I woke up today to a beautiful day where the sun is smiling after weeks of grayness. It was when I had breakfast when I took notice of my wall. I realized how the pictures seemed to multiply itself, reminders, postcards. I remember the night I first came here, how depressing I thought my studio was with its white, bare four walls that gave it the impression of a hospital. In the midst of homesickness, I posted a picture on it so that everytime I look at it I no longer simply see blankness but a person whom love resonates.

Today there stands pictures on postcards of the Eiffel Tower, la Baie des Anges in Nice, Hobbitmountain, falling leaves, a brewing cup of coffee that people have sent me over the short 4 months I have spent here in France. The realization that I am leaving this Friday dawns closer and closer. The acknowlegment that soon it is time to take them off, to neatly find them a safe place in my overcrowded suitcase and to bring them home.

I begin to wonder what I mean with home when I write of home.

In my Geopolitics class here we came across the concept of a torn country. A country that is divided in its identity. A bridge that connects two lands. A bridge is a physical creation that belongs to none. It got me thinking. My Serbian professor is one of the people whom I have met during my exchange that I honestly am glad to have met. He makes me think, sometimes inconviniently because I tend to think too much, but he makes me think.

Last weekend I had the chance to catch up with a friend of mine. We talked of what others who stayed in Rotterdam are doing, how they are and what they are involved in. It felt strange to realize that life goes on without you, that they continue on living and pursuing their academic dreams while you are gone. In a way it made you feel left, in another grateful for having the freedom to book a ticket, pick up your bags and travel.

Travel, perhaps that is what I have been doing most of my exchange here. The places I have never been, the people I met for the briefest period of time yet made me smile for the chance rendez-vous. It's funny meeting people during your travel because you know there is an expiration date. Sometimes I find myself opening more to strangers than people I know, and why I do not understand as well. Perhaps it's the idea of leaving once that train leaves, that you dont attatch yourself to them. It's like talking to the stars at night. The difference is that when you finally say goodbye their story is now a part of you.

Little by little, I realize how they helped me learn along the way. I began to think of them who shared their stories along the way with me. A webdesigner who opened his flat, who wants to make someone happier and made us feel home in Paris.

An architect, Jonathan, who showed me how big ones heart can be to a stranger; how beautiful one can be when one is in one's element talking about buildings in a monastery outside Bordeaux.

A gay guy who got me coffee in the busstation in Valencia. 2 hours wait for the bus to Madrid seemed to fly as we talked about places we love, boys we fancy. Right before I got on my bus he asked for my name and I for his. I unfortunately forgot it, but never the smiles.

A former Russian professor, Umberto, who stood infront of me in the queue when my flight got cancelled in Rome. Who prefers Italian cheese and food to French. Who thinks change is not synonimous to being worse, so that one should not be sad of it. Change is just different, change is inevitable.

A German neighbour, Christian, who made me realize the meaning of the word character.

A nihilist who would ask first and foremost whether someone who just crashed into him is alright before other emotions take hold. Who called me to make sure I did not get raped by hairy Italians. Who makes great Ratatoille.

A girl who likes eggs, eats as much as I do, loves wine and cheese as dearly, who always know how to make me smile and who after 4 months became a friend. I dont know what I would do without you, ho.

As I think of them, the more grateful I became for their stories. The chance to have met them and left a little bit different everytime, no matter how brief a moment we had. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your stories, your pearls and allowing me to keep it safe in my heart.

I think I am ready to go back.

Snow, snow and more glühwein

Last week was my last travel before my semester in France ends. Me and Egglady went to Strasbourg because I wanted to check out the Christmas market, and somehow feel like we should speak some French for one last time. How was it, you may ask? It was delicious. The only thing we did was roll down to les marches noël everyday, ate and drank. We had a love affair with vin chaud (glühwein), bretzels, lebkuchen and crepes. I swear the only thing missing was proper wurst!





Everything was just so christmassy and lovely. We walked around the little stalls with our fingers wrapped around warm treats, watching kids skate while listening to jolly good old carols. The only productive thing we did was to go up the cathedral to see the Christmas-infected city from up there.




I love Christmas.

After 3 days of cold and food we headed south to Grenoble to see the Alps. After I returned, people asked whether I skied in Grenoble and I said no. I made snowangels in the Alps. They looked at me strangely and I grinned. I made snowangels in the Alps.



This is Egglady screaming Holey shit I cannot believe you went in the snow!! You crazy woman my fingers feel as if its about to fall off, I cant imagine how your life feels!!



I just love this woman.

At one point I saw a little farm, white and solemn. There was a little brown pony chewing some snow, and it saw me standing next to the fence looking at it. Pony, I thought, PONY in the ALPS! It looked at me for a moment, before it started walking slowly towards me. I played with it for a while and it just made my day.

Thank you, pony in the Alps.

In preparation of going home

Alors I just lugged back 5 bottles of 2006 Bordeaux up the hills in the snow for 30minutes chez moi. I was dying and on the verge of rolling down and just die, but the image of my family sipping them and being tipsy with love and gratitude kept me going.

3 more weeks, am so excited to come home! If only I can bring home some Brie, Baguettes and Milles Feuilles, this would be the best Christmas ever!

Rome

So I went to the Vatican today and start mixing up Basilica St. Peter with Basilicum St. Peter. I guess it's not that bad if only it didnt make me hungry everytime I say that.

Plus last night I had the best lasagna in my life.

And this morning I had the best espresso in my life.

The best thing is everytime someone speaks to me in Italian I start seeing little Mario and little Luigi running around near his face.

Italy is fun.

Alors je suis rentrée à Paris hier soir :)

Today, EggLady and I wanted to take a long walk today in an attempt to feel less like fatasses after 2 weeks in Spain. We got changed and start making plans on which route to take. We opened the front door and felt the breeze and decided to go back in and cancel the walk. After much debacle, we forced ourselves down to the common room to work.

If anyone living in our building should wonder what are those weird noises from the common room, it's us. This is why.

The best thing to end your visit in a country is to shop in the supermarket of another country for the first time.

Je suis heureux de pouvoir revenir chez Auchan!

--

As I witness the clock moving slowly, with its grace and definite manner, I began to think. After fooling around for 3 weeks travelling and eating, it somewhat scares me to go back to the responsibilities. Being here filled me with doubts in the beginning, missing that plane to Paris might not be that great of an idea and I struggled with that thought of dumbness. Could it be that following your emotions cause only damages?

I had a conversation about happiness (en francais, oui) with a friend in Vienna yesterday and it brightened my day. The question is whether one can be happier when one follows one's heart or to follow one's head? Can it be that we are happier when we just try to be less than selfish, to help others along the way and that should be enough? If one prefers to follow one's heart, how do one truly know what one truly desires? For emotions can be a fooler, thieves of time because it takes years to adequately understand one's heart.

For it takes no time to fall in love but years to know what love is-Jason Mraz.

That regret is beginning to subside with the realization of gratitude. The freedom to be able to live and make mistakes, to fall and learn, to get lost and be found again. The freedom to think and realize nothing is ever a mistake, merely a lesson in disguise.

These past couple of weeks I have been struggling with the lingering desire to understand. The want to know what I want, the longing to acknowledge and take the steps to make it real. I have little progress in that so far, and how that frustrated me. I felt confused, lost. Yet again does anyone know what one truly wants? A part of the blessed few, I sit here pondering on whether most of us has been asleep all these time through life.

Amartya Sen once said that human development can only be achieved when there is freedom, I made a speech on that for my graduation. Maybe its time to live according to what I preached.

Am currently reading about conjugating French l'imparfait online in Madrid. I was in Southern Spain for a week of sun-searching with a friend the Egg Lady-only to decide to miss our plane back to Paris and stay here in Spain for another week. We parted our own ways in Valencia, me bussing it up to Madrid while she stays with her new beau.

Alors on my last free week of my exchange in France I am in Spain reading about French grammar.

The question is how did this became my life. How is it possible that after my exchange in France the highest chance is that I will come back not speaking French? How is it possible that the French experience I enjoyed is visible only from my extra layer of fat slash joy and a deepening appreciation and adoration for wine and cheese and everything buttery?

As I sit here taking a cookie break from my grammar page, I cannot help but to wonder which Spanish city I prefer most. Granada because they give you free tapas when you order bebidas, Valencia because they give you free bebidas when you order tapas. Plus there is also a beach involved in Malaga.

D'accord. J'ai besoin d'un lifeplan. Or an epiphany or any directions from above or here or down for that matter.

The tale of the biscuits and butter

Once upon a time there was a girl who went to France for an exchange. She came there excited to taste the sugary treats and quickly had an affair with butter. Halfway through her exchange, she realized that SHE IS OUT OF CONTROL AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO TIE HER DOWN AND STOP HER FROM SHOVING HERSELF WITH FOOD!

To miss, to lack

I learnt a French verb manquer yesterday, which means 'to miss'. I find the conjugation interesting. When the object is a noun, such as 'my bed' you conjugate it normally:

Je manque mon lit en Rotterdam.
Je manque mon shuttle à l'ESSEC souvant.

But when the object is a person, the verb manquer literally means 'to lack' and the position of the sentence is different. For example,

Mes amies me manquent

Which literally translates to:

My (girl)friends lacks me, but actually means I miss my girl friends.

I find that trés mignon... You miss someone because they are lacking in your life.

I'm glad to be able to miss someone, for that means that I have some special persons in my life whom I really miss when they are not with me for the moment. You know who you are, I miss you wherever you are. I miss you no matter how many kilometres are between us.

:)

Mes parents me manquent.
Mes soers et frères me manquent.
Tu me manques.

A bientôt.

Threat on biscuits

So my little brother has been alleging me of always bringing biscuits when I go home from my travellings.

"lu biskuit mulu bawanya!"

I asked him what he wants from France. He said the French's national footbal team's uniform. I offered to instead bring him some delicious macarons, fresh from Paris.

He threatened to not pick me up.

--

Sometimes I really feel the love.

I booked my ticket back to Rotterdam last night. I'm leaving France Dec 17, in less than 2 months from now. It feels odd. So much has happened...

...I remember when I first got here. I was horribly homesick. It was one of the darkest days in my life. I was here but being here was the last thing I wish. I missed my friends, my boyfriend, my family. It was different than when I first got to Rotterdam 2 years ago, the first time I went to Europe. I also arrived alone. I did not know anyone. I did not speak the language. I did not know how to buy a train ticket from Schiphol to Rotterdam. I did not know how to cook, how to do my laundry, how to live on my own.

I know how to cook (partially) now, I know how to operate the washing machine and the vaccuum cleaner. I learnt.

I arrived here alone, and the first thing I realized was how scared I actually was. Everything felt so foreign. I arrived in Paris Nord, from there I was supposed to take the RER to Cergy, where I am living now. It is the agglomeration of Paris, 40mins by train from central Paris.

The first impression I had was that this place is uglier than Rotterdam.

There is absolute nothing to do, everything is far and it is not that safe at night.

I got into my studio and it is white. Everything looked so sterile. That was when I realized my pillow, blankets, sheets, towels and clothes that I sent 2 weeks prior havent arrived. I felt so alone in my room, with nothing but cold whiteness surrounding. The next couple of days were hard. I had orientation but even amidst all those people I was laughing and smiling but I felt alone in the inside.

Perhaps I was surprised. Perhaps I was dissapointed.

On the Friday it was the Bear's birthday. I told myself to be strong but before I know it I was running from my class to the train station, got myself a ticket to Germany and went to Paris to catch my train.

I have never felt happier that week.

I came back to France on the same time he flew to Spain for his exchange. I came back different. To be able to follow one's heart really does provide one with joy. I have never and will never regret taking that train to Germany.

Slowly I began to realize why I went here. Slowly I began to realize how resistance of the current moment has done nothing but harm. Slowly I began to accept. Slowly I began to breathe. Slowly I began to live. Slowly I began to fall in love with this country.

Slowly I began to realize that I am halfway done.

It feels odd.

All in all, living here has become a habit. I have to admit, living here doesnt feel real. I feel like I am in a holiday, but I am not because I do go to classes. I go to classes, but I do not work nor do I use my brain. I travel, I read. I have all the time in the world, this is something I did not have in Rotterdam. I meet people who I will genuinely miss when I leave. I have croissants and espressos, brie and wine.

Today I received an email. It was an invitation, a request to be a part of a board for my HC in Rotterdam. My HC from where I graduated right before I left for France. My HC which has taught me so much.

My mind began to ponder. That life seems to me like the real life, and that email was like a reminder. But living here has made me realize that there is another reality, and going back confuses me.

I decided to go for a run, and it was beautiful. I ran to the hills, my favorite spot in Cergy. I ran through the small pavement, with little farms below; layers of trees and mountains seemed so deep. The sun was light, it was almost time for it to set. I sat down on the grass, I listened to the vague bird chirps. I watched the little insects fly by, I watched the grass being swayed by the wind.

And then I walked home.

Bordeaux

So a very significant event happened last weekend: I made Macarons.

I travelled to Bordeaux for the weekend, went CouchSurfing by myself. I couldnt hope for a better way to spend the weekend. I arrived on Friday afternoon, explored the city by myself before I met up with my host. His name is Jonathan, a guy with such big and open heart.

On Saturday morning, he took me to a market to get bread, cheese and vegetables for the weekend. And trust me when I say the French know their cheese! We got 4 different kinds and theyre all marvelous in their own distinct ways. It was on our way home that I discovered that Jonathan bakes his own Macarons. I stopped in disbelief. You bake your own Macarons and you didnt mention it before?? He laughed and suggested we make it. I was trying to conceal the grin on my face that says WE ARE GOING TO MAKE MACARONS!





And so we did. It was easier than I thought, yet I know I will not be able to make it myself. I have to say it is much more fun to make them, almost as much fun as eating them! After we formed slash put them in rounch shapes, we left for St Emilion, a beautiful charming wine village near Bordeaux. The drive was just marvellous, we drove through vineyards after vineyards, different chateaux that seemed infinite.






Un peu de soleil, c'etait divin.

In St Emilion, we parked and decided to take a walk around the city. It is a very borgeois tourist city that sells highly priced wines, but it is charming nonetheless. We took a walk through the vineyards, walked in a monastery. It was such a pleasant afternoon. That to me is travelling. That feeling that time stretches and the ordinary becomes extraordinary.



On Sunday we drove to Archachon to the beach, only to decide to go and hike up la Dune du Pila, the highest sand dune in Europe. Not knowing what to expect, I went along. We parked the car and took this little path through the forest. After awhile, Jonathan told me to look up. I looked up and thought I was in Egypt. It was the biggest sand dune I have ever seen, it looked like a mountain.

To my disbelief, we hiked it. We hiked that ginormous sand dune with my slippers. It was drizzling slightly so the sand was awfully slippery. In the middle of the hike I told him that I am scared of height but decided, with what will power I am not sure, to not look down and continued up. Several torturous moments later we made it to the top. I looked scared shitless and freezing, not the look I thought I would have when going to Bordeaux. It's better.

I turned and was speechless by the beauty that stood before me. It was misty from that height, looking down to this collection of trees that looked like a rainforest. It was the first time I have ever been so close to nature, and it took my breath away. I couldnt believe that I was actually in France. I looked to my right and it was the sea.

I couldnt conceal my amazement. At that moment it was all worth it. Everything that happened has happened which allow for that moment to happen. My mind was silent and I truly appreciated everything; the hurtful, the sweet, the lovely, the lonely, the rain, the sand between my toes.

I left inspired.

I travelled to Aix en Provence last weekend, and it amazes me how different the climate can be from one city to another here! I mean, in the NL when you travel from one end to another, basically you dress for the worst weather there is et voilà you are dressed appropriately! The weather is amazing there, traces of Summer so vivid like Fall never flirted with it. Here in Paris its cold and windy, but there the warmth of the sun kissed your skin unapologetically and I loved it.

Provence is a city that exudes the feeling of holiday, the atmosphere and the people so light that time stretches itself. You began to realize there is nothing else more important than this moment, you begin to take note of your breath. Breath by breath, moment by moment, everything seems so ridiculously dreamy.

I love how I can wake up in the morning, grab my book and spend the entire morning accompanied by a puny cup of espresso and a warm croissant.



I enjoyed getting completely lost when walking to this little hiking park. I adore the amazement I felt when I first saw the sea, surrounded by cliffs and little houses.





How I get to spend the afternoon sitting next to this beauty, with my leather bound journal and a pen.



I am beginning to fall in love with this country.

Life feels like a long holiday here, never before have I completely put my academic priorities second. I realized now how perfectionist I have always been in terms of my professional life, how excelling became a lifestyle. Perhaps it gave me a reason, the idea of making something out of my life. The idea that I am going somewhere, forward with every challenges.

I realize now there is another side of the story, and it is equally green. I cherish them, and I am more than grateful for the chance to stand on both sides of the fence.

First visit to Paris...

...is simply lovely.

The first time I saw la Tour Eiffel was when we walked from Champs-Elysée to Invalides. I could barely conceal my smile. From the first moment I saw it I fell in love with it. Je suis tombé en amour avec elle. I love how I get to see it from different points in Paris, it always looks different but always enchanting. We sat on this little park infront of it and from there you can direcly see the whole of Eiffel standing proudly, gallantly, silently, so large yet so close to you.

It was around 5pm so the sunlight was really soft. From the distant we heard children's laughter, little girls running around chasing each other with their little pigtailed hair bouncing up and down. Little voices screaming lightly in French, I didnt understand a word but I listened in delight. I sat there smiling and for once I realized I am in France.

I am excited.

I’m leaving for France this afternoon. Slight fear has kept me company since yesterday. Spent the day with friends and family; running from one Dutch city to another to enjoy their company and say my goodbyes. It scares me how everything is changing so quickly; it left me inert. Like a train coming into a station, it rests for some time but it knows not too get too cozy because it is leaving again in a couple of minutes. It’s tired but time is ticking to its next schedule. Before it has to leave again to another world, another reality.

I guess I am still rather scared, I have to admit, but I think it helps when I realize that I myself is the conductor who set the schedule. The one and only person who are able to write the time and destinations on the board. That no matter how hard it may seem at the time, I wouldn’t have it otherwise.

A funny thing happened last night when I was waiting for my train back to Rotterdam. It wasn’t coming for another 20minutes so I decided to be a loner and sit all the way at the end of the perron. It was before I took my seat that I noticed that the red plastic seats are lightly engraved; travelling quotes to accompany travelers as they wait for their trains. It quickly amused me, and before long I was reading through it with a smile. It was what I needed, and the unexpectedness of the encounter baffled me, leaving traces of joy in that cold, rainy and windy night in Holland.

I think I am ready to go.


--

The soul of a journey is liberty, liberty to think, feel and do as one pleases. –Unknown

How strange it is for one can feel at home when someone is around, regardless of the geographical location? When the country, the flat that you call home for 2 years suddenly become where you wish you are not in.

The train rides were pleasant, quiet but pleasant. I had hoped that silence would prepare one's self to be away from another. I hoped and hoped. As the train drove along the Rhine, through the mountains and little houses on the river banks, I had to stop myself from looking, for I know there is nothing but an empty chair next to me.

Everything reminds me of you. The walk back from the station, the short trip to do groceries, even a casual visit to the post office. I came home to an empty flat filled with memories, with things as the way we had left it before our trip. Everything seemed to be the same but I know it is not.

At that point, one's brain decided to rationalize. To pack the day with chores, anything to occupy one's brain as not to think. But can one really do that, can one truly exclude memories that kept on shoving itself back to one's mind? I think it's possible, yet dissapointed at the gap between how strong I would like to be and how strong I actually am.

Perhaps it was self-defense, that my brain started to lay down the facts. That we are not that far from each other, that it is only temporary and surely we will have the time of our lives in our respective countries. Rationalizing is what one is trained to do, yet for once emotions hold one captive for the time being.

I wanted to get some cheese and saw a pack of mini-mozarellas. I turned, but there was noone grinning, hinting his explicit love for those soft cheese balls.

I wrote, watched TV, read, ate, laughed, talked, smiled, unpacked, packed, cleaned. But just as I thought that I am OK, that the worst is over did it start again. The longing, the gripping feeling of homesickness.

Is it possible for one to be homesick not to one's home, but to someone that makes one feels at home? Is so, can one still call it homesickness? Or is it mere exagerations, simple tricks one's mind falls for when blinded by emotions? Of missing someone and wishing that one can wake up, stretch one's arm to realize that the other is still sleeping soundly even when it's time to be awake?

It feels like a disease. A disease evoked by certain details, certain images and memories. It took hold of one's heart, making it feel like some part is missing, a little part of void.

I will be stronger. I want to be stronger. Bit by bit, I'll try to bridge that gap and hopefully learn something from this. Because I believe that life goes on. On it goes, and oh how wonderful it is and will always be.

Du fehlst mir.

Danke.

As I watch you in the other room,
playing with your kitten
patronizing it

Böse Katze, you said playfully.

I sit here and type
as I try to preserve that in my memory
with the idea of leaving looming in mind

I began to dread each passing hour
for it reminded me of the trainride back
the trainride away
to a room filled with memories.

I think a part of why I am so koala-bear-ish today
is because I realized that

you are going to France soon.

I know.

This is why girls buy jeweleries

"Ketut percaya takdir?"

"Tentu. Agama saya mengajarkan begitu."

"Hmm..."

--


When I was in Bali for a mini vacation with my parents last week, I made a spontaneous visit to a medicine man in Ubud. I wasn't sure why I went there. I have to admit my intentions were purely out of curiosity; he was the medicine man described in a novel which was recently made into a movie. I arrived in his house sometime after lunch time. His house was typical Balinese, greeting visitors with the traditional brick-doorway. I walked in slowly, unsure of how to behave. His house was surprisingly spacious with little huts where one can sit on while enjoying the calm Balinese air.

Curiosity filled me as I walked into his open house. His pet birds chirped harmoniously. Suddenly I heard a voice saying hello, a voice that instructed me to come in and sit on one of the open huts. It was Ketut Liyer, a 96yo traditional Balinese medicine man, obviously focused on carving a brass piece with some Balinese transcriptions meant as a charm for a newly born Balinese baby who wouldnt stop crying. He asked me to sit next to him, smiled sidely and asked for me to wait for a second.

"I will finish this first, only little time wait please. Very sorry," he said in his broken English.

I sat talking to him for nearly 2hrs while he finished the charm. After he was finish with the inscriptions, he laid out a piece of white cloth, put the brass piece on it and folded it into a little pouch. He worked timidly for someone in their late nineties. He did it all himself, even the tricky business of inserting the end of the thread onto the needle before he started sewing steadily. I offered to help but he laughed and said that it was not necessary. "Saya harus latihan, must practice my eyes."



I noticed his eyes which was strangely blue. I found it fascinating, a solid contrast to his dark brown skin.

We talked about little things in general with nothing in particular to begin with. At one point, he asked why did I come to his house. I couldn't answer for I know little of the true reason myself. I said I was just curious, I read about him in the novel. He laughed and said that he's afraid. He said that he didn't write the book, which propelled him to fear that he might not be what others went seeking for. What others expect to get when they went and see him.

I smiled in complete agreement, and we talked some more. Suddenly he looked straight at me and said: "Nanti kamu saya ramal ya." I was surprised. "Oh baik," I somehow responded. He continued working on the little pouch-charm as I sat there and listened to him.

All of the sudden, I was filled with a strange feeling. An infliction of shame. I realized then and there why I was there. I read the novel, and by myself was filled with an expectation that he will say things to me that will somehow change my life. Words or prophecies that can provide comfort and change when there is no particular need for them. An instant answer for a question that I do not yet have. Curiosity propelled by an expectation.

All these realization made me think. How could one seek an answer from an almost toothless medicine man that have never met, know nor think of us beforehand? I sat there thinking to myself. I came there with an expectation that I was unconsciously filled with, an expectation based on no reasonable basis. I did not even have a particular issue I'd like to talk about. I felt slight shame of my unapparent intentions.

Human actions can somehow be driven by such unconscious motivations that surprises one when one stop for a while and think of it.

When he was done with the baby's puny white-pouch-cloth-charm, he turned to me and read my face, my palm and my back. I listened respectfully. Something my sister said during one of our random late-car-ride-conversations struck me. It is the process and not the destination that really counts. The acknowledgement that there will be no instant solution coming from a merry-eyed medicine man in Bali for the questions or problems one may have. Those questions are reserved for me and myself only, something to talk about with my heart.

He told me that I have two very fragrant lotuses on my back, I am very lucky. "You very lucky!" he said, "harus berhati-hati. Must be careful! Dengarkan hatimu if make decision. No regrets."

I laughed.

--

The next day I went to a jeweler and bought myself a little silver lotus bracelet. Something to remember him by. Something to remind me how lucky I am. On the car ride to my grandmother's house, I was filled with thoughts. I looked outside, lost in my thoughts. As I rolled the gemstones on my bracelet, my thoughts were on my breathing. It is indeed the process that makes life so much more interesting.

D: HAU! You're finally online! :)

H: I know! How are you?

D: Am good. You?

H: Just want to let you know that I just killed a fly.

D: Ew.

H: ? No something white came out!

D: EW.

H: ! It was pregnant!!

D: Ewww Hau! You child murderer!

H: Sabrina said the exact same thing. U FREAKS!

D: Imagine the child's future... Shattered due to a brute Hamster. If it was a boy... Imagine its little female fly bride... Its first steps... First wing... Imagine the look on the fly mom's face when she saw him first fly :'(

H: If you want it I'll drop it in your mailbox later.

D: You're not burying it?? Omw... Imagine the fly dad... Wanting to bring flowers and visit his brutally murdered wife and son... His world shattered...

Imagine him sitting alone at the corner of your room, singing.

Aaaaaaaall by myseeeeeeeeeeeeeelf...

H: I think he's moved on to another woman.

D: ...dont wanna beeee...

...all byyyyy MYYYYYSEEEEEEEEEEEEELFFF...

--

Tu me manques :)

Someone told me once that time is relative. The concept felt familiar, yet completely new in hindsight. People always say that time flies when we're having fun, while ticks excruciatingly slow when we're inflicted by adversities. I have always felt it as well, yet never explicitly thought about.

Time, or the lack thereof, always in a way scares me a little. I always imagine a giant sand-clock, draining inevitably, steadily. Attempts to make it slower is futile, for it is beyond one's control.

Last year I read this novel called The Time Traveller's Wife. Now I rarely read Romance, let alone Fantasy-Romance, but I found this book interesting. The girl, Claire, fell in love with the guy when he time travelled to the time when she was 9yo. He came from the time in which they were happily married in the future. He came because she described to him how they met, how she fell in love with him without even knowing by then. For him, time travelling is like sneeze that one can't control. The way it works is that he basically travells to moments that are dear to his heart, moments so precious even without him realizing.

I like that concept.

The idea that moments, memories have some kind of a pulling force. Our lives gravitating around it, defined by it. I find this intriguing.

One of my bad habits is that I think too much. Running around in my head in the attempt to make sense of it all, to find meanings beneath the surface. In a way I think it's a defense mechanism that is unfortunately clipped in me. It is an addiction that I have been trying to battle out of fear. Fear of thinking, of peeling for meanings, any meaning, when there is none. When one should merely be in the moment and nothing else.

When it's meant to be, then it's meant to be. There is nothing one can do to escape it. No point in trying desperately to prolong it, let alone hasten it.

If my heart is meant for you, then it is meant for you.

If not, then the end becomes merely a moment. A moment that will one day makes me think, hopefully with a smile etched on my lips. But for the time being, let me just be in the moment.

First week home...

...is nice. As it always is everytime I am home, it always feels like I never left. But I did, for a year. The roads are the same, the traffic, the temperature, even my room smells the same. I like it, it feels like home. My flight was OK, although my feet were happily relieved when it can finally touch the ground once more. Above Jakarta the weather was extremely cloudy. I looked outside and all I can see was white - like being wrapped in this immensely fluffy cottoncandy. Fun for some but not for others as the pilot tried to navigate the way out. It can be rather scary I admit, the pilot had to decrease the altitude up and down rather swiftly. The baby on board was crying. I was just looking outside, seeing the rain hitting the body of the plane but was immediately blown dry by the heavy wind. I sat there thinking to myself damn this is cool.

Adrift in the midst of this fluffy whiteness.

Slowly but surely it subsided, and I can see the ocean. Rice fields. Messy-ly organized houses with red-bricks-roof. The highway. Cars. Lots of cars the size of ants. Slowly magnifying itself with every second, until we felt a thump as our plane safely arrived in Jakarta.

But nothing really indicates the fact that you're back until you take your first inhalation. The hot, humid, almost sticky air filling your lungs.

Or the first time you step out of immigration, when you see your parents standing there by the door waiting for you. They look up, tired from waiting, and their smiles made the long hours fly by.

I went home, went in my room and immediately looked in my drawers. Closets. Bathroom. Jumped on my bed. I went downstairs to see my piano, the keys unplayed. To my sister's room, to my little brother's room, to my parents' room, to the kitchen, to the garden. Everything is the way I remembered it to be. This sense of little consistency despite the constant change is reassuring.

This morning something weird happened that made me smile. I asked my maid to make me some fresh coffee, and she asked if I want it black or mixed with milk and sugar. I said black. She looked at me, and her eyes were filled strangely with this little sense of secrecy.

"Oh you want black coffee? Well I have this stuff I brought from my village... Really nice stuff."

I felt like talking to a dealer, and couldn't help but to laugh.

Peonies

I have always been secretly and sometimes explicitly in love with flowers. Always the beauty of it delights me, but perhaps the more intriguing part is the gripping realization of temporariness. The beauty intrigues you, the colors captivates, the texture calms you down. You stand before this beautiful item and is taken aback by it all. Yet in a couple of days it wilts, leaving nothing but traces of memories in your mind and heart.

This horribly resonates with what I feel at the moment.

We just wrote our final exam yesterday, marking the end of our second year. Summer break has officially started and I am checking myself in online for my flight tomorrow. My suitcase if halfpacked, my flat half cleaned. My heart half-hearted. I am incredibly excited and partially relieved to fly home - it's been a year too long. I miss the feeling of being home, of waking up in my own bed and having my family in the other room. I am looking forward to spending time with them, going for lunches and dinners in places I have tasted and adores, in places they have tasted and adore when I was away.

Yet again I am increasingly being aware of how attatched I have become to this place. To the memories, to the people, to the connections I formed as I navigated my way through in living by myself. It feels so natural to have them within biking distance, to call them and dine and chat and enjoy their companies as they navigate their way through the days.

I know it's just one and a half months, and I will see some of them again before I leave for my exchange to France. But yesterday it dawns upon me the realization that we are almost done. When I'm back, we'll be taking our respective majors and consumed in writing our thesis, until we graduate and scatter once more. How fast time pushes us is striking, inevitable. Yet again as I am looking - just looking - at these beautiful peonies makes me feel incredibly grateful.

To be surrounded by those you love, to love and be loved in return is indeed one of the greatest things I will forever cherish.

Old letters

I stumbled upon a folder of mine yesterday, a folder filled with cards, notes and letters I received since I've lived here in the NL. I had some time to kill while waiting for my hair to dry, so I took the folder with me and sat next to my bedroom window. I began reading them. One by one. I've always loved letters, I am indeed a girl of words, and reading them makes me remember. I was filled with affection, love, sorrow, all the emotions formed by the words. The words opened a door, they guided me through reminiscents. Slowly but surely I was filled with a feeling of nostalgic. These people used to be the people whom I cannot spend a day not talking to. Now days pass unknowingly, without so much of an exchange of news.

It's not that we stopped becoming friends, we just got caught up in our lives. C'est la vie, Claudia said. Nonetheless I felt heartbroken for no apparent reason, I felt as if I've lost them in the process of becoming who I am today. Abandoned them. Exchanged them.

A friend told me later that it's only natural. People change, you change, and the people you are close to today are those who suits the person that you are today. People grow. Relationships fade. But is that always the rule, I asked myself. I hope not. So I sent them each an email, telling them thank you for being a part of my life. Because thanks to them I am who I am today, and I will never forget that. I will always be here.

This simple, yet beautifully mesmerizing poem made me realize that:

E de novo acredito que nada do que é importante se perde verdadeiramente. Apenas nos iludimos, julgando ser donos das coisas, dos instantes e dos outros.
Comigo caminham todos os mortos que amei, todos os amigos que se afastaram, todos os dias felizes que se apagaram.... Nao perdi nada, apenas a ilusão de que tudo podia ser meu para sempre.

De Miguel Sousa Tavares

And again I believe that nothing that is important can be really lost. Despite that we delude ourselves, that we are the owners of things, of moments and of others.
With me live all the deads that I have loved, all the friends that turned away, all the beautiful days that faded... I did not lose anything, just the illusion that everything could be mine forever.

From Miguel Sosusa Tavares


--

I went to this little record store last weekend to find vinyl albums for my sister. I was skeptical at first, but when I was there, sorting and browsing through these cases of old records, I felt at home. It feels like being in a bookstore for me, quietly pondering through the shelves as if time sat still. My little bubble.

To my utter delight, I found this record of Coltrane and Davis:



It's absolute heaven.

Thank you.

So long, HC

Yesterday marks the end of our HC days. 2 years of blood, sweat and tears while running around from one class to another, one paper to another, one presentation to another. That's it, it's done. A part of me is relieved, finally some moment to breathe. The other part is slightly sad. That class has taught me alot. We discussed numerous issues from different angles, but most importantly tt taught me to question. That is something that I will forever cherish. To question others, but especially myself. For it is much easier to be critical and find the fault of others but less so on ourselves.

When I was writing my speech, I realized that what's in it is merely fragments from conversations I had with people this past year. It's amazing, little did I know how profound of an impact they had on me. Especially taking into account my goldfish memory.

I was extremely nervous right before my speech. I entered the room and was taken aback by its size. I was drinking like a camel while sitting on the front row, waiting for the dean to finish his speech. As I went to the podium, my brain stopped thinking. I couldnt think, all I'm hearing was my heartbeat. I started talking. As I was standing there, the sudden realization of it all hit me. It feels like yesterday when I was sitting on the other side of the room, listening to the valedictorian delivering his speech on what it means to be honorable. And here I am today, on the other side talking.

It made me realize how far I've gone. And I like it here.

We started when we were just innocent first years. Back then, I had no clue what to expect, I was merely curious. Looking back, I realize how grateful I am for the invitation they extended to me, and for taking it. It has been fast paced, damn it was one hell of a race. A race filled with post-marks that I took in regardless of my complaints at the time. It's funny, how we complain during the time but looking back the only feeling remaining is that of gratitude. And somberness, to realize the fleeting-ness of it all. This class has never cease to make me feel challenged, to rise beyond and leap outside. To achieve things I have never imagined to achieve. Not me, I used to think. Not me.

Well, not anymore.

To me, the most memorable lectures are the ones that when they end makes you start thinking. I started curious, I end intrigued. So thank you, thank you for your whys and your hows, for questioning us and making us question in return. It has been a great ride.

I woke up too early today, heart thumping like a little schoolgirl just before a school outing. Am trembling like a leaf, from head to toe. Adrenaline is running around in excitement, anxiety, coldfeet, nervousness. I am loving it. Am putting on my heels and leaving the house.

HOLEY COLDFEET!

They asked me to be the valedictorian for my graduation from the HC this Wednesday.

Am frantically flipping through Speech Writing for Dummies.

!

I had a dream last night. I dreamt of coming home. Like any other dreams that I had, it does not have any plot or any coherency. Just fragments. Sometimes they make sense, mostly they dont. Just fragments. Peripherial. Sometimes when I woke up, when my eyes opened slowly after hours of resting, I would lie there in the warmth of my blanket trying to make sense of it. Making sense of the fragments, and most of the time I realize there is nothing to make sense of. It's just a dream, mere fragments of apparitions.

I dreamt of coming home last night. Of being home, being slow and useless. Of flying back at the end of the stay.

--

When I heard your news this morning, when I walked in my half-awake state into my living room to realize there's an email from you, I was speechless. Quietness haunted me the whole day. I did not know what to think. I did not know what to say. I did not know what to do.

What struck me the most is the tragedy of how something can be a dream yet a nightmare on another occassion.

I'm horribly, tremendously and heart-achingly sorry, my dear.

The only thing I'm sorrier about is not being able to be there and hug you.

I dont know what to say, unfortunately I do not know any religious consoling sentences in this matter. Or any matter, truth be told. But I don't think you would like to hear them to begin with.

I will not ask you how you are for I believe that is a stupid question. I will not say that I know how you feel and this too shall pass because I do not know how you feel nor do I have the slightest idea.

All I can say is that I love you, and I am here for you no matter what.

Mandeville

Yesterday was a special day for my university. We had the pleasure to present the former CEO of a multinational with a laureate for his achievements (also because he graduated from here). I was chosen from my HC to prepare a presentation to introduce and welcome him in the masterclass he gave before his acceptance ceremony. Man saying I was nervous cannot suffice in describing how shaky my feet were. Or how jumpy my heart was. At times I had to squeeze someone's hand just to breathe.

When my program coordinator signalled for me to go up, I stopped thinking. I smiled and started talking. As I was standing up there, everything was so clear. I can hear my heart thump like a frightened bunny, my heels slightly shaking.

I loved every second of it. The anxiety. The cold (shaking) feet. The fear. The jumping nerves. The adrenaline rushing as you push yourself outside your box.

When people start coming up to you to congratulate you, even the CEO, you cannot help but think how it was all worth it.

After the ceremony, we proceeded to this yacht club to have dinner. It was an incredibly beautiful weather. I had the pleasure to sit next to some exceptional people, and was astounded in the best possible way to talk and discuss matters with them. I love these kinds of conversations, the ones that when they end makes you start thinking.

The place was classically beautiful, everyone was dressed in suits, clearly enjoying and conversing with others on their respective tables. I looked through the large glass windows, straight to the docks. The sun was shining, but it wasnt scorching. It was light, like a kiss on the waters.

At that point I thought to myself, damn this is one good day.

Dinner was hillarious. Invited some friends over tonight to catch up and eat, my jaws and abs still suffer from it.

You remember when you were little and you would hear this joke which is absolutely not funny when you think about it later but at that point all you want to do is wrap it up with ribbons and live with it forever and ever? When you laughed so hard, unabashedly and uncontrollably, that you had to gasp for breath in between laughters? When your abs hurt from so much laughing yet the fact that it hurts because of this joke makes you laugh even more.

This makes me realize how much time has passed since I had that. And it feels good to relive it.

We went to Antwerpen for the day last weekend. Had absolutely no plan, so we ended up sitting below the Magnolia tree in this beautiful botanical garden after a stroll down the pier.

The cool sensation of the grass
rubbed against your bare feet

The touch of the sunlight
warm against your skin

Time pushes you to run
in its playful wheel

But for that moment
it seemed like even time stood still

Surrendering to the soft breeze of Spring
tickles

D...

...is 20 and happy. Thank you, loved ones.

Espresso and Pearls

I went to this little espresso bar near my house this morning - a little routine that kinda grew on me when I need some time alone. I love the smell of their freshly brewed espresso, the perfect companion for my reading time. You know what's also really nice? To just look outside the window at everything. Things kinda stood still for the time being; people running and biking, cars rushing but here you are safe and sound with a steaming puny espresso cup on your hand.

I continued reading.

Some time later, a lady asked me whether it is OK for her to sit next to me. I smiled and said of course! She reminded me of Nanny McPhee, the pretty version ;) She sat down, munched her caramel brownie, stirred her cappucino. She wanted to ask the barista for some kaneel (cinnamon), but he didnt hear her so I called him for her. She continued munching her kaneel-dusted caramel brownies.

Finally she asked me: Were you born on April or August?

I was surprised. April, I answered. How did you know?

She smiled. I knew it.

That was that. We spent the next hour chatting about happiness, the lack of it, the joy of having it. These little happiness, these little moments of connection, she said, is what is precious. It's just like these little pearls. She pointed at her pearl necklace. These. These are what makes it all worthwhile.

I was looking at old pictures just now and I realized just how far I've gone. I'm turning 20 tomorrow. Scared? You bet. Excited? Definitely. Somber? Yes.

Time really flies doesnt it?

People grow old, bigger, richer, apart. People run, I run, through life. Running to somewhere I hope is my purpose, somewhere that I hope can fill my life with meaning. Birthdays make me realize I'm also running out of time, for yet another year has passed. It makes me realize that it's alright to take a walk down the harbour and just let the scenery sink in. That it's alright to sit down and talk to someone for hours despite the lingering deadlines. For connection is what ultimately defines us.

I'm counting my little pearls. Slowly and carefully.

...And I think to myself,
what a wonderful world.

I ust got my acceptance mail: I'M GOING TO FRANCE FOR AN EXCHANGE FROM AUG-DEC 2010!! JEEEEEEEEJ :) :) :)

Oui, bitches.

The loveliness of it all

Would you like to know a little secret?

I think flowers makes the world seem much more beautiful than it already is.

You bike hurriedly to school with breakfast on one hand and books on the other. On the pavement near your university, you noticed the grey ground which was covered with snow/ice before has decided to blanket itself with green green grass and friendly wild flowers. I love noticing how those flowers nod, wave, dance along with the wind.

Or the sweet, sweet taste of fresh strawberries from the market.

Spring is here.

The goodness of vitamins

I woke up today very hopeful on the prospect of actually doing something. Havent done anything this week and since we have a test tomorrow I actually felt like I should be putting my brain to work. So I had breakfast, sat down and realized it's too early and my brain needs coffee after last night. A couple of hrs later I sat down again and managed to open my book. I looked at it, stared at the clock and realized that noone can work without lunch. I mean, brain needs food and oxygen to work right?

Shopping for food is what I then decided to do. Happily cooked, and realized today there's The Hills weekend break on MTV. And just like that 2hrs passed by. I had to force myself to lift up the remote and press the OFF button. It was like my hand has a mind of its own.. And it demands the TV stays on.

Back on the table. Book still opened. Clock ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I realized I havent had dessert. Surely that's the key! Dessert and I will start working like an elf in a shoe factory! A girl needs dessert! So I went back to get some fresh fruit. I mean, surely fresh fruit would induce enough motivation to read right? It's science or something. I think it's called vitamins.

I am sure I will be majorly ashamed when I read back this post tomorrow.

I guess now the question is: did the vitamins work? Well. It worked pretty well in inducing conspiscuous consumption of COOKIES. I concluded that there is a positive relationship between fruits and cookies which translates to SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME. How the hell did this happen, And here I am sitting down typing, too full to move.

I wasnt kidding when I mentioned that productivity is barely beyond subsistence. Argh.

Happy birthday, Chickadee!

Happy Chickadee Day, sweety :)

20!

Miss you beyond words, and wishing you a good one. Have fun, lots of fun! It's been a year since I last saw you, and I wish to give you your birthday hug before you turn 21 :)

Berlin...

...was amazing.

We went to Berlin for a weekend, which really was not enough. Some dislikes Berlin, Berlin is messy, dirty. But for some reason I think that is what attracted me the most. We had a crash 3hrs introduction of Berlin history during the walking tour on our first day. Was not a good idea, really. Snow, wind and walking are really not a good match. Nonetheless, it gave us a slightly better idea of how and why Berlin became to what it is today - pretty cool really.

I never knew that much about history. I mean, ask me the years of the World War 1 and I will give you a Google link. But as we were walking through central Berlin, I couldnt help but wonder what it is like for these people before 1989. That is the year the wall was decontructed, in case you are like me. Have you ever seen those movies, where they put scenes from the olden days on the left side and the present day on the right? At one point I felt like I was in one of those movies. We were walking, and I thought to myself who threaded along here before? Who were they? Why were they out? What were they thinking?

To anticipate your question, no I did not smoke anything then.

Another thing I really like about Berlin is that Berlin really has alot of faces. You turn from one alley to another and immediately get the sense of a whole different side of Berlin. And I am not just talking about the clear difference in architecture and feelings between the former east and west. Such a shame that we didnt get to explore the whole city I suppose.

Oh and the food. THAT GLORIOUS GLORIOUS FOOD. It scares me how I start drooling at the thought of those glorious wurst, bread, pretzels... Maybe I should get one of those baby-napkins that you put to prevent drool from damaging your shirt. Girls grew up wanting to live in a gingerbread house or a castle. Clearly they have low expectations. My wish is now to live in a German bakery. My sister told me I'll be a mouse. A HAPPY-BELLY MOUSE! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUS!




And the nightlife. On our last night, we went to this underground club that played minimal electro music in one of its room. At one point they played Paul and Fritz Kalkbrenner's Sky and Sand. That was it. The lights was off. On. Off. On. I thought of nothing, breathed and blinked. On my right people did the same. On my left some guys started fighting and threw a table. That is a scene I will remember.







We also went to visit some museums: the Holocaust memorial and museum for the murdered Jews, the Jewish museum, and perhaps the most memorable one is the visit to the Stasi Gefangnis. It was the political prison in East Berlin, controlled by the state DDR. We arrived late so the guide had already started the tour. After awhile, I realized that he sometimes used personal pronouns such as "I" and "we". I was curious yet felt impolite to ask. His sentences were short, sometimes too short to fully comprehend.

"... They gave prisoners a bucket, in a cell for 4 people. It was hard for new prisoners. I felt shame."

"In my file it says 'long, vertical forehead', 'short fingers'."

Halfway through the tour he told us that he was arrested for being suspected of attempting to flee from the east to the west.

He put an emphasis on suspected. His sentences remained short, but his tone changed thereafter.

He told us that he couldnt bear living in a country where one cannot freely express what one thought or felt. As we were visiting the former interrogation rooms, he started telling us about these torture methods developed by the DDR. He said the physical torture was bad but the mental torture was even worse. A number of people officially worked for the Stasi, yet the unofficial number is overwhelming. A woman got arrested, and during her interrogation they served her favorite tea as a reminder. Her husband worked for the Stasi, she didnt know. I read some stories on this yet hearing this firsthand was way more intense. It felt real. How would it feel if you cant even trust your husband, your wife, your friends, your family?

Some officers secretly went in your flat when youre not there, rearrange the furniture now and then. They follow you, watch you, listen to you to the point of paranoia.

Who developed these methods, I asked. They are so well thought of.

The psychologists, he answered.


He then told us how he got into a rather heated discussion with an old man in the park last week. The old man thought the Stasi regime was way better than how it is now. Our guide disagreed. The old man retorted: "...well then they forgot to kill you!"

I had goosebumps when I heard this.

That reminded me of something a friend of mine told me before, that some people still consider Stalin to be a hero even if he killed more people than Hitler.

Some things I can never understand.

Yet some things I am glad to know, even when it's hard.

At the end of the tour, he smiled and waved his little fingers.

Just like how I waved my own little fingers to Berlin. Until then.

March reflection

Wow March.

After 30days of staring at the same picture, I am usually glad to be able to flip my calendar for a new picture! To trade in the two cartoon giraffes drinking lemonade to a seagull was absolutely cool! I mean, you lift up the calendar page and THERE IS THE SEAGULL FOR THIS MONTH!

Yet at the same time this little excitement is accompanied by a solemn astonishment.

March. Wow.

A friend of mine has to do a personal development report every 6 months for his organization: what have been learnt, what is good, what is bad, what is different, what should be changed, what how and why. Unfortunately my limited goldfish memory does not stretch that long, which is why I specifically intended to write somethings down today before it flew up like a helium bubble in a hot, breezy Summer afternoon.

Yes how I long for Summer and sun. Yesterday there was a storm here in Western Europe. The day I can ditch my jeans for shorts; cant decide to call it liberation or salvation.

On a more solemn mood. If I had to describe these first months of 2010, I'll say... Roller coaster. I think I'll call it so. A roller coaster ride, I like the resemblance. It's incredibly quick, scary, it goes from up to down to up to down at some remarkable speed, yet completely exhilirating. Remember those concise moments, when you are at the highest point and you know seconds later you will start diving down? Remember the feeling, the ticklish feeling in your stomach, the sensation of air being suspended for the briefest period? Next thing you know you're freefalling and in your head all you do is curse yourself WHY DID YOU GET ON THIS ROLLER COASTER YOU FREAKING DODO YOU HATE ROLLER COASTERS.

I do, I am scared of roller coasters and height.

Yet sometimes I am glad I took the ride, for that first 5 minutes when you are back on solid ground and all you want to do is kneel and kiss the ground. Complete gratitude, that's what I usually experience once my trembling jello feet leaves that seat of terror.

Which is what I am feeling at the moment.

I have to admit now that it hasnt always been easy. Life was hectic, to say the least. Juggling between teaching, writing, presenting, reading, studying and friends requires the skillfull art of a clown circus which I clearly did not possess. Not even close. But it has been a learning process, and looking back now I can say that a part of me is simply relieved it's done. Another part is ambivalent; life surely goes fast when you're running. A blur; an aching, demanding, rewarding motion of blur.

Teaching has been absolutely lovely. I am actually rather surprised how much I enjoyed teaching those little monsters. Regardless of waking up to teach at 9 in the morning twice a week, missing two of my own lectures, having to read and learn the course with them. I wanted to help them, perhaps thats why I took it slightly too seriously. I would read the chapter, my notes, going back and forth and asking myself how can I explain this clearly to my students. How can I motivate them to work, how can I make sure they feel comfortable asking questions during class, how to be strict at times yet being myself at other times.

I purposely did not tell my first year students that I was a second year student myself. I thought it added credibility. Yet at the end when they found out my real identity, I am utterly glad they did not become bitches. Maybe because they were bitches from the start. Yet I have to say I truly enjoyed teaching those bitches. They were my bitches.

During our last tutorial, they came up to me one by one and said: "Thank you, Denica." My heart melted like butter in the microwave when baking cakes. That weekend, I received emails from my students. At that moment, everything evaporated. All the burden, all the stressing and fussing and freaking vanished. All that is left was a solemn little smile. It was a nice feeling indeed, the feeling of being able to help and somewhat of use to someone.

Thank you, guys. You've been a good sport. Some moments are honestly funny it still cracks me up when I think about it.

Oh wait. The sun is shining today.

Wow.

Sometimes little things work out in wondrous yet strange ways. I guess there will always be storms, with wind so hard you thought you can surely never make it. Yet remembering that the sun will shine tomorrow might help you through. Slightly. I for once found it sometimes cumbersome, and cliche to think of things this way when I am downhill. I tend to get sucked into it, you see. But it's a learning process. And one day I wish for the ability to be able to see through the mist and straight to the rainbows.

Maybe when I am 20. Which is actually sooner rather than later. Wow. Now, that's scary.