Feeling: Broken
Listening to: Comes And Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell

I suddenly feel really far away and alone.

Might have something to do with the fact that I have only had an hour and a half of sleep since I woke up two days ago. I'm running on caffeine, panic and dreams, and quite frankly, I don't know how I'm not lying unconscious in the cold somewhere.

But maybe not. Could be anything.

Days remaining (a): 0
Days remaining (b): 6

(a) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(b) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

In a sudden fit of genius, I'm changing my URL...

To the best URL in the world!

http://mooseyinthesky.blogspot.com
http://mooseyinthesky.blogspot.com

http://mooseyinthesky.blogspot.com

Here lies http://xxbrokensmile.blogspot.com
Died of curiosity and a burnt tongue

RIP

13th May, 2005 - 6th December, 2012
P.S. Irony is in the last two posts directly relating to each other.

Days remaining (a): 7
Days remaining (b): 13

(a) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(b) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Feeling: Exasperated
Listening to: Knee 5 From Einstein On The Beach by Philip Glass

I don't know why you are here or what you want, but please, please, please fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.

Go away.

Stop talking to me.

Days remaining (a): 7
Days remaining (b): 13

(a) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(b) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Feeling: Hungry

Can such a monumental part of my life really be described in three short pages of carefully selected words?

Is this peace?

What is this?

It feels weird.

Days remaining (a): 23
Days remaining (b): 29

(a) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(b) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Feeling: Sleepy

Last night, I dreamt I was vomiting. There was still the icky taste of puke in my mouth, so I bent over the toilet bowl and spat the last bits out. Then, I woke up. Because I was spitting all over myself. Hahahahahaha.

Gross.

In better, more dinner-table-friendly news, overachievers make me want to overachieve, too. But I think I need to achieve before I can do that (Baby steps, baby). Here I go!

Notes to self: Buy new AAA batteries. "Sleep faster." Quit being a little bitch.

Days remaining (a): 0
Days remaining (b): 35
Days remaining (c): 41

(a) Submit 10-page Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #1
(b) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(c) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Listening to: Information Travels Faster by Death Cab For Cutie

It seems Death Cab For Cutie is my current "DO YOUR WORK!" music.

Nice and mellow with only a few instances of intense emotional outburst and the occasional difficult-to-decipher noise.

I'm like... really close to being almost completely up-to-date with my reading for class.

Days remaining (a): 6
Days remaining (b): 41
Days remaining (c): 47

(a) Submit 10-page Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #1
(b) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(c) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Feeling: Motivated
Listening to: The Weakest by Emery

It's that time of year again...

Yes, that wonderfully rare occasion you get a moose-tacular update about all the amazing adventures I've been having in a fun, family-friendly, bullet-point format!

Things I've done - in reverse chronological order just to confuse you:

1. Finally bought a red bike yesterday and consequently rode to class this morning (which obviously means I got lost and I was late and it rained and I had no idea how the road works)
2. Was two inches close to being pooped on by a bird (which is just icky)
3. Helped (kind of) five Dutch boys transport a foosball table from a random place in Leiden to a random place in Delft (which obviously means we were drinking booze the whole time and we played it in various places you do not normally find a foosball table, such as while eating french fries and onions on the street by a food cart and on a moving train and pretty much during the whole transportation part of this process)
4. Cooked chicken rice and nasi lemak for Michelle and the Delft boys (on numerous occasions now because they like to eat) (which obviously means it didn't turn out as Bruneian as it could have been but it was yummy nonetheless)
5. Bought a can-opener

I just suddenly got bored. I don't know what happened.

In any case, I am slightly troubled by the fact that I cannot find music suitable enough to facilitate important-essay-writing!

Days remaining (a): 7
Days remaining (b): 42
Days remaining (c): 48

(a) Submit 10-page Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #1
(b) Submit Introduction to Research Methodology Assignment #2
(c) Introduction to Research Methodology exam

Feeling:
Listening to: Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine

On Thursday, I went on a two-hour train ride to visit Tilburg for no other reason than to see Trivium, As I Lay Dying and Caliban live (I somehow accidentally missed Upon A Burning Body. I don't understand either...). I went to Tilburg, saw some awesome bands play - and left. With a little bit of getting lost and creepily following some guys wearing Trivium t-shirts around like they were breadcrumbs (Get it? 'Cause I was lost... The guys were the breadcrumbs... Like in Hansel and Gretel...) in between.

I am proud to say I ripped the hell out of my tights and headbanged harder than I have ever headbanged (I am also proud to say my neck is still sore). It is fucking amazing to not care about the people around you and just lose control of your body as you let it do whatever the hell it does when it enjoys music.

Actually, the whole idea behind concerts is kind of amazing: A great mass of people from various and random walks of life coming together for just one night because they share one common interest. You make your way there from all over the place, press up against each other covered in sweat and God-knows-what for a few good hours, cheer and fist-pump as one united, breathing organism, and then just as suddenly as you came together, disperse in a reluctant attempt to return to the life you left behind for a singular night.

And that's why I don't mind going alone - 'cause when you let yourself become a part of that giant mob of people, alone is something you never really are. But even if that is the case, it doesn't matter; in those few fleeting moments, you just don't care.

And that's a nice feeling. :]

Feeling: Lazy

The most thought-provoking thing I have read today (from here):

I think the concept of virginity was created by men who thought their penises were so important it changes who a woman is.

It's interesting because when I was growing up, I was constantly trying to rationalise the idea that everything that makes a person good and wholesome and precious can somehow be taken away from them in a few easy steps.

I don't know if men "value" virginity in the same way women do, so I don't know if it has anything to do with sexism. But it does follow a strange logic I cannot understand. Yet, perhaps in a wonderful example of how stagnant this society and its values are, it is still a widely and devoutly believed-in theory where I come from.

And then, there is The Color Purple by Alice Walker that brings forth the idea that the mere physical act isn't what changes a girl into a woman; it's the moment you have your first orgasm that matters most. The difference is that nothing sacred in you dies; something brand new and exciting awakens.

I think I like that version better.

"Life is a marathon, not a sprint. But it is a sort of marathon that you really have to sprint. And there are hurdles and weights to lift. And swimming. And shooting. Life is basically the Olympics. But at the end you don’t get a medal, you die." - David O'Doherty

Feeling: Dazed
Listening to: Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't by Brand New

I have this strange and difficult-to-shake habit of willing real life to be a piece of fiction, usually a romantic movie or a sad book.

It seems I'm constantly on the look out for the best characters to fall pray to an inhumane plot with a heart-breaking ending.

(What good is a story if it isn't a good one?)

But I don't know, man. Real life is pretty messed up, and thinking of it with a bit more structure - a bit more method in the fucking madness - makes me feel better, especially when I'm horrible.

(It's for the sake of a good story, you see.)

We're concentrating on falling apart. We were contenders. We're throwing the fight. But I just wanna believe, I just wanna believe, I just wanna believe in us.

Listening to: Paris by Pegasus Bridge

So, this is what we have been reduced to: Blurry images and incomplete sentences two frustrating times a day.

Blargh.

It's a funny thing to realise that the person whose opinion you valued more than anyone else's - with their infallible logic and beautiful words - is just as clueless as you are.

Or maybe it's a maturity thing. Maybe through discovering that nobody knows everything, you lose some of your youthful naïvety.

Maybe it means you're "growing up".




It's a little bit sad when that happens.

Feeling: Tired

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain." - The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories by Carson McCullers

Listening to: The rain on the roof

So, I made it. After all the anxiety, excess baggage, lethargic limbs, and horrible good byes, I'm sitting in my little apartment in Amsterdam in what appears to be one miraculous piece.

And with classes starting next week, I'm getting rather excited to learn more about ideas that speak to my heart, like this one:

‎"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men." - Frederick Douglass

Time to bring the mother of all antlers out.

Feeling: Cuddly
Listening to: My mother snoring

Happy Birthday to me, and I'm not gonna be homeless in Amsterdam!

Also, I'm in Geelong, Australia. Surprise!

Would you believe I read over my acceptance letter too quickly to realise it's more than €13.518,20 that I have to fork out of my butt? It's €22.499,80.

And would you believe I just may be able to pull this whole fucking magic act off? :]

Feeling: Dormant

Maybe in Another Universe, I Deserve You by Gaby Dunn (via here):

What if, in another universe, I deserve you?

Hear me out. There's this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about "the multiverse" which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously.

Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It's the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let's presume the multiverse is real.

Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you.

Maybe there's a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together and when I close my eyes at night, I'm not dreaming the way a normal person would. Instead I'm seeing flashes of our lives in the multiverse. They're not simple dreams because I miss you, right? They're scientific, anachronistic visions.

For instance:

In this universe, I don't want a family, but maybe in another, I'm more of the type to settle down. Maybe there's a universe where you hold my hand while I give birth to our daughter in a white hospital room with pink flowers and fuzzy teddy bears on the window sill. Where we take family vacations and pose for dorky pictures in our neon bathing suits on the sands of a Florida beach. Where we curl up to watch a cheesy movie at the end of a long day in our big, green, suburban house once the kids have fallen asleep.

Maybe there's a universe where we are middle-aged and taking our child to college and bickering over where to put her dresser or what posters she should hang up. Where you kiss her on the forehead 'goodbye' and we drive home in contented, proud silence, your fingers grazing my knuckles, our wedding rings glistening. Where we both have gray hair and we laugh and smile and hug and drink lemonade on the porch.

Maybe there's a universe where that's the life I want. Where I don't second guess everything and I'm not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there's a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence.

Maybe there's a universe where I'm the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we're happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up Jenga game ready to topple at the slightest quiver. A universe where we're comfortable and sure, and we have cats.

Maybe there's a universe where we fall asleep next to each other every night like spoons, like two innocent bunnies — my face buried in your neck, hugging your warmth — and we both don’t want anything or anybody else. Where we don't want more, we just want each other.

Maybe there's a universe where I don't covet so much all the time and where I’m content and where I don’t wonder about picking up and moving to Japan without saying anything to anyone and where at this very juncture, I can just know I'll always want to come home and cook dinner with you.

If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong.

You just found me in the wrong universe. That's all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, "everywhen" else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging '60s — we are happy.

If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don't end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.

So see, that explains everything. We're not together anymore because of the multiverse.

Well, isn't that comforting?

If you're sad, do like I do and just think of the other 'verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don't hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It's helpful, right?

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.

Feeling: Eager

Starting something new is always scary (and I am a scaredy-fucking-cat), but after the huge amount of time I've spent rotting my brain and slowly dying inside, I can confidently say I am really excited to be finally learning again. And then, hopefully, eventually making that difference I want to make, doing those meaningful things that I actually believe in and want with all of my soul to do.

:]

Before that can happen, though, I've gotta find a way to fork out €13.518,20 from my butt.

Feeling: Icky

Interviewer: Give us your best tip for overcoming depression. Stephen Fry: To regard it as being like the weather. It's not your responsibility that it's raining, but it is real when it rains, and the fact that it's raining does not mean that the rain is never going to stop. The only thing to do is to believe that, one day, it won't be raining and accept it so you can find a mental umbrella to shield yourself from the worst. The sun will eventually come up.