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I have a vague memory of the moment I first encountered my koesjdoek. It was at my grandmothers’ place. My grandfather just passed away. I remember sitting on her bed upstairs. How I ended up with his old satin pajama I don’t know but as soon as I felt it I was sold. It was so soft, so fresh… a perfect koesjdoek! My grandmother was happy to offer it to me since it used to be my grandfathers pajama jacket. It would make a nice remembrance… it did!
So what makes a koesjdoek a good koesjdoek? A koesjdoek has to be perfect. Well, first and foremost, it has to be soft. Not just soft, ultra Soft. So soft that you just feel like never letting it go. So soft that you drop anything you’re doing at the moment you have it in your hands to koesj a bit. Second, it has to be cold. Never stick a koesjdoek under your blanket because when you do it warms up and when it is warm it is not the same. Third, it needs to go with the sound of koesjing. When I koesj I click my tongue against my pallad. It makes a sticky clicking sound, very relaxing, especially for roommates ;-).
My koesjdoek and me have been together for seventeen years. Everywhere I went to spend a night my koesjdoek came along. I had it in my hand while falling asleep. I remember colleagues with whom I shared rooms in hotels during a congress. They wondered what that brownish thing was doing in my bed. You!? A koesjdoek?! Aren’t you too old for that type of stuff?! I explained them I couldn’t be bothered with conventions about age and koesjdoeks. My koesjdoek would be beside me in my bed until the day I die. No point in telling me differently.
The men in my life had to stand the koesjdoekmania too. I used to have a habit of waking up in the middle of the night, panicking because my koesjdoek was nowhere to be found. “Where is my koesjdoek” is my most frequently used sentence in bed ;-). Happily, none of them reconsidered our relationships because of it. Mimi baptized it broeshnjoeff but that’s ok, I don’t care about the name.
Two days ago, we took a night train from Hanoi to Hoi An in the middle of Vietnam. We left Hanoi at 11 pm to arrive the next afternoon at 1. We were smart enough to take a softsleeper in a four person berth. Not bad at all. We ended up with two nice Israeli young men with whom we chatted for about 10 minutes. After that, everyone turned on one shoulder for a nap. Of course, my koesjdoek was with me. I packed it carefully in a plastic bag inside my hand luggage. Plastic, partly to protect it from getting wet or dirty; partly because I didn’t want to show it off to much. Apparently I do care about conventions a bit… I kept the bag besides my pillow and took one sleeve of the jacket out to be able to koesj a bit. Happily we had air-conditioning in the train so the koesjdoek was at perfect temperature. I slept like a baby even though the train was bumpy like mad and had some life threatening breaks.
From the train station we managed to get a minibus with three Danish boys and two English girls to Hoi An. We arrived at our lovely hotel with swimming pool, bargained on a better price, took a shower and jumped on the bed for a little nap after a slightly exhausting night. This is when it stroked me. I checked my backpack but I knew I wouldn’t find it. My koesjdoek, my companion, the one who never left my side… I had abandoned it in the train. It was probably already in some dirty dustbin with stinking fish and cockroaches. Or worse, maybe a little Vietnamese with no taste for koesjing is wearing it now to nightclubs! Tears kept flowing, I know, it was my own fault. I left it myself. I forgot it! Mimi keeps telling me we’ll buy another one. He even proposed to send grandma an email to ask for another one. No no no. My koesjdoek is irreplaceable.
The idea of spending the rest of my nights without it depresses me. I’m 29, I should know better. Everything changes, nothing is permanent. I know I know… but it was my koesjdoek and we had a good life together. I miss it. I might check some other pieces of cloth one of these days, but it won’t be the same, it won’t be broeshnjoeff koesjdoek anymore. Hasta la vista Koesjdoek…
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Jur
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*snif*
Àiaiaiaiaiaiaiai.... What a story. My little sister, 29 years old, without her koes-doek (why you keep spelling it like some sort of Afghani name, I don't know). To be honoust, I had NO idea you still had it. Thought you let go of 'koesing' loooooong ago. But alas, now you see; we're never too old to learn something (about eachother)... So what to do know? Do you want me to visit grandma and snatch one of grandpa's old pyjamas? Or is this a good excuse to go to India and find some nice new fabric which will be Koesdoek the second? Might take a while before it get's the koes-doek smell, but at least you have something to koes against. By the way, what about the fingers? When you used to koes, you used to stroke your fingers against your cheek as well. Or was that Ro? Hmmm... don't remember exactly, but it was a nice sight. You (or Ro) at ease with a koes-doek. Too bad Li, I really feel sorry for you. Your koes-doek is off to the koes-doek heaven now. It will be fine there. And it will wait for you ;-) A big hug from Holland for you and Mimi! Jur