were Basically a McDonald’s Potato Wedge

The Poacher’s Moon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

The Grandpa Dress-Up and the Usain Bolt Time Machine

5 AM Candlesticks and Grandpa Suits

The Great Sunday Chicken Crisis

Cinderella Tuesday and the Impending Drought

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Peeling Potatoes 50: I Sent The Mayor Back To Intermediate Fruitloop University

Next Week’s Brida Tables

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