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!

Listening to: To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra

I don't understand the concept of staying in the same place your whole life.

But then again, I also don't understand how people can identify a singular location out of the ridiculously many across the globe as the one place they want to spend the rest of their existing moments.

So, maybe they involve similar thought processes or something.

Is that what home is? Because I've never really considered any particular place my home. It's more of an abstract sense of contentment and cuddles for me, and that might explain my confusion.

I've heard people say that home can totally be a person. But what about several?

Can you have multiple homes?

Is that okay?

Days remaining: 5

Listening to: Communion Cups And Someone's Coat by Iron & Wine

Holy shit.

I hereby promise to never put myself in that situation ever, ever again.

I fucked myself over real good there.

God damn.

I'm going to go have a long, hot shower to think about what I've done.

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

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

41 sleepless hours, lots of SPSS and frustration later, I am going to hit the fucking hay!

Uggghhhhh.

(That is the sound of comfort and utter relief.)

Also, should I be worried that a couple of the lymph nodes in my neck are swollen?

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

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

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.