op reis met mijzelf / a journey with myself
DESCRIPTION
Embark on a journey with me. Get yourself tucked in a warm cozy corner on a cool rainy sunday afternoon.TRANSCRIPT
A journey with myself
© 2013 by Boo Siew Hui (Kimberly). All Rights Reserved.
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OP REIS MET MIJZELF
A journey with myself
Kimberly S.H.Boo
Op reis met mijzelf
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Contents
Goedemorgen 1.
Our meeting with a Surinamese man 2.
Just how can you not respect her 3.
Macaroni taught me things 4.
The weekend at Carlijn’s – Carnaval 5.
Stepping into a LGBT bookstore 6.
The never-ending talk about nothing 7.
Journey through Dutch history with .. 8.
Lecture on the Red Light District at.. 9.
Jheroenimus Bosch Museum 10.
Sadomasochism & Sex culture 11.
Circus Act 12.
Liar liar pants on fire 13.
Dutch is unnecessary 14.
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We’re strangers who clicked 15.
Moment of light sent to my eyes 16.
A wandering soul and her guitar 17.
OT301 18.
Volunteer at Joe’s garage 19.
The greatest yet 20.
Rijksmuseum, the famous one 21.
Day out with Heleen 22.
My very first.. 23.
Hallo, King Willem Alexander 24.
Excitement. Anxiety. Insomnia. 25.
Dappermarkt with the ouders 26.
Other than the mona lisa 27.
MacDonald’s, a hidden test 28.
Sunday morning with the ouders 29.
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Frustration at the airport check-in 30.
I fell, again. 31.
Sitting in the sun 32.
Right by the waters 33.
Lecture by Kim Ghattas 34.
Stay for the night 35.
Is this it 36.
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From the author
This project comes as much as a
surprise to me as it is to you, I would
say. Just who would’ve thought? Me?
A writer? It would have been one of
the wildest dreams people (such as my
parents) could have imagined me to be.
I would also like to ask for your
understanding in bearing some
grammatical or technical mistakes in
which you have noticed throughout
this book, just like how I might have
left them uncorrected. This was also
done considering an advice from a
dear friend of mine to try and preserve
the raw form of what was written.
Maybe I might even reveal some of my
emotions or intentions through the
making of those mistakes. Maybe
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these mistakes could bring you some
good laughs. I found myself to be
infatuated with documenting my
travels as well as sharing some of my
thoughts and perspectives since
around 3 years ago. An impulsive gush
of feelings motivated me to put these
snippets into something tangible and
material. I really hope you will enjoy
this read. In order to make it more fun,
I would really love it if you could kindly
leave a date and place in which you’ve
read this book at the very last page.
After which, do pass this book on to
someone else who might be interested
to read a new book, a book like mine.
Maybe, just maybe, one day this book
might circulate back to me. I will then
be very amused. However, if you do
want to keep this copy on your
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bookshelf, there’s no stopping that. I
could only lament for the fate of yet
another book left to die on that inch of
space along with some others. I do
admit I am such a book murderer at
times as well and thus am in the fitting
position to describe this. This is also a
good reminder to pass on some of the
books on my own shelf. Thank you and
goodbye. Or maybe, see you soon.
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Foreword
‘Op reis met mijzelf’ or ‘ A journey with
myself’ is indeed a fitting title for what
this little project comprises: a record of
encounters not just of the individual
relative to the hustle and bustle of
travel, but of encounters with the self.
One is occasionally taken aback,
sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not
so pleasantly (though nevertheless
precious discoveries in themselves),
when one observes with a slightly
detached, amused interest at the
scope of reactions one is capable of
producing. The range of possible
experiences which travel can throw to
one could best be described as a
dizzying myriad, ranging from the
mundane and hassle of practicalities,
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to the precious simplicity of heart-
warming interactions, to the moments
where one experiences beauty so
transcendent that one knows language
has reached its limits, where the mere
act of attempting to translate
emotions into words becomes injustice
in itself.
Each of these experiences demand
much from the self, be it to challenge
one’s strength of will, or to challenge
the very foundation of this will itself.
One learns to understand, to
communicate, to cherish, to mature, to
love. To realise simply how huge and
foreign this world is, and yet how a
common thread of humanity underlies
every interaction.
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Op res met mijzelf reads simply,
realistically, as if the reader
experiences these for one’s self. Yet
simultaneously and profoundly, it
encapsulates these treasures of travel.
Friedrich Schlegel, a German writer,
offers what might be a particularly
appropriate suggestion regarding the
quality of this little project, and how
the reader could approach it:
“Es gibt eine schoene Offenheit, die
sich oeffnet wie eine Blume: Nur um zu
duften.”
which when roughly translated,
elucidates that
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“There is a beautiful kind of openness,
that opens like a flower, just for the
purpose of smelling.”
Just as the flower opens to reveal its
scent, Op res met mijzelf offers an
unadulterated glimpse into the travels
of this individual, both internally and
externally.
We are all travellers, and this treasure,
as a little flower along the roadside
thus offers itself to the reader for a
sniff- as a means of understanding, on
the journey of not just travel abroad,
but of life and discovery.
From a dear friend and fellow traveller,
Constance (Siew)
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“Goedemorgen!”
This phrase has brought me much fun
and surprise. I used it quite often and
find much pleasure in greeting Dutch
people I meet with a pretty perfect
pronunciation of it early in the
morning to brighten up one’s day. But
more than often this phrase continued
to bring me a series of surprises I’ve
had from people. The most common
one would be to be bombarded by
chunks of replies in Dutch in which I
immediately drown in. Nonetheless I
often get pleasant responses and am
happy in doing so, so I’m going to
continue doing this. I can already feel
that taking Dutch lessons might not be
that big of a mistake or a “waste of
time” after all.
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Our meeting with a Surinamese man
Sitting through dinner with a few other
guests has been really delightful.
Sitting through dinner with the entire
conversation at the table in Dutch has
been EVEN more delightful. I felt bad
that charlotte felt really bad for putting
me through this because to be honest,
I quite like this feeling. It’s not entirely
alien for me because it’s interesting
how my ears picked out certain words
I’ve learnt. It’s such a learning
experience money can’t buy.
Sometimes I don’t really want people
to accommodate me or my culture too
much because that totally defeats the
whole purpose of being abroad. For
me, it’s to experience a whole new
culture. This is precisely the case in
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language as well. This night has been
really precious for me and is
somewhere at the top of “my lovely
Dutch experiences” list. How often do
you get to sit through such a heart-
warming dinner with a room full of
Dutch speaking Dutch?
Just how can you not respect her?
I called for help as I can’t seem to work
the pedals on my bike. They’re stuck.
Two lovely classmates of mine stopped
in their tracks just to help me. I ended
up tearing the chain protector apart in
order to save the bike. My lecturer
came out with her bike and saw me in
a whole lot of mess. She took my bike
by the hand, flipped it around, said
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“well I usually do this” and started
doing the dirty job of helping me fix
the bike. For a moment, I stood by the
sidelines, watching in awe as I try to
draw the connection of the poised
prim and proper teacher who led our
discussions just a while ago, with the
image of this woman trying to fix my
bike. She earned every bit of my
respect through, doing what she
perceived as “an insignificant act”.
Macaroni taught me things.
Have you ever wondered if Murphy’s
Law works? It does. As I ride with my
bike, macaroni, I would often look out
for pits and would consciously try to
avoid them but somehow my body
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reflex would respond in an entirely
contrasting manner to my mind. This
usually ends up with my butt hurting
from the bumps with signs of macaroni
complaining as well. I think this is a
very apt example reflecting my
perspectives of things, and even with
my own life. It just suddenly dawned
on me that I am actually
acknowledging that I am such a person,
consciously. I was always looking out
for pits to avoid. But now, I’m just
looking out for the smoothest path
through.
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The weekend at Carlijn’s - Carnaval
I felt so showered with love and really
good wine I actually felt bad for not
being able to do something better in
return! If hospitality could be
quantified, I’d say I was drowning in
the warmth of their home. Here’s why.
The planning and effort put into how I
should be dressed for carnaval (and for
the fact that I am ACTUALLY
ATTENDING carnaval) was really
commendable. It’s so funny that this
whole thing was started by a mere
“HEY you should come for carnaval!”
and me saying “OKAY!” without much
idea of what it actually is and that’s
basically it. Well, I’ll never regret this
decision. In fact, I’m very much
thankful for it. Maybe not the part of
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having beer spilled in my hair and
clothes smelling of marijuana. But YES
to meeting a new “hippee” friend who
then hosted us to a very warm dinner
at yet another lovely family home.
Funny how I’ve yet to figure out how
she really looks like in real life due to
her dressing and make-up for Carnaval.
And yes, her mom graciously adorned
us with face paint so as to blend into
the crowd. If you look normal, that’s
basically the worse look ever and you’ll
be strikingly obvious in the whole
crowd of people in costumes and
ridiculous wear. Throughout the whole
entire night I swear my friend asked
me more than thrice an hour if I’m
enjoying myself, in fear that I was not.
How would I not be happy when I was
entertained by a dancing sheep for
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something over 10 hours! To be honest,
as much as I was turned off by some
weird people, I really did fall
somewhat in love with this festival. To
me it was an environment when
conventions were challenged and
judgments abandoned. It’s when you
can truly be what you imagined
yourself in your wildest and most
ridiculous dreams. It’s how you want
to act. It’s how your limits are
challenged. It’s where you can observe
the most authentic of people dynamics.
Just how can I not have enjoyed myself?
And on top of that, having chips at
3am made me really realize the simple
pleasures of life. It also somehow
reminded me of how having a
chocolate biscuit while walking back
from the school in sri lanka brought me
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much joy. We actually don’t need
much to be happy. We all know that.
But just when will we start realizing it?
Or have we been oblivious to our small
simple experiences all along?
It was so heartwarming for her mom to
pick us up at such wee hours. I felt bad
because they must have worried about
me having to cycle such long distances.
I think my parents’ would just ask me
to head to the nearest macdonalds to
sit there till dawn and take the bus
back (which, in actual fact, they really
did this before.) I have yet to recover
from the shock of this experience as an
only daughter.
To top off, the next day was the
parade! (fact: carnaval lasts for 5 days
so there’re activities for every single
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day where the whole city celebrates
them together. Yes, they’re so
dedicated to this.) AND THE BEST PART
WAS, we were invited to join my
hippee friend’s family for this. A family
member of theirs lives along the
designated route for the parade and
her uncle is a judge for the best
performance and vehicle design so we
had such a great view in the warmth of
the house with food! It was also
interesting interacting with her family
and they were so welcoming of us!
And I picked up “HAI-YER”!
I was also treated to dinner at carlijn’s
before we headed back from blerick to
Utrecht and then me to Amsterdam. I
really loved the atmosphere during
dinner and we exchanged contrasting
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cultural experiences and it was really
interesting to converse with auntie and
uncle. I felt weird addressing them
auntie and uncle, which is so
Singaporean. Well at least I
entertained the house with my
horrible Dutch HAHAH! I had such a
great great time I just couldn’t thank
my friend enough. I can already feel
that my decision to come here is
definitely a well-made one and also
one I’d never regret in time to come.
My very first experience of stepping
into a LGBT bookstore
My pursuit for a book I’ve chosen for
my review hilariously brought my pair
of legs from a place to another, the
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American book center to vrolijk.
Having only half an hour before class
starts, I rushed in search of this
bookshop for my book. My first few
steps into the store were such a new
visual experience for my pair of eyes. It
was then that I realized that this is an
alternative bookstore. However, apart
from the genre, everything looked as if
it was just another bookstore. Yeah,
why the need for stigmatization? They
say the brain and heart is always
separate. To an extent, it’s true I guess.
I know the ideal situation is to immerse
your thoughts into a free open space. I
can’t help but pass judgments of
deeming it as a gay casual sex store or
what. Nonetheless, it’s comforting to
know that they still had a few shelves
reserved for books dealing with social
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issues and context more noteworthy to
me (which was why my book can be
found there. It takes 10 days for
American book center to order in but
just 4 days for this store. Wow.). I just
wished there were more of such books
since the struggles of identity and
social stigmatization faced by the lgbt
community is of more importance to
the society than superficial acts of
sexual desires. Maybe I feel the
potential for this bookshop to defy
common skewed perceptions by
having a mainstream lgbt bookstore.
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The never ending talk about just
nothing
It’s funny how sometimes you can just
engage in conversations which led
from one to another and another and
another till you lose track of time.
Maybe it’s the warmth of the corner of
her beautiful house, away from the
chilly cold, overlooking the homely
garden evidently tended with care, the
re-unity of a familiar soul, the
enriching of a friendship. Even funnier
how our talk almost extended through
the already extended late breakfast
until we were hurried out of the house
by her mom before I miss out the
whole of Rotterdam city.
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“You don’t come to Rotterdam just to
talk!! Go to the museum!” and off we
did.
Oh I’m so thankful for such a delightful
weekend spent with her family. I’m
sorry for the overly-spicy dish I
whipped up. Grateful for fulfilling my
wish of eating ice cream in the freezing
cold and everything that happened to
me. Oh and of course, my first time in
starting a fire place!! Like what?!?!
Thank you Heleen, and your wonderful
family.
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Journey through dutch history with a
dutch literature professor – priceless
Entering into the royal palace, or
rather, the town hall of the 16th
century is such an overwhelming
experience of itself. I was captivated
since the first observations of its
exterior till I stepped into the building
till the main hall and thereby
throughout the whole tour with my
professor painstakingly explaining the
meanings of the depictions throughout
the entire place. I am so honored by
this whole trip and the opportunity to
have such a detailed explanation and
exposure to such an art.
Thereafter, we dropped by the ons’
lieve eer op solder, the catholic hiding
church of the 17th century. The living
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quarters were pretty normal and as I
walk through the house I started
harboring thoughts of this being mere
typical 17th century house, or a rather
small and shabby one indeed. These
thoughts all disappeared as I took my
first steps into the upper levels being
modified into a small distinctively
catholic church. Involuntarily, I blurted
out a rather sounding “wow”, which
was quite embarrassing as that was
echoed by my professor, reinforcing
the magnificence of such a structure in
such a place. To be honest, I really felt
as if I was in hiding when I sat down at
the benches for a mere moment. The
attempt to understanding the feeling
of how these catholics felt when they
were here was somewhat haunting me.
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Sympathy. For not being able to have
the freedom of worship.
To end it off, we went for a drink at De
Waag, one of the two 15th century
buildings left in Amsterdam
Lecture on the red light district, AT the
red light district
Wow. What better away to prepare for
the lecture by actually getting lost in
the streets of De Wallen itself. I was
already struggling to find my way of
the district to our meeting place. To be
really honest, I really did shy away and
avoid eye contact with the prostitutes
initially. I felt that I simply have no clue
how to react or express any facial
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expression upon meeting their eye
contact. I am also terribly afraid of
expressing any judgmental or rude
gestures unconsciously. Thereafter this
did improve a bit as I was actually
encouraged to give a light smile or just
simply treat them as people trying to
make a living. Well at least after the
end of the day I felt that this might be
that little step I have achieved in
looking at this trade in a different light.
Not so much with a degrading eye, not
so much of skepticism, not so much of
criticism. Maybe I even attempted to
derive some understanding from their
background, that most of them are
most probably forced into this, and
even an element of pity.
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Jheroenimus Bosch Museum
I must say that being one of the
earliest visitors to arrive on a gloomy
morning and making my ascent and
tour alone is no easy feat for me. This
was especially so with my fear of
heights as well as the atmosphere
created through the rather haunting
music from the audio guide and of
course, the depictions made by Bosch
himself. I ascended to the top, with an
amazing view over s’hertogenbosch. It
was all downhill from there, literally
too. Descending with such a narrow
circular winding stairway with an open
view of what’s below sent chills down
my spine resounding that of the creaks
with every step I took. Moving through
rather confined and enclosed
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exhibition spaces don’t also go well
with my slight claustrophobia. Living
with all these conditions, I found
myself trying my best to interpret and
appreciate his paintings and works
which I hope does justice to his talent.
Discussions on Sadomasochism and
sex culture
I simply can’t put to words how
uncomfortable my time reading the
text for this week has been felt by my
ignorant soul. I just wasn’t, for 22 years
of my life, been in touch with the topic
of sex other than on primetime dramas
like Grey’s Anatomy. To get me to
sieve through the analysis and theories
of not only the conventional sexual
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behavior, but those of unconventional
(well to put it in my words, bizarre,
weird and sometimes, sick and
perverted) sexual behavior is almost
suicidal to my rational mind. The
discussion in class also pushed my
boundaries further out my comfort
zone which was indiscreetly shown as I
articulated my rather conservative
views and perception from my
upbringing in my society which kind of
shocked my classmates as well. I guess
that whole lesson was a “shock”
exchange. How apt is my time of
“exchange”. Well, I guess this is
precisely the reason why I’ve chosen to
do what I want to do here, which is to
expose myself to what I don’t have the
opportunity or conducive environment
to interact in or exchange ideas openly.
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oh god, did I just answer my own
question about why I am putting
myself through this?
Circus act
You won’t believe it. After achieving a
personal first of being able to cycle
without my hands, I exceeded my own
expectation of cycling with a laundry
rack. It wasn’t even planned for me to
achieve this but it happened. I saw a
laundry rack on sale and thought about
how charlotte has always wanted one
so I decided to just get it for her. Little
did I expect that I was about to do
something as hilarious and challenging
as this. When the seller came with the
laundry rack, she had bicycle tides
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which secured the metre long
structure to the rack behind her bike
with it hanging out. I didn’t have the
privilege of having a bike tide and so it
took me around 10 minutes to attempt
all possible ways of fetching it till I
found the most comfortable and “safe”
way to transport it. I simply held it with
my right hand while balancing the bike
with my left hand and I just went with
it. And of course, subconscious prayer
in my head. I did it. I felt so
accomplished! Charlotte couldn’t even
believe I did it. Could you?
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Liar liar pants on fire
I contacted a foldable bike seller on
marktplaats, an online dutch ebay.He
told me he was not going to be free
anytime soon and thus we postponed
our meeting till a week later. I made it
clear that I wanted the second-hand
foldable bike that he was selling for 29
euro. I felt that it was definitely worth
my long trip down to krabbendijke to
get the bike since it was a really good
deal and it seemed that the bike was in
a pretty good condition so my trip of
20 euros will be worth it. Plus I get to
explore and enjoy the journey.
However, once I got there, I was being
shown an electric foldable bike. I
thought he was merely trying to show
me how the different folds of the bike
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were but apparently not. When I asked
him about the 29 euro bike, he seemed
rather surprised and told me that the
bike he was showing me costs 350
euro. I thought my understanding of
the dutch language was so horrible
that I couldn’t even tell the make out
what he was saying or simply couldn’t
believe my ears. I insisted that that
wasn’t what was agreed but he kept
insisting that this was the bike I
wanted. With my frustration building
up through the whole conversation in
dutch, I whipped out my phone and
showed him the text history which
indicated all so clearly what was being
conveyed. He then assumed that I was
coming from Groningen and was
actually a man coming to pick up the
electric bike, which I am obviously not.
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I was already exhibiting frustration
through my voice by saying “ik ben niet
de man, ik com niet uit Groningen
maar Amsterdam en ik heb over de
fietsen dat is 29euro gespreken, NIET
DIT ONE”
(i’m not the man. I don’t come from Groningen but from Amsterdam and I
have enquired over the 29 euro bike, not this one.)
and i was so frustrated by i couldn’t
very much express how i really felt (if
not he would have gotten a full blow of
my anger I swear because the journey
took about 3 hours to get there). I
wanted to express all these
frustrations so I asked “spreekt je
angels” but unfortunately he can’t
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understand nor communicate in
English and so I continued my
ramblings in my pretty limited dutch
while struggling to find vocabulary in
my head. Surprisingly, it is always
times when I get angry that I find
myself more fluent and confident in
blurting out incessantly.
“ik ben NIET de man!! Ik ben een
student en nu heb ik 13 euro voor dit
reis!! Ik vind een vouwfiets nodig!! Ik
kom uit amsterdam!! Mijn reis om hier
te komen is heel lang!!”
(i’m not the man. I’m a student and i’ve spent 13 euro on my ride. I need a
foldable bike. I come from Amsterdam and it takes very long to come here.)
I stormed off.
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The krabbendijke station could be
described in a single word: bare. It was
just 2 platforms and that was basically
it. No shelter. I stormed to the
platform and sat down. Boiling mad. I
took a moment and suddenly realized
what was lying ahead of me was such a
beautiful and captivating scene. It was
like an endless field of green patches
against the blue, blue sky with trails of
power lines connected by scattered
structures. The sun was shining so
brightly, seeping through the
translucent clouds. Here I am, in such a
small town by this small station. The
tranquility hit me. I looked at my watch
and found myself having 10 minutes
before my train was to arrive. I took a
small walk and whipped out my
camera in a bid to capture the beauty.
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For a moment, I thought I simply just
had a small nightmare, or have I just
fallen into another dream.
Okay, but when I got up the train I
continued feeling cross.
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Dutch is unnecessary
And so is alcohol consumption, putting
on make-up, watching a movie,
catching a soccer match, getting
married, buying a car, patronizing
H&M, bungy-jumping, trying weed,
taking photos with the famous
landmarks of the world, eating a
chocolate bar, bothering why I am
bothering to learn dutch, wondering
why dutch is unnecessary. Etc.
It all boils down in your ability to see
value in it.
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We’re strangers who clicked
I entered the church with a smile.
Strolling just a minute into the church I
saw a man who noticed my presence
and I simply said “goededag” against
the sounds of the organ.
He asked: “Do you know the famous
composer who wrote this piece?”
“no I have no idea”
“oh such a pity, this is so famous!”
“deeply scanning through my mental
dictionary but nothing came up as I
grew more perplexed”
“KIDDING they were just tuning and
testing the organ”
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“=.=”
I asked if the church was a catholic or
protestant one because the whole
design is staunchly catholic but it was
converted to a protestant one during
reformation but I’ve no idea about the
present day status. The man started
telling me a story which I politely gave
my input intermittently
The man: “you know there was this
tyrant… *points to a tainted glass
panal* ”
Me: *tyrant rings such a bell* “is it
Philip II?”
“oh you know him, yes, he was evil and
against what god said about loving
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your enemies, he was killing them,
those living in the netherlands”
“oh but I thought it was the Duke of
Alba who executed the orders?”
“yes him too. Before him, the situation
is okay with this lady *points to
another tainted glass depiction*”
“Margaret of Parma right?”
“ah, you really know something, but
during her time, things get a little
messy and people started destroying
churches, it’s called the *deliberately
pause for my response*”
“iconoclasm”
“WOW. Why do you know all this?”
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“I am taking a dutch history course
now and I really liked it”
“arhhh…so you know Erasmus? Come
here, there is this book maybe you
should take a look at it someday, it’s
also in English written for you. It’s
about Erasmus and his connection to
Gouda.”
“wow that’s interesting, who wrote
the book?”
“me.”
WHOA I SWEAR I was shocked. This
random middle-age man I was talking
to and showing me around st. janskerk
and explaning to me stuff is actually an
art historian and author!! Thereafter,
he started introducing me to this other
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guy and raving about how I managed
to answer all his questions (which
made me quite embarrassed because
that’s all I know actually, if he were to
probe further maybe the percentages
of me getting it right will decrease.
According to statistics.) and so, it turns
out that the other guy is holding an
exhibition starting today in the church.
it was a closed exhibition and WOALA I
got invited. Turns out the exhibition is
about an old preserved building right
across the street, deeply connected to
the church and what was shown was
drawings, photos and other depictions
of it and how it is connected to the
church. it was held in an enclosed area,
cordoned in a part of the church. it was
kind of awkward when I first got in
because everyone inside seemed to
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know everyone and on top of my
distinctive Asian features and small
build, it was pretty obvious I was
strikingly off. It was so so SO NICE of
the other guy to come around to me
and offered to go through the exhibits
and start to explain to me but he was
also busy entertaining other guests as
well so he just said to me “don’t worry,
you can help yourself to the koffie at
the corner, you are my guest.” I felt so
so so honored and wonder just what I
did right to deserve this. After a while I
felt really out of place and finally
caught the historian/author guy free
and went up to offer my leave, he
insisted in a photo with the event
photographer and I was dressed so
skimpily oh god. Yes, I called out to god
IN a church. In material terms, I’ve
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never been more religious than this.
Which is rather an irony because god
and his grace is immaterial. Okay I’ll
leave that for another discussion. I left
the place feeling too…I can’t put words
to it but I feel that this was maybe way
beyond what I deserved.
Moment of light sent to my eyes
I had some time after the man left me
and it was 15 minutes before the
exhibition starts. Just as I stood still to
observe a panal of tainted glass, the
setting sun came by, shining through
the glass, straight into my eyes,
highlighting my whole presence in that
shiny cast of light. I felt goosebumps all
over me. It was a moment felt. I
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prayed. To be honest, I am not a
religious person, far from it as some of
my friends would probably say. But at
that moment, I just felt like doing it. I
felt something. Something really nice.
Maybe it was the whole “the author”
and “the exhibition” thing. Or partly.
A wandering soul and her guitar by
the beach..
.. in a temperature of 5 degrees, all
wrapped up in 4 layers of clothes and
struggling not to be blown away. What
a weird sensation to be a little
sunburnt in this kind of situation. Out
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of all my sunburning experiences, I’ve
got to say that this definitely tops my
list for being unique. To be honest, I do
not regret my decision. I’ve to say that,
after standing in the wind for a while,
your body will adapt to it somehow
and your mind begins to focus on
something else besides the cold. That’s
when you start to hear the slightly
screechy sound of the wind in your ear
caused by your hair, all this in sync
with the periodic smashing sound of
the waves against the shore, you begin
to observe the vastness of the sea
against that of the sky. With the sun
behind my back, its presence can’t be
missed as you bask in its rays. You’ll
feel warmth at the back of your chest
while your arms still send cold chills to
you. A look around you’ll observe
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people in groups or pairs, strolling by
the coastline. For a moment I felt
lonely, for there is no one by my side.
Then again the cold bites of my
exposed fingers holding my guitar
reminded me that I am not alone. I am
with my music. My music that stays
with me wherever I go made me
conscious of those treasured
memories as well. I thought about my
family and loved ones and realize how
blessed I am to have people who I miss.
I am not alone.
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OT301
Wow, what a night. I really liked how
random it is that I was just asking a
friend if there’s anything interesting to
do tonight and off she went “hey why
not come for this and oh! Why not join
her and another friend for a light snack
before heading to the event?” and off I
went!
It was a night organized by the
philosophy society of the UvA at a
squatter. How interesting can it get? I
was literally mind-blown I swear by
that hour and a half of hardcore
philosophy lecture about…something.
The seminar by Graham Harman and
Tristan Garcia is highly and I would say,
even damagingly interesting. I think it
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was my first contact with the topic of
object-orientated philosophy which
refers to all non-people and people
elements. Many have argued that
practice of philosophy comes before
theory to which Harman disagreed
because his stands that practice
distorts theory and in fact thereby
creating some sort of reality. Hence,
every relation distorts relation.
However, it is important that we do
not undermine or over-mine our
analysis to which we reach the ideal
analysis of dual-mining.
On the other hand, Tristan Garcia
focused on explaining on how he
defines objects. Every object has the
capacity to be something, by being
something would mean to be the one
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and only thing which is dependent on
two factors of solidarity and
exclusiveness. This is also regardless of
the factor of time. By factoring in the
element of time, the something would
be a collection of many objects at a
given time. However, true identity is
only bestowed to the “something” and
not to the objects which elapses with
time. There is also a concept of
something-ness that is universal.
Everything would have to be
something and not any more nor less
than that. Garcia’s argument comes
that, if something is less than
something, it would have been nothing.
Since something can only be derived
from something, there cannot be
nothing. On the other hand, if
something is more than something, it
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can only be one thing which is
exclusive and absolute. To make it
even more complicated but yet
explanatory. His explanation of the
difference between “to be” something
and “to be in” something is very
convincing to me. if you ARE that
something, you immediately loses the
capacity to BE that something due to
you viewing from a third person
perspective and detaching yourself
with the BEING of something. Hence,
we can never derive at a
comprehensive understanding of what
something really is. This somehow
strikes me as a very philosophical trail
of thought from Spinoza in which his
philosophy arrived at the description
of something that surpasses all
thought and matter to inhere which I
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referred from Johnathan Israel. This
also somehow reminded me of
Sandra’s Harding critique to objective
research as she advocates a partial
positioning which includes the
researcher in the perspectives of the
subjects. Okay I think I veered off a
little too much. I must have been
subconsciously influenced by my dutch
history professor.
Overall I really had a love-hate
relationship with the seminar and how
good it is, but it also gave me a
headache trying to think and
rationalize what was being said.
Thereafter I just hung around for the
after party but decided the music is
not helping my headache with its
strong beats after all and simply
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headed home. The 9km ride to this
event was definitely worth it and it was
a beautiful Saturday evening.
Volunteer at joe’s garage
Gave me a cigarette burnt scar on the
palm of my hand. Here I go, exploring
another squat. It was an interesting
afternoon which consisted of me
baking a vegan cake over a discussion
with Dilma about the squat scene and
the culture. Thereafter, I explored the
small space, the ground floor of only
around 20m2 I would think. Colorful
and diverse posters claimed the walls,
a small corner make up the bar where
coffee and tea were being served for
the day café. Alcohol is only reserved
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for the night. The place is actually
neatly organized in cluttered corners
to serve the different events
throughout the week. I also found out
that every Saturday or Sunday (I’m not
sure), they are actually turning the
place into a geefwinkel which is a place
where people can freely donate or
take away stuff. What an interesting
concept to reduce wastage and to help
the really needy. I also got to know
that they serve vegan dinners every
Monday and Thursday, cooked by
volunteers. Tomorrow a Pakistani girl
would be the head chef. How
interesting. But every Wednesday,
which is today, is a day café where
people simply can chill. The room was
brightly lid, unlike out skewed
perception of squats being dim and
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eerie. Everyone who patrons the place
are free to get some coffee or tea and
cookies themselves provided they
wash up their own cups and clean their
own mess. Cups were being dried on
the heater. Cookies kept in old age
rustig boxes. Or shall I say they don’t
really patron, but rather, visit the place.
As I sat at the bar as I watch the people
who walked in and out through the
door. Their appearances and dressing
strike me as “hippies”. Long thick
beaded hair, piercings, tattoos and
sometimes a shaved side on the head.
Most of them come here to use the
free internet on just 2 computers
provided. Hence, there is a simple
queue system. While waiting, some of
them sit at the bar, having a warm cup
of drink, waiting. Maybe a roll-up
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cigarette. I had a chat with a couple of
them and found out that they were
also squatting at some other places,
some places even without water and
electricity. I asked him how did they
manage to live there? He shrugged and
continued smoking. Thereafter he said,
“yeah they’re lucky to have found this
place.” It struck me with the reality of
survival. It’s always a game of chance.
We are being trapped in a game of
chance. We ARE the game of chance.
We make the game of chance. From
the moment we are born, the moment
we make a decision, the moment we
give someone a choice. It’s often not
the act of taking chances that’s risky,
it’s the giving up of your chance. Life is
about taking chances, the moment you
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give up in taking chances, you gave up
on life.
Not to say that taking chances does
reap benefits all the time, it has its fair
share of downs. I took a chance, that’s
why I’m here, in this squat talking to
people I’d never imagined I’d ever
would meet in my life. Just like the
discussion I had with this middle age
man whom I’ve found out that he had
been squatting for the past 15 years.
He even serenated me with his
adventures in a squat in Prague and
how if I’d ever have the opportunity to
go there, I should check out the last
existing squat left. Not only that, he
also shared about how the squatters
have been badly represented since
those people who do analysis on
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squats aren’t really true blue squatters
and those squatting don’t really bother
in such stuff. This thus creates a
misrepresentation. I questioned him
on why not doing a write-up
documenting such a way of life himself?
He said he’d rather do something else.
Oh I forgot about my point. Yes, the
down side. Yeah when I was reaching
for a cup across the bar counter, I
leaned my palm against the edge to
get the cup. But unknown to me was
that there was a leftover lighted small
piece of rolled up cigarette right at the
spot where my palm leaned. And so is
the birth of a cigarette butt burn. Oh
wells. Whatever. I think some things
are just the way it is and when it
happened, it happened. Actually one
of the first thoughts in my mind was
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not about if it’s going to scar or not or
whether how my palm will be
aesthetically altered. But rather, it’s
about whether or not to tell my mom
and dad about it and thinking about
how my mom would probably be more
worried sick than she already is. But
basically her range of worries is
already as widely varied as a
department store so after a while I was
rather comforted by this thought.
I was actually quite amazed by my
thinking this time. It’s amazing how I
am actually analyzing my own
reactions, as if I am the subject of my
own research. I’d most probably be
applauded by Sandra harding’s theory
of research. Okay maybe not. I can
almost observe this transition through
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my years from analyzing how my
reactions to such situations have
evolved. In the very long past I would
be mad at the person who have placed
the cigarette butt there. Then it
evolved to a mentality where I’d be
mad at myself for such stupidity of the
act and the failure of not checking. But
this time, I was rather indifferent to it,
as if part of me envisioned or accepted
the happenings as the way it is. Why
and how have this happened? I could
not figure it out.
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The greatest yet
Usually we perceive such a title as
something positive which is what I’m
going to overthrow. I just had my
greatest fall from grace yesterday night.
I was going pretty fast on my bike
knowing that I’ll be riding for a pretty
long distance and I wanted to get back
as fast as I could. As a result, I
underestimated a kurb and literally
flew out of my bike, landing by myself.
I think I just remained in the position I
landed and the first thought in my
mind was “did I hurt my head” because
my left cheek took some of the impact
as well. I thought I couldn’t feel my left
leg. I turned over and saw that my pair
of pants was torn at the left knee. I
couldn’t really assess the wound
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properly because it was dark and I
couldn’t seem to see much. A really
kind man stopped and helped my bike
and asked if I was alright. I
remembered responding to his
question on whether I could get up
and if I wanted help getting up. I sat up
and said “I think I’m alright but I just
need a minute and stay down.” He was
in a rush for his work so I thanked him
for stopping and off he went. Two
cyclist slowed down and asked if I need
help…I think I heard “vind je help
nodig?”. I recalled replying “mag niet
uit” and off they went. I composed
myself, looked at my wound again. this
time, seriously. I saw blood starting to
ooze out rather profusely at certain
spots now. I tore my pants further to
widen the area to uncover the
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wounded areas because I don’t want
the fabric to adhere to my wound. I
rummage through my backpack and
retrieved stripes of plaster and
attempted to cover the areas bleeding
because I don’t want them exposed.
While tearing the paper wrap of the
plastic, I noticed my hands slightly
shaking. Further on, I shut my eyes for
a few seconds and observed that in
fact, my whole self was shaking. It was
surprising that my mind was rather
calm because I was actually measuring
myself and my reaction. I concluded
that my body has yet to recover from
the trauma of the fall and so is in a
“shocked” state. It’s such a
complicated feeling because I can
almost feel my mind trying to calm my
body now. I clearly recalled forcing my
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action to plaster my wounds. I
managed it rather properly. I found a
towel in my bag which was pleasant. I
secured my knee by tying the towel
really tightly and firmly, ensuring that
it doesn’t veer much from bending my
knee. A pair of headlights came shining
in my direction and a lady hopped out,
appearing very concerned. She asked if
I need help. I said I think I’m fine. She
asked where I stayed and my answer
of “science park” seem to worry her
even more. I said It’s alright, I can
make it. she lingered for a moment
and decided to respect my decision. i
pushed my along, wondering how am I
going to make my journey of around
7km home. I bent my knee, knowing
that I could feel spurts of blood oozing
out disobediently. I thought to myself,
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“I need to make it back and I should
stop thinking about whether or not I
could, because I must.” So I mounted
my bike, going really slowly, relying
mostly on my right leg for pedaling. I
think I thanked my bike subconsciously
for surviving that fall as well. But for a
few moments I cursed in anger of my
plight. As I rode on, the cold wind hit
my way, making me consciously of the
injury at my left cheek. The problem
with that is that I can’t see it and
there’s no way I could assess it till I get
back. I stopped my thoughts from
running wild about how it is. I soaked
in the moment, thankful that I’m still
alive. I thought about the survivors of
war, I’m lucky to be alive. And it was
these thoughts that overcame the
biting pain on my face. I will never
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forget this feeling, the feeling that
fateful night.
I got back. I drew my curtains and saw
my reflection in the window pane. I
can only describe myself in two words
“MESSED UP”.
My major worry throughout attending
to my wounds is not about whether I
have a sprain, strain or fracture but
how am I going to face my parents
during our skype session in two days.
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Rijksmuseum, the famous one
And to no surprise, with fame comes
the crowd. I kind of hate crowds, partly
because I’m a little claustrophobic. I
don’t really like the lack of space. And
it can’t be helped that the painting I
was to present to my class is one of the
world-renowned one. The milkmaid by
Vermeer. I admire my professor’s skill
in trying to carve out a space as close
as he could get us to the painting and
allowed me to start talking about it. As
I was presenting, it was pretty obvious
that we were gradually being edged
out by the continuous flood of tourists
and like tidal waves washing up shore,
we were soon washed out of the area.
It was such a pity because I didn’t get a
close enough look at the painting to
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literally stand there for a minute to
observe what I was explaining. Well to
make my feelings worse that it can
already sink to, there I was, observing
a lot of people trying to get the best
angled shot of the painting and once
that’s done, they simply leave.
Sometimes I wonder, if most people
are attracted by the fame of the art
piece rather than the art itself. Well
but this applies to traveling as well
isn’t it? going to famous places mainly
to see and snap shots of them. I am
not implying that this is a “wrong” or
“inferior” or “unauthentic” experience.
It’s not that I don’t do this sometimes.
I am simply trying to figure out why I
am saddened by such approaches. I am
simply trying to figure myself out. I
guess, I tried glancing from the lens of
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an artist. I wonder, if I would want this
for my piece of art, turning it into a
piece of what seemed like commodity,
an object of tourists’ triumphant. Urgh,
there’re just so many thoughts in my
mind battling against one another.
Also, as a student studying some art
history, do we often see only what we
are being told to see, or just
subconsciously adopt the perspective
of what was being offered or told to be
the right “analysis” or what “greatness”
is being observed in the painting. Well
maybe in the end we stopped
experiencing or exploring with our
feelings what is great with the painting
but simply, identifying what was told
to be great about it. sometimes,
maybe just at times, I wish we could
stop in our tracks and look, observe
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and even feel the message behind a
painting. Don’t be too bothered by our
“untrained” eyes or ignorant minds
about the painter or art history but
simply feel the moment of what the
painting is trying to express, what the
painting stands for, how have this
person created such a piece of work.
that for me, imagining myself as a
painter, would hope for my work.
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Beautiful, beautiful day with Heleen
A really random suggestion led both of
us to enkhuizen, around an hour up
north of Amsterdam. For her, it was a
re-visiting of old childhood memories
and me, a much needed serenity away
from Amsterdam. Strolling along the
lake, the rays of the sun hitting the
waters with such sparkling sights, all
this against the background of rows
and rows of yachts. What a lovely sight.
The visit to the zuiderzee museum also
brought about much fun and laughter,
mostly concentrated on my foolishness
and ignorance in the context of
environmental biology =.= well it was
DEFINITELY LAUGHTER for heleen and
EMBARRASSMENT for me :x OH WELLS.
We merely played with goats and even
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tried communicating with them in
their language. The cinnamon stick
served as a great snack. But maybe it
needs some getting used to. I still can’t
believe the fact that we actually went
on a boat trip out to the sea with just 4
euro and got the whole boat to
ourselves. Apart from the “engine
noise” which I wasn’t even bothered
about (okay but maybe for sailors this
is an annoying thing), it was such a
beautiful ride. At a certain point a
helicopter glided past right above us
and at that moment I was caught in
awe around all these sights. I don’t
even think my words could serve
justice to what the scene offered. I
guess this is the closest I have ever
been to “sailing” out to the open sea. I
also learned what’s a “tiller” and a “sail”
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from the sailor herself. HAHAH.
Achievement. Well, or simply what is
being referred to as “common sense”
for the dutch. I also tried my hands on
the clog shoe sailboat making. Can’t
get more dutch than this I guess. And
can’t get more frustrated as I
expressed myself in dutch I guess. I can
only say, don’t underestimate
carpentry. I can only say both of our
“whatever” attitude worked well. In
fact, on second look, our sailboat
looked pretty good! Well maybe our
design made it so much better. What a
beautiful, beautiful day spent.
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My very first…
…time conducting an interview for my
research. It went so pretty well! She
was really so nice and our chat went
really pleasant it exceeded my
expected time spent by an hour. It
almost seemed as if we’ve so much to
talk about. What we discussed also hit
me deep into understanding my own
views as well as re-evaluating my
perspectives. Okay it all sounds so
general but I can’t help it because I am
respecting the confidentiality of it. all I
can say is that it was lovely.
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The 5 second hand waving to the King,
Willem-Alexander
Oh how our efforts and determination
got us all the to the other side of the
river ij in a bid to catch a glimpse of
royalty. We were there about 2 hours
ahead of time to catch the boat and a
good spot. My leg started acting up
again and I decided that I make a good
person to take a spot for the rest of
the time till the royalty grace us with
their presence. I’ve never loved sitting
in the sun so much! The view and the
energy was simply great. As time
passes, freebies were also given out
which resulted in a sea of people with
orange inflated balloon crowns and
everything orange. I think I have not
seen this much orange in my life ever.
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When the royal boat came by, it simply
zoomed past in what seemed like 5
seconds and that was it. Well, Royalty.
Excitement. Anxiety. Insomnia.
I am so much more than ready to hug
my mom. I can’t seem to fall asleep.
Part of me is afraid of not being able to
wake up in time for my train to meet
them. Part of me is really excited for
them to explore this part of the world.
Part of me wants them to thoroughly
enjoy what they really, really deserve
to be enjoying. Part of me wants to
give them everything pleasant and
beautiful this country has granted me.
Part of me can’t wait to share my life
and experiences here with them. Part
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of me wants them to feel reassured
that I am taking very good care of
myself. Part of me wants them to be
proud of the decisions I have made.
The whole of me loves them for all
they have done to get us to where we
are right now.
Dappermarkt with the ouders
I swear my parents almost patronized
every single stall in dappermarkt! The
highlight of it all was probably the fried
fish and seafood stall. My dad is
absolutely in love with the freshness of
the fishes sold and almost couldn’t
stop talking about it all day. It was also
such a surreal feeling strolling through
dappermarkt with my parents this time.
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I can almost remember the times when
I was lamenting about how I wished
they were here bij me and now they
really are.
Other than the mona lisa
Louvre. Drawn by the publicity of the
Da Vinci Code and the world famous
Mona Lisa, there’s something else on
my agenda. My favorite painter of all
time, Johannes Vermeer. I guess this
was also the reason why the
receptionist was a little taken aback
when I asked for another set of
directions other than the one leading
to the mona lisa.
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I was very impressed by the
mona lisa and the intricacy and magical
touch of da Vinci as I manged to inch
my way up front as well as all around
to observe the different angles and
interpretation of it. all these, until my
dad told me about his view on the
painting. I swear it freaked me out and
got me heading to the exit of the hall
not long after. MY DAD ALWAYS DOES
THIS TO DESTROY MY MOMENT OF
INDULGENCE IN SOMETHING I LIKE
AND SOMETHING HE FINDS BORING.
Anyway, I hopped with
excitement to the much anticipated
Lacemaker and the Astrologer. I was so
so fortunate to arrive at them with no
one viewing and thus had them all to
myself for pleasure. I almost can’t
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seem to contain my excitement and
started telling my parents all that I
know or draw from it. guess what, MY
DAD TOOK A NAP AT A BENCH IN
FRONT OF THE PAINTING. Lovely.
Macdonalds, a hidden test
Maybe also a bid to save
money which was simply an irony
because it’s probably just a 5 euro
difference from eating out. Maybe my
dad’s taste buds are like that of the
Singapore weather. Okay for a couple
of days of anomaly but ultimately
returning to the same zone of
temperatures. His search for food
brought us to MacDonalds (after
patronizing KFC in Amsterdam =.=). I
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was in the queue with him leading up
to the counter and observed that all
the orders were made in French.
Maybe the low concentration of
tourists in the area we’re living spoke
pretty good French. I was wrong. So
here’s basically how it went.
My order went pretty
smoothly at first, as orchestrated in my
mind. “je voudrais un macchicken, un
mcwrap en un filet o fish. Ne veux par
meal. Emporter.” (heaved a sigh of
relief) but she replied me something
out of what I anticipated which I didn’t
really understand so I was thinking if
we could speak in English instead since
I did show some effort to speak some
French but that’s pushing my limit
already.
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“vous parlez francais”
“NON.”
I almost fainted upon hearing that. For
the next 3 seconds we merely
exchanged blank stares. So I was
forced to wield every nucleus of my
brain cells to try and comprehend as
she rephrased her sentence. It’s no
wonder why I didn’t do well for my
French test.
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Sunday morning concert with the
parents
Surprise! I really want my parents to
experience for themselves what I have
been raving about. Not just the lovely
music by the Radio Filharmonisch
Orkest, but also, indulging in the
ambience of the world reknowned
Concertgebouw. It is also about
listening to a live orchestra as well as
imagining themselves as those of the
old people coming to a concert on a
Sunday morning instead of playing
taichi for a change. The rays of the
morning light seeped into the hall
intermittently as though they were
also in sync with the movements of the
music piece, in command of the
conductor’s stick. I could not put to
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words the whole sensation of sight,
sounds, ambience and company all put
into the moments of our concert. I
hope my parents enjoyed what I
planned.
Frustration at the airline check-in
I was so piping mad I could also feel my
blood boiling in the arteries of my
eyeballs. My parents were trying to
check their luggage in and I have to
leave them for a moment because that
area is closed to non-passengers. They
were having some kind of a trouble at
the luggage self-check in and I could
see that a couple of the other people
down that row have similar problems
as well. Maybe because some of them
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are first time klm passengers or just
not familiar with this procedure. First,
with regards to the procedure, I can’t
believe that the system is simply
inflexible to the point that they could
not seem to account for the sharing of
luggage allowance between a group of
people. For example, my parents were
both allowed only to check in 1 piece
of luggage each which is still
understandable. However, it was
assumed that there should be an even
spread of the luggage weight. What if
one luggage is 15kg and the other 25kg?
which was basically the gist of their
problem. Apart of the inconvenienced
caused to my parents because of this
rigid system, there weren’t any
support from staff who were simply
standing idle and chatting among the
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two of them. While to be honest, the
staff stationed at the opposite row
were very friendly and helpful and
were alert and quick to come to the
aid of seemingly confused passengers.
However, this was not the case for the
row my parents were simply
unfortunately in. I always knew that
getting good service is always a matter
of luck but I never knew that the
difference would be so great even
within the same airline. Appalling.
I attempted to call out politely with a
couple of “excuse me” resonating from
my forehead to the 2 of them chatting
so as to direct their attention to my
parents which was to no avail as I was
still at a distance away. I simply stood
there and witnessed the awful
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situation that my parents are caught in
and was so fuming mad and frustrated
that I could simply do nothing to offer
any comfort or help to get them out of
the situation. It sort of bottled up to
the point when they were finally
sorted out (BY FIGURING IT OUT
THEMSELVES SOMEHOW and
GATHERING INFORMATION from
OTHER FELLOW PASSENGERS).
I did something which shocked my dad
a little I think. I stormed up to 2 other
service staff at the entrance to the
check in queue with some sentences
rehearsed in dutch in my mind.
“sorry, Ik heb iets te praten” (I’ve
something to say)
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“Ja? (greeted with a smile. And so for
that, extra points for klm)”
“zij zijn heel veel verschekkelijk!!
(pointing to the 2 of them), my ouders
heeft soms problemem en zij just
stond daar!”
They are so terrible! My parents are
having some problems and they just
stood there.
“(shocked and silence preceeded)”
“(fuming mad) okay i am going to
switch to english now (because i think i
reached my limit for dutch at that
point) aren’t they supposed to help
when people are met with problems?
A few of them were also having
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problems with the luggage and they
simple stood there!”
“oh but you must understand that it’s
a self service thing”
“YES but DON’T TELL ME THAT THEY
COULD JUST STAND THERE LOOKING
AT PEOPLE STRUGGLING WITH THE
SYSTEM?”
“I am sure they helped”
“yes people at the other row did but
not them.”
“ja I am sure they will help”
“okay I’m not here to argue, I’m just
trying to offer some feedback so
maybe you can improve and that
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others don’t have to go through the
bad experience my parents faced over
there.”
I stormed off.
Then I thought to myself, maybe I
really do have changed.
Field trip with our professor and class
Sometimes I wonder, what I must have
done to deserve this. This time we
took a trip to Den Haag (The Hague)
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where we visited the Constantijn
Huygens exhibition at the grote kerk. It
was so hilarious in the sense that we
kept getting into trouble with the
security the whole day. First, I was
being warned against pointing at a
poem by Huygens through the glass. I
was simply referring to a sentence
while asking a question to my
professor. Next, we proceeded to the
room specially designed and
remodeled against the “Orangjezaal”, a
room that is in the real royal palace of
Den Haag today which reflected the
glories of Fredrick Henry
commissioned by his wife. It was
simply stunning. The amount of detail
and attention paid to every single pane
was astonishing. I was trying to take a
picture of it when the same security
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guy came over to give me yet another
warning. I swear my professor simply
flipped a white eye and retorted “well,
you better follow us throughout our
whole tour here because we’re bound
to make another security mistake.” I
can’t help but laugh this issue off. Our
streak extended to the maurits house
where they have this yellow line which
you can’t cross which we took literally.
Well it seems that our finger-pointing
couldn’t cross that line too. Guess
what, I think we set off the alarm like 5
times. Oh wells. It was also fun being
tourists in another town and getting
horn-ed by bikes which took us by
surprise while we were talking about
how annoying are the tourists in
Amsterdam. At last as we were
heading back, guess what! We just
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walked past IN MERE INCHES away
from the dutch prime minister which
got my professor jumping about and
me not even realizing who he is. I
simply said “wow that man has a really
nice suit.” Yo. Peace out.
I fell, AGAIN
ONCE AGAIN. but this time was little
fault of mine! I was riding home one
fine evening with NO ONE ON THE
STREETS like seriously? I was thinking,
how is it even possible that any injury
could come from such a nice safe
journey. As I rode further I saw a
middle aged couple at the side walk, I
was like “oh okay cool” GOD KNOWS
WHAT they simply stepped into the
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bike path without checking back. I was
ringing my bell as I approached by
which they should freaking step away
from the path right? Which they didn’t.
they simply froze in the middle of the
bike path. I just jammed my breaks a
like took a light fall about few metres
before hitting them. Urgh. I shouldn’t
have assumed. Okay at that moment I
just felt so pissed. But when both of
them approached me, their expression
just hit me like those of my parents’
and so my anger dissipated in a second.
I guess, sometimes we do experience
times where it seemed so nostalgic, as
if you could almost imagine how it
would have happened picturing it with
someone else.
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0
Sitting in the sun for an afternoon in
the “ugliest place”
It was so blissful. To lie in the sun on a
mattress with food and drinks. And to
talk about stuff. Maybe I am getting
used to doing this often. It’s good in a
certain way I guess. It somehow stops
you in your tracks and makes you think
about yourself, what are you doing
with yourself. It’s good to re-evaluate
once in a while
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1
Right by the waters
Ooooh, how can you even put words
into this experience of sitting right
beside the waters of the canal, looking
across to a trail of restaurants with
people sitting out while presenting a
contrast to simply the two of us sitting
across the water here. Them having
their wine and food while resting on
tables and chairs, us having orange jus
and kaas stengels while laying our
butts on the floor. The slight view of
the painting right in front of the
townhall was also pleasant. It was also
hilarious as we played occasional
helpers to those getting on and off the
“ducky paddle boats” and even helped
a group of bachelorettes on the boats.
Fun times.
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2
Lecture by Kim ghattas
Her position as a Lebanese living in the
frontline of the conflict who then
further progressed to a successful BBC
journalist covering the travels of the
then secretary of state, Hilary Clinton
was both extermely inspiring and
interesting. I could not imagine living in
the middle of the religious conflict. By
that she also meant it literally. Her
front door opens towards the Christian
quarter of the town while she passes
part of that area often to get to a
muslim school which is at the other
side. She also emphasized the
frustrations and resentment of their
perceived indifference of the American
power to not take visible action in a
bid to restore peace. She also shared
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3
sentiments of despair on the ground,
the feeling of being abandoned. By
that time, I was already being slightly
shaken while listening to this. Delving
deeper into this discomfort would
probably led to the very cliché cause as
attributed by most Singaporeans I
would say, it’s because Singapore is
almost too safe. However, that’s not
just it for me. It was the discomfort
from why I am not aware of this, why I
do not share the interest in finding a
resolution, why, are we so indifferent.
Is it because it does not concern us
directly? Or have we been taught not
to be concerned with it?
Through her talk she also highlighted
the shift in the focus of the US foreign
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4
policy to include the other big 5 to take
responsibility in international peace-
keeping. Not only that, I was very
inspired by her ability have a clear
stand as a journalist even with such
close and intimate proximity to the
Secretary of state. As I quote, “It is not
so much how the decision was made
but how do people live with the
decisions made. Journalism is thus how
we make this decision accessible.”
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5
Stay for the night
I can’t really express the kind of feeling,
emotion, gratitude or consolation all
mashed together that in this very
foreign and seemingly cold country lies
a place I could seek solace in, just 5
minutes away from where I’m living.
Not just the place, but also the people
in that apartment which radiates some
kind of warmth no words could
describe. My friend caught me at the
perfect timing as I try to escape the
heavy beats of the dorm fest party as I
struggle with my headache, sore throat
and every possible related common
illness you could be down with in
combination. After few games of sets
and cup of milo and tea, I was just
wondering how I’m going to deal with
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the music and party through the night
and if I’m going to have any sleep. I
didn’t even say all these out of my
mouth before my dear friend of mine
said “I think you should stay for the
night. Sleep here tonight.” Off she
went to get me a toothbrush and a set
of clothes and even a towel in case I
wanted to bathe. I thought for a
moment, I must have done something
really right in my last life to have
accumulated such karma or something
to have met with wonderful things like
this. It might seem insignificant, but
don’t insignificant things usually end
up being the most memorable things
one would remember so naturally?
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7
Is this it?
I just got back from the apotheek
(pharmacy) earlier this afternoon and I
walked out feeling over the moon and
really accomplished because I got
through the whole conversation in
Dutch. I complained about my throat
and having cough and cold in Dutch.
This might just have been the happiest
thing to have come from my miserable
sick stint. Okay going back to the point,
I guess my sickness is in fact helping
me deal with the slightly sad fact that
I’m counting down to my last days
here. As I reflect more into this, I think
somewhere deep inside me tells me
that I probably won’t be coming back
anytime soon. I don’t think I would
prefer this over the comforts of Asia.
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8
Iets van mij...
Ik wil mijn familie bedanken want ik
zou niet degene zijn die ik nu ben
zonder hen. Zij zijn mijn liefde en steun
geweest gedurende mijn tijd in
Amsterdam. Daarnaast, wil ik mijn
goede vriendin, Constance bedanken
voor alles wat zij heeft gedaan voor mij.
Een van de dingen waar ik geen spijt
van heb is dat ik Nederlands heb
geleerd. Omdat ik Nederlands heb
geleerd, heb ik veel grappig en unieke
ervaringen gehad. Ik voel me erg
gelukkig dat ik soms inspiratie voor het
leven hier vind. Sommige inspiratie
kwam van mijn goede Nederlandse
vriendin Charlotte. Ik denk dat ik haar
nooit genoeg kan bedanken.
Tot volgende keer, doei!