"Thank You For Loving Us."

Happiness, too, is inevitable.

This, at least, is the opinion of one Albert Camus, incidentally the author of a book I read just recently called The Outsider, quite an interesting read, which I picked up in Jinja, Uganda, of all places. I got this quote off An Ordinary Man actually, Paul Rusesabagina the manager of Hotel Rwanda's own account of the events that happened and an exceptional read. His point being, it's easy for us to, when disaster/depravity strikes, fall into the depressing belief that you know what? This is the natural state of human beings after all. We are base animals etc.

But consider the word decency. When paired with the word 'human', it seemingly takes on new meaning. Human decency seems like such a scarce commodity nowsadays, or at least that's what some of us feel like we have no choice but to conclude. But what does the word decent on its own mean? It means okay. Average. Nothing exceptional. Decent means okay. Okay means normal. Human beings are normally decent. Why then is it so easy for us to discard this notion in the face of unnatural violence? "Reverting to our primal states." etc etc.

No. War is unnatural. So too is violence, and depravity. That's what the hotel manager was trying to put across. He was nothing but decent, in a country which had forgotten what decency meant. Courage? It does not take courage to do the decent thing, normal things, don't we do them everyday? That's what decent means, that's what normalcy means. He's trying to say that you do not have to be exceptionally courageous to do the right thing, we just have to be able to remember what "right" means.

This actually coincided quite neatly with the current course I'm undergoing, Military Leadership at SAF-NTU Academy. I shit you not, this is the only module I've ever gone through the reading list and prepared myself for lessons. I guess it's finally hit me this year what I've chosen to do as a vocation, as a profession. It behooves me to, as much as is possible at my current stage in the service, find out for myself what leadership actually means.

I was wondering what courage meant. I think too often we mix up daring into the concept, and we get everything muddled up. Daring is thrill-seeking, the search for exhilaration, it is a self-serving quality. It is superficial. It is saying, hey look, I can do this! I just did a bungee-jump! I sky-dived! It is not valuable. Certainly it does something for your self-confidence, your self-belief, but it is shallow. Courage is not. Courage is, or should be, selfless, or at least not entirely selfish.

Actually I'm not entirely sure. I think it takes courage to face up to your fears, of heights, of public speaking, or whatever. And yet that is something that is not immediately valuable to others/society either.. Oh well okay nevermind I'll have to refine my own definitions. But the question in my mind was, how can we tell that we are courageous? What acts of courage has life demanded of any of us?

I'm not trying to say that it does not. I think it takes courage for each person to go through each day, some more than others. The courage to carry on, the courage to face adversity, or even just a sadistic boss or a sarcastic colleague or whatever. Small acts of courage throughout the day. But great courage? Acts of daring do not count, so taking the Battlestar Galactica etc will not qualify. I'm not sure.

Anyway, just some thoughts I thought I'd put down. I've just uploaded all my photos from Uganda, and it's surprising how I'm actually feeling this sense of loss. It's like letting the world in on a precious secret. Not that I want it to be a secret, of course, if any single one of my photos can inspire someone to go to Uganda or anywhere else in the world to do or attempt to do some good, I think the wretchedly long hours and minutes it took me to upload all these pictures would be worth it. The power of social media, so often portrayed as negative, would have asserted itself in a positive way, and I would be extremely gladdened. And of course I do want that validation as well, that people in whatever superficial way, thoughtless way (just hitting 'like') approve or admire what I have done. Or even, dare I say it, delight in the pictorial evidence of what I have done, or hopefully inspire in them such intense envy that they decide they must do it for themselves.

And yet this sense of loss. Maybe it's the (irrational) belief that by not uploading the pictures I was holding on to them somehow. That because I kept telling myself I had to upload them I'd think of them more. Because there is this undercurrent of fear. It is hard to explain, and I am not skilled enough of a writer to adequately express in words what I feel in my heart. This is my attempt, which I actually wrote on my flight from Uganda back to London. Bear with me.

It is a peculiar heartbreak. In the sense that it's all very removed from oneself, detached. A sadness that doesn't seem to affect you very much at all. A broken heart which does not break you. Even while you expect it should, at some level even hoped that it would. But no, this is not a sadness that overwhelms. It is a sorrow that will not linger. It resides in one of those lesser visited regions of your mind, catalogued as one of those memories which only affect you when you choose to let it do.

When you return from some place you know has (or should have) changed your life, but whose details fade much too quickly, and this worries you, because that is the last thing you want to happen. It is alarming how seamlessly you fall back into your old ways; the trip that should have left such a deep impression on you leaves you instead unmarked, traces of it appearing only when you stumble upon certain pictures, or the odd snatch of conversation.

It is funny how you are worlds away, you may even have rapidly adapted to certain customs and mindsets, but immediately upon your return the familiarity of your old routines, the normalcy of having friends and family around you, just minutes away, takes over. And you're left wondering, "Is this it?"

Each of us has to deal with this particular, peculiar, sorrow in our own way. It is, paradoxically, not a matter of moving on but its inverse, that we are moving on far too quickly. "What does this say about me! Surely I cannot be so unfeeling!" Some of us may cry, Others, merely silent dismay. Some of us just feel this niggling sense that something feels wrong, just slightly troubled, but are unable to place it.

This quiet, distant heartbreak. Which does not make sense, so our brains do not make sense of it. A jumble of unelucidated feelings, untranslatable emotions.

Maybe it's the feeling that, now it's out there, I don't have to care about it any longer. It doesn't quite make sense but there it is. I've got a huge chunk of my notebook that I might want to put up here as well, so brace yourselves please. That's for next time, however.

Despite this fear that I might have left Uganda not in any way different, I know that I am. It has left its indelible impression on me, and I have been ineffably changed by my experiences there.

This, now, is my exhortation to you to go and do something. It did not take me much to go to Uganda, proximity and finances aside. It sounds so incredible, impossible, when you put it up in the air, when you consider it, but once you actually start doing it, it's incredibly easy. It does not have to be volunteering. It does not have to do with your ultimate purpose in life, however much or little you may know about that. It does not have to be anything at all. Just something.

Go and discover something, or rediscover something. Confirm something about yourself. Challenge something about yourself. I always thought I liked kids, and that I might be decent at handling them, but I never actually knew for sure, not until I went to Uganda and into the deep end of 400 primary schoolchildren. I fell in love with the children there, the country, and I loved that. I loved that I was falling in love with a country, with a people.

Go and fall in love with something, or find something to fall in love with. Go and be affected, impacted. You can't ever plan for everything. You can't say okay today there's gonna be a beautiful sunset that's gonna be so affecting. No, you just go for it and open your mind, open your heart, let life have its way with you. Let go of your stranglehold on your life.

One thing made the greatest impact on me, the words of a mother whose children I played with most nights as they lived right next to the lodge. And it was this: "Thank you for loving us."

Such a simple statement, and delivered so simply, but what a profound effect it had and still has on me. I didn't set out to love these children, nor did I realize (or at least had not consciously thought about it) I did until she thanked me for it. Yes, I did love these beautiful kids, whom I was gonna leave behind in just a couple of days. With this discovery of love came immediately sorrow and loss. How I relished that sorrow.

Why? To be perfectly honest, I'd begun to doubt my ability to love. Not to sound dramatic or anything but I've been on my own for a long while now. I have sought solitude, have enjoyed it, and have gotten used to it. I am comfortable now with being alone almost anywhere, in any setting. Sure, I wasn't always alone, in fact I largely wasn't, and yet essentially, in some sense I was. I spend about 2-3 months a year traveling and that mostly I do on my own, in foreign lands, no 3G no connection no nothing. Possibly I even wanted to be cut off, if only to prove to myself that I could be with no real consequence (is that not actually quite sad?) As a result, without ever really thinking about - I mean who does really, who sits down and ruminates hmmm am I capable of love? - I developed this doubt.

This mother did not know any of this, of course, but her frank openness and sincerity caught me completely by surprise, for which I am immensely thankful. She followed that by saying: "God has blessed you. You love children." which broke my heart. Most children there do not get to see their fathers very often because of working hours/locations, which could be hours away from home. And there are so many of them, anywhere from 3 to 10 or more per family, that I think many of these children grow up without really knowing what it is like to be loved. Any attention you pay to them, physical touch, the simplest of games like letting them hang on your arm or lifting them up into the air, any of these could make their days. I was relieved to know that this mother did not resent me in the slightest for, without asking for any permission at all, playing with her kids on an almost daily basis, but instead seemed to like me as well.

So this is it - go out and do something. When I was having fun with those kids, that was exactly what I had in mind - having fun, but this was an act of love to them. By saying those simple, profound words to me, without probably meaning to this mother managed to deeply affect me in a way that few other statements ever have, or ever will. It does not take much to make a difference in someone else's life. Anything will do.

With that, I'm out.

Of Faith; Leaps.

Sup guys. Not sure if you know this but I don't get nervous much. Whether on dates (I jest, I never go on dates.) or just before a bledy land law paper that I barely studied 10 hours for, just the day before, or collecting results, or public speaking, I'm not usually one to get all that jittery. The occasional plate finals, maybe.

But I am pretty darn excited right now. I'm not sure if I'm just excited or really nervous as well. In just about 24 hours, I will arrive in Uganda, where I will stay for the next 26 days. I have no idea what to expect cause I (sort of) purposefully didn't do any research at all. I'm getting the chills just thinking about it. More often than not, before a big trip or anything momentous, instead of excitement I feel this certain sense of detachment, mostly cause I think my brain can't handle the enormity of things. This time though, the heady mixture of anticipation and trepidation seems to have got me.

Just halfway done with uploading my photos from my Spain/Portugal trip, shame I didn't manage to upload them all! Um, yeah. Gotta go real soon. Well, have fun you guys, wherever you are, and I might see you guys in just about a month when I'm finally back in Singapore! I do miss home.

Not to rub it in, but I will be having the experience of a lifetime, of this I am 100% sure. This trip I leave to God, everything about it. What it's going to do to me, what I'm going to do for others, everything, I entrust with Him. This time, I will trust in Him completely.

This trip I dedicate to my God, the one I'm usually so reluctant to talk about for some reason or another. The God who has never let me down, who has brought me where I am, who has guided my feet and kept me safe all over the world, who has wrought miracles out of my mistakes, who has been perfectly faithful despite my imperfect faith, who has been my ever-present help in times of trouble.

Thank you Jesus, for You are Immanuel - God with us.

Thank you too, reader, for reading all the way to the end of the post (often not an easy thing to do I suspect) and have a pleasant week ahead and be of good cheer! Fare thee well!

The Hipsterhood Of The Ironic Pantsuits.

I am strangely hooked onto the song Kelly by When Saints Go Machine. I don't even know what music it is they're classified under. Electro-something perhaps. I just discovered that I can cheat Spotify by creating a new account under a different email, since I somehow managed to use up my 10 hours on my facebook-linked one. Thank goodness for webplayer, or I wouldn't have even thought of creating another account!

A confession to make. I may have just taken hipsterhood too far. Referred to also as The Hipsterhood of the Ironic Pantsuits (HIP). If you don't know I'm referring to Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, then you're clearly not cool enough for me, and are automatically disqualified from any discussion of HIP stuff. Indie4windeath2mainstream. I am not serious, of course, another hallmark of hipsters being the 400 layers of irony slathered across every single statement and action..

Okay didn't mean to launch into a discussion of hipsterhood, but what I wanted to bring up was my reaction to my last played song on Spotify (the one which appeared on my facebook.) It was Please Don't Leave Me by P!nk. By no means a shabby song, in fact I love that song and P!nk for her immense badassery, but I thought: What would anyone looking at that think?! Way too mainstream.. Well not like I gasped in horror or anything like that, but the thought flitted across my mind. And that's when I came to the awful realization that my hips have extended way too far.

I suddenly remember another occasion which I'd been meaning to write about but forgot about it in the slew of sundry occurrences of everyday life. I tore my elephant coin pouch. Which I really liked, actually. I bought it in an ironic gesture, cause I'd been searching over Christmas for a uber cool looking leather pouch [which I'd lost somehow. things apparently hate me but I hate them too cause everything's a thing, therefore (wish I could do that 3 dot thing which signifies therefore) things are mainstream] but couldn't find one, so when I stumbled upon a cache of cheap looking coin pouches in London at like 80pence each, I couldn't help but buy it. Then I tore it, and thought: should I buy a replacement? Followed by the thought: but that wouldn't be ironic anymore... would it?! Which leads me to my current predicament. Well, not predicament per se cause I know I'm replacing that pouch, but situation. I almost convinced myself not to buy something I liked (I've developed some affection for my elephant) just because it wouldn't be truly ironic. Oh god. That's when you know shit has gone down.

Hipsters will try to tell you they don't care what the world thinks, but they're probably lying. Hipsterhood now has become all about how much you appear to not care what the world thinks, because you care just that much. At its heart the me-centric mentality and consciousness which permeates this generation (and possibly the one preceding, and probably all the ones succeeding) and defines it. Why should anyone care what anyone else thinks about what they like, or not like? Because we like to believe that other people out there actually give a hoot about our self-conscious Likes and Dislikes, when in fact they probably don't.

Suddenly, essay on hips instead of studying for paper. Huh. But there's just been this confluence of events which have occasioned this rant on hipsterhood, I don't even know why. I do believe I am a bit of a hipster, but am reluctant to declare myself as such because of all the connotations of the term. Which is pretty ridiculous, to be honest, but that's how it appears to be. "But true hipsters don't care if other people call them hipsters or not." Which once again feeds into the cycle of caring/not caring I guess.

It's the shows I'm watching too.. brilliant shows all of them! For example Jeff in Community, one of April's lines in Parks and Rec, and of all things some commentator in a DotA video. NO JUDGEMENT PLS.....?!?! Then again go ahead and judge me for all it's worth.... even I have to admit that's a pretty poor source. Just about as appalling as it gets. Now don't tell ANYONE that I spend half my free time watching DotA videos thanks you. Random lines on hipsterhood/irony coupled with this one (or a couple) article I read online on the ironic sub-culture that's evolved in the past few decades or so, which sparked off this completely random (and probably irrelevant sorry) litany on HIPs.

It's just something I sometimes wanna rant about (I've done so recently), all this self-defeating irony so prevalent today. The fatal error being that we don't recognize it as being self-defeating at all, instead we view it as the "cool" thing to do, we're a better/more accomplished/next level hipster because we are ironic as heck. We don't realize that all this layered irony forms a deposit (I know, my metallurgy is pretty next level too) over the truth, and we cease to be able to be honest anymore. Taken to it's extreme, of course, but it does seem to me to be the road we're heading down. I think irony as a matter of course is perfectly normal, in fact humorous and somewhat desirable at times, but it might go too far, too soon.

I guess that's about the end of unplanned rant (/endrant). I've got a paper in just about 2 and a half hours so I suspect this is my brain seeking out any opportunity at distracting itself it can find.. lashing out at poor hapless irony and HIP just because it's at hand and at the forefront of my mind (I blame Parks and Recreation that damn winner show. Rashida Jones new crush.) Can't be arsed to be worried about this paper, although it is law of landfills and therefore absolutely shitty (I've been re-using this pun 3 times now, my brain is pretty dead make no mistake.) Que Sera et al, eh? Or as my half/permanently starved stomach would incite my fingers to type, Kueh Sara Sara (Lee). Oh god need pound cakes kueh lapis kueh tutu kueh bangkit kueh simi. I share the psychopath's dream of putting Sara Lee in my freezer. What a glorious sensation...Singapore in exactly a month's time awwwyeah!!

NOT in any way trying to establish (or re-affirm cause we all know the truth) my hipsterhood, but I'm going to list here the music I've been listening to lately. It's for posterity's sake, and only cause Spotify has no history function :'( and I've been discovering new and pleasant music at an incredible rate. Anna Schulze, Walk The Moon, Young The Giant, When Saints Go Machine. Just in case I forget, which I probably will. It's always sad to be hooked onto a particular artiste but completely forget about it in a couple weeks or months, especially if there's this one song/line which you totally feel. The connection went thusly - Grouplove - Walk The Moon - Young The Giant - The Soldier Thread - Anna Schulze. When Saints Go Machine I discovered off stereogum, cause they mentioned Danish and after Mew, I can't deny anything Danish. Least of all Danish COOKIES HUNGER SUSTENANCE LIFE. I'm not actually hungry, to be honest, I just have all these food references in my head dying to get out.

Close Your Eyes and Count to Ten another of my current favourites. AhhhhWoooOOOooOOooo! Gosh, pleasing on so many levels. And Empire of the Sun's new single - Alive! They have insane hooks and beats, and incidentally the weirdest videos ever. Have I ever mentioned David Lynch's Twin Peaks, a series from 1990? Despite not the best quality videos, I'm really enjoying the series. The characters do seem very Lynch-ian, and an absolute joy to watch. And Lara Flynn Boyle, whoa! Only wanted to watch the show cause of a song called Laura Palmer's Prom by You Say Party! We Say Die! (only a decently awesome band name) which is quite a good by-product of hours of trawling through youtube/obscure band references. I am useful after all! Or not, cause it's yet another 50 hours extra of staring at my computer screen. Oh wellz.

Okay I guess this is kind of it, 2 hours more of desperate last-ditch studying to go, so all the best me I guess. Hasta la vista bebes.

P.S On a totally unrelated note I just wanted to state my intense frustration with this ONE BLEDY WHITE INDIVIDUAL sticking out of my luscious black hair. #noracist but srsly.... I possess not the requisite dexterity of hand nor sufficiently unretarded hand-eye co-ordination to pluck it out myself. Soon a silver-haired silver-tongued devil will emerge from this husk of a brain-drained student. Me, btw, in case any one had any doubts. This is my official excuse for being too distracted to study hard for my paper. White supremacists.

Verses Of Comfort, Assurance & Salvation.

So my exams are starting in just about 3 hour's time, and I am kinda woefully under-prepared, but I am not worried. I basically have studied about 12 hours worth of Tort Law, since 10am yesterday, which is about it. Not ideal.

But as you can see from this title, which is actually the title of an Au Revoir Simone album, I feel comforted, assured & saved. I was just flipping through the diary I'd kept on the road, in which I'd scribbled down verses which I thought were gonna be helpful. One of my side-projects over Easter, I'd brought my bible along and endeavoured to finish Psalms, Proverbs, and anything else I could find time to too. Psalms 4: You have put gladness in my heart - I can't feel anything but peaceable everytime I read this verse.

I also got back an essay which I'd expected to crash and burn horribly, only to get a return of 66% which was beyond my wildest dreams. I mean, that's practically a 1st in my books! Although it did lend itself to this complacency I've had the past couple of days.. But I know I have some pretty divine favour on me and my papers! So.. enough talk about exams and results and academia as a whole. Can't let a couple of days of essay writing/problem solving ruin your mood for weeks can you!

I attempted to pack my room yesterday, I guess. And was fairly successful, except for my books. I'm not sure I have enough space in my backpack for all these books (now over 25 of them sigh) and I'm not sure how I should store them so they don't get damaged in transit too. I guess I'll cling film them, although since I'm sharing the cling film with my flatmates it does seem rather unfair for them..

I've also stripped my walls of my posters and photos. Finally I understand Imogen Heap when she sings: Oily marks appear on walls, where pleasure moments hung before. You cannot imagine the oil stains white-tac leaves behind sigh. Probably gotta get some lighter fluid or thinner or something and hopefully they can be rid off, or not that's my deposit down the gutters, much like 80% of bowling balls I throw.

My walls look so bare now. It's kinda sad. You never consciously think how much an absence of a thing/things actually matters until it happens. At least I've got the stuff I'm unable to stuff into my bag still lying around my table and shelves haha. Although that does raise more pertinent questions of what in the world I'm supposed to do with them in a week..

Been listening to new stuff all week, as well as old stuff of course. Blonde Redhead, This Frontier Needs Heroes, The Hundred In The Hands, Tennis, Icona Pop, Grouplove, and this one song from Neonfaith - Escape. The new albums Mosquito (YEAHYEAHYEAH), and those from Phoenix and Noah and the Whale. And Au Revoir Simone of course. Because I stumbled on this post about this super-girl-group Girl Crisis which posts two songs a year on youtube, consisting of female members of various cool indie bands. I know. You say hipster, I say hips don't lie. (Check out that mainstream reference btw, I am 2 cool.)

And started watching Community. Oh my Lord. One of my favouritest shows of everest?! Totally fell in love after about.. 2 episodes. Consumed 3 seasons within 4 days, and am now waiting for the 4th to end before finally watching that too. Pretty desperate. All I can say is that I AM BRITTA PERRY NO.1 FAN! I mean I love Annie too (uber cute srsly, to think she's on Mad Men!), but she's no anarchic cat owner. Gosh I am obsessed with the show. Guess it's time for chang.

Watched a couple of movies recently too, which honestly must seem like a horrible idea to any objective observer, whatwith impending exams and all.. Well, horrible idea is right, but horrible movies they were not. Princess Mononoke, Summer Wars, Tokyo Godfathers, Animatrix, Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within. And Quantum of Solace and Skyfall. Okay, more than a couple. The first few are all animated, cause of this amazing website I found, and all of them were really good apart from Tokyo Godfathers. Didn't like that at all, I'm not sure why. Didn't quite feel anything for the characters unfortunately, cause I did like the scenes of winter in Tokyo. And Final Fantasy was waaaay better than I'd expected! I remember trying to watch it years ago and thinking it was boring as heck. I guess it's the baggage with comes with such an esteemed title, with people anticipating gunblades or Sephiroth or something. And Quantum sucked, at least compared to Skyfall in my opinion.

Still intend to finish up with Miyazaki's films, still have My Neighbour Totoro, Ponyo, Kiki's Delivery Service.. and a couple more I think. And The Girl Who Leapt Through Time by that other director. A whole new world of animation awaits! Which kinda sounds like that opening line from Pokemon..

Weather's been amazing, hopefully it keeps up for the rest of exam week, and then it's a period of hecticity for me. 15/16th May, London. 17th May, Uganda. Sometime in June hopefully, Kenya. 10th June, London. 13th June, Singapore. 16th June, Mt. Rinjani. 23rd June, Singapore. 24th June, NTU (and stay-in for one week too sigh.) So I guess no one's gonna see very much of me for the next 6/7 weeks, not till 28th June or thereabouts at least! A brief respite before heading back to work in August, and September isn't too far off. Final year here I come.

Whoa whoa let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Still the little matter of a teeny tiny tort exam today, human rights tomorrow, europa law friday, and lousy land next tuesday. Howellz.

Not a fan of re-using lines cause I'm cooler than that, but after that pokemon reference earlier I've decided I'm gonna make this my thing, so.. Smell ya later!

Coffee, the colour of the past.

Hi guys. If you weren't aware, I'm just back from a 23 day holiday in sunny Spain and Portugal. Which means I have a massive backlog of thoughts/ideas/ruminations to clear. I'm supposed to be studying, however, so I'll just put down a couple of stuff on my mind. I think I'll just transfer a couple of the unfinished stories I was trying to write actually.

Some context. About a week into my trip, I was having an immense amount of fun, but I was suddenly struck by this thought: This has got to be the most unproductive trip of my life! In terms of journalling, or coming up with pretentiously deep thoughts etc. No go! I murmured under my breath, hoping beyond hope that the wings of inspiration would then and there lift my very being into the dizzying heights from whence I would never have to descend.... Which began a pretty long series of half-written stories cause I never quite felt in the right frame of mind to finish them off.

Will be random, unpolished, and possibly even senseless. But here goes.

_______________________________________

1

Life is hard, but I am harder. The world is cold and mean, so I am meaner. The world will betray you. So I am alone.

He said. Come with me. Come on a journey with me.

Why?

You are my son.

No, I know my father. He's the one who taught me everything I needed to know about life. "Life is hard. The world is a cold and mean place, and it's out to get you. Trust no one, cause everyone will betray you at some point. The world is gonna lie to you, don't listen to them, listen to me."

Where is he now?

He.. he left. He told me he was coming back for me, and then he left.

He's gone. He's never coming back.

_______________________________________

2

I know you. You are a seeker of solitude. I have known men like you. Who have given up on any chance at meaningful relationships. Some men use and abuse the women in their lives. You're all searching for something, a special something, but you don't know what it is.

Know this: most men like you never find what they're looking for. You know why? Because most of you who are searching, actually want to be found.

_______________________________________

3

Guard your heart, but don't freeze it. Living life without at least the chance, the hope! of falling in love is not much of a living at all. You'll fall in love, and it might amount to nothing, but it will not be a waste. You will hurt, you will cry, you will wish it all never happened, but you'll pull through. You will learn from it, learn to live through pain, learn to love better. Let yourself love completely, don't hold back out of fear, or be self-conscious about your love. A love that is half-hearted is doomed from the very start! Love completely, or not at all. One day, someone will love you for who you are. Someone will love you for your chipped tooth, your not-perfectly-straight hair, your small breasts. The world is going to try and tell you many things, but don't listen to it, listen to me. Don't change anything about yourself just because the world tells you to.

_______________________________________

4

What is love? Love is the feeble attempt by the English language to, in four letters, describe the indescribable. The French do it in 5 letters, the Chinese in 9 strokes,but they are all inadequate. It is impossible to describe it, only to experience it. But I will say this. Love is the single most powerful, transforming experience any one can have.

_______________________________________

5

"W-w-w-where are we?"

Silence greets this sudden question.

"Are we reaching yet?"

A few passengers glance backwards, wondering at the source of the interruptions.

"Hello.."

A couple of people close to the source exchange glances, silently querying whether any of them should answer.

Rachel received a little shrug of the shoulders from her co-passenger, so she thinks well, it's not just me then. It is kinda mean but.. I'm not even sure of the answer anyway, maybe someone who does will reply him.

She does not voice, even to herself, that she does not want to be the one to answer the man because then she'd be obliged to do so for the the rest of the journey, and she definitely didn't want that.

"W-w-where are we now?"

Natalie stared straight out the window. God, of all the people to sit next to me! I had to get a retard. Maybe I could pretend to fall asleep.. She closed her eyes but half-opened her right eye every once in a while to make sure he wasn't doing anything crazy. You never know what people like that could do to you, especially a woman alone like herself.

_______________________________________

6

In The Attic

A locked chest
Keepsakes.
A catalogue of the people
Who came into your life.
Those who stayed
Those who didn't.

A trophy, a medal.
Once were proudly placed
Polished, burnished.
Now unwelcome reminders
Of bygone days
Of halcyon days.
Of potential gone to waste.

An album
Out spills the musky scent of nostalgia
And faded photographs.
From the dusty confines of plastic sleeves
Which the years and endless rearrangements
Have frayed beyond repair.
Solemn faces arranged by height
Preserved forever from domestic violence
From hypodermic needles and bottled rage.

A family portrait
Seven smiling faces behind a facade of glass.
Betraying nothing of the frustration
Three hours, seventy dollars worth
Of re-shoots and tantrums.
A perfect representation
Of modern family.
Gleaming veneers
Rotting wood.

_______________________________________

7

We live in an odd age.
Duality of life.
Two realities: the real world and the online world.
Which is richer?
Which is more real?

Which is more permanent?
Which will stand the test of time
Which will stem the tides of time?

_______________________________________

8

A tapestry of other people's thoughts. Something I mistook for a certain sensitivity, something I thought that I, too, possessed.

A girlish demeanour, the wide-eyed wonder with which she took in the world around her. Her soft lips, slightly parted in awe at the beauty only she could perceive.

Those same lips are not the same now. Pursed in vexation. Curled in anger.

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9

When we are young, it is to fly. To test the limits of our endeavour, of our courage.

When we are older, it is to survive. To remain afloat in a world of shifting currents. It is to get by, to reach old age relatively intact, ah but what a dream!

When we are older still, it becomes an end in itself. To be alive. To feel alive. The rare occasion of visits from grandchildren, them so full of vitality you can only hope it rubs off.

(What it means to be alive)

_______________________________________

10

The tranquility of a park. Parents trying to capture as many memories as they possibly can of a child who's only going to grow up much too quickly. And of themselves, what remains of their youth. The dramas of every single person who's walking by. Maybe the old man on his daily routine, aching knees and aching heart, but still he persists, day after day. The woman who finally, after weeks and weeks of drudgery and household chores and wailing kids, finds some quiet time for herself, to brace her for the next few weeks of the same demanding, consuming tasks. The professional who needs his 10 minutes cause it's the only thing keeping him sane in this crazy, crazy world. No office politics, no bickering with the wife, or the increasingly outrageous demands of his children. The punk who's considered suspiciously by everybody, who's understood by nobody. But he's looking for the same things as the rest of us here, just some peace and quiet, anything soothing in a world which offers precious little in the way of comfort. Not for the drained mother, the lost punk. The stately woman with her two adorable dogs, who gives a gracious little smile to everyone she crosses paths with. Because those two dogs are the only companions she's got, and those smiles she gets in return (if they even are) the only human contact she gets, no matter how superficial they may seem. The kid sitting on a bench, plugged into his MP3, penning his thoughts into a battered old diary. We're all so different, we're all the same. We're searching and working for what seems to be vastly different things, but really isn't all that different when you think about it. Not just a park, in schools, shopping centres, the streets. If we would only realize it.

Instead of being pulled and pushed by the world, by our emotions, into frustration and simmering rage. Pulled under into endless melancholia, sapping depression. Being angry for minutes, hours, because you were jostled rather roughly when exiting the train. Cause the auntie was being brusque with you as you ordered your morning coffee. All these small, ridiculous things! Laughable things. Stuff you wouldn't record in your diary, your blog, and yet it affected your mood for one whole day! It's not worth it, it's almost never worth it. Peace comes from within, now this I am learning!

_______________________________________

11

The occupants of buses. The travelers. Those roving, restless searchers. Who've left it all behind. The lost loves, the disappointment of parents, etc. But have they really left it all behind?

Traveling is simple. You've got clear cut objectives, destinations to work your way towards. Sure, those objectives change once every few days, but for those couple of weeks, life becomes so simple again. You look to do things out of pure interest, not with any thing like responsibility, or duty guiding your hand. Carefree, in almost every way. All you're thinking about is the present, the next two days maybe. You're not weighed down.

The traveler. The weary soul. Those lonely hearts, whether by choice or by circumstance. A kid, thousands of miles from home, one of millions of transients. Doesn't enjoy life one bit, because every dollar he saves translates into that much more food for his family.

_______________________________________


Yep that's all. Okay those last 2 are kinda cheating cause they're not stories per se, just random thoughts I had instead, but I'm gonna pretend they are. I think some of these stories need more context, also I am seriously plagiarizing the works of some of the best authors I have had the fortune to come across, and I don't want to get sued so here are some accompanying explanations.

At the point where I realized that I was having an unproductive trip, I tried to explain it, if only to myself. See, it is my belief that the least productive state of mind to be in is peace. Think about it. Books, songs, movies. Most of the best ones aren't conjured up whilst in a state of happiness, in fact it's the very opposite. Turmoil breeds genius. That's putting it a bit strongly cause I'm nowhere near a genius, so maybe let's say it encourages creativity.

It just comes easier when you need an outlet, when you have to channel some of that hurt you're feeling inside. When the pain, the emotions are real to you, when it's not just an intellectual exercise.

And that's the thing. I feel like I'm in a really good place right now. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually. (Incidentally, geographically as well! #exeterboleh)

It's a good thing I have not been burdened with talent. That my writing is not so integral a part of me that I could not bear to give it up.

Tragedy, misery. The elements of a good story, but also necessary for its author? Think: Sylvia Plath. You have to draw upon your own experiences, your own emotions when you write, or not it's just technicalities. Certain words arranged certain ways.

It's not like I'm House, or Plath, that I have to give up happiness for my craft. And maybe that's a lie. Happiness doesn't take away understanding, which really is the heart of writing. An understanding of the human condition.

 This I wrote in my diary, which was when I decided heck, I'm just gonna try and write even though I wasn't feeling particularly sad. Because that's how I'd always felt, that I couldn't write unless I was down. I'm not sure about quality.. although these stories were written while on the go instead of about 18 hours in front of a computer screen.

Not sure if anyone's noticed, but the line "Don't listen to the world, listen to me" appeared twice in two separate stories. Only because it's one of the most impactful lines in a most incredible book, A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. It's so good that I endeavoured to use it in a story, which didn't work out so well, so I tried again.

Number 3 and 4 are kinda related. First I wanted to define love, or explain it, cause it's something everyone should have a shot at at least once in their lives! Pretty hard. Then I tried to do this thing where I thought about what sort of advice I'd have given my younger self (or my future son, #familyplanning #BTOhereicome) or actually even to myself right now, perhaps. Then it evolved into something for a self-conscious girl, which is straight out of Goon Squad. Basically, it's a rip-off. Also affected by brainpickings, which has introduced me to many of the writings of esteemed authors and their letters etc.

No. 5 I wrote while on the bus. There was this Chinese guy on the bus between Cordoba and Seville, who seemed to suffer from a mild form of autism or something. He was sitting across the aisle from me, and he suddenly tapped my shoulder and began to talk rather loudly. Didn't initially understand him despite it being clear he was talking to me, then I realize it was heavily accented Chinese. As well as kind of slurred speech as well, cause he didn't seem able to articulate quite clearly. He began asking me questions like how long more the bus would take, before moving on to other stuff like family etc. So I was initially quite embarrassed, cause he was really loud and it seemed clear that some of the other passengers weren't quite happy. Or that's what I told myself. Maybe it was cause he was weird and I didn't want to be associated with him, even in a bus full of strangers, people I'd never meet again the rest of my life. I'm not sure.

And he spoke Spanish as well, cause he'd been working in Spain for 7 years or something. The lady next to him stared out the window the entire trip, possibly my imagination working here but when he tried to speak to her, looked at him with a certain mixture of revulsion (maybe too strong, distaste perhaps) and fear. As if she were afraid he would suddenly act out, or do something funny. Hence the story. I started listening to my MP3 halfway through the journey too, because we'd stopped talking and I didn't really want him to disturb me any longer. What's the best thing to do? What's the right thing to do? I asked, but couldn't answer myself. So I wrote a story instead.

No. 6 I wrote while halfway through an exercise I was doing, which was to pen down the most notable and memorable places of my childhood. And of course I had to have a pretentious title for that page of my diary, which was Sepia Tones, Fading Photographs. Next page, Washed-Out Memories, The Musky Scent of Nostalgia. Coffee, the colour of the past. (I never actually got to that third page cause I got lazy.) By coffee I actually mean the way old photographs look, as if they'd been dipped in coffee. You'll never guess where I got the inspiration for this from but it's from Usborne Children's Detective's Handbook! Which I read ad nauseam as a wee young lad of.. eight I want to to say. Never knew it remained imprinted on my mind. Cause art forgers apparently dip paintings/forgeries etc into coffee to give them that aged look for added authenticity. Now you can be a forger too!

Probably my favourite out of all these, cause it's the only one with any structure at all probably. Also I was midway through reading The Orchard on Fire which is a seriously good book. Such evocative prose, it really dragged you kicking and screaming back to England in the 50s (in almost exactly the same way my last sentence didn't) and it had this line about that typical locked chest in the attic, so that was the inspiration for this one.

No. 7 isn't so much a story as random scribblings in my notebook cause I was struck by this idea while in some sort of rush. It's sort of about how I was looking forward to uploading my photos upon reaching home. Cause it's "safer" there in the sense that it will always be there. Which suddenly turned my world upside down cause that's the internet we're talking about, a virtual reality. Doesn't it seem now more permanent than paper? Newspapers burn, but online archives last forever. There's a certain permanence now which is associated with bytes of data, certainly far less temporal than mere physical, transient objects! Kind of what I was getting at.

And those people plugged into a virtual reality. Whatever label you happen to want to derogatorily mock them with, otaku, loser, nerd, MapleManiac™ (patent pending), DotaDegenerate™ etc etc. Who's to say they don't have more of a life than you? Perhaps cyberspace is the only place they are able, allowed to experience the whole range of human emotion. You might say it's an escape, but maybe it's the only reality they really care about.

No. 8 and 9 were inspired by the next amazing book I was reading, A Memory of Love. Incidentally (and criminally) I took both these books from the hostel in Tarifa, Spain. And couldn't bear to leave either at any of the subsequent hostels with book exchanges I went to. THEY'RE MINE NOW. Truly gems, especially cause I wandered about Spain for the first week and a half without any storybooks at all.

When you want to love someone, you give them certain attributes they might not possess, or even claim to possess. Then you get let down and angry when they fail you. Or you see in them what you want to see in yourself, if only to corroborate the fiction of your life.

To fly, to test the limits of our endeavour, of our courage. Lifted straight out of the book. And the grandchildren bit, probably from last summer and days spent with grandma at the home.

No. 10 was written right after I'd missed a bus to Sierra Nevada, and had to wait an hour for the next one. Some hotel receptionist had given me wrong instructions so I waited at the wrong bus stop. I was incredibly pissed off. Then I went walking, stumbled upon a park, and decided to calm down. Okay I didn't really decide to do so, but I couldn't help myself. Looking at this little boy hitting up the playground bigtime. His parents with iPhones out trying to capture as much as they could, one or the other going up to the child to pose for pictures. Couldn't help thinking how it seemed so... fleeting. And that the parents were so aware of that. And so they were doing all they could to keep as much of the water as they could in their cusped hands, as long as they could.

At peace after making that observation, I began to observe my fellow parkgoers. It was noon so I wondered who the sort of people who'd go to a park at noon were.

No. 11 was just a random journal entry while I was on a bus I expect. I think I saw someone who looked so lonely, so unenjoying of life while he commuted between cities for work. Or those restless travellers. Eyes darting about, roving, searching. But what are they seeking? Some say it is beauty, some truth, meaning, peace, life. Or they are seeking not to find themselves, but to lose themselves. Cause that's the beauty of travel. It's all so simple, uncluttered. You leave the real world behind. No mortgages, exams, debts, strained friendships, broken trusts, politicking, career prospects. Et cetera. Of course, then you return home and everything smashes into you all at once, with the vengeance and fury of a crossed mafia boss.

Truly, I need to study. Hahaha shit. Oh well. One life, live it! (None of that YOLO BULLCRAP FOR ME THANKS I HATE THAT SHIT SRSLY.)

Umm yeah that's kinda it I guess. I had this idea in my head of having cards where I could write down favourite phrases from books etc (this idea came from a book actually, title of which I actually forgot...) but I've been too lazy to actually buy any cards.. And when you're horizontal on a comfortable bed with the most luxurious throw ever how could you possibly be bothered to rise to record a catchy phrase anyway?? But I have a start of sorts in my new pictorial/graphical/statistical diary. Here's what I've got so far, and good night!


"Some of them in churchyards lie, and some are lost at sea."

"Through the multi-coloured lens of candy wraps."

"No. As she walks away from you, what you feel is loss. A premonition of loss."

"Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it."

"To fly, to test the limits of our endeavour, of our courage. Otherwise what point is there in being young?"

"Chained words we could not say except on the lips of dreams."

"Auxochrome - chromophore
  She who wears the colour,
  He who sees the colour."

Conscious.

This will be rambling, and probably incoherent. I've just submitted my final essay of the year and I've been up for ages, just came back from badminton where I failed big time, and my back feels ravaged! Life is no go? But in the wee hours of the morning, while I was barely started on my essay, some thoughts occurred to me.

These thoughts I will attempt to pin down and articulate. A caveat, this might be honest. Another disclaimer here, however, is that not all of these thoughts will belong to me. By this I mean that sometimes you have thoughts, or certain things spring up in your mind unbidden, but it does not necessarily mean that they are yours. Not if you do not own them. Possibly this means you have to actively disown them. Reject them. We cannot have control over what our brain chooses to throw up, but we do over what we each privately decide to claim. I am not sure I am able to better explain this, not today I guess. Perhaps an example. Perhaps a pretty girl walks by, or you come across certain pictures or scenes in books or movies, and sometimes certain vile thoughts appear. That's not you, that's your body, hormones, your sex drive, whatever. You are what you choose to be (I might not actually believe in that 100% but in this case the phrase works) so you're not determined by what you think, but what you choose to think. What you choose to believe, maybe that's a better term.

So in the morning, with an essay deadline looming uncomfortably close, and a remarkable lack of desire to complete it, I started wondering about the futility of it all. These are not uncommon thoughts, I've had them before and I'm sure most people do, at some point of time in their lives. Sometimes it's after heartbreak, after devastating failure, but rarely is it because of an impending essay I reckon. And yet I wasn't contemplating just the futility of education, but everything else beyond that, everything else it promises too. The degree, the job, the salary. The wife, the family, the end. All of our futures lie still ahead of us, and yet what is it we are supposed to want, what is it we are supposed to derive out of it? Why the stable career, why the metal rice bowl, why the 5 figure salary? Why the stable marriage, why the happy family, why the inspiring legacy left behind? Is it happiness? Days upon days, years upon years of mindless, numbing 8-5s in exchange for what? Happiness over the weekends? During the annual getaways to Europe? How is that in any way worth our whiles? What for stability if we have nothing worth building? What for a peaceful, "meaningful" existence (in the way the world asks of us) paying our taxes and contributing to the economy, if we reach the finish line spent, finding out we have just spent our entire lives working for the sake of working, earning money for the sake of money, never questioning that surely there must be something else out there? We all emerge, some as champions, from the race, but we surely are as much a rat at the end as we were at the beginning. In the realization that we have just spent our entire, beguiling future (or so they tell us), working for our future. There's nothing at the end.

Look at us preen, an endless parade where we offer ourselves to the world, where the world seems to offer itself to us. An endless procession of loves and loss and friends and goodbyes, anger and disappointment and resentment and regret. A constant charade where you show at all times your best face to the world, no matter how it spits in it, where the only time you can afford to let your guard down is in the shelter of your own home, or your own bed, your own pillow, where you sleep the damp sleep of the damned. Or you drink yourself into oblivion night after night, knowing only at night the futility of it all, too wasted the following days to act upon what you know to be true. Where we hide behind labels or we profess not to care, call me a hopeless romantic if you must, I can't stand the mainstream, I'm an old soul like that, because that explains all our lives, and if it explains us then it also absolves us, cause that's just the way I am, and I can't be held responsible for my actions cause I'm hard-wired just like that. Where we are too afraid to expose any, all of our scars to the world which has inflicted them upon us. Where we are cut up and broken inside but no one ever will know, and if I pretend nothing is wrong with me then you are obliged to pretend that too. Where any real emotions and gestures can only survive behind a facade of knowing irony, this post-modern romance. Where we hide behind cliches and self-deprecating smiles, so that we have something to fall back on in case our genuine feelings get rebuffed. Cause if you knew it, then you never really meant it did you?

Where the children in us are buried beneath our workloads, cause of course they lied when they said 8-5, Monday to Fridays. Where our capacity to rejoice in the beauty of life is so diminished by the stark images we see on the news, where our laughter resounds only in the halls of cinemas, followed only by silent dour walks back home. Where we seek out beauty only to capture it, only to reassure ourselves cause each like we receive is an affirmation of our existence. I am seen, and therefore I am.

This charade, this parade, this competition, this endless grind,  the petty quarrels, our petty existences. How could it possibly be worth it? Recycling through our lungs all this secondhand air, recycling the ideas of thinkers long gone, what can we do that is of any worth at all? Does it not sometimes seem as if our continued existence only serves to further degrade and corrupt all that there is around us? With words we tear down what (who) should be built up, we are petty and destructive in all our little ways thinking that of course this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things I am a good person after all, but little things add up and we are not alone we have enlisted our friends and their friends and we are the angry mob. We are the agents of entropy infecting everything around us with the chaos in our lives as we crash and we slash and we hurt and we blurt, all those words that we never should that we swore we never would. Is this not human nature? we ask.

Why do we continue crawling inch by inch, day by day? We do what is expected of us we work or we study we diligently do our readings submit our essays meet new people stay pleasant trade niceties but do we know why?

This week we celebrate Easter, which is the most important event in the Christian calendar. This is in the most fundamental sense of great relevance to the stream of consciousness as I have attempted to put in words above. At the heart of the message of Easter lies redemption. Redemption from our sins, from our human nature. And victory over death.

This means that I am able to start off from a position of victory, and I believe it's always important to know where you are if you are to have even a clue of where you will be going. Do I have all my answers yet? No, I don't. But I know that it is out there. It is of course different for everyone, which sounds like a truism but probably holds true nonetheless.

Answer is probably the wrong word for me to be using here, because life isn't neat like that. Or is it? I guess for me now it actually is. The answer itself is, achieving it... My Bible tells me, seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you. And so I have no need to worry. I don't have to, but I do nonetheless. I'm still working it out spiritually.

So I live for God, which is a pretty neat summation, but this fact carries with it its many appendices if you will. This comprises many, if not all, of the answers to those questions. The better word would probably be reason here. Reasons to live, reasons for our continued existence.

There are the big, obvious ones, like love. We live because we love, and we live that we might love. How many accounts have we read and witnessed of the transformative power of love? Colours are brighter. Days past and seasons fade away. Some people even change.

Hope. Everybody hopes. How else can anyone deal with life, pull through times of sorrow and grief, or even times of indifference, times where it seems your life is never going anywhere? Let's be honest, who would do anything without some sort of potential payoff? This is not limited to financial gains (oh man I kind of feel like I'm typing an actual essay here,) just the potential of something, anything better.

And then there are the small things. In fact I would say these are, if not more important, at least more in our control than the big ones. Sunsets. Coastlines. Views from a mountaintop. Snow. Rain. The soft breeze. A good book, movie, song. A certain turn of phrase. A picture. Good food, even. The things that flavour life, that make every day so inimitable and tomorrows irresistible. Beauty. The small things in life. A message from a friend. Gifts. A simple dinner with family, friends. A play. Meaningful conversations. Knowing that someone cares for and about you. Things you can't expect of each day, but which invariably brighten those days in which they are found. Or observed, if we would only see. Open our eyes open our minds open our hearts. Life is out there but it is also here, it is coming but it is also now. Life is in the here and now.

I would go on but I have to sleep to catch a train tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to start on some hardcore living. Distilled life, if you will. I will travel.

Happy easter folks!

The Beauty Surrounds.

Well, hello. It's been ages since I've last posted, which is kinda counter-intuitive given the number of fun exciting incredible stuff I've been up to these past few weeks. Past few months, in fact. I decided that I'm finally going to unload the BoB (Best of da Best) Storiez of my Christmas trip too. Lest I forget. Pictures are one things, stories are another.

Flew into Eindhoven and spent a couple hours there, finally decided it was time to leave for Amsterdam, so off I went. 3 hours (or so) later, I woke up and realized I'd reach the final stop on the route, Alkmaar. Yep, had overshot Amsterdam by roughly an hour. In my first act of criminality of the trip (hinting at loads more to come, you have no idea,) I pretended to sleep on the train again until it bounced its way back Amsterdam. Successful criminal endeavors: 1!

Amsterdam was beyond amazing, no one had told me it was supposed to be pretty, but it was. Picture perfect canals, fantastically lopsided buildings etc, I was proper loving it. It's gotta rank among my favourite few cities in the world! (pretending to sound like a seasoned traveler.) No weed, because no. Yeah, I'm not that keen on tripping out, I guess. limahkow was probably pretty damned pissed at me after the 48127th time I got us both lost cause I eschew maps, not to mention my compass was pointing in the wrong direction, something I only found out in Belgium somewhere..... Sorry buddy, and thanks for accompanying me to Amsterdam! Most romantic boat cruise of life, sandwiches, apple juice, ym falling asleep... Perfection.

Went to Rotterdam after, cause I wanted to go to Kinderdijk as suggested by ym's cousin. Was supposed to stay the night in Rotterdam but foolishly booked my hostel in Bruges for the night I was supposed to stay in Rotterdam, so I had to rush things something mighty. Finally reached Kinderdijk in the afternoon at about 3, which was a little windmill farm really, with something like 20 windmills? Absolutely picturesque. Was a tiny place, but I decided to wait out the sunset in the hopes of taking a glorious picture of windmills in the dying light of the sun. Was not to be, however. 3 hours later, sun was set and I was sad. Finally arrived back at Rotterdam, foolishly decided to walk from the bus stop to Rotterdam Central where I was supposed to catch my train into Belgium. Foolish cause I got almost completely lost, I was mapless and WiFi-less so I followed my gut feel really. Not the brightest thing to do when your train is in just 1.5 hours in an unfamiliar city.

But I did, cause sometimes my brain trips over its own cleverness and I end up doing totally retarded things. Did manage to find my way to the train station ultimately, with just minutes to spare, and thanks to some fantastic directions from a pretty nice pretty lady. Little was I to know, my train would be delayed by some 2 hours. Not very pleasant, unfortunately. I did use the time to fill in this compensation form, which promised me a full refund since the delay was 2 hours, which is pretty significant no? Long story short, they first offered me flowers to make up (like I'm some depressed girlfriend srsly) which I COULDN'T EVEN ACCEPT cause it was only valid for Dutch/Belgian addresses. Was gonna be the first flowers I ever received too... Then a couple weeks later they told me they were gonna refund me 5 euros or something. Meh. MEHKLASHJLFJHKWSHF.

Anyway, finally got into Bruges at about 12.30-1am, after some Pan!c At The Station, cause I'd missed my connecting trains yada-yada. Finally hopped onto the right ones despite almost no English signboards whatsoever, and the fact that there were no station attendants at that late hour. Kinda panicky really, cause the hostelbookers email told me that the hostel reception was open only till 1am. I finally found my hostel (after quite some wandering about) at 1.50am, to my relief though it had a bar and bars don't close at 1am, so I was in! Hostel was fantastic, had a really good atmosphere and the staff were super friendly, and one of them looked like Ewan McGregor circa Trainspotting or sth, which was cool.

Had a whole day in Bruges exploring, the highlight of which was the evening. By chance I noticed a sign which said FREE HARP CONCERT which intrigued the heck out of the Singaporean in me, so I wasn't going to miss it for da world. Had never heard/seen a harp played either, besides at the Flo+Machine concert, so I was definitely piqued. The most glorious of evenings ensued, just about an hour's worth of beautiful, haunting, incredible music. One of the most enchanting experiences of my life, not even joking. I can't adequately express how entranced his performance left me, I was THAT close to buying one of his CDs even, despite me being a poor student traveler and all. I was one of only 5/6 people in the audience, and I felt incredibly privileged to have heard what I did. What else was cool was that on his guestbook (which, with good intentions but terrible handwriting, I felt compelled to leave an entry in) I saw that 2 other Singaporeans had just been in there at the performance held an hour ago and left a note too, which left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of cultured Singaporeans, albeit cheapo ones.

Next day I had the one-duh-full idea of cycling to Ghent. Dumb ideas of life, is where I will be filing this one under. Google maps told me 2.5 hours, so I thought: I'm stronger than Google, buddies pls, imma do this in 2 hours flat ezpz NP. It was raining. About 1 hour later, I was off the maps which my hostel kindly provided me. By absolute chance I met a farmer who'd come out of his house to check his mailbox. I asked: "How do I get to Ghent?" "GHENT?!?!?!?!" "Er, yes." Dubious look. "3 hours!" "Oh. Okay... Which direction shall I go then?" Kinda how the conversation went, or at least the bits that weren't washed away by that insane incessant inbalanced rain. Long story (again, all my stories are long, or I'm just a horrible story teller) short, 4 hours later I arrived at Ghent. Or 6 hours after departing Bruges. I was soaking wet. I'm not ashamed to say that even my undies were soaked. NO JOKES. I was wearing jeans + longjohns AND MY FREAKING UNDIES WERE SOAKED. Nothing more need be said about that rain. And my camera was kinda spoiled too, although not as bad as I'd feared since it was just the LCD display which went bad. Which meant that I couldn't properly frame my shots anymore, which killed me a little inside, but ohwells, life went on.

Following day was a whirlwind. Left Bruges, arrived at Brussels. Left Brussels, arrived at Luxembourg. Left Luxembourg, arrived at Frankfurt. I had about an hour in Brussels, and slightly more in Luxembourg. I'd intended to skip Luxembourg actually, until this conversation at this Brussels train station. "Bonjour, parlez vous anglais? Oh great! How much does it cost to go to Germany?" "Er, which city?" "I don't know, the cheapest one? Frankfurt?" (Cause I'd glanced at a map and it seemed the closest, that or Koln, which to my chagrin I did not realize was Cologne until muuuuuuuuccch later. Pretty dumb.) "Huh. It's very expensive to get into Germany right now, cause of all the Christmas markets.... 115 euros." "!! Luxembourg?" "25" "OK ONE TICKET TO LUXEMBOURG PLS THANKSYOU."

Which is how I ended up in Luxembourg. Tickets from there to Frankfurt were a mere 45 euros, although it involved taking a bus first then switching to a train. Arrived at Frankfurt at about 11.30pm. Decided to walk around the city in the night since I was leaving the very next day, and I always like to explore a city both during the day and at night since I generally find there is a different energy and feeling to them. Before I left though, the only other occupant in my dorm, a chinese girl, asked me if I could wake her up at 7am in the morning as she wanted to check out the flea market. After determining the whereabouts of said flea market, I said oke doke and left. Cooked myself some pasta at 1am before leaving the hostel. Wandered around for quite a while since my hostel was bloody far from the city center and the river, and finally reached back at around 3-4am. Couple hours of sleep later, arose and woke the girl, who promptly went back to sleep even after I woke her up twice. Went to flea market, and BOUGHT A CLOCK. Backpacking Protip No.1 = Don't buy massive items you can barely fit into your bag, which are practically useless, and fragile to boot. Nonetheless, incredibly pleased with my 8 euro clock, not least because it's still working now, despite my initial doubts. I did bend the second hand quite badly, so it's a little crooked now, but you win some you lose some eh?

I also bought a wall hanging from Bruges, which I forgot to mention, for just 4 euros!!!!!! Super bulky, and I will invoke Protip No.1 Again. But yet again, I'm super happy with my buy. It's just, lugging around a wall hanging and a clock and a laptop is NOT the best way to backpack.

Also had my first taste of German Christmas markets, and promptly fell in love with them. Ya, das ist gut! Love all the food, the carousels, the christmassy shops/merchandise, the gluhwein, schnitzels, Bratwürstes (BRATBEST I SAY!) etc. Went to Hamburg in the afternoon. Nothing spectacular there I guess, except that I really liked it. Might be cause it was the first place I went this Christmas where ice paved the roads, and light snow, and maybe something too about how it was a big city but felt rather town-ish. No big tall buildings like Frankfurt, no metal-and-glass giants scraping skies. It was nice. Upon arrival, I left the station and endeavoured to locate my hostel. I had a very rough idea of where it was based on the map of it provided on hostelbookers, which I'd looked at for a short while a couple hours before. Of course I promptly got lost and couldn't recall which direction I was supposed to take. Decided to ask directions, and I saw a lady shoveling snow off the roof of her car. She said she didn't know where it was, at which point I was gonna move on, when she said she could check her iphone for me. Tidings of gladness! So she did, and pointed out the way to me. Full of gratitude, I started walking.

2mins later, still braving the dastardly cold and imposing my supreme will against the ice praying all the while I wouldn't slip and fall, I heard a car horn. Curious, I turned to look. Lo! Can't be very surprising at this stage, but yes it was the lady! So I got into her car all thankful and warmed by her human kindness, where we proceeded to get lost for about.. 20-30mins? Stupid one-way-streets really. She was Russian-German and a student at some uni I can't recall, and yes, she was quite pretty as well. Come on, you saw this coming, why else would I bother retelling this story?? Well anyway after a while we were still lost so I asked her to just drop me off, which she did. On foot to my hostel, I managed to drop my jumper and my sleeping shorts cause my bag was open. Which led to me spending about half an hour searching for them in the cold before finding them lying sadly on the ice on some street I crossed some time back.

I am actually going to fast forward a fair bit cause I'm boring myself here. Went for free tour, met new friends, ate raw herring, left for Berlin! Arrived at hostel, and by pure coincidence met 2 of my new travel budz coming out of the lift! Dumped stuff, and went out for a not-so-lonely dinner, which was kinda more than I was expecting. Brendal arrived sometime later that night, so we spent the next day (CHRISTMAS DAY!) on a free tour (as singaporean as it gets) which was really good. Berlin's gotta be one of my favourite cities, so much history in one city it's not even funny. Almost warrants another visit srsly. From Branden's burger to world wars and cold ones, jazz and underground music scenes, 3/4 days certainly was nowhere near enough for such an epicity. (Yeah I just did that, I combined epic and city cause I'm cool like that.)

Most of my christmas travel buddiez arrived on boxing day (where practically everything in germany is closed apparently, zee germans are crazy) so we proceeded to conduct our own free tour based on our incredible recollections of the tour the day before. It was pretty decent, especially cause that was basically my first day meeting with all these new people, so it could have gone a whole lot worse.

Long ass train ride to Munich where I was sitting all by my lonesome cause I bought a seat while the others got bunks, didn't go too bad thankfully, and clearly prepping me well for the 15 hour bus journey I was to undergo in February. Munchen.. while it was quite nice, I didn't like it quite as much as I did Berlin so it was a bit of a comedown for me. Also it was nearing my 2nd/3rd week of traveling so fatigue probably kicked in as well, as it is wont to do. Really chill day, pretty much just starbucks and.. cooking I think. We didn't have a kitchen in Berlin so we were keen to start our money-saving with some pasta, although it wasn't my best showing I'm afraid :( Not a fan of washing out pasta sauce using water cause you get waaay too diluted sauce. Saying is just.

We also had girl talk apparently cause I somehow found myself alone with 4 girls. Huh. Did go for a short jaunt into the city later at night, partially cause I was in a different hostel from everyone else so I thought I might as well. I somehow just have to see every city twice, once in the day and once again at night, just because you never know what sort of transformation a city undergoes once it gets dark. And away from hordes of tourists too, I guess, and tours and tour guides. Probably the most interesting thing was this rather entertaining busker, especially cause he had a singapore joke in his repertoire. "I'm from singapore. I am single, and poor." And I Can't Get No Satisfaction too. There were at least a hundred of us around him I reckon, pretty decent for a busker no?

Salzburg the next day followed by Luzern, cause they planned not to stay in Salzburg at all. It was pretty much a drive-by supermarket stop really, cause we anticipated switzerland to be incredibly expensive. And rightly so! Must have saved at least 50 euros or something just by doing our grocery shopping in beautiful Salzburg. We did also attempt to climb up to some fortress or castle or old thing before realizing it cost money to enter, so we didn't. Cheapo singaporean student budget backpackers, that just about says it all really! Poor Austrian tourism board. Found an adequate hilltop nonetheless where we.. didn't do anything much really. Did nothing but luxuriate, I wanna say, cause that word is not verb-ified nearly enough (just like the word verb apparently.) Kinda reminded me of climbing that hill in Lyon, which was great cause Lyon's yet another one of my favourite cities of world. As well as being on the cliffs of Ilfracombe, if only because of the company, and the kind of quiet you only get with friends, as paradoxical as that sounds. Especially if you consider how crazy said friends are, and how noisy they can be.. 杀死宝宝, quite possibly one of the worst jokes of ever of life, and one of the best places too.

Armed and ready to go (with groceries), we took yet another overnight into Luzern. This time I had a bed while the rest had mere seats.. Bestsleep2012nojoke. I even had breakfast served so.. Was horizontal for the night, had breakfast in bed, got to take off my boots after hours upon hours of walking.. What better way to end off one's year?? Life was gut, but not for my friends cause they seemed like they had a horrible time of it on those cheap seats.. Oh well you win some and you lose some and I was winner that day :D I know you shouldn't delight in the misfortunes and miseries of others but still...

Luzern was an eye-opener, and not just for the amazing utility of freaking water boilers. We had our dinner purely on the back of some incredible/disgusting use of 1 x boiler. Noodles, hordogz, soup.. It was a feast! But I think something inside of me died that day. I can never look at food the same way. All my illusions shattered. To think that just over a year ago I was young, naive, and hopeful that I might just be able to take my first hesitant steps into the then-wonderful and glorious realm that is food-cooking.. Fast forward 1.5years and you have me, disillusioned, hardened, and bitter to this cold, cruel world. So ends my lovestory with food. Such is life. It even bears italicizing and bolding.

Other than that immensely sorrowful telling of my passage from boy2man, we also went to a playground and scared away kids probably, likely cause I was pretending to be a pervy paedo, went by the lake to discuss the culinary fates of ducks, and went to bridges to pretend to be buskers to be sneered at by the bourgeoisie. DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING / SINGING THE SONG OF ANGRY MEN?! Now is the time for the working class to rise up! The people must act! Okay yes, too much les mis as I am sure you can tell, not to mention I've got The Communist Manifesto sitting prettily on my bookshelf right now. Proletariat power piak pewpew!

I also managed to wake up at 5-ish, which gave me time for a walkabout on my own too. I kinda needed that as well, a couple of days on the road with other people, while huge fun, also meant that I needed a dose of solitude as well. Especially on the last day of the year. You don't get much reflection time when you're spending 24/7 with friends, which is basically what traveling means. Also time for me to make the photo-ops I don't get the chance to during the day when we're moving as a group. Cause sometimes I take like 25 photos of the same thing just so I can sift through all of them to get that one good shot I can be satisfied with so I can show mom that despite all this flagrant spending I am actually producing something of worth..or at least that's how I'd like to think of it.

Had to pop back in by 7 so as not to alarm everyone else, cause we had a train to catch early in the morning to... Interlaken! I'd meant to go to Interlaken during my christmas break of 2011, but ultimately didn't manage to thanks to the alluring French. So it's safe to say I had rather inflated expectations of the place, supposedly nestled in the middle of two beautiful lakes, within spitting distance of the Swiss Alps.. I cannot say I was in any way disappointed, despite not even visiting either of the lakes which is kind of ridiculous considering what the town is even called.. Also despite our initial plan to go skiing/sledding/snowshoeing, none of which came to fruition. We did venture into the Alps, which gave us our first encounter with snow all Christmas! Hamburg was frozen and icy, so that didn't count.

VMG (like Very Much Thanks but Gratitude instead) to Yann Qi for his meticulous planning without which we would have remained very much stuck at lake level, instead of ascending to the heights of Europe. Which mountain to go, train timings, ticket prices, yada yada, it was fantastic. Alien to me, cause I generally just walk up to train station, ask where should I go, and go. And pay through my nose, probably. Which is why I have unnaturally large nostrils. Just sayin, super saiyin.

On then we went up one peak, then another, dodging skiers and snow-sledders alike, spying with little eyes waterfalls.. Unfortunately the places we went were almost exclusively for skiers and their ilk so we almost couldn't find a suitable location for our snowman competition. Bob (our snowman) won!

We stayed on these magical snowcapped slopes through sunset, and into the night for some stargazing too. The weather forecast predicted a clear sky and it sure delivered. Beating a path away from the bright lights of the village/town thing we managed to find a suitable ulu location where Sirius and Bellatrix could smile their benevolent/evil smiles on us. It was good. A brief, transient, ephemeral moment, of peace and quiet in an otherwise rapid and relentless world. Like a shooting star whose beauty fades much, much too quickly, but shines ever the brighter in our memory for its brevity. Simple times.

Made our way back to the hostel, where we cooked up a storm, making a mockery of the clear skies the day had so kindly provided. Patented Garlick Porck Chops™ was served. Met my gege for the first time in my life, surviving all that awkwardness.. Then we went fireworks hunting, as the midnight approached. I'm not forgetting this particular new year's eve in a hurry, whatwith chasing random fireworks sounds/echoes, finally finding an adequate spot where we could see these nightflowers popping only at about 2355hrs, my first time ever playing with sparklers and shutter speed shenanigans.. A pleasant way to spark off (pun absolutely unintended) the new year, and an unexpectedly un-uncomfortable way to ease into my 21st year of existence. I'd always intended to spend my 21st birthday alone, but this was as good an alternative as I could ever have asked for.

Next day we left for Geneva. Decided to walk around for the night instead of booking a hostel cause my flight was at 10am. Decided to walk towards the lake instead of the city, for reasons still unknown. Espied bright lights descending somewhere in the distance. Decided to walk towards airport at about 5.30pm. Missed turn to airport and found myself at French border. Incredulously spoke to Swiss/French border police to determine location. Arrived at Geneve Aeroport at about 8-9pm. In the rain. Spent next 13 or so hours in airport, on uncomfortable chair. Started wishing death upon myself but instead only got about 3 hours of sleep. Boarded plane, and found myself in Bristol!

Bristol was pretty warped, but I did buy myself the Communist Manifesto at a really cool bookshop, so it was pretty good ultimately.

Hmm. Guess that's it for my Christmas trip really. To date the best holiday/trip I've ever had, despite my unkind treatment of it in that mass of words above. It in no way justified exactly how good this trip was, and how good it was for me too. Thoughts I'd never had, thoughts I'd never dared to think, honest reflection, honest sharing, etc etc. I am in many ways a different person than I was before embarking on this trip, so I cannot underscore sufficiently what it meant to me. And some of the most beautiful places I've ever been to as well, so that's just double props! Yep.

I'm less than a week away from my Easter trip to Spain/Portugal so this is just about as overdue as it gets. Huh. Welllll, haven't even talked about Belfast, or Peak District, or Edinburgh again, I have managed to rack up an impressive backlog seriously. Pretty disgusted with self. Er, ciao anyways, gotta leave house in 45mins for London for rugby for support school team GO EXETER!