I often consider myself a strong woman who would never stand for injustice and indecency, and some people have this strange impression of me, too. I am cool as a cucumber; nothing fazes me. I have all of these ideas about changing the world and putting a stop to rape culture, and I get excited by all of the wonderful possibilities.

And then, every once in a while I get reminded that I'm not as grown-up as I think I am. In some ways, I'm still that stupid, naive little girl I was nine years ago. I still find myself opting for the easy way out instead of the "right" way, and I stupidly turn a blind eye to things rather than address them. It seems I'd rather curl up in a ball and close my eyes instead of tell someone that they are a dick and that what they are doing is wrong.

I don't like being that girl, and maybe that's why I've disillusioned myself to think that I'm not (HAH!). I forget all of the advice I tell other people, and I let important points slip my mind.

If you are unhappy with who you are, change. Be the person you want to become. Quit naming all of the things you would like to do and just start bloody doing them. And stop letting yourself forget.

So, anyway, today is the day I start striving towards being more brave and independent and compassionate and just an overall awesome person. :)

Give me a smack across the head if I start going in the opposite direction.

"We teach females that in relationships, compromise is what women do. We raise girls to see each other as competitors, not for jobs or for accomplishments — which I think can be a good thing — but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are. If we have sons, we don’t mind knowing about our sons’ girlfriends, but our daughters boyfriends? ‘God forbid!’ But of course when the time is right, we expect those girls to bring back the perfect man to be their husband. We police girls, we praise girls for virginity, but we don’t praise boys for virginity. And it’s always made me wonder how exactly this is supposed to work out because *laughs* the loss of virginity is usually a process that involves *laughs*… We teach girls shame. ‘Close your legs!’ ‘Cover yourself!’ We make them feel as though by being born female, they are already guilty of something. And so, girls grow up to be women who cannot say they have desire. They grow up to be women who silence themselves. They grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think. And they grow up — and this is the worst thing we do to girls — they grow up to be women who have turned pretense into an artform." - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

"I saw a young man slumped over the steering wheel of his car. He had a gunshot wound to his forehead, a small red circle. His eyes were open. I felt a wrenching feeling in my stomach, a feeling I have never felt before and have fortunately never felt since. At that point I realized that regardless of the hundreds, if not thousands, of violent acts I had seen in movies and television, none could come close to this. I had never seen the horrific simplicity of a wound like that one, never seen the true absence of expression in a person's face." - It's Not the Media by Karen Sternheimer

So, here is something that will very likely make me look like a horrible person, but it is something that has been bothering me for a while...

Sometimes, I feel that what many women call "sexist" (See #everydaysexism on Twitter for quick updates) is just assholes being creepy, like this:

1. In Barcelona, evening time, holding my boyfriend's hand, wearing shorts, a man walks past, reaches out and strokes my leg.
2. Stuck in traffic, look over out the window find the driver of an ambulance masturbating while looking at me.
3. Got followed four blocks tonight by a guy in a panelvan, who kept whistling out to me and telling me to get in his car.

I would call myself a feminist, and I will definitely stand up for gender equality. But I always feel like I'm missing something when people make comparisons like this.

The way I understand sexism is that one sex is perceived to be better than the other and/or prejudice judgements are made based on a person's gender -- and I just don't see it in these kind of scenarios.

These situations are certainly unpleasant, and can probably be considered sexual harassment, but is it sexism?

Days remaining (a): 13
Days remaining (b): 17
Days remaining (c): 20
Days remaining (d): 23

(a) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Executive Summary
(b) Finish Youth as Media Consumers Presentation
(c) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #2
(d) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Final Paper

I ran my first half-marathon on Sunday in the ABN AMRO CPC Loop Den Haag. I had never run that far before, especially at a non-stop, consistent pace, so I wasn't sure if I was actually going to make it, much less before the 2-hour-30-minute cut-off point.

But even though it snowed halfway through the race and my legs hate me for it right now and it may take me a while to recover, there are several things that made it a really enjoyable experience:

1. The little kids lined up along the road with their hands out waiting for high fives
2. Giving those little kids high fives
3. The man who ran off course to give his kids a growl and a cuddle
4. Everyone who ran off course to give their supporters a hug
5. All ten beautiful strangers along the course who called out my name to specifically cheer me on
6. Four-year-olds telling us to "Kom op, jongens!"
7. The three marching bands who played for us as we ran past them
8. All of the handmade signs saying things like "Mijn papa is de beste!"
9. The lines of grown women banging pots and pans by the side of the road
10. The happy faces of spectators when they finally saw the person they were waiting for
11. The white-bearded man who played his accordion to us through his open bedroom window while his daughter filmed it
12. The people giving out flowers to runners
13. Running past the old folks' home and seeing all the waving nurses and smiling wrinkle-faced people
14. The three-foot boy who ran across the road screaming in the hopes that the mob approaching would not squash him underfoot
15. The little girl handing out marshmallows just before the last kilometre approached for a final burst of energy
16. Going and going and going and not stopping until I was done
17. Outdoing myself with an amazing and completely unexpected finish time of 2 hours and 10 minutes
18. Being carried everywhere after the race because my legs effectively stopped working

Ah, these things just make me smile, and it is a wonderful realisation to push your boundaries and say, "Hey, these things can actually move."

It's been one year since I started running.

Days remaining (a): 14
Days remaining (b): 25
Days remaining (c): 42
Days remaining (d): 64
Days remaining (e): 79
Days remaining (f): 82

(a) Submit word Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #1
(b) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Research Review
(c) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Assignment #2
(d) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Group Assignment
(e) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #2
(f) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Final Paper

Feeling: Troubled

So... Shit.

I am in a horrible situation, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now, or what I can do. I only know that it's another one of those stupid situations I should have never put myself in. Uggghhhhhhhhhh.

Here are the possible outcomes, ordered from most likely to least:

1. I will fail this exam and have to retake it for a maximum of 6/10 (which is probably the best realistic option I have)
2. I will be expelled from this class (which means I will have to retake it next semester and will probably look really gross on my transcript)
3. I will be able to persuade the people I need to persuade that this was out of my control and I am terribly sorry
4. I will be fine, everything will be fine, and I'm panicking for no reason (I'll simply get very low marks)

In the mean time, I will just sit here and stare into the possible emptiness of my life and bang my head on hard, solid objects until something good happens.

Stupid, stupid girl.

But seriously, how many things can go wrong in a matter of 30 measly minutes?!

Days remaining (a): 0
Days remaining (b): 21
Days remaining (c): 32
Days remaining (d): 49
Days remaining (e): 71
Days remaining (f): 86
Days remaining (g): 89

(a) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Assignment #1
(b) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #1
(c) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Research Review
(d) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Assignment #2
(e) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Group Assignment
(f) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #2
(g) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Final Paper

Listening to: The Mission by Ennio Morricone

Back in the day, learning Malay as a first language often involved creatively writing prescribed essays with crazy topics, like "I am a Pair of Shoes".

This is actually a true story. I had to imagine what it would be like to exist as a pair of shoes, chronicling my life from the day I was put together in a sweatshop somewhere to the sad moment my owner of six months found some cooler kicks to replace me with.

No wonder my imagination is all over the place.

Days remaining (a): 16
Days remaining (b): 22
Days remaining (c): 23
Days remaining (d): 23
Days remaining (e): 44
Days remaining (f): 55
Days remaining (g): 72
Days remaining (h): 94
Days remaining (i): 109
Days remaining (j): 112

(a) Youth as Media Consumers mid-term exam
(b) Finish Clashing Views on Youth and the Media presentation
(c) Finish Youth as Media Consumers presentation
(d) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Assignment #1
(e) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #1
(f) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Research Review
(g) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Assignment #2
(h) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Group Assignment
(i) Submit Youth as Media Consumers Assignment #2
(j) Submit Clashing Views on Youth and the Media Final Paper

Yesterday was my first day as an actual Master's student. That means I'm completely done with the Preparatory Programme, and I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you the silliness and amusement that was my Research Practice Seminar (Game Addiction) lecturer, Mr. L...

Mr. L explains how he'd rather us come in to class on Wednesday than Friday. But alas, there's an assignment due on Wednesday.

Mr. L: It's unfair of me to take away time you could be using to do your assignment. What should we do?
Someone in class: Maybe... Move... the deadline?
Mr. L: MOVE THE DEADLINE! What a great idea! Okay, it's now due on Thursday. Just don't tell the other groups.

That Wednesday, Mr. L reminds us our assignment is due the next day, but the class is not satisfied.

Mr. L: So, e-mail them to me by twelve PM.
Class: Five.
Mr. L: Twelve...
Class: Five!
Mr. L: Three?
Class: Five!
Mr. L: ...Did I say five?
Class: Five.
Mr. L: Okay, Five.

After reading a question a classmate suggested for the survey - "How often during the last six months have you dreamed about gaming?" - my lecturer slaps on a smug little grin, crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

Mr. L: Dream about gaming... *Stares into space* I used to do that.
*Class laughs*
Mr. L: Yeah. With Tetris. I'd be talking to someone, and I'd start to imagine Tetris blocks falling around their head. *Continues to stare into space*

Sitting at his desk, Mr. L accidentally drops a piece of chalk onto the floor. He goes to retrieve it, only to find it's standing straight up.

Mr. L: WOW! OH, MY GOD! Look at that! *Points at piece of chalk* What are the odds of that happening?! I'm just... It's... I'm going to leave it there.
*Two girls in class continue talking to each other*
Mr. L: HOW ARE YOU NOT DISCUSSING WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

On a typical rainy day in Amsterdam, Mr. L gets distracted from his lesson by a stick moving along the windows of the building next door.

Mr. L: What is that stick doing?
Someone in class: Cleaning windows.
Mr. L: ...In the rain?!

A student asks Mr. L a question that he finds incomprehensible, he reacts accordingly.

Mr. L: Wh- What Why Wh- ...WHAT.

Okay, maybe some of these (or all of them) belong in the you-had-to-be-there category of moments, but there really were many instances that made me giggle and shake my head sympathetically.

I can only hope my new lecturers will be half as entertaining.

Feeling: Excited
Listening to: I Just Can't Get Enough by Depeche Mode

Guys, guys! I just realised something.

And this is such a huge revelation; it's opening doors to so many new (or old) possibilities.

I discovered that if I just write and write without concerning myself with rhyme or reason or rhythm, I can accomplish so much more than if I follow my usual mode of action by overanalysing everything I try to put into words but never actually finish.

To prove my point, I WROTE A POEM, GUYS.

A poem.

I haven't been able to do that since fucking 2009.

I think I'm on to something.

The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy by Jeffrey McDaniel

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds of women — those you write poems about

and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed. My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M., whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan of your dark side. We don't have a past so much as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now, I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it. I don't know how many paper towels it would take to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster than the luminescence of one that's just been lit, but I do know that all our huffing and puffing

into each other's ears — as if the brain was a trick birthday candle — didn't make the silence any easier to navigate. I'm sorry all the kisses

I scrawled on your neck were written in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press your face against the porthole of my submarine. I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph from the volumes of what couldn't be said.

She wanted so badly to pull him close and kiss him hard on the mouth. She wanted everything to be okay and for it to just stop hurting so goddamn much. Nobody knew how broken up she was inside and how difficult it was to keep all of the little pieces together all the fucking time.

Feeling: Hungry
Listening to: Wash by Bon Iver

2012... Where do I start?

You were full of change and wonder and some pretty fond memories. On the surface, I left the warmth and predictability of home and family for the cold and randomness of a foreign land I knew nothing about, but I don't know if you realise what you meant for me beyond that.

It was in 2012 that my father was finally able to accept that I am my own person; I realised that okay times can become freakin' amazing times with just a little effort and positive thinking; I made good friends in unlikely and sometimes forgotten places; and I rediscovered myself and learnt that that's nothing to be ashamed of.

But despite the good that came out of you, you were also the year I failed to be the best version of myself; I sometimes forgot that I am in control of my own happiness and that it is my responsibility alone; I let go of people I meant to hold on to; and although I was able to acknowledge my flaws, I kept forgetting to do something about them.

So, yes, you have been a rollercoaster of a year (I love rollercoasters). You served your 366 days graciously and you were (for the most part) great fun, but your time is up.

I know there is still a stupid amount of things I need to experience and learn and discover, so thank goodness we managed to survive that whole apocalypse fiasco, huh?

With that, I must wish the newborn 2013 the best of luck. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, but I promise to get the better of you. I am going to whoop the hell out of your ass and you're going to ask me to stop and I won't and it's going to be great.

Here's to a year of betterment and being awesome!