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Category: Misc

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2015

2015

Happy New Year, blarbs! I recently took the plane back to my home in Bath from my other home in Arnhem – well, not directly, that would’ve been too easy – and re-experienced some of my earliest moving-to-the-UK thoughts. It’s less easy being back in this home now I’ve spend some quality time at my other home. That being said, I immediately know why that is, I even wrote a paper on this matter before the Christmas holidays, damn it. In this paper I explained the differences between two terms I thought of myself, namely a ‘physical home’ and an ’emotive home’. I explained how these types of homes relate to each other and that one doesn’t necessarily always have an emotive home, as this is to do with where you most feel at home.

And for me, my emotive home turns out to be people. My close-knit group of friends who are all insane and feel like my self-chosen family. You guys are my home. And wherever I am attaching people to me, that becomes home, too. Especially when it’s so cute as Bath. However, since I’ve landed I’ve not yet seen many people here and I guess that the more familiar faces I see, the more I feel at home here again. Easy peasy. And in the meantime, I will write.

Oh, right, my new year’s resolutions? Hug more. Cause this weekend I had a slumber party/sleep over with some of my friends that never used to be huggers, and we were all on one huge air bed, six of us, sprawled on top of each other, heads on bellies, and it was the best thing ever.
Happy 2015.

Ha Ha

Ha Ha

Hello my fellow Britainianainas.
I am a new-born.
I was born in Bath and am quite lethargic. No, not lethargic at all. It’s not the right word.
It’s just, my mind is so effortlessly blank I have no depressed feelings to share.
I am a new-born.
And I am happy.

I didn’t think moving was this easy, especially to a different country. I didn’t think I would be moving on this fast. I didn’t think I would be enjoying myself quite so much and worry quite so little. And I certainly didn’t think I wouldn’t be really missing anyone.
But the truth is out there.
This is my place now!

Peace.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I am moving to England in a week and it has all been so surreal. Is so surreal. Maarten and I pushed ourselves into one of our rooms with all of our stuff and decided that we were going to live like just-moved-out teens for 17 days, and this includes the bad eating habits and the lack of energy. Unfortunately, my last two weeks in the Netherlands now feel odd, instead of, ahh I’m so going to miss this. I don’t know if I will miss this.

Last weekend I had my going away party, which was a lot of fun, lots of people came to say ‘hey!’ and ‘goodbye!’, though it didn’t feel like a goodbye cause half of the party were people I will still be seeing before I leave. So they made it feel like nothing is going to happen. This is why it’s so surreal. I feel like I am totally prepared, I’ve done all my stuff, I’ve arranged everything, I’ve packed.. but still there’s this overpowering emotion of nothingness. Why don’t I feel more.. shaken?

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A world of pleasantness

A world of pleasantness

This weekend I was stumbling around Best Kept Secret festival with friends and the boyfriend. It was very much all you ever hope for in a festival. It’s situated in a foresty environment with lots of trees caring for you, and bringing shade. Next to the forest there’s a big sandy field, surrounded by a lake you can swim in, as long as you’re not naked (apparently). All big acts playing the main stage look out over this field with its lake next to it, and each and every one of them seems to be stunned by the pretty view.

It’s such a lovely thing, this festival, that audience and performer seem to share this opinion and marvel about it. I’ve seen lots of artists actually trotting the festival grounds when they were done playing, and it made for a very relaxed atmosphere. They book little and bigger bands and it’s so much fun exploring new music and dancing to music you used to listen to all the time when you were younger (Franz Ferdinand! Amazing perfomance. Or Belle & Sebastian’s sweet tunes). I want to come here every year.

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Accomplished

Accomplished

I just read this message on an old blog of mine. Wow. I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

Hi. I am looking for master/graduate programmes abroad and it is scary, yet so exciting! I really, really want to do this, I’ve always wanted to go abroad but I never quite made it (sad). And I can only blame myself for being too attached to my surroundings, friends, family, boyfriend. I wonder if I would survive abroad and that is just why I want to do it, test myself. Furthermore, of course, there’s writing. There has always been writing. I just.. I can be emotional about writing: mad, crazy, smiling, grinning, dancing around, shivers everywhere, a bouncing stomach. It is creating life, on paper, but mostly in my head and I don’t know what else I should do.

It’s not even that I see myself as that great a writer, I just want to, need to, succeed in it. Make it my own.

So please, any Creative Writing master’s programme, accept me. Thank you.

Noise

Noise

I think I haven’t been completely honest with my own feelings and it’s hard to write this down. Come to think of it, I think I’ve not let myself have any personal feelings for the past half year or so. Everything was clouded with expectations, and most of all, fixing the world.

Now, that is an interesting ideal, fixing the world, and I’m not in any case speaking against it. However, it’s very easy to float off to some muddy shore, someplace you don’t know very well, to do some making-the-world-a-better-place there. Whenever I’m on a fixing spree, I’m focused on everything but my personal feelings. I’m not even focused on someone else’s feelings so much, as to me, the truth has little to do with being kind, and a lot with being forward. I’m the one you go to when everyone says it doesn’t matter what you do, to tell you straight up, it does. And quit messing around. Yeah.

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No More “Women’s Magazines” (beautyisnotanumber.com)

No More “Women’s Magazines” (beautyisnotanumber.com)

To be completely honest with you, I have been stalling this piece. I wasn’t afraid of writing it, the reactions, or even of the message I’m sending out to all of you with this article. No, it’s just always a bit weird to say goodbye to something I’ve cherished for so long: writing about weight issues.

Recently I picked up a copy of a Dutch women’s magazine. I had received a magazine subscription and chose this particular title because I thought it was fun, sarcastic and good to women. Well, I have been wrong before. However much anti-feminist the magazine was I wouldn’t want to bother you with (okay: notice how a “men’s magazine” isn’t an actual title, as men’s magazines are magazines about just anything, filling seventy-five percent of a magazine shelf in a book store), but however much anti-woman any women’s magazine is is beyond me.

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Drugslog

Drugslog

Gisteren las ik een drugs-log. Hierin vertelt iemand stap voor stap wat hij ervaart bij het nemen van een specifieke drug. Ik las dingen als ‘leip de hond uitlaten’ en ‘relaxed een banaan eten’. Sowieso werden er erg veel drugsige woorden gebruikt, zoals dus ‘leip’, ‘relaxed’, ‘strak’ en ‘hard gaan’. Ik besloot dat ik niet die persoon ging worden die het had over ‘zijn witte hobby’.

In plaats daarvan zit ik nu half op een stoel. Mijn ogen houd ik open met denkbeeldige stokjes. Ik doe alsof ik mijn collega hoor. Maar ik hoor niets. Ik voel niets. Mijn hele lichaam voelt als een te lang ingehouden lens. En ik heb niet eens lenzen. Ik heb wel een raam. Soms kijk ik daar uit. Het werkt beangstigend, want ik voel een reusachtige drang om naar buiten te vliegen. Weg, samen met de vogels, vliegen in een V.

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Working Girl

Working Girl

Yes, fun, I’m a prostitute, ha. Whatever this used to mean – women only having one job – it doesn’t anymore. I am an Office Girl now! I took this job after about six months of being rejected for every job there seemed to be: too old, over-qualified, or didn’t have enough social job skills. It wasn’t much fun. But at least I had my freedom.

For a week and a half I’ve been going to bed early every night like a good girl, waking up Grumpy Cat-ish at 7 every morning. BIKING 30 minutes to work over bridges and through fields, by houses with huge (vegetable) gardens, and coloured sheep. Experiencing Arnhem wake up. Going for little walks during my break, making new friends and talking about everything that’s important and anything that’s not. Sounds healthy, doesn’t it?

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Woensdag (droom)

Woensdag (droom)

We lopen over het stukje van het pretpark waar alle eetkraampjes en stalletjes zijn. Mijn vader en ik. Er is een openlucht supermarktje opgezet, alle vormgeving lichtgroen en kalm. Een beetje als een Marks & Spencer’s. Ik zie allebei mijn opa’s met schorten in de kleuren van de supermarkt, de een prijst artikelen en de ander vult vakken. Mijn opa’s zijn allebei overleden.

“Kijk,” zeg ik. Mijn vader en ik weten allebei dat dit een illusie is, dat we dit dromen, dat de beelden die we zien niet echt zijn. Maar het pijnigt hem meer dan mij. Ik ben alleen een beetje bezorgd over de rug van mijn opa die vakken vult.

Dan is het opeens tijd om de trein te pakken naar de uitgang van het park. Helaas zitten mijn mocassins bij de kassa in een kluisje en heb ik geen tijd meer om ze op te halen. Dus loop ik op mijn sokken. De trein stopt te ver van het perron en Maarten en ik lopen over een regenachtig stuk steen langs de trein en een muur terug naar het perron. Daar wacht ik, op mijn natte sokken.