Turning 20 in 20 images

Okay, so I thought I'd try a new approach. In lieu of producing an entire written blog about this weekend's festivities, I decided to post some pictures from the party. Now, I know my guests requested some privacy regarding these pictures, so I'll make sure the only really damaging pictures will be mine and mine alone.

Let's see if the old saying 'A picture says a thousand words' still stands, and if not, I stand corrected and I'll produce the written version of November 27.

Turning 20 means...



Still being able to appreciate a decent group picture




Knowing who your friends are




Not being afraid of pasting a fake mustache and goatee on your face with magic marker




Coming to regret giving a certain person access to a more permanent marker
-It's so fluffy I'm gonna die-




Just going with it from time to time




Daring to be bold in wardrobe choices




Having a group hug every now and then




Learning to recognise the Drunks and Soon-To-Be Drunks




Going a little crazy




Showing you're down with it




Honoring thy mother
-Love Mom-




Discovering new wounds that weren't there a second ago




Allowing people to give you new nicknames





Passing out after yet another wild night in your twenties

 


Having that threesome while 'seemingly' under the influence




Knowing how to give the perfect present to your friends




Forcing your friends to perform some manual labour every now and then




Knowing how to accentuate your friend's assets




Laying down a decent layer before consuming massive quantities of alcohol




Wearing extravagant accessories and not being afraid of a little Dare




Being so kind as to lend your friend some of your clothes



Metamorphosis

I can't believe this is going to be my last blog as a 19 year old. I'm turning twenty in one hour, give or take a few minutes (or I might have already turned 20 depending on your timezone!). So if you want to wish me a happy birthday already, you can and it will be sincerely appreciated, but no pressure or anything.

He sure has the ghetto thing down to an art.
Fo sho.



Today was a really weird day. Not weird as in Al Jankovic or as in the way certain 'subcultures' are able to keep their caps on, even though the only thing holding them up is hope -I'll include this picture just so there are no misunderstandings, but a different kind of weird. The life-altering kind.

The day felt weird as in it felt like the first day of the rest of my life. I know it sounds cliché and exaggerated, but it was like reality became permeable and I could see my own future. Before I go all quantum physics on your asses, I'll slow down a bit and tell you about my day.

There was this event at school today called 'Global Village' which was in fact this sort of information moment for those interested in going on Erasmus. Ever since I had enough understanding of the world and the role our little country played in it, I knew I didn't want to live here for the rest of my life. So naturally, I started to branch out and look for other options. It turns out, the answer lay right across ye olde pond, otherwise known as the North Sea.

 

No, your geographical skills have not yet abandoned you, I am talking about the UK, the United Kingdom, Great Britain or whatever name you prefer. It all fits together perfectly: I love to write in English, the UK is an English-speaking country. I hate the fact of living in Belgium, the UK is not Belgium. You see? It's a win-win, really.

So while I was at the Global Village, my eyes immediately scanned the room in search of its most prized possession: the University of Sheffield stand. And as my eyes have not yet -completely- failed me, I found it, which, come to think of it, wasn't all that hard, considering they had a big old British flag hanging above them. I walked over there, all confident and excited, it felt right in some way. The guy I was talking to there only had to utter one sentence and I knew I was sold. I mean, I was actually sold from the moment I saw the United Kingdom as a possible destination in the brochure, but still, you wanna keep 'em guessing for a while. You don't wanna come off as too desperate.

Baby, where have you been all my life?

Okay, fuck it. No secrets here. I am desperate to get into Sheffield. There, I've said it. Felt good. Felt good saying I wanna go there. Hell, it's the truth, isn't it? And doesn't the truth always have a way of coming out?

Anyway, back to the permeability of reality I was experiencing all day long. As I was sitting in my grandmother's kitchen, I started to think about my life, at that moment, only one year into the future. I imagined me in Sheffield, in my student apartment and thinking about how I used to dream of coming here, one year ago. Then I saw myself hanging out with my future fellow students and sitting in these ancient, dust-plagued classrooms and I became deliriously happy. There's no other way of putting it. I was quite sure I was positively glowing in that kitchen.

I hope that, within one year's time, I'll still be writing this blog, only from a slightly different location. It would be cool if, one year later, I'd still remember having written this blog and look back on it then (wow, refering to an action in the future in the past tense, what would linguists have to say about that?). So, if I did not completely succomb to Alzheimer's by then and I did remember having written this blog, I betcha Future Me is reading this at the exact moment I'm writing this. In which case: Hi, Future Me, hope you're happy over there in Sheffield! Can't wait to meet you!

But enough about Future Me, let's go back to Present Me, he's more fun -I hope. At least he keeps it real.

So, only 40 minutes to go (again, give or take a few) until I turn 20. Wow, why does it feel so weird? It's just a number, really, so why does it feel like my whole life's about to change? Why does it feel like I won't be the same person when I wake up tomorrow? I mean, I know I'll still be me, but I wonder if I'll have changed somewhat. I mean, people change all the time. Our noses continue to grow every day, sure it's by mere nanomillimetres or whatever is the smallest possible measurement, but still...

We learn new things every day, it seems only natural that our bodies adapt accordingly. We make tons of new memories every day, shed old cells and create new ones continuously. Hair grows, blood runs, sweat drops and hearts beat. Our entire bodies are living and breathing -duh!- organisms, so it's perfectly possible that our personalities are living and breathing as well, right?

I wonder if I'll like the person I'm becoming and if others will like it too? And if not, when is it too late to change yourself, can it even be done?

If ever you would see a side of me that you don't particularly like, please say so. Evolution is a process like all others and I'm always open to suggestions. I don't want there to be any rebellions, revolutions or strikes. Just common dialogue will suffice, thank you. Let me know and I'll talk to management, see what I can do.

Only 35 minutes left. Guess I better enjoy these last few moments of 19-dom. I think I had a good year. New Year's kinda sucked when I was 19, the exams were a bitch too and the trip to Milan certainly wasn't without its ups and downs. But I met some awesome new people and I've gotten to know my friends better. Plus, I finally found where I belong in school, direction wise. I've laughed, cried, loved, hated, feared, wanted, received, given, breathed, hummed, sang, talked, wrote, laughed, wrote, loved, hated, wanted, wrote, laughed, wrote and more of the same to this very day.

I'm happy with how my 19th year on this planet went. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't too shabby either. In a year's time, I'll give you an update on my 20th year. Hopefully, it'll have been even better. And, more importantly, taken place on an entirely different spot on this planet. So here's to hoping...

- for a great year

- for an acceptance to Sheffield

- for finding love

- for writing my first real article

- for seeing my article be published

- for making new friends

- and keeping old ones

- for partying and having reckless fun

- for being fearless and bold

- for having an amazing trip to Budapest with S

- for being genuinely happy

- for making it to my 21st year without a single regret

Well, I guess that's all folks. See y'all when I'm 20! 

Seconds closer to maturity

As I'm turning 20 in less than 48 hours, I can't help myself from reminiscing about the past 19 years of my life. They say that the gift for remembering and cherising the past is often reserved for those currently living in retirement homes or people who don't have anything better to do with their lives (I guess since I'm not a member of the senior population yet, I must be quite bored). Still, it's nice to take a moment in the present and look at your past, without worrying too much about the future. The truth is, you can't stop the future, it's coming, going, gone, BOOM, it has become the past again. So there, no point in losing sleep over that issue.

My thoughts are skipping uncontrollably between my infancy, my time at pre-school, elementary, high school, college, university, parties, people I've met, people I've lost, girlfriends, sexual encounters, booze-induced mistakes, movies I've seen, books I've read, music I've listened to and all the other silly and frivolous things that make up a life.

I saw a movie once and it stuns me a little that I can't remember its name (I'm usually quite good at that, could I be getting Alzheimer's already?), but I do remember this wonderful quote:

"I love this spot, it's like Heaven right here on earth, maybe that's what Heaven is, maybe we go through life collecting people and places we love and they become in our Heaven and that's where you mom is, she in her Heaven surrounded by everything that she loves... including you."

I like the thought of Heaven being a place where everything you've loved in life comes together. Just imagine a place with all your favourite people, books, places and music. I think that'd be a great way to spend eternity.

Naturally, I'm thinking about all the people and places I love and what my own piece of Heaven would look like. I think, most of all, it'd be a place of complete and utter chaos, but the good kind of chaos, because I love so many different things in life. Things so far apart, they might as well come from two different planets. I love the feeling of being with someone you love, but I also love being alone, just me, myself and I. I love living life to its fullest, taking chances and risking it all (even it that means losing it all), but I also crave the safety and security that being careful and prudent offers.

But I'm especially chaotic when it comes to the people in my life. I've seen a lot of people come and go in my life and although, on some level, I regret having lost some of them, it doesn't consume me with remorse. The way I see it, life is like this massive roadtrip across a seemingly desolate landscape. Imagine those endless concrete strips stretching from one horizon to the next with nothing in between. That's kind of how I see life, you never know what's right around the bend or over the hill. The unexpectedness and randomness, that is what makes up a life. Because the truth is, we never know what's going to happen next. We don't know when our car's going to brake down, where our next stop is or who we invite to come along with us. And sooner or later, your car is going to break down, you are going to have to stop somewhere and you will have to find people to share your journey with.

Of course, we all know the duality that lies in that last part. People are either in for the long haul, or they're just in for the ride, onto their next destination. Actually, that sounds like a horrible way to refer to people! Wow, have these last few weeks made me so bitter? There's a side of me I didn't know existed...

Okay, allow me the chance to set things right: I don't think of people as disposable, first of all. But I do know that, at one point or another, you have to let go of them. You have to let them get on with their own lives. Which is not to say that friends are on some kind of rotation device, a revolving door of some sort to alternate between different friends at different times in your life.

Hmm... Clearly, I've taken a wrong turn somewhere in my line of thought, so to avoid continuing onto this wayward path, I'll just delete the last few paragraphs.

But I'm especially chaotic when it comes to the people in my life. I've seen a lot of people come and go in my life and although, on some level, I regret having lost some people, it doesn't consume me with remorse. The way I see it, life is like this massive roadtrip across a seemingly desolate landscape. Imagine those endless concrete strips stretching from one horizon to the next with nothing in between. That's kind of how I see life. You never know what's right around the bend or over the hill. The unexpectedness and randomness, that is what makes up a life. Because the truth is, we never know what's going to happen next. We don't know when our car's going to brake down, where our next stop is or who we invite to come along with us. And sooner or later, your car is going to break down, you're going to have to stop somewhere and you'll have to find someone to share your journey with.

Of course, we all know the duality in that last one. People are either in for the long haul, or they're just in for a free ride, onto their next destination. Actually, this sounds like a horrible way to refer to people! Wow, have these last few weeks made me so bitter? There's a side of me I didn't know existed.

Okay, allow me the chance to set things right: I don't think of people as disposable, first of all. But I do know that, at one point or another, you have to let go of them. You have to let them get on with their own lives. Which is not to say that friends are on some kind of rotation device, a revolving door of some sort to alternate between different friends at different times in your life.

Maybe just this one phrase to make up for past mistakes: people come and go, but the ones who stay are the ones who'll never leave you. And on that sentimental note, I'll leave this whole thing behind me.

So there, I'm half an hour closer to turning 20 and hopefully, by the time the 1 and the 9 turn into a 2 and a 0, I'll have it all figured out. No mistakes. No deleted entries. No bitterness. Just me in my twenties. The start of a whole new chapter. My hands are already aching to begin writing it.

Oh, sorry, that's Life calling and I gotta take it! Until we 'meet' again, dear Bloggers!

Locked hearts

I hope you don't mind me stealing a few words from Travie McCoy's song 'I Need You', but I think they are perfect for verbalizing what I'm feeling right now. I do hope I don't sound as depressed and melancholic as I think I do... Anyways, here are the words from Mr McCoy himself:

"I know its not your fault, but I’m a locked door

And I wish that I, I could find a key

To unlock all the things that you want us to be

Let me open up and start again,

But there’s a safe around my heart

I don’t know how to let you in,

And that’s what keeps us apart."

Now this assortment of words can have multiple meanings for those of you who are not inside my head right now, so I'll elaborate on the matter. Today was kind of a weird day for me. It was one of the rare days I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. I know, the lovy-dovy butterfly kind. And why, you ask? Because I was seeing Eden today. Yes, I know I promised never to devote another blog to the matter, so I lied. Big whoop. People do it all the time. I'm just upfront about it.

Okay, enough bitching on my part. Forgive my irony and sarcasm in this blog, I'm feeling emotionally and physically depleted, so I think that entitles me to some grammatical or idiomatic cruelties. Where was I? Right, the butterflies. I have to say I rather enjoyed them. That is, up to a certain point. But I really should tell you the entire story chronologically, that way it'll give me the structure I so clearly need and it will keep you guys clustered to the screen -which is the whole point of this, isn't it? It's all about the Box-Office, or in this case, Blog-Office. Ha-ha, get it? Oh Lord... There goes the humour. Promising...

So, I got on the train at 8 in Louvain. A normal train ride lasts about half an hour to Brussels Central. Now, thanks to our beloved social security system, we have strikes and protest marches and with these, we have delayed trains or in some cases, cancelled trains. A real hoot. Although not really. I arrived in B-Central at 8h50. Yup, you're math skills are not deceiving you: that is a ride of 50 minutes instead of the usual (and promised by the NMBS's on-time policy -my ass) 30 minutes. But I digress, again.

When I arrived at the station, I realized Eden hadn't tried to contact me once this morning. She didn't wonder what took me so long or why I hadn't texted her. This startled me somewhat. Especially since the main reason I got up at 6h45 was to meet her (on a day when I usually don't have class until 10h30) and because she said she had some things she wanted to say to me that she couldn't in a text. To make a long story short, I finally found her and it turned out, she had just got there herself. Still, why didn't she text me, I wondered.

I'll skip most of our conversation and just say that for the next hour and a half we talked about nothing. That is to say, nothing of importance. We -and by 'we', I actually mean 'I'- talked about school, homework, television, movies (Harry Potter, of course), our friends and several other meaningless things. The fact was that I was the only one seemingly keeping the conversation alive. There was this huge distance between us. Sure, we bumped into each other a few times on the street and I wished I felt something when I touched her, but I didn't. I hated the fact that I was the one doing all the talking since she made it very clear a few days ago, that she was the one with the huge news. Sadly, I never got to hear what it was.

But I have to say that the most depressing moment of our rendez-vous were the last 45 minutes which we spent in a little café. There was literally nothing left to say. I hoped this silence would kickstart whatever it is she was holding back, but it didn't. So we just sat there. She looked so sad and hurt and I didn't know what to do. Was I supposed to hug her, comfort her and ask her what was wrong? I didn't think I had to. She was the one holding all the cards, she IS the one holding all the cards. I didn't think it was my place to try and pull the words out of her mouth. I figured, if she wanted to tell me, she would have. But she didn't.

When we said our goodbyes we hugged two times and I knew it was more than a friendly hug, but I also knew it was a Goodbye-hug, or at least it was on my part. As I walked away from the station towards my class, I couldn't help but think it was over between us. Whatever we had -whatever I thought we had- was gone. Of that, I'm fairly sure. I wanted to text her then and there: 'Guess it's over, huh?'. Those would've been my exact words, but I never sent them.

Two hours later, she texted me: 'I miss you', 'I'm not over you. I can't'. Now especially that last part confused me. 'I can't'. What did she mean by that? Did she mean she can't get over me or did she mean that she couldn't do what she had to do to be with me? (Wow, lotta two-letter words there...). I was quite hurt by those texts. Here was this girl who clearly felt a lot of things and who's clearly conflicted, yet she doesn't confide in me. Maybe I'm wrong -always a possibility- or maybe she won't let me in for a reason.

I talked about this with some people and they all agree unanimously that she's playing with me. Maybe that's true. Hell, I'm willing to believe any theory at this point. But I can't help but regret the missed opportunities between us. Still, after all this time, I think it's up to me to take a stand and to stick with it. Clearly, I'm never going to get my answer from her and I don't want to keep fighting a battle whose outcome is about as predictable as Belgian weather.

I hereby throw down my shield, my heart doesn't need protecting anymore.
I let go of the sword I so fiercely wanted to fight with, it has lost its purpose.
I take of my helmet and throw it on the ground, I can see clearly now.

I started this blog with lyrics from Travie McCoy and so, I'll post it here again and with a few final words, I bid you goodnight and hope you are more lucky in love than I am.

"I know its not your fault, but I’m a locked door
And I wish that I, I could find a key
To unlock all the things that you want us to be
Let me open up and start again,
But there’s a safe around my heart
I don’t know how to let you in,
And that’s what keeps us apart."

So by now, it should become clear that I'm not going to fight for you anymore. I'm not going to continue living in this shoulda-woulda-coulda fantasy. I tried to make a move, to break through, but I guess it wasn't enough. Maybe it never will be. In any case, I'm going to let you go now. I'm taking the safe's handle, shut it and turn it around. Sadly, you don't have a spare key anymore.

Much ado about nothing

First of all, I'd like to thank those 10 people who've decided to follow this blog! I can't tell you what it means to me to know that you are interested in what I have to 'say'. And on that note, on to the next ten! May they have your sense of style and commitment!

Flatteries aside, I discovered this will be my 103rd post. I was a little shocked quite frankly. Didn't know I already cranked up the volume that high! Anyways, it's nice to know there's some sort of portfolio of my writing existing in cyberspace, something to look back on in a few years or maybe even a few months already.

Now, I'll be honest with you. I didn't really have a set endgame in mind for this blog. I just visited the Dashboard for a second and I saw those two numbers (10 and 103) and I thought I had to write something about that. So here I am, at 20h58, on a Sunday evening with little to no inspiration on how to continue this blog. It feels weird to end it now, so abruptly, such a literary 'coïtus interruptus', no?

20h59 now. Time flies. Tempus fugit. Always loved that saying. I first heard it in the Tomb Raider movie. You know the one I'm talking about? Angelina Jolie? Daniel Craig? The Illuminati? The Triangle of Light? Good movie, considering it was a video game adaptation. Where was I? Oh right, trying to decide where to take this blog...

Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to share some of my experiences from today? I finally got to writing my paper for Remco's course (a sort of pre-bachelor paper preparational course). I'm now up to 1500 words out of the proposed 3000 or 5000. Now bear in mind, I'm far from finished with it, so there's bound to be some more words and source references! But as of now, 21h02, my well of inspiration has run completely dry. So there seems little hope of replenishing that source later today, but all the more fun for tomorrow, I guess?

What else did I do? Oh yes, I started watching Mad Men, don't know if you guys are familiar with it, but it has proven to be a very intriguing and mysterious series. For those of you not-in-the-know, it's about this ad agency in 1960. Think foyers filled with smoke, plaid skirts, lips smothered in hooker red-lipstick, men tightly bound in suits (cufflinks included) and let's not forget the hairdos! For the men: think gel. Lot's of it! For the women: curl-a-palooza! It's hilarious to see at first, but impossible not to love.

There's something to be said about those so-called golden years after the Second World War. I wrote a short historical sketch about it for one of my essays. It was a time marked by rising optimism about stabilizing economies and growing wealth on the one hand, and on the other, a time of insecurity and dualities. The whole capitalist versus communist debate was very much alive back then. You either saluted the Stars 'n' Stripes or you were labeled a 'Red'. I don't think it was an easy time to live in, whether male or female. In some ways, the Sixities were said to be a time of liberation, but when watching Mad Men, you can't help but feel the oppressive and overall tense atmosphere. There's this whole array of social expectancies and moral paths to follow, but the characters in the series very much want to break free from this.

Don Draper, for instance, is one of these characters who refuses to be stereotyped or pushed into a box. He's married to this gorgeous blonde housewife and has the whole suburban dream down to an art: the gorgeous house in the suburbs, the lovely children, all the cigarettes he can smoke and all the whisky his liver can handle. Yet on the other hand, he has an ex-wife whom he regularly has post-conjugal visits with and another crush on his female client from a large department store. I think it's safe to say that good ol' Don here doesn't like to get strapped down. He likes to keep his options open.

But enough about Mad Men and whatever other non-sensical things I was talking about. Obviously, it's Sunday night (21h13, in case you were wondering) and you all probably have something better to do than read this tired fool's chaotic line of thought. So I'll leave it at that.

Enjoy your evening and hopefully I'll see you again tomorrow, maybe then my blog will actually have some real substance. I'm thinking, a movie review on Part 1 of The Deathly Hallows or maybe an existential piece on how I feel my youth slipping away from me as I'm inching closer and closer towards the big 2-0. But until that time...

Night y'all!

A morbid, yet interesting thought

For the longest time, I've been wandering around with this weird thought. It's kinda morbid, but just go with me on this, okay? So, like any normal teenager, Jean -don't know why I picked this name, again, just go with it- has a Facebook account. Now one day, Jean has an accident and she dies. This would be the morbid part.

My weird thought is the following: what happens to her Facebook account? I mean, she's dead, so it's not like she can delete her own profile, right? Plus, I don't think Facebook is linked into the local mortuaries, so I doubt they'll be the one doing the deleting? And her parents -I assume they don't get along that well- don't know her password. So what happens to her profile?

Does it just stay there, trapped forever in cyberspace? Will people she once knew -old school friends perhaps- one day find her profile and send a friend request, not knowing she died all those weeks/months/years ago? It just seems strange to me that while Jean is dead in reality, she can continue to live on in cyberspace. She can still be tagged in pictures as if they were taken just moments ago. She can still be tagged in other people's statuses. Jean can appear to be alive for quite some time, effectively becoming immortal -if you don't mind the Facebook status that never quite seems to change or the profile picture that never gets updated. But technicalities aside, Jean's still there, in some freakishly, morbid way.

Do the rules of life and death still apply in cyberspace or is it some sort of timeless vacuum? If so, is immortality only a Facebook profile away?

Sweet dreams

There's something to be said about the power of dreams. From the moment our heads hit the pillow and our minds power down, it opens the floodgates to our most deepest and purest thoughts. Once our eyes are closed, we can imagine almost anything. We can be almost anything.

Some dreams we remember, others we don't. But we do dream. Every night of every day. I remember at the University of Ghent, we discussed different theories about dreaming. Allow me two seconds while I go grab my Psychology course book and look them up. Don't go away, I'll be right back.

Okay, so a first glance at the content table, didn't exactly show me where I could find it, so just bear with me for a couple more seconds, while I search the back of the book. It's gotta be in there somewhere.

Yes! Found it. Page 206. Dreams. First of all, there's the Freudian way to interpret dreams, in other words, it always comes down to you "vanting to shleep viz your fazzer". Then there's the activation synthesis theory that calls dreams the by-product of the need for REM-sleep. This heightened activation in the brains, causes it to short circuit, apparently. These scrambled, chaotic jolts of electricity coursing through our brain, conjure up the most unbelievable images which we calls dreams. And then of course, there's the evolution theory that says dreams are evolutionary determined and help us deal with the natural dangers of the world. In a way, it's like an anti-anxiety pill.

Don't know if this information is helpful, at all, but I just figured, couldn't hurt to share some knowledge, right?

Anyways, the point -I think- I wanted to make with the whole 'dreams' thing was the fact that, lately, I've been thinking a lot about my dreams, not limited to the nightly ones. As I'm writing this, I'm listening to The Bravery's 'Believe', a song which, for all intents and purposes is quite inspiring and I feel it sets the mood for this particular bit of amateur blogging.

When I was little, I used to think I had it all figured out. I wanted to be a psychiatrist, be happily married and have two children, boy and girl. Oh, and two dogs and a nice house in the city. It's your average infancy fantasy, no? But somewhere along the road to adolescence and young adulthood, something changed. The pig picture remained the same, but the details slightly altered.

I wanted to be a writer slash English teacher, live happily together with the woman I love and have two children, boy and girl, same thing. The two dogs and the house in the city also remained. And although my writing doesn't do justice to the difference between these two scenarios, there really is one. But maybe it's more of a feeling than a simple change of words.

I think my way of looking at the future has changed. Where it used to be as simple as finding the right girl, it has now become infinitely more complex. Marriage might have been the solution for post-war America back in the day, but now, I don't think it is the patch for the ache it was all those years ago.

As for my dual profession, I can only atribute that to my whimsical nature. You see, when you're little, you can dream big and over the top, but after a while, you've got to take it down a notch or seven and bring it down to reality. And the reality, in my case, was that Statistics was not my friend. Ergo, bye bye future in psychiatry. After that dream got extinguished, I guess I started looking at what made me happy, instead of what made me wanna be something I wasn't or couldn't be. Writing seemed like the perfect cure for that particular itch.

So now, I've been on the fast track for a future in the publishing world for quite some time. I went to Ghent, hoping to major in Journalism, switched to Brussels (tried three different directions), but the endgame always remained the same: writing. Only now, after having been made aware of the dire state of things in the media, I added English professor to my dream of becoming a writer. Seems only natural to have a back-up plan, in case worse comes to worst.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the world will always throw up barricades to mess up your dreams. Sometimes you need to abide by them and take the prescribed detour, but every once in a whole, Fate delivers you a wrecking ball that lets you tear through those barricades. So, by what I just said, turns out I took the detour. But maybe that's not such a bad thing? After all, in life, isn't it all about the journey anyways?

Wanted: romance, dead or alive?

Modern-day relationships are quickly turning into devious minefields. Everywhere you look there seems to be a potential threat. There's the ex's, the lying, the secrets, the shoulda-woulda-coulda's, the slip-ups, the temptations, the greener pastures and so on and so forth. Stand too close to one and you might just get burned.

In these times where everything can be defined as loose or casual, what does that really mean? We all say we want to keep things casual, but in the end, we never do. Being casual means being okay with less than an actual relationship. People always say they stepped down from the whole White Knight or Damsel in Distress fantasy, but they forgot how endearing such a prospect really is.

Sex and the City's Charlotte York once said that women want to be rescued. I think the same goes for men. We, just like women, want to be resuced, pulled from our shells and into the light. The only problem is, finding the one who will show us the way out of our world and into reality.

In this rampant, chaotic world that we call the twenty-first century, nothing is safe anymore. There's terrorists, oil spills, burning banlieues and draining fossil fuels, but true romance seems to have already gone extinct.

I know I might seem as the last person to ever proclaim the Jane Austen type of romance, but recent events have made me see things differently. A friend of mine said to me that none of the things you have matter, if you don't have anyone to share it with. I can only hope I was able to comfort her with my words, which at the time seemed insufficient, but they were sincere. She did however, make me realize that romance still has a sway over some of us.

Her situation is not entirely unlike mine. She has the mixed emotions, the wanting-yet-hesitant looks and the romance that didn't have its supposed happy ending, so you can see how I can relate to that. The truth is, we both seem to love someone who can't (or won't) find the strength to love us back. And I think that's the worst part: the not knowing how the other person really feels.

The funny part is, that it really doesn't have to be all that complicated. It could just be as simple as boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy back, boy and girl live happily ever after. No drama or heartache needed. So why is it so hard to find something like this? Is it truly like finding a needle in a haystack or do we just keep falling for the wrong types? Do we look love right in the eyes and then pass it by unknowingly or do our minds just complicate things for us with no apparent endgame?

I don't know if there is a straight-forward answer to this, but if there is, it's out there. Just like love is. And if that's the case, than all we have to do is look, right? Somewhere, in this vast world, with its undying potential and limitless possibilities, the answer has to be out there, just staring us in the face and us, mere inches removed, looking the other way.

Ain't life a bitch?

Deadlocked

I don't know what's wrong with me all of a sudden. I don't even know how I got to this conclusion, but here it is and I'm putting it out there for all the world to know since there's gotta be others out there who feel as conflicted as me.

In this hyperspeed-world where money and career and standing means everything, something's gotta give, right? The universe has to throw us a bone in some way to make up for all the inevitable defeats we have to suffer through? I know the Fates have dealt me some bad cards, but I just figured, to hell with it, you know, sooner or later, I'd see at least one of my dreams come true.

Here I am, forced out of my bed because my head would not power down. I don't even know what brought me to this point. I mean, I asked her to give me time, to leave me be for a while so I could let her go. It's been 8 days. So why am I thinking about it now? Why can't I get her out of my head?

A while ago, a friend of mine asked me if I posted personal things on my blog, well, I guess this answers that question. Doesn't get any more personal than my love life. I guess this is just my new way of dealing with things.

Now, I'm not putting this all out there just for show-and-tell or to fill some non-existent blog-quota. I just felt I owed it to myself to translate my rampant thoughts into something solid and creative. And okay, maybe I kinda hope that by the time I typed the last word and edited the last thing on this blog, I would have it all figured out. So far, no deal.

I asked her to choose. Blatant move, I'll admit, but I kinda hoped it was a safe bet. I kinda hoped the bet would turn out in my favour. By now, you all know it didn't. So I had to end it, because I knew I could not allow myself to become any more tangled up in all of it. I took myself out of the equation. Yet the result still adds up to zero.

I don't know how she's been this past few days. I don't know if she misses me or if she's thought about me. I tried not to myself, but as we can all clearly see and read, I'm not over her. In fact, I'm dedicating yet another blog to her.

I can kill myself for acting this way. This is not me. I don't obsess over lost causes. But maybe, just maybe, it's not such a lost cause to begin with? 

I keep playing this fantasy version of my life over and over in my head and in each and every one of them, she's there, dominating the scene. I had her. Or at least, I thought I did. All I want is for her to say those four words. Those four words that tell me I'm what she wants, I'm what she needs and I'm the one she chooses to be with.

You. Are. The. One.

Why can't she say them? Why can't I say them to her? Why didn't she choose me? I know she reads this blog, so I'm putting it out there. You are the only one who can answer these questions that I have. I want to text you myself, but it's gotta be you to make the first move. You are the one holding all the cards, all I have is this blog and my private thoughts. If you want me, all of me, I'm here. Waiting. But there's a condition. I want you too. All of you. You know what I mean.

Television can be good for you

Although this blog's title may suggest so, this is not going to be a descriptive essay about the benefits of watching television. Those of you who own a Little Brown Handbook (10th or 11th volume will suffice), might just know what I mean by that. For those of you who don't, it doesn't really matter, since I'm heading into an entirely different direction with this thesis statement.

I know my preference in television series leaves little to the imagination, but I must once again implore you to see first and then judge. For instance, a friend of mine hates One Tree Hill, which I find hard to believe, but then again, she hasn't even seen an entire episode. Prejudiced much? Now, as far as my personal taste is concerned, here is a little toss up of what keeps me hooked to the little screen:

- Fringe
- Desperate Housewives
- One Tree Hill
- Gossip Girl
- Lost
- Nip/Tuck
- Etc.

But the show that deserves my undivided attention today, has to be Gossip Girl. I know, I know: "What is a guy doing watching a show like that? Isn't that a show for girls?" I can totally see where you're coming from, I do. But didn't someone say once that we shouldn't judge a book by its cover? In more recent times, it was Christina Milian who said it, yet I doubt she was the mastermind behind those fabled words. But the girl was right, we shouldn't. And so I don't. And I hope you too will be able to keep an open mind. Who knows, you might just find yourself become hooked on the stuff. After all: babes, booze and New York... What more could you possibly ask for?

The true heart of shows like Gossip Girl lies in the relationships between people. Relationships, not exclusively for lovers, but for all surrounding parties. Because when you're in a relationship, you're never alone. Everyone comes with baggage, whether they're personal or actual persons. Call me crazy, but I like watching shows like that solely for the purpose of seeing how those relationships evolve and/or break apart. There's something truly captivating about the way two people can find each other, surpassing seemingly impossible odds, only to find themselves coming apart at the seams when they finally found bliss. You know you love it too.

Gossip Girl is no different. Take Dan and Serena, for example -now I know for those of you who don't know the series, all these names and events will probably seem rather foreign, so my suggestion would be to watch some GG, like, right now, that's what the Internet is for, right? And when you've watched an episode or have consulted Wikipedia, you can always come back, re-read it and fully understand- from day one of the show you know those two are going to end up together even though there is just so much stuff involved: Serena's upper-class, Dan's middle-class. Serena's uptown, Dan's Brooklyn. You might consider it a modern day re-telling of Romeo and Juliet and you wouldn't even be too far off the mark, and if it works, it works.

I know most of you probably still won't be convinced of the magic that is Gossip Girl, which is why I'm not giving up so easily. Sure, you can just walk away right now, go back to Facebook or YouTube or Messenger or whatever it is that you do, but you can also keep on reading this blog, and who knows, you might just find yourself strangely enthralled to go to sidereel.com and discover how the Dan-Serena fairy tale adventure is going to work out.

Hmm, I see I've been able to maintain hold of your attention. Don't falter now. Keep on going.

Let me give you a few of my favourite things about GG: first of all, there's the amazing voice-over work done by Kristen Bell. Yeah, that's right: it's What's Her Face and That Girl! But for all you anal Annies out there, she's the girl from Veronica Mars (in fact, she IS Veronica Mars), she's also the sparkplug from Heroes, otherwise known as Elle Bishop and she also waltzed around a couple of Hollywood romcoms such as Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Couples Retreat and When In Rome. But in Gossip Girl, you'll come to worship her for her quick lines and overall sexy voice. Care to find out? XOXO, I know you'll love her.

The second crowd-pleaser has to be the New York setting. Shows set in hick-towns like One Tree Hill or in flashy/snooty sun-scorched places like The OC are okay too. Still, it doesn't get any better than New York City. A personal far-off dream for me, home for them. Watching those girls and boys parade around NY's landmarks and signature geometrical city streets provides the perfect background for people who might seem equally perfect, but are just as flawed as the rest of us.

And then there is the safe bet: not only eye-candy for the men, but also for the ladies. While girls will talk about the fabulous clothes Serena & Co wear, the fellas will probably be more interested in the ones who're actually wearing them. It's a win-win for both really. Moreover, girls can gush over Dan, Nate or even Chuck (if you're into that sorta thing), while boys can stare their eyes out at Serena, Blair and Jenny's 'assets'. It's the perfect set-up for both sexes.

I know I could go on and on about it, but I might just safe something for the next blog, there's no rule against sequeling in the blog world, so sit tight, watch GG and let me know what you think!

Private dreams and public expectations

In my opinion, you can't call something stupid or awful unless you've actually seen it. With that thought in mind, I sat down with a friend of mine a few years back and watched High School Musical one and two. Sure, they're not exactly Hollywood's finest, but they're perfectly enjoyable when in the company of good friends and if you're able to find the humour in each of Zac and Vanessa's silly little adventures.

After Sharpay did her whole Hawaiian-themed song and the two lovebirds found each other again, all had ended well for East High's students. Yet the story wasn't finished: there was still Senior Year.

So, a couple of years later and with the same friend, we watched High School Musical 3. Admittedly, I am envious of the talents displayed in that movie. It could be that all the actors use stand-ins for the really difficult dance moves, but if that really is all them, then I say: "Congratulations!" I know I wish I could perform such moves, but alas, those talents are reserved for others, to which I humbly relinquish said talents.

High School Musical isn't all that bad, really. If you can look past the façade of queer-looking, happy-go-lucky, always-breaking-out-into-song teenagers, you can find that there is something there that's real. What it is that you choose to see in the movie is completely up to you. I personally, found myself walking away with a strong sense of recognition in Zac's character. It was the song "Scream" especially that left a profound impact on me.

Not only is this scene perfectly choreographed, it's also very stylishly depicted. Note the part where Zac is in the rotating hallway. I mean, you don't see that one coming in a movie that's so close to Mamma Mia they're practically bloodrelated. And maybe Christopher Nolan borrowed a few ideas from the HMS franchise as well, seeing as how the grativy-defying hallway scene also makes an appearance in his movie Inception?

My point to all this is certainly not the glorification of HMS, I'm not that big a fan. What I wanted to share with you is the dilemma that Zac has to deal with in the movies. He has always been known for being the basketball god of East High. His team worships the ground he dribbles on and the girls stand in line to be swooned by him. But when he meets Vanessa's character, it awakens something in him he didn't think he had: a choice to be somebody else, not the next Hall-of-Famer his dad wants him to be, but rather his own person.

Throughout the movie series we see Zac being torn between his predestined career in basketball and his personal dream of theatre and by extension, acting. Like all teenage movies, daddies don't take to fondly to their boys having their own opinions, so Zac has to deal with a lot of setbacks on his way to his first musical. The point is, however, that he does get there. He makes it on stage and chooses to do what he really wants to do.

So few people in life can find the strength to go against what everybody else tells them to do and be what they want to be. Look at the caste-system in India and the subsequent rage in Bollywood movies to transcend this socially opressive system and fall in love regardless. Look at any type of movie where the main character is torn between what he feels is right and what others thell him is right.

If we all still listened to what society, parents or constitutions tell us is the right thing to do, we would still be stuck in our narrow-minded world like Victorian England, Soviet Russia or Nazi Germany. Funny how Belgium doesn't have its own specific compound noun like that, maybe we're doing something good after all?

The world of books

This weekend I bought 'The Prince of Mist' by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. I had already read his 'The Shadow of the Wind' and had really enjoyed it. Zafón is the kind of writer whose books suck you in and won't let you go until you've read the final page. This book is actually the first one he's ever written. Even though it was published in '93, I had never heard of it up until this Saturday. I've just finished reading the Epilogue and I must say that it has been quite the enjoyable read.

In his foreword, Zafón talks about how he wanted to create the kind of book he himself would like to have read as a kid and how reading a novel is like an adventure into the world of books.

The story begins when a watchmaker decides to move his family away from the city to escape the encroaching war. The time is 1943 and World War II is raging across the European continent. The Carver family arrives at the train station where Irina quickly disovers and befriends a stray cat. Her siblings Max and Alicia immediately take a disliking to the cat's perpetual piercing gaze.

Their new home is located on top of a hill, overlooking the sea and the town's lighthouse. Mr Carver finds a box of old films that Max seems very interested in. But the house has a lot more secrets and mysteries to offer the Carvers. Max discovers a stone enclosure in the far ends of the garden that houses a garden of statues with a scary clown statue at its centre. There seems to be something off about the statues, as if they're moving.

One day, Max encounters Roland, the son of the lighthouse keeper. They soon become friends and go diving together. Roland shows Max the wreck of the Orpheus, a cargo ship that sunk in the bay a few decades ago. Meanwhile at the house, Irina has a freightening encounter with a ghostly presence in her wardrobe that leaves her comatose. With their parents away to watch over Irina, Alicia and Max are left alone in the house.

Events begin to unfold more quickly when the lighthouse keeper tells them the story of the Prince of Mist. A magician of sorts who had the power to make people's wishes come true, but this came at a price. He also tells Max the story of their house's previous owners. Mr and Mrs Fleishmann and their son Jacob. It turns out that Mr Fleishmann  had made a deal with the Prince of Mist years ago and as a result, tragedy befell his family. This prompted Mrs Fleishmann to sell the house to the Carvers.

Things go awry when a powerful storm develops over the town and marks the return of the Prince of Mist. It is now up to Max, Alicia and Roland to discover a way to stop the Prince of Mist from finishing what he has started so many years ago.

While reading this book, I couldn't help but think about Stephen King's It. Both Zafón's and King's novel have a similar evil entity that threatens a small community. Even though King beat Zafón to the punch with Pennywise, Zafón's Prince of Mist offers a twist to the evil persona that King in turn seems to have borrowed for his novel Duma Key several years later.

The fact remains that the Prince of Mist is a haunting character whose scare-factor easily translates from the letters on the page into your own mind. He offers what so many of us crave: our deepest desires. Is it any wonder that the characters in the novel all too willingly oblige with whatever payment he asks?

The ominous cat in the novel reminded me of Poe's Pluto, but here it serves as a prelude to its master, not as  the true conduit of evil.

The Prince of Mist might not be a lively book, having only 200 pages it still provides for an excellent horror/young adult mystery novel. Zafón doesn't need overly long descriptions of the places his characters visit. Instead he keeps it short, but with enough attention for the small details, such as the recurring six-point star within a circle symbol. He keeps the character development firmly between his three main characters (Max, Alicia and Roland) without adding too many names and relationships. He does throw in a small triangle affair as it still a young adult novel and some sense of relationship drama is needed.

Overall, this book is perfect for when you have a few hours and you want to read something à la Stephen King but don't have the time -or energy- to wrestle through one of his encyclopedia-esque books.

Tragedy fatigue syndrome?

Hurricane Tomas strikes down on the Caribbeans, killing dozens.

Hundreds of people are killed in a cholera outbreak in Haiti.

Central Java is evacuated after Mount Merapi repeatedly erupts.

Flight 883 crashes in Cuba, killing all 65 aboard.

Super typhoon Megi devastates the Philippines, killing 10.

A Chinese coal mine explodes, 20 people die.

Burst pipeline in Iran kills 10 people.

Twelve. Hundred. Sixty-five. Ten. Nine. Twenty. Ten.

What then, is the value of one?

It's becoming increasingly clear that our world is slowly becoming unhinged. Natural disasters have never been this frequent and devastating before. These climatic catastrophes have pushed us to the brink of a potential environmental collapse. And when we're not being badgered by nature's follies, we're fighting pointless wars that further destabilize our already unstable predicament.

After millions of years of evolution the only genetic divide that seperates us, is skin colour. Regardless, we still find ways to hate each other over such trivial matters. Over the years, with each newly discovered continent, with each newly conquered tribe humans grew closer together. Our world kept shrinking until there were no hidden places left on Earth. No stone was left unturned, no sea left unsailed and even the skies could not temper our urge for exploration and mastery of our world.

In our many years on this blue marble we've seen it all: from the cradle to the grave and all the joys and miseries in between. Yet the tragedies keep piling up. Sure, there hasn't been a world war in over half a century, but does that mean our world has become safer?

The 21st century has been declared the age of terrorism and environmental crises. It just makes you wonder, with twenty-something prior centuries under our belt, when will there be an Age of Peace? No wonder post-apocalyptic fiction and disaster movies always seem to draw quite the crowd.

At least the disaster tourists will have something to look forward to: 2012. I personally, believe in the 2012 phenomenon. It might not be the destructive force that Emmerich envisioned in his interpretation of the event, but I do believe something will happen. Whether or not this will be a benevolent of malevolent something is yet to be decided. Hopefully, I'll still be here to say 'Told you so' if I was right and 'Well, I guess I was wrong' if you guys win.

Stop! Essay time!

Yes, yes, it's that time of the year again. An event dreaded by some, much anticipated by others. I myself am quite the fan of essay writing. Don't ask me why, I grab every chance I get to write about something that interests me with both hands (and feet, if that were possible). I'm a whore for writing, I confess.

Thank goodness the subject is free of choice, which makes it that much easier to find something that captures (and holds) my attention. At first, I thought about writing something about gaming, which seems like the obvious thing to do, given my new journalism job. I found myself however, unable to find a suitable thesis statement.

Then, all of a sudden, the movie It's a Wonderful Life flashed before my eyes. I immediately began spitballing possible subjects and corresponding thesis statements to match and settled on the following:

"How It's a Wonderful Life replaced post-war atheism with the resurgence of individualism."

It's quite the mouthful, no arguing there, but it offers so much material to work with (which is the point of writing a descriptive essay). In short, I'll be writing about:

- The movie itself

- The post-war context

- Atheism in that context

- Individualism (in George Bailey's character and in society)

I've drawn up a prelimenary plan with several good ideas, but there's still a lot to be done. Luckily, the essay isn't due until the 25th. Sadly, there's also a scientific article awaiting my eager commitment as well as a presentation about my research preceding that article and another text analysis for English Linguistics.

I'll have my work cut out for me, but then again, I'm not alone in this race against deadlines. So to all you fellow essayists, aspiring researchers and linguists: good luck and God's speed!

Songs to live and love by

It's weird to see how kindred you can feel to a person you've never met. How somebody who lives on the other side of the world can know exactly what you're going through and put it in the exact right words. I guess you really have to be an artist to have that kind of empathy and compassion.

It's also fascinating to see how that one person can capture such a specific outline of your life in just a few verses and hit the right notes at the same time.

Finger Eleven. A band I discovered via Gossip Girl (snide comments deflector shield activated - *zing*) managed to replay the story of my recently dramatized love life. Not bad, considering I've never met them. I'll display the songs in chronological order, aka the order in which it all went down. I'm not going to put a little note next to each of them, since the lyrics are pretty self-explanatory. The links to YouTube are embedded in the titles, for those of you interested in some audio-visual aid!

1) Paralyzer,

Well, I am imagining a dark lit place
Or your place or my place
Well I'm not paralyzed but I seem to be struck by you
I wanna make you move because you're standin' still
If your body matches what your eyes can do
You'll probably move right through me on my way to you

2) Living In A Dream,

'Cause I'm just thinking about us
I've been living in a dream about you
And now I know you were all I ever wanted on my mind
And if I never see
My own reality
Well, I'm okay to leave it all behind

3) Falling On,

When you feel so close to some result

You write the words that you're writing for

But your courage gets dissolved

And you've got to find your balance, you've got to realize

You've got to try if I was right before your eyes, oh

And if you find you falling and all your grace is gone

Just scream for me and I'll be what you're falling on, oh

Just give me the word and I'll be there

Send me the words that I've been living for

Just tell me the things that you are not afraid for

It's do or die this is either, or

Just give me the word and I will be there

4) I'll Keep Your Memory Vague,
This won't break your heart
But I just think it could
I'll keep your memory vague
So you won't feel bad about me
I'll say the things that you said
Sometimes so it reminds me
Now I'm thinking back
To what I said before
I hope your heart won't have to hurt anymore
Cause it's really not that sad from here
Because the moments I can feel you near
They keep you close to me my dear
And if they ever become too clear...


I believe this will be the last entry concerning the whole Eden-subplot of my life (hope you already figured out that this was about her) and the next one will be a lot more light-hearted! I'm thinking... Movies, games and all of those other joys that life brings, besides love. I think I'm done with love for a while. Bring on the more 'casual' stuff. That can be complicated enough at times.