Sinterklaas 09

We celebrated Sinterklaas last week - a Dutch tradition similar to Christmas. I find it rather odd to be celebrating it, being used to Christmas and all. Unlike the magical and jolly Santa, Sinterklaas (or St. Nicholas) was an actual bishop once upon a time. His benevolence is what makes him remembered, and on Dec 5th the Dutch celebrates him by putting together a night of feasting on cinammon-based traditional sweets and cakes, exchanging presents and making good-natured fun of each other.

Which is precisely what we did.

The jokes we made were racist to say the least, politically incorrect, ignorant and downright offensive. Which is peculiar, given the fact that most of us were strangers prior to that night. I was invited by a friend of mine, so I did not know most of the people she invited. It was amazing how we immediately show what kind of a retard we all are - perhaps that's why the ice melted that fast, we were bonded by our retardness. It was a wonderful experience to celebrate Sinterklaas with you, the benevolent, jolly and loud retards.

Now - check out what I made. I have to warn you, even I felt abit pathetic as I spend the whole day crafting them. I woke up with a slight hangover, a reminder of the previous night's gala where 2 of my awesome friends swooped Oscars for their Rotterdam Tube Your World video! Them lovely ladies are Team 2 ;) I also love the video made by Team 5 and 16.

Back to the Cookie Decorating Session - I was honestly and unexpectedly enjoying myself, sitting next to the window and drawing on my cookies. I drew some of the things that I think best are best associated with Sinterklaas, namely the Zwarte Piet (black piet, the guy with a feather on his head. Indonesians would recognize him as Santa's helper who will put you in a sack to be enslaved back in North Pole! The beauty of cultural hybrid), Sint and his infamous red hat and of course PRESENTS! At times I got a little bit too creative and start making up my own, like this Jollie-Piet, Bono-Piet and Sponge-Piet with his jellyfish helper.





I know, at one point I felt like I'm looking at myself in pity.

Which brings me to my second point - sugar impedes hangovers.

The next day, I was bbm-ing with my little brother back home only to realize he aint so little no more. We would make the usual random, pointless, utterly ridiculous comments at first, before I asked him whether he is still considering upon studying abroad for his highschool next year. He said no, because he's loving his junior high years and the friends that he made too much. I commented, but how if the new friends that you will make is way better? Wont you regret the decision to stay?

To my surprise, he simply answered: "Well, it's an equal 50-50 chance. That's a 50% chance of me being better off here, which is not enough incentive to move". I was surprised by this simple, somewhat intelligent answer. I would never expect this from him, knowing him for 15yrs now. It dawned upon me how much older he's grown since I've left home. Next year he's entering highschool! I remember some years ago I was in highschool, and he was just this little snotty kid in primary school.

Time sure flies, I wrote to him. Uhuh, he said with his usual indifference.

An unexpected sweater visit

A friend stopped by my flat yesterday to get her sweater, and we ended up talking until way past my bed time. Me and her, we always joke around on being hippies in the sea of economists. Which is rather strange since me and my dorky side enjoys snuggling behind economic theories, articles, thoughts, books and talks.

Having spent a year volunteering in Portugal, her way of living is what we call inefficient in economics term. She loves surprises, living by listening to her heart, thrives on being unconstrained by her agenda and most importantly is absolutely thrilled to meet and talk to new people. She is in short not someone you associate with organization and efficiency. Yet she couldnt be happier.

Me, on the other hand, acknowledges the scarcity of time, the need to produce the maximum value out of my limited resources. Dont get me wrong, I always take time for myself. I run every Sundays on the lake, I went to the market to drool over fresh fruits and vegetables, and my ideal Saturday is to lounge on my couch, a novel in hand and a cup of freshly brewed coffee peeking from the table infront.

However, I do completely realize how right she is. It is true that ever since I've lived here (in a "Western" world), I realized how busy we all are. We are running around from one appointments to another, meetings after meetings, talks cut short due to obligations. Not realizing how many opportunities of valuable rendezvous we missed unknowingly, unregrettfully.

Which brings me to my next thought: are we happier this way, to make use of our highly limited time here breathing, walking on concretes and tiles, or are we better off living without our watches, without our blackberries and unprecedented race towards the unknown?

I am still pondering on this, and yet I have to cut this post short as I have a meeting in 3 minutes.

Kinderrechten Festival!

I volunteered at the Children Rights festival last weekend. It was one of the best weekends I had this year. I did not realize how much fun I would have when I signed up for it! It took quite a while to organize everything, contacting the people to make sure everything goes smooth, planning and meeting and brainstorming ideas. But in the end it sure did payoff!

We had this idea to make Wish Boats where children can fold this special paper with directions to make a boat by themselves. Then they can scribble what they wish for the world on that boat, to be put on the "sea" to sail up up and away! It was very funny to see how some children wrote touchy, simple things such as "No more war", or "Children to have houses and parents", "Health", while some wrote "I wish for the chance to swim with dolphins".

Despite all the fun, for me it felt great to be a part of something small done collectively all around the world.

I will be more than naive to even consider the slightest chance of making a difference. But for me, I'd like to do a piece of my part, no matter how microscopic it was. I never realize how interesting it is to hear children's opinions on things. I enjoyed hearing their thoughts, their random scribbles and simple minds. Things are much more interesting seen from a kid's eyes.

So this week, I am going to be a kid. I am going to be happy for no reason. I am going to hum and sing and run and nibble on sweets and nag people and smile and laugh and giggle and not complicate everything. Because life is too boring to be boring, and who else better than a kid to see that?

Kahneman moment

"If you're lucky to live long enough, you're going to see the impossible happen"- Daniel Kahneman, Dies Natalis 2009.



It's official. This is my best week ever. I. Shook. Kahneman's. Hands! Who's Kahneman? Er I dont know, like THE GODFATHER OF BEHAVIORAL ECONOMICS? HELL YEAH! Yes, that Daniel Kahneman! Hihihihihihi it was really funny because I literally just stood there utterly and completely speechless. My brain was saying this is it. The moment to shine! Ask smart questions!!!

Which was the plan. That is, until I started blushing and stuttering. The only thing I managed to say was "it's an honor, Professor!".

And with that, Daniel Kahneman left to get refreshments. And I vowed not to wash my hands. That is, until it was time to eat dinner. Because you know, it's unsanitary.

Viggo, Ribosomes and the Nobel Prize

I had today perhaps one of the most interesting days in weeks! I skipped all of my classes today to volunteer and help out for my university's Israeli cleantech conference. I didnt really know what it was about until I arrived there this afternoon, and apparently it was a conference about cleantech in general, and the signing of MoU to collaborate in extensive R&D for cleantech.

I didnt do anything pivotal of any sort, me and another guy became the person in charge of registration and leading people from one place to another. When candidates are safely seated in the conference room, we had to stay outside just in case someone comes in late and need their name tags. At this point, there were the 3 of us, me, him and another lady. We were so bored we started talking about stuff. And I have to admit I enjoyed every second of it. We were continually laughing, with some serious intermezzo in between about life, aging and cultures.

Did I mention also the Minister of Science and Technology from Israel was also there? Yes, it was indeed very amusing to see securities running around just to 'sweep' the place. And one of them men in black was completely and incredibly CUTE. No, I'm not exagerating this time. This guy looks exactly like Viggo Mortensen in Eastern Promises, only younger and without the scars on his face. Oh my lord.

I was walking behind them at one point, and I realized then how humongrous he was. My fellow name-tag-attendants caught my eyes, and they started laughing and I started giggling. I GIGGLED. What is the worst thing you can do when you are right behind an extremely dreamy and intoxicatingly attractive bodyguard? Oh, I dont know, YOU GIGGLE?

At this point, he turned back and smiled at me. The next second, the entire team of 5 bodyguards turned and smiled at me, curious of WHY was that loser giggling. My cheeks were unsalvageably burning, and people told me I look like a strawberry. We laughed at it for almost 15 minutes straight afterwards. Who knows how much fun can one have while waiting for people to show up and get their nametags!

All the laughter aside, next I actually participated in a little conference/talk given by the Minister himself. I have to say it was really fascinating to hear him talk about balancing his religiousness, politics and academic curiosity. He spoke passionately about academic discoveries, of the two Israeli researchers who won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry (Ada Yonath in 2009, Aaron Ciechanover and Avram Hershko in 2004). I was actually very interested, his short talk made us think of the wonders in scientific discoveries, of how they contribute to humanity as a whole with an infinite applications of their discoveries.

His little story about the ribosomes caught my attention. Ada Yonath studied this for more than 30yrs, amidst all critiques, failures, lack of funding, jeering peers. "It was her stuborness as a scientist," he said. I like how he phrased it, that regardless the odds, the persevering scientist Ada Yonath kept going just because of her own curiosity. She did not care what others say, what circumstances bring, what failures she encountered. She just did it. And to think that the other 2 people who won the Prize with her actually critized her before.

At the end of the talk, people questioned him rigorously. For most of us, we heard how science and religion do not really ride the same wagon. But he told us that is not the case with him, as his religion actually encourages him (them) to research and discover new things about the world. To understand what makes the world tick a little bit better, yet still realize that these discoveries does not entail that we are God.

I thought it was really nice to see how differences can be bridged and conflicts avoided for this one very passionate mathematician.

Alles is liefde

I've been derivatively packed with things to do these weeks. Places to be, meetings to attend, housewarmings and dinners to enjoy, game theory exam coming up, game theory paper next in line, emails to write, books to read, assignments to complete. In one sense, I am loving every second. I love it because I know I'm doing it for myself. And the me inside is grateful, because life will not throw me things that I can't do. That is a blind belief that I take very seriously.

But of course, there is a tradeoff to this. With 24hours in a day, sometimes there is no enough time to do everything. Choices must be made. But with these choices come consequences. I think the most drastic would be that I do not spend as much time with those I love the most. At first I though it's alright, they're busy too. They will understand.

Today, I was having a relaxed morning with my glass of milk&fruit and a grilled Spongebob tosti when it hit me. It hit me hard. There's no better time to make time for those you love but when you're exceptionally busy. I walked to my cupboard, where I hang some letters from those who love me enough to write it. At that moment, I couldnt ask for anything else. I felt so loved. And it makes me feel so grateful. Grateful, of those who love me no matter how imperfect I am.

Grateful of being alive.

Grateful of this realization.

Grateful of everything, because everything is love.

And I'm not referring to the love between lovers. You know what, the strange thing is that this was the only kind of love I thought valid. Perhaps this is one of the most momentous realization in my life, to understand that love is universal. It spans throughout race, blood, sex, animate objects, conventional wisdom, culture, religion. It is everywhere, everyone, everything.

One of the most influential quote in my life is from Morrie Schwartz: "love each other, or perish." Sometimes we just need to take aside our pride for one second, to engage in honest openness and vulnerability of connections. Because we only have 24hrs a day, and making just a little bit of time for someone means all the joy in the world.

For some reason, I took my phone, and started making random calls at 9 in the morning just to say hi to people. I wrote emails, texts and even blackberry messenger-ed those who live on the otherside of the world. To wish them a nice day, and that I love them.

At that moment, I am incredibly grateful for all the love in the world. For the love between the postman riding past me now of his job, of the bike shop owner across the street who undully put out each and every one of his bikes outside every day, of the girl who biked listening to her ipod to the music she's hearing, to friends who are doing Finance of their academic thirst, to the love and compassion being shed everywhere in the world between strangers. Of hope, love and inspiration. Each and every second, in every posible unique realization.

Love each other or perish.

How can one be entrenched in self pity, anger, stress or frustration once we realize the sheer amount of love there is to cherish?

Cit cit cit

Yesterday, my eyes stumbled upon a block of cheese cut in the shape of a triangle in the supermarket. Now dont get me wrong, I've always loved cheese. However, I tend to eat it on a meal. You know how I love my grilled cheese tosti with Spongebob face on it! So as I stare at the triangle cheese, I decided to go a little crazy by buying it. Me. Buying my first actual cheese! The excitement!

I dont know cheese that well, so I approached the cheese-chef/butcher/server to ask whether I made a good choice. He looked at me as if I just handed him a new born baby. His eyes sparkled and he waved his hands enthusiastically to gesture just how incredible delicious this piece of cheese is. He said its "very soft, very full, very intense, very delicious!"

So I gave in to his description and took it home. How excited was I when I cut it! It was a little crunchy on the outside, very tender and slightly gooey in the inside. Without further ado, I gobbled up the little piece that I carefully cut.

It was intense alright. The first sensation was the outter part, a bit crunchy and tasteless. Then I chewed it and this intense sensation overcame me. It tasted like old socks! I frowned, extremely confused. Seconds later, it became very soft in texture, very buttery in flavor.

Today I found myself crouching at the far end of my room nibbling on the piece of cheese.

I am turning into a cheesehead.

Or a mouse.

That is when it hits me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PIECE OF CHEESE! THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF PERSON MY PARENTS WANTED ME TO BE WHEN THEY HAD ME.

This is much, much better.

Hello, Mr. Police!

A group of little preschoolers just passed my building. I could hear their chatter and laughter as if walking home together is the best thing that has ever happened to them. That is, until they saw a police on duty standing outside a bike shop. All of the sudden, the chatter stopped distinctly. One by one, one after another, they opened their little lips and said:

Hallo, meneer politie!

It was a choir almost, the harmony of joy expressed tonelessly by a group of still-to-be-corrupted midgets whom I still cant decide to use the word walk or bounce to describe. It was very cute, and I couldnt stop smiling!

Children are a bundle of joy when theyre not yours :) :) :)

Walking on people

It is in university that I met some of the most selfish and competitive people I have ever seen. I guess it is good in a way for them to be so competitive, to not settling and wanting to achieve only the best. But if you do it while stepping on other people to get to the top, you've lost my respect.

I guess I shouldn't let them muddle with my head. Really, for some reason I could not help but feel pissed. I feel used. Do they not realize their lies are so transparent I can see it even when I'm blindfolded.

But you know, on the other hand maybe they were sick. Maybe they were too sick that they could see the white light. Maybe that's why they do not have the power to produce sufficient energy to send me the paper.

I am trying to believe you, trust me, I am. But's its getting harder to trust people when they continually skrew you over for their own benefit.

But I am trying.

You just need to realize, my dear friend, that life is not a zero sum game. My winnings are not your losses, my losses are not your winnings. I know, because one can never lose. One can only win or learn something from it. In a sense, we always win. But that's just the way I look at it.

Little people

There's a reason why I love weekends: freedom. Complete freedom of knowing you don't have a class to attend to the next morning, or meetings, or other obligations. There's this freedom attatched to how you manage your weekend, since there is nothing you have to do. It's what you want to do. It's lovely, flirtatiously lovely. I always decided to party on Friday night, me-time on Saturday and museum visits on Sundays.

The last 2 are new to this year. Last year, it was more like party Friday night, party Saturday night, drinks Sunday night.

I made a resolution this Summer: this year I am only going to do what I want to do, no more feeling of should be doing something just because. Uhuh, its less partying more other fun fun activities :) I just find it easier to know who Denica is when you dont have to shout to talk to me. My Cultural Sundays started when me and my friend painted my room on a Sunday. We were so tired we decided to go to a cultural fair to refresh our minds, and it has become a habit ever since. We're going to a fashion art museum this afternoon :)

But perhaps most of all I look forward for my Saturdays. It's exhilirating yet relaxing at the same time to be spending some time with just yourself. In the morning I go to the markt to purchase some verse fruit and vegetables. Generally I do nothing else productive. Strangely at these times my head is filled with questions: what do you want to do? What do you want to do later? What do you want to do with this precious time that you have on the palms of your hands?.

On Saturday nights, I make myself an incredible dinner to celebrate the passing of time in this glorious day. I love this newly found quality time with myself. I would then watch a movie, or spend the night in the company of a good book. It's strange how I no longer feel the fear of being alone, the fear of loneliness that haunted me dreadfully.

So yesterday I watched this movie: Synecdoche NY, and fell in love directly. It's a pretty slow movie, but at the end it really gets me thinking. That we are little people in a sea full of other little people who may or may not realize our bare existence. That we may feel like we're the only lead in the act of our lives, but truth be told there is no extra in this huge playground for a play. Everyone is a lead, a little lead in their little play.

The realization of how little we are makes me realize how scared we feel to be forgotten. When the ones who love us forget, when they no longer love us, when they die. These little invisible strings connecting us all, the idea that there is no strangers but just little players colliding each and everyday.

Life is precious, every day is irreplaceable, every moment is unique.

Why don't we all smile now?

:)

The Day After Peace

This movie is absolutely remarkable. To see someone's journey initiated, grew, flourished, floundered, shattered. But perhaps most importantly of all triumphed, all of which started with the simplest idea of hope for peace for a day.

I remember meeting someone last week, he was from Rwanda. I admitted to him that what I know of his continent is of the war and adversities and wrecked havoc. Of guns and bloodshed, of diseases and deaths. Of unnecessary losses in human lives. Of inequality. He smiled at me, and said that his view of his own continent couldnt be more different.

Sure there are areas so dangerous they get uncomfortable just by mentioning its name, but good things, human bondage and hopeful events are taking place each and everyday. Problem is, we on the other side of the world do not get these broadcasted to us. We watch the news everyday and we hear the same old news. Guns havent been able to be silenced long enough for hope to be transmitted and cynics silenced.

Why should we care? We've got food here, shelther, warmth. We are alive, everyone around us seems to be alive and well. There is nothing we can do all the way over here, it's them you need to talk to, them holding the guns and not us. But like what Jeremy said, they want the change already. Them over there cannot do anything about it. It's up to us over here to want that change, to demand that change, to unite for that change.

I think the road to believing in the goodness of people is a slippery one indeed. What you see happening around you everyday may erode, sustain or heighten that believe. It's so easy to be cynical, to be content in the status quo, to believe in the impossible. Or we can believe. We can believe with all our heart that if one man made it possible for a day of peace signed by the Talibans in the Afghanistan to vaccinate 1.4bn children and infants, maybe this can work.

If we can show that it was possible for peace to prevail in a day, perhaps we can now make it 365days when cynics are silenced, where humanity, idealism and absolute altruism conquers.

Rational Man

Was walking to my GBB class this morning when I noticed some people from my class walking on the other direction. I asked where they're heading, and apparently the class was changed! I asked if they're sure, and being me as usual (I'm ALWAYS wrong about these things) I quickly maneuvred and walked with them to the other building.

Well for once I was right. We were just sitting there for 15 minutes when someone told us that the class is happening on the building I was heading at first! I beamed with pride of actually knowing where the class is, before I realized that me too am in the wrong building.

So we made our way back to the original building, and I was talking to this guy for the first time. He asked me where I'm from and we talked about the Dutch vs International students mentality.

"You see, you come from a we-mentality country. We here have an I-mentality. Get it?"

"Yes. But dont you think that you shouldnt take it as a fact, shouldnt you take into account there is another way of thinking about stuff?"

"Yes. But dont you agree that you too should?"

It was a really simple and short morning conversation between two strangers. It got me thinking, though. Maybe I should learn to be less naive, to be less altruistic and resembles what economists always assume humans are: rational men.

Maybe tomorrow

I find it amusing how you can feel utterly satisfied with yourself one day, and mentally exhausted the next. One day, you rejoice all your tasks. On such a day, your mind is clear like the still water on a bright Summer day. Calm, clear, open. Joy and happiness emanating, a flooding feeling that you can only describe as rewarding.

The next day, you wake up feeling like colors have been sucked out from the world. Like bunnies are committing suicide. Or stroopwafels are being banned. Your brain just shuts off, no matter how much you plead, serve, begged, threatened, seduced, tricked. On such a grim day, you open your timetable and realize that shit has gone down. That you've got a shitload of shit coming your way and you need to get your shit together today.

But thats the thing with my shit, it doesnt come on demand. It is tremendously unhandy. On such a grim day, you cannot help but feel like a complete idiot, frustating yourself for not being able to do what you are supposed to do today. It's one of those days when your morning coffee is the sole reason behind your existence, one of those days when you feel the urge to jump on the street, man-handle and bitch slap a person who shows the littlest bit of smile. What is wrong with them, smiling, it's like they're on Prozac. Jeez.

What with all the shit?

I am taking a 3rd yr minor class this block, Game Theory and Business Behavior. Why did I take it? Because I have to work for my extra pts for my honors class. I chose that class because my last Micro teacher was a charming, inspirational and apparently hugely deceiving professor who tricked me into thinking that game theory will be interesting. I feel like a Trix bunny being tricked by colorful pieces of Trixes, only to be caged and sold as a slave to Arabian countries.

Of course, I am being a complete ass right now. For what it's worth, that minor is actually interesting (at times). It's very complicated, and there's a very high probablity of me failing it, but I have to admit I enjoy it at times. Not today, but most of the time. I find it very intelectual, which probably is the reason why I am not supposed to be in it in the first place.

And being a 3rd yr minor, students who take it usually do not have any other class but that. It is a full time course, but on top of that I happen to have my regular 2nd yr courses to adhere to. Usually it's alright, like I said, when my mind is clear I do like the adrenaline rush of deadlines, juggling and biking all over the place. Right now it makes me feel like a dog being walked. At one point you just feel so tired of running, but someone kept on pulling your collar and you cant stop no matter how much you want to.

At days like this I am glad I have you people who tell me to turn on the TV and open the way to obesity. To calm me down, to talk me out of my frustrations, to clear my mind, to let me know tomorrow's another day. To remind me to be a Denica (yes that is the term she used :) I thought it was very sweet). Another day where bunnies dont make themselves into tostis and you can buy a perfectly warm and gooey stroopwafels for 1euro.

Because those days are the ones that matter.

"The question is not whether we will die, it is how we will live "

I believe it is human nature to search for answers. To justify an event, clarify an issue, decode things we are oblivious of. To know, understand, learn, realize, acknowledge. An aversion towards the unknown, enhancing the information available in order to minimize information assymetry. See, I believe most of us are risk averse. We do not typically find pleasure in uncertainty. We would rather pay a premium of information search to enhance that certainty. That blissful, certain certainty.

But to what point is this beneficial? When does analyzing a piece of information becomes over-analyzing it? Do we know where the line is?

I, by all means, think too much. This is a fact that I acknowledge, but not necessarily classify as a benefit or an expense. I search for answers, relationships, deeper meanings and often found infinite possibilities. Possibilities that sometimes only exist in my mind. Meanings that cease to exist without my compulsive disorder.

Having said that, I tried, am trying to think less. It may not be easy, the road towards old habits is slippery. And on numerous occasions I fall back into my fallibilities, sometimes regretfully and most of the times unconsciously.

I thought, perhaps some things are just what it is, you know. It's flat, one-layered beauty that is unique to the moment. It's like you going running to the park, and you see beautiful flower garden. All the colors, all the harmony, all the genuses and species, all the imperfections. That is perfect to that precise moment, and what a shame it would be to peel them to see what lies beneath them.

Most of the times I am wrong, all the time I am trying to be happy. You make mistakes, you say the worst things, but all the time you are trying to be true to yourself.

But at what point does staying true to yourself equals selfishness? When should you stop and think of what you did, what you said, what could you have done better?

Sometimes I think human relationship is like a noncooperative game. You have all 5 ingridients: players, payoffs, actions, information structure and rules/sequence. Most certainly, it is a noncooperative game where information assymetry prevails, when emotions take charge, when human fallibilities is on the center stage. When subjectivity evokes conflict, when you stray even further from that equilibrium, that state of happiness, contentment and peacefulness.

When you always lose, why do you even bother to play the game? Why do you bother to have the slightest consideration of starting the game in the first place?

Is it because you cant help it? Is it love of the game? Is it love at the thought of someday winning the game? Is it the thrill of losing, and learning something for the next game? Is it falling down flat on your face, and having the courage to stand up and bravely move forward? Is it plain stupidity? Ignorance? Inability to pursue a better outcome?

Sometimes I ponder at a list of questions, an infinity of answers, and never knowing when have I crossed the line. How nice it would be to know better.

Sometimes I just take a day off, take a really cold shower and start laughing from the extreme cold and the risk of hypothermia.

Frenchy winter break

I'm thinking of going to France this winter to study French.

I know it's most probably futile, a complete waste of time, money and effort to say the least, seeing that the chances of me living in France, or using French is minimal. But it's just one of those things that you do just because you really want to, you know. Things that you do regardless of the odds.

Things that you dreamt of doing, but always put aside when you rationalize it.

I've always liked, wanted, dreamt, longed to be able to understand, read, speak French. Many would cringe when they hear this. You want to speak French? Why? That god-awful country with those God-awful arrogant people. I always smiled whenever I hear this. I can't tell them why specifically, but I honestly and sincerely think that French is the most beautiful language in the world. To be deprived of such beauty would be a tragedy. To consider such beauty makes it much less rational with every consideration.

Some would even say all this non-sense just to study French? The country is only a train ride away from where you're living and typing this right now. Those some can understand and talk a little French because they had some classes in highschool. I went to an Australian highschool, and as far as I know, Australia has very little to do with the French to adopt the language. Much less to teach it to children in their schools. So for me, it is new and foreign to consider going off to the country and study it.

Another consideration popped into mind when I think of the odds: the expenses. Learning another language is expensive, especially when you learn it in the country. Unfortunately, I do not believe in learning a language outside the country that it is actually used. As a student without a partime job or income whatsoever, I understand how unfair and incredibly selfish it is for me to put this kind of budget on my parents. I talked to them about it this Summer when I went home, and I was taken aback by how supportive they were.

So I think that's it. I am going to stop my brain from trying to talk me out of this and to just go for it. My blood is pumping in excitement, the corners of my lip curved in a perfect smile.

*I would end it with a sweet French phrase, unfortunately I know none just yet. So I think a smile would suffice for the moment, and save the awkward French grammatical mistakes for later.

That unfortunate earthquake

I was listening to the news when I heard of the event, a 7-scale ritcher earthquake struck West Java. It started from the city of Tasik, but the impact rippled to Jakarta and other cities. I quickly texted my family to see if they're alright. Their reply was very light. They were having Chinese food for lunch at Mom's favorite place. When they felt the ground shaking beneath their feet, they did not followed other people who were running out from the mall for safety in screams. No, instead they sat there wondering if the chefs drugged their food.

They seriously suspected Mom's favorite tofu dish to be the culprit, knowing how Mom would definitely order it and distribute it accordingly to the others. I can imagine them sitting there in contemplation of which food was drugged, and why anyone would want to drug them in the first place.

With that image in mind, I turned off the news and biked to school in the rain.

I woke up this morning, turned on the news and here it is. Death toll reaching 57, searches are still being conducted to the buried villages. They expect noone to be alive while they dig and search through the rubbles. At that moment, a pang of seriousness hit me. I just realized the devastating result of the quake when I saw little faces looking straight at the cameras from below rescue tents. The look on their faces wasn't fear, it was blank. Of unawareness, of not understanding what happened, of not knowing the next steps. Those whose houses were shattered have nowhere to go, those whose houses were still intact are too scared to come back.

I heartfully hope help is on the way.

In any case, I know how resilient you are as a country. We survived a series of unfortunate attacks this past few months, from terrorism to natural disasters. Let these tragedies bring us even closer, uniting us as human beings, as citizens of the world.

All my best, all my heart.

I, Sucker

I said once how I would write stuff to commemorate and share my wonderful trip to Thailand. And here we are, only 1 post about the temples produced. Sometimes I think my brain is similar with that of a 3-yo. Uuwwww, bubble wraps! Oh my, fake plastic Patrick!! HOLY SHIT, SPONGEBOB IS ON!!!

That went in the span of 5 seconds.

But lets look at the broader time frame and geographical movement now. I am back in Rotterdam, ja ik ben terug, unfortunately. Summer was immensely incredible, the best one I've ever had. It was an opportunity(/tragedy) to become a jell-o for 2 whole wonderful months.

At the end of Summer, that life was the only life I know. The only reason for my daily existence being waking up noontime, going to my parents' office to (sometimes) help out and (mostly) read books, lunch at mouth-watering restaurants, sit in the traffic all the way home, dinner without having to move a muscle preparing it, lounging at lil bro's with big sis and nightime sleep tucked in my ever fluffy bedsheet.

Life as a jell-o was a good one to say the least. It's like you want to wriggle right, left, right, and left again now to do the victory dance. Oh yeah. Party, jell-o style. *Jell-o 90s party themesong at the back*

So that I think explains in a pretty musical way why I feel pretty sad to be back here once more.

Although I have to admit I like being back in school, to actually make use of my ever diminishing brain cells. I've got my hands full with extra courses this block, so I am on my knees wishing that my jell-o days would solidify. Anytime soon now, I hope. It's also nice to see some freaks I havent met for 2 months. I forgot just how retarded they are.

And me alike. My thighs do not appreciate being back biking. I used to bike all the way to school for 30 minutes. Now, 10 minutes and I am panting like a fat kid in gym class who just recently declared chips as the only food worthy to eat. Good for your self satisfaction, not so on having to run the never ending track. Sometimes in moments of revelation I can listen to my thighs telling me one more pedal-ing and I swear I will make you so miserable in the morning that you'll be sorry you've ever been born. I'm scared if those kind of honest conversation will come true.

I began this post by comparing my brain with that of a 3-yo. And like that cuddly toddler, I am missing my parents because when I look up and out of the room, they're not there. They are far, far away. When it's bad, it feels like someone grabbed and squeezed my stomach. It feels uncomfortable, it makes you anxious and panicky. And the worst of all, it makes you feel like there's nothing you can do about it.

And sometimes you wish that if you wish hard enough, you can come out of your room into the next room to just no nothing but make fun of each other with your siblings. Or down for a chit-chat with your parents.

But the shortness of time, of being with them for no other agenda but to just be with them, makes you feel how special every moment is. It even makes you grateful of being back here again, to acknowledge with the every flutter of your eyelashes the preciousness of a family. It's far from perfect, but its every imperfections are what made me long for the next time I board that God-awful long-haul flight straight to a jell-o period.

I boarded my flight home at the beginning of the Summer with the hope of finding a new perspective. And now nearing the end of Summer, I think I have it. Sometimes you just need to look at something in a different light to see how beautiful it is. And how happy you are to be able to change the bulbs to see that wonder.


You are in my thoughts: pa, ma, ca and Manggis.

*90s Jell-o party soundtrack playing*

Thai Temples...

...are amazing. I love the colors, the authentic infrastructure, the grandness. Wat Phra Kaew is something to see alright. Do remember to dress accordingly if you have any types of temples in your itinerary. They require you to wear appropriate clothing which means that your arms and ankles must be covered. I didnt bring anything that long, so I had to stand in the line for an hour to borrow a coverup. It was not pleasant, if you imagine Bangkok's highly hot climate.

Also, the complex is HUMONGOUS. And surprise, surprise, there aint no automatic means of transport to sightsee through it. You have to use your God-given pair of legs. I was dehydrated, exhausted and famished halfway already that we (my sister and I) went out for food and ditched the temples. We went shopping. But trust me, it wasnt the temples' fault. If it has a label on it, it would read: INGRIDIENTS, Denica's fault 99.5%.




I also love the shrines. We visited some on our day excursion to Ayuthaya. What struck me the most was the peaceful ambience. Like a sheltered bubble, all beings coexisting regardless of their differences. Animals, humans, trees, statues. I liked it. I liked it alot.



Thai people is exceptionally polite, all smiles and very open to share their culture with nothing less but complete pride. I liked that. Peacefulness literally radiated throughout the whole country. Thai people love, adore and worship their King. A friend whom I met there told me once how the whole nation wore yellow during the period of which the King fell ill. Yellow, because it is the color of the day he was born, Monday I think. The look on her face when she told this to me, smiling so proud, like a mother sharing a piece of charming trivia about her children.

It was like a fashion that time, she said. Everyone just wore yellow. Because we believe it would ease the King's sickness.

Sawadeeka

Hello internet. It is true. I am alive. I have been majorly occupied these past few weeks that I have gone completely oblivious of what I do, and should do. If you remember a post from the middle ages about my knee infection, and are still praying for it to heal, then consider yourself released from that obligation because... IT IS HEALED, FELLOW EARTHLINGS! Believe me, need not to be ashamed with your utter happiness from this piece of news. It happens to the best of us.

And you guessed right, I did went to Thailand. A glorious 2 weeks vacation, an amazing experience to say the least.

Let’s get one thing straight first of all: Denica loves Thailand. It was one hell of a trip. It was I think my first trip to another developing Asian nation by myself, and that adds so much more to the experience. No tours, no parents to set the schedule. Just my excursions, what I want to do, what I want to see first hand and was ultimately immensely delighted by their rich and peaceful culture.

I set out with only one particular goal in mind: to experience Thailand. I don’t do 3-days-tourist-trips to see tourist infested spots in a country; I want to enjoy what locals proudly enjoy, eat what they gloriously devour, listen to testimonies of their lives.

And my little Thailand trip has provided me that. We did everything, ranging from eating from the side of the street for as little as BHT70 (EUR 1.5) for a bowl of deliciously warm kwey tiaw soup, McDonalds when we rushed to the Lumpinee boxing stadium because our Thai massage took longer than we thought, cooled down with Thai fine dining on the side of the river accompanied by complex yet beautiful Thai dance. I had the benefit of knowing some locals, allowing me to experience their local favorites that aren’t to be found in my little Lonely Planet guide to Bangkok.

It was also my first time to experience the differential treatment posed by locals to foreign tourists. I know how in Bali they always have 2 prices: local and Bule prices. Being a local, I never really paid attention to this issue. Being an Asian myself, I could really pass as a Thai. But the minute I open my mouth it's like they had an epiphany. It was actually an interesting thing to see though, some resent me being their foreign customer, some adores my visit because they know they can skrew me.

Yes, Thailand is a highly intriguing country and was a remarkable experience indeed.

So these coming few days, I am going to finally write and post pretty pictures of Thailand, the way I felt it.

Jakarta under terror

I was on the way to the office when my sister mentioned the bombs. It was so peaceful, just an ordinary day. I accused her of joking, a victim of harmless prank by her friend. But no, she said. JW Marriot and Ritz-Carlton Jakarta were bombed at 7.55am. No shit.

The implications were pretty severe. Traffic was everywhere, the national security was on Siaga 1 (the level just below wartime), it stole the spotlights from Manohara and Michael Jackson in the news channels, the president looked angry, sad, dissapointed yet resolute. I thought he handled it pretty well, not a hint of fear regardless of his picture being used as a shooting target by the so-called terrorists.

The finance ministers abruptly broadcasted how they will not allow the dollar to appreciate and wreck havoc amongst traders. I also thought that was very smart. I know that they have no means to do so, but they did the only thing they can: lock in public panic and self-fulfilling prophecy. The dollar will not appreciate under fear and crippling speculation, that much they addressed for the moment.

All in all, this is a tragedy nevertheless of the size of casualties. Indonesia has been under international appraisal for being South East Asia's most vibrant democratic country, a stable economy under the new president. The Thinking General, so he's called. In a way it is sustaining its democratic nature, by allowing free thinkers to express themselves, regardless of how adverse it is.

What saddens me the most I think was this video they had of this Director of a big cement company dying. He and his managers were having breakfast meeting at the JW Marriot that unfortunate morning. The security camera showed everything, from the morning routines of the hotel, a succumbing explosion and immense amount of smoke and rubbles that followed. He was later seen carried out by the firefighters, abandoned on the side of the street while they try to rescue others. He was still alive then. Very badly burnt, his clothes were gone, his left eye was gone and half his face skinless, but alive nonetheless.

There was indeed a footage of him deformed, squealing in pain for help at first. That turned into anger when he realized the only thing he was attracting was people video-taping his state of being. Like some kind of an attraction. He waved his arms in anger, telling them to piss off. But continue taping was the only thing they did, amateurs and professionals alike.

He died, doctors said he could have been saved if he received medical attention sooner.

I had that feeling in the Netherlands when I had my accident. I was unable to walk, on the street waiting for the ambulance. People walked by, asked in anticipation what I was doing there. What happened, they shook their heads in fear when they saw my open knee. But thats it, once they know what the fuss was all about, they left. I also felt like an attraction, and began to despise people who came by for the spectacle.

I thought that was one of the bad things I encountered during my stay there, but unfortunately it is more global that I thought.

The thought of seeing a man crying for help and dying in front of a taping crowd was beyond my understanding. What happened to humanity, a bond between all humans regardless of acquintance? Arent we all social beings who literally cant live without each other? Why should curiosity comes first before time saving, the thin line between living and dying? Why arent we rushing the poor New Zealander to the hospital when we had the chance? Spare the family of the dreadful phone call.

We are under terror, but to me it is a different kind of terror. The lacking of humanity, that is what's attacking us.

Knee Infection

Yes, that wound on my knee is infected. I have been busy with catching up that I completely forgot about my knee. That is, until one day I woke up and the inner crust (the only small part left) is totally gone. Then, I noticed how this transparent liquid started to come out of it. And I started freaking out a little bit. I know my biology skill is relevant with 5th graders, but I thought that it might be white blood cells.

My patriotic white blood cells who fought and lost the battle to evil microbeings rooted in my wound.

It dried after 2 days, so my mom told me to go the doctor for some anti-scar lotion or something. You know, something to preserve my old knee. He gave me this antibiotic lotion to put on my wound because he saw some strange yellow-blackish part on my wound. I applied it dutifully, until I realized yellow stuff actually started to come out. This time my retarded biology-related brain waves a red flag. I had slight fever, and was being a complete drama queen to my sister.

I think my knee is infected.

No it's not. (while looking at my knee)

No? How about now?

No.

Now?

No.

Are you sure?

How about now?

I know. I am a complete bitch when in unchartered water. But turns out being a drama queen is sometimes a good thing, because my knee is infected! So it has been lolipop-frenzy, pony rides and absolute fun here.

NO IT IS NOT, I AM COMPLETELY IN SELF DENIAL.

The doctor prescribed more antibiotic medication to me. He told me that he suspects some alien object is still left in my knee, stitched in absolute ignorance.

Holey shit.

He said there might be a possibility of having another surgeon reopen my stitches, clean it and stitch it back.

Blood drained out of my face. I do not like that possibility. At all.

The worst part is I might not be able to go to my well-deserved vacation to Thailand next month. I am devastated, since I am sincerely looking forward to a week of absolute sightseeing. DAMN YOU, MICROBEINGS, WHY CANT YOU FIND SOME OTHER TIME TO ROOT IN ME.

Please please, microbeings, having known me for a week now I am sure you have developed quite some bond with me right? I believe you have come to like me somehow given how generous I've been to you, letting you stay for free for over a month? So why dont you kindly die and come out as your gross fellow yellow stuff and let mommy go to Thailand?

Or I will resort to ancient crazy-cat-woman chanting to banish you, you little shit.

I did not mean that.

Happy birthday, mom!

Yesterday was Mom's birtday. It was surprisingly alot of fun. We gave her this Oscar trophy-card I found back in Rotterdam, written voor de beste moeder. It was in Dutch, true, but I got the idea that she understood just fine. The look on her face when she opened it was priceless, beaming with this new-found reasonless joy. She immediately looked for the perfect place for it in the house. It was heartwarmingly funny to see her put it in a cabinet, only to take it out and put it in another more suited place. Again, and again, until I lost track of where the card resides now.

We have this thing in our family, the birthday one gets to choose the place to eat that night. Usually my little brother uses this to somehow maneuvre us to eat at where he wants to eat that night. He would be whispering the name of the restaurant he feels like that night from behind the chairs, somehow thinking that we would be brainwashed. He thinks our brains are the size of peanuts. When my Dad realizes this and calls him, he would shriek like a girl: NIK SAID IT, pointing his fingers at me while running away.

Sometimes we get a sneak preview at the top of his underwear too, since he's now into this baggy pants thing. If you by any chance are oblivious to what it means, basically your hips is on the middle of your ass. So when you walk, we can see the upper part of your buttocks speaking. Right foot forward, left ass up: He. Left foot, right ass: Llo. He-llo. He-llo. And... Stop.

Anyways during dinner (we went to Mom's chosen place, my brother wanted to go there too) Dad asked us to pray for Mom before we eat. He started counting down, and I just stared there. I asked silently, to whom? But I dont think Mom would like that. So I hold my hands together and talked to myself,

Hey you. It's me. I know it's been awhile but it's my Mom's birthday. You know she deserves so much more so I wont waste your time by asking what you already knew. I just would like to ask if I can be here again to celebrate her many birthdays to come. I know, I am a selfish girl. But thanks anyway. Oh yeah and please bless this food we are about to digest. I know they are going to come out the same, but they look and smell fan-bloody-tastic! Hurray!

And yes, the food was absolutely fantastic. It was the best Indonesian food I've ever had. The place is new, very romantic. It reminds me of this charming little Italian bistro. Only more formal. I thought to myself WHERE HAVE I BEEN ALL THESE TIME. I had to resist this urge to run into the kitchen, dramatically burst open the door, panting for effect and scream EVERYBODY BUT THE CHEF GO OUT FOR YOUR LIFE. Then when it's just me and the chef, put on the Silar-evil-smile. Bam, he goes onto the walls. I would then point out my index finger in the direction of his forehead. Creeeeeeeeeeeeak. You know how it goes.

Summer Summer Fever

I am officially done with the last exam for the year, and have been putting my spare week to good use before I fly home next Wednesday. Sleep deprived, yes, but happy regardless. Had a lot of catching up with some friends, and we agreed on how quick time flies. We are done with the first year, and will come back from our respective Summer vacations as second year students. We also agreed upon partying the second year even harder since time flies so quickly.

I am juggling so many last minute things before I fly. People to meet, stuff to do, and above all what I want to do. I went out, danced, ran, stepped on dog poo, went to a sailing workshop, did a pub quiz, tried lacrosse, watched kickboxing student championship, went to a themepark with my gay best friend, read and laughed.

It's been good. Very good.

I guess no matter how rough your weeks have been, it all turns out for the best. As cliche as it may sounds, the phrase this too shall pass does have some truth to it.

I am currently very concerned about what to bring my friends and family. I havent bought anything yet, but I will try to find something tomorrow. I am thinking of buying everyone stroopwafels. An image flashed in my mind of the airport security scanning through my luggage and suddenly red lights started to light with that horrible police buzz. Next scene of me being handcuffed in front of the whole airport on the ground of smuggling national treasure, me screaming I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS IN MY LUGGAGE I SWEAR. A young security actually opened my luggage, took out a package of stroopwafels, opened it, took a sniff and looked back to the other officers, nodding gravely. Another officer screamed CHECK HER ASS SHES TOTALLY SMUGGLING SOME MORE THERE.

Right.

Say what you need to say

Tamara Tempura, my little evil niece :-*

I am getting tired of this game. Every human contact seemed somehow like a battlefield, idle on your war strategies and you are worse than skrewed. We are bombarded by social norms, of how things should be. For some reason we ended up with this idea to be the one with the power in a relationship.

And I'm not just talking about romantic relationship. Even some friendships are exhausting to me. To somehow get the balance of "I like you and I really want to spend time with you" and "I have another life so I am not going to spend my 24/7 with you". You have this mindset that you will not let yourself to be outweighed by the first one: to be needy. Because, you know, it's not cool to be needy.

Before you know it, you are too focused on not being needy. Pride preservation ultimately drives you and your friend away, because both find it crucial to have another life.

I am getting tired of it.

I think life is complicated enough without us having to complicate it some more. It seems to me like my brain is constantly conspiring to complicate everything. Take something and magnify it using a NASA telescope, and turn an incredibly dumb look whenever someone brings it up.

What is this false accusation you are making? I do no such magnifying.

But I do. And as hard as it is for me to take it in, there will be no advancement from this point. So here I am trying to simplify things now. It should be more "Yes" or "No" depending on your utility, but no "But" or "If only". It is what it is and the faster you take on that, the faster we can move on.

When you like someone, it is OK to be vulnerable. Take off your battle shields and just go and say what you want to say. After all, why do we care so much about what the other person will think? If it works, then great. If it doesnt, now you know better. You cant win it all, and you've got nothing to lose.

Be strong. Even if only for the time being.

It's happening again. No mater how hard you try to be strong, no matter how hard you tell yourself that it does not matter and you are stronger than it you always find yourself broken. Again, and again.

When you cant be by yourself because your thoughts are suffocating yourself. When it feels like someone is gripping your heart and wont let it go no matter how you plead. When you feel so scared, vulnerable and alone. When you know that you have to save yourself from none other than yourself.

Why is it happening again. I thought we made our peace, I asked myself.

I thought we are stronger than this.

Apparently not. Certain things just linger, no matter how hard you tell yourself that they dont matter. Not to the new you. That you are better than this.

But yet again you fall, again and again.

You thought you moved on, you made peace with your fall and decided that it has only made you stronger. Each time, you try to pick up the pieces and use stronger glue to make it lasts longer. But again and again you fell for the same mistakes. Why cant you learn?

Why wont the knowledge stick?

Why are my demons always the same, no matter how many times I thought I killed it. I guess I am not that strong, that I can only supress it until the next fall.

How I wish for them to never visit me again.

That hole on my knee

Awesome news: my knee is healing! It still looks like Frankenstein, true, but at least I no longer walk like the tin man. I know, I watched too much TV ever since I was on couch arrest. I felt like I was rooting into my combined couches after 1.5 weeks. So this weekend I made a radical decision of separating my couches to start fresh.

I think the worst part is that I was wallowing in self pity and resentment. Resentment from being helpless, from unable to do things I took for granted such go running in a sunny day, lounge on the lake with my novel, go out and wear heels, biking or eating something other than crap Dutch microwave food.

The funny part is that slowly fades away, shifting from anger to acceptance. To accept that theres a black circle, a hole on my previously smooth knee. To realize and accept that life is not smooth and perfect. There are scars, there will be scars. And better learn that now than later I suppose.

I also proved something about me to myself and the doctors: I am the worst patient ever. When I had my stitches, I had to squeeze the nurse's hand so hard to endure the pain. Not to mention the crying, cursing and funny enough, laughing. Even with broken fingers, the nurse managed to laugh at me. She said she wish she will never be present when I give birth. When she saw the blood draining from my face, she laughed and told me she was joking. She later messed my hair and said: "it's OK, you still have a couple of years before permanently damaging the life of your midwife."

What I also find amazing is how the words "at least its not" somehow makes me feel slightly better. At least its only temporary. At least its not infected. At least you still have your leg. At least youre still alive. I was still in my anger phase when my friend told this to me. And I told him that it's easy for him to say since he's not the one with the stitches.

Then another friend started talking to me about her problem, and for some reason I told her at least you dont have stitches on your knee.

So yes, there will be a scar on my knee. And from the look of it, a pretty deep one. I put up a RIP sign for my smooth legs, paid my last respect and brought pretty flowers. But at the moment I am just happy that I can walk. And a story to tell later.

Biking Accident

I had a biking accident on Monday. My friend was biking me to the lake, where we were supposed to run and enjoy the last sun for the week. She was picking up speed as the road turned uphill, oblivious of the pole that was too close to my legs.

Too close that it hit and tore open a thumb-sized skin from my left knee.

As strange as it may sound, at the split second before it hit me, there was a voice on my head: It's going to hit you. And it did. Hard.

The pain was immediate. I had to gasp very deeply just to breathe. I looked down and what I saw almost made me faint. I could see my flesh. And blood, slowly looming over the torn skin.

The thing about me is that I have an unjustified fear of blood. So when I saw blood trickling down my legs I became lightheaded. So lightheaded that I had to sit down and later sleep on the ground as my friend called an ambulance.

The guy came half an hour later, cleaned and wrapped a bandage on my wound and advised that I go to a real hospital to get it stitched. I looked directly into his eyes, squeezed his hands and muttered I'm scared. The first time I said that since a year of living alone.

I know I am a drama queen when it comes to some disruptions to my personal well being (ie. fearing of amputation when I paper-cut my finger). But this was different. I had never had an accident before, never hurt myself. No serious wounds nor illnesses, no scar.

And there I was, the thought of going to a hospital, not visiting but getting stitches made me shiver all over.

The nurse held my hand really tight. I was so scared that my sentences didnt really make sense. I kept on telling her that this is my first and worst accident and Im scared.

In between the sedatives, she said: if this is your worst, then you are one very lucky girl, arent you?

Am I?

After the screaming, crying, cursing and weirdly enough, laughing, I ended up with 6 stitches. Fortunately no bone was broken. Right now I am living on my couch, and slight movement made me wince with pain. I cant walk, I cant run, I cant go kickboxing eventhough it is Wednesday.

I'm trying to be positive about this, I really do. But at the moment I feel as if the stitches just unstitched my self. Maybe it's just because I have too much time to think. I know this is just stitches that will go away in a week, the wound will dry in a month. But at the moment I cant help but think of the what ifs. I close my eyes and the image of the second before my knee hit the pole came flooding in.

And I hate myself for thinking that.

Maybe this is the perspective Ive been asking for. And here I have it, loud and painfully clear. But why cant I be grateful for it?

Maybe in time.

Survived the Flight!

Yestterday is such an unideal day to fly. The turbulent was NONSTOP. And a baby behind me wont stop screaming. And dont get me wrong, I have nothing against babies. It's just I was certain this one was an aspiring banshee in the making. If I wasnt so hungry I would have shoved my German cheesecake to better use.

At one point I was bound to release the drinks given by the cute steward. Unfortunately I had a window seat. And when I finally gave in, I nudged the Dutchie sitting next to me, signaling that I have to pass through him to go to the loo. Half asleep, he was unaware that I am not the stick girl. Thus I couldnt get pass the LIMITED space that he provided by SLIGHTLY moving his LONG legs. I was like I dont think I can pass. Instead of standing up and allowing me to pass through LIKE ANY GENTLEMEN WOULD, he SPREADED HIS LEGS. Eventually I had to hug the seat infront of me and lift my legs high enough so my thinner ankles can get through. One leg after another.

I thought I was going to make it. That is, until I was between his legs and my right ankle GOT STUCK ON HIS EARPHONES. I had to bend over to release it, and instead of helping he just straighen his seat. STRAIGHTENING YOUR SEAT DOES NOT HELP, IF ITS NOT OBVIOUS YET AT THIS POINT. Since it was dark, it took me some times before I managed to take that bloody cables off me. When I got up, I just realized what an awkward position that was.

I immediately looked and felt like Bambi caught stealing cucumbers from the neighbors. I tried my best to mimic I KNOW THIS LOOKS BAD BUT ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE. But I think I just look like I needed to pee that bad.

Regardless I arrived save and sound. I knew we were in Holland when I looked out and it was all pastures. We went lower, lower and lower. Until I made a mental countdown: 3.

2...

..1.

Bam.

And we arrived in Schipol.

Sister getting married!

Finally we're in Bali. We've been on housearrest for the past week to get ready for the wedding. Last Monday me, my sister and brother wanted to dive with the sharks. We were talking about it next to Mom. When she realized what we're planning, her face changed. Bottom part she said no, under various risks of contacting TBC from the tube, stung by jellyfishes or eaten by sharks.

Then we conceded to going to kboxing practice instead. The look on Mom's face. Murderous.

But here we are in Bali! The sun is amazing. Unfortunately Mom said she's going to paint us back white is we have the courage to get a tan before the wedding.

So we had to wear 3 LAYERS OF 50+ SPF SUNBLOCK, as well as WEAR AN ANTI-UV UMBRELLA ALL DAY LONG while other tourists take pictures of us as they think we're some kind of a weird tribe.

On being home

Denica is home, baby. Arrived last week-ish, been preoccupied with writing paper. The only break I'm getting is now, when waiting for my supervisor's comments.

How is it like to finally be home?

Funny. Everything is the same as how I left it. Makes me feel I've been timetravelling back to before I left for Holland.

What amuses me is my 'first' re-experiences with some stuff. First time I stepped back into my room. The smell. The big bed. The soft plush stuffed toys. The big wardrobe. The convinience of having me own bathroom.

First time I touched my piano. How I just sat and stared at the keys. Feels weird. Really weird.

First time running on the treadmill again. Feels awkward. Havent been running in a straight, smooth line sheltered like that for 8 months.

First time coming out of the airport, seeing the looks on Ma and Pa. (Yes, my siblings found me coming home not a good enough reason to get off from their beds. Lazy bastards.) The ear-to-ear smile.

First time eating without having to cook. First time not having to clean my own room. First time driving again. First time not having to paddle to go somewhere. First time not wearing jeans for a whole week now. Nor coats. Nor anything that's basic function is intended to give you warmth.

First time knowing that your family is just in the next room.

First time missing Rotterdam. First time missing those freakshows. First time missing my kboxing practices and Wednesday rituals of biking back and forth with hunger and tiredness. First time missing how I like my eggs boiled. First time missing shopping for food from nearby Albert Heijn. First time missing lectures. First time missing going to the local pubs.

I guess there is the good and the bad part of any places, any where you are. Guess all you can do is make the most of now, because with absolute certainty am I certain that I will miss this hot, humid city once I'm biking in rain and wind.

Dreams

I wonder: if cars have navigational parts to let them know what to do next, why cant we have it as well? Wont it be so much more convinient, to have a bar telling us what move is best now, what optimalizes us next?

Sometimes I feel lost. Like my GPS decided to mess around with my mind and left me clueless.

When do we know when to dream, when do we know when to let go and live life as it is?

I am a dreamer, I love dreaming up to the point that it may be harmful to my wellbeing. I dreamt big, parches of adolescence when we think we can do anything we want, anything we set our minds unto.

I dreamt big.

As time goes by, slowly but surely I started to reshift my gears. I learnt to dream small and live large, trying to be content and to squeeze my life until the last possible drop. To appreciate the power of small things we take for granted, and most of all to find happiness.

But when do we know that we are instead compromising?

Last month I decided it's time for change. To try something new. And now I feel like I'm walking on eggshells. Precarious, afraid that I will step on the wrong one and hurt myself.

When do we know when to stop dreaming?

When do we know that we're falling on the same trap all over again?

More importantly, how do we stop when we realize that the dream has started to eat us alive?

Hours to 19

So here it is. The big day in 1 hour. 19. Wow.

Hello, I am Denica. I am 19. Yes, nineteen years old. No, you didnt hear me wrong. I am nineteen.

What happened to being 16, 17, 18? They all went passed their use by date, I suppose.

When I was a little girl, I would do everything in my power to keep my eyes open until 12 midnight before my birthday. As if wanting to start the day a little bit earlier, cheating time I guess. I have this belief that if I dont sleep the day would magically be longer, thus my birthday is prolonged even if just for a little bit.

Why? Maybe because I know that there'll be a cake with a pony icing on that day. Or the mere fact that I am able to wear my best outfit and take pictures in it. Or because I think my birthday is this magical day when flying ponies would come visit with fairies and take away evil potential-killing-Barbies from the world. Only on my birthday, and as weird as it may sounds, it makes me feel like I did something to make the world a better place. A Barbie-less world.

(Dont blame me. Blame my siblings for making me watch those Chuckie movies with them).

Or maybe it's the idea that I'm getting older. That I am no longer 8, or 9. I am now 10. And I had this idea that being 10 is going to be mind blowing with all the new things I am now allowed to do.

Well I am no longer 10 now. I am 19, and a moment of reflection makes me feel lost. 19. A step, a year to 20. Do I deserve it?

I act like I'm bloody 12. I fool around, laughing until my abs hurt watching Spongebob and trying to live everyday like it's my last. But now I'm 19. Call me old fashioned, but something about it makes me feel like I should act more mature. More appropriate. More like I'm 19.

But do I want to?

I know that I should. Or not. Depends.

So in the face of all the uncertainties in the world, I opened a bag of marshmallows, stick some on a stick and move it around above the fire from the gas stove. I then decided to write this while blowing the half burnt marshmallows (for those of you considering what to get me for my birthday, I suggest "Roasting Marshmallows for Dummies").

I have decided to wait until 12 tonight. While savoring my burnt, crispy, tender and sweet marshmallows. Maybe tomorrow will last a little bit longer. Maybe 19 wont be so bad after all. Maybe this year I will change the world. Maybe flying ponies will come visit. Maybe I will act mature. Maybe I will cut back on Spongebob. Or maybe, just maybe, everything will be fine.

Hereby I raise my cup of milk. Cheers, to all the uncertainties in the world.

Chins up. Shoulders back. Ass tight.

I'll see you when I am officially 19.

Countdown to Spring!

I cannot believe I'm flying home in 17 days! :) :) :)

Things have been hectic, and last weekend I was notified that a big ass paper was to be done in the time period that I'm skipping school. The image of me lounging around in Bali sipping my cocktails/coconut while watching the sunset and getting massages is brutally shattered.

My well deserved break, down the sink now.

I just have to find the time to sit down and figure out a research topic one of these days. With exams in 2 weeks.

I cant wait to come home.

Decided to come home again for Summer. Just booked my tickets. Well postponed break is better than nothing no?

Things I will do for a massage now.

The weirdest thing happened on my way to the conference last Monday. I was walking to the Centraal Station when this guy approached me, asking where the CS is. Being nice, I told him I'm going there now too and he can just walk with me. On the way, he told me about his job that he buys clothes to ship to underdeveloped countries. Then he asked if he can sell me something so that he'll be done with his job for the day.

I paused. Not really understanding his English nor his point. I told him I am on my way to a conference and I'm already running late. The he started begging me to sell him something, my coat, my broek (pants), my underwear.

No I had the same reaction you're having now. Jaws dropped, eyes widened and head spinning in disbelief.

I told him no, hell no. He started raising his bid, up to 250 euros. Oh my lord. Who needs coffee when you live in Rotterdam eh.

P.S. I did not sell my underwear. Not at the current rate anyway :p

Branded Red Lines

Religion, why is always so provocative? Every discussion leads to the same walls, and it's confusing to see people claiming superiority in bypassing those walls. Why do we have to break the walls? Why can't we just cherish the walls for what it's worth and move on with our lives?

I was raised a Catholic. Somewhere along the way, I lost my faith. My religion grew from faith to a culture, something that I do but not necessarily something I live for. I endured that adolescent phase of defiance, questioning and refusal of acceptance. But as time pass, I decided to live with the acknowledgment of the existence of the walls and move on.

I have to be fair and admit that somewhere in me, I feel at peace when I listen to the religious songs. Although perhaps it's limited to the charming opera singers with voices that bring goosebumps to your back. I dont know, and I am not sure why there should be a reason.

Egyptians believe that when you die, you get asked 2 questions, and your answers to these questions determines whether or not you can attend 'heaven' or 'hell'. The first question is have you found joy in your life?

And the second: Have you brought joy to the life of others?

The Budhists believe in karma, how you live your life and how you treat others.

The Christians/Catholics believe in sins.

I might be wrong, heck, I am certain I am wrong. But I think there's a red line here. I'm just not sure why they have to brand the red line and make it different.