A month ago, I mentioned what a weird year it's been. Let me elaborate...

Part One
In March, I was repeatedly groped by a colleague at a Friday night work party. He made me feel awful and insignificant and I cried my eyes out the whole 30-minute bike ride home. I tried talking with him, letting him know that what he was doing was not okay; I even attempted to understand why he was behaving like this, because maybe if we figured that out, he would stop. But of course he didn't. He was drunk and stupid and made no efforts to be better.

And yet, after all of that, my first instinct was "Ugh. How annoying. I need to rant about this to someone," and that was it. My actual initial reaction was that it's a shitty part of life that couldn't be helped, so the best I can do is vent my frustrations out about how uncomfortable he made me feel. He was a colleague, you know. We were a part of a team, I didn't want to cause drama.

I took the weekend to reevaluate my feelings: Technically, nothing really bad happened... I mean, it could have been much worse. So why did I feel so horrible? Were my feelings valid? Was I overreacting? Did I have the right to feel this way when he was really drunk and seemed to have no self-awareness or control? All silly questions reflecting the misplaced shame and guilt that I had no business feeling.

By Monday morning, I was confident that yes, his disgusting behaviour genuinely upset me and that in itself warrants talking about it. All my not wanting to create problems was dumb because he created this problem, not me.

I told a person at work who told another person at work who gave an official warning to that colleague who apologised to me and said he didn't remember a thing or know that he was capable of being such a dick (i.e., he did a Kevin Spacey). He was suspended, and two days later they said he and the management had "mutually agreed" that it would be best if he didn't come back.

Apparently, it wasn't the first time he'd been massively inappropriate towards women after drinking, just no one ever talked about it or did anything about it. So now he's gone. And it came with all sorts of weird feelings. Imagine losing your job because of something you don't even recall doing? Is this an alcohol problem or a shitty person problem or one that becomes worse when combined with the other? If he really didn't know he got like that, then maybe he shouldn't be drinking... Right?

I was also asked if I would file a police report and, to be honest, talking to work was already a huge thing that had me in tears everytime I recounted what happened. And getting the police involved is an even bigger step, with even bigger repercussions... Could I do that to him? I didn't, but sometimes I do wonder, should I have? When is the moment to call law enforcement? Did that ex-colleague learn from this ordeal, or is he doing it all over again at his new workplace...?

And then in May, something happened with my sister and big steps were being made. But that's a story for another time.

Listening to: Praying by Kesha

I went to Museumnacht with Michelle and Joost last weekend, and while we were at the 'Face to Face with Van Gogh' section of the Van Gogh Museum, there was another guy also there... who happened to have a fiery head of red hair... complete with beard.

Naturally, I got very excited and quickly notified my companions while suppressing our giggles. Michelle took aim with her phone and he of course turned around, stared at us for 3 seconds (as we were very obviously taking a picture of him next to the title of the exhibition), shrugged, and posed because HE KNOWS, GUYS.

The redhead in the Van Gogh Museum knows he's a redhead in the Van Gogh Museum.

Listening to: H.D.L. by Lewis Del Mar

This week's thoughts, brought to you in poem form (also here):

Almost Good
Good things, good things.

“Wait.”
They say,
“Be patient.”
Good things come to those who wait.

But how long do I wait before it’s foolish?
delusional?
not. gonna. happen?

Who makes the rules?
Who says “Enough!

Stop.

This person has had enough.
Stop with the torture
before the bad things outweigh the good...
And waiting on a promise of something better maybe
is too much
or too little”?

What if the good things are not what I want after all?

What if I’m scared
to find out that I don’t actually want what I thought I wanted
and I don’t know what I want
and I don’t know that I don’t know
or what I want.

What if that’s all I am:
An almost,
a nearly,
a not-quite-there,

a half-fulfilled reminder of something that could have been so great!

What if this is everything?

Is that okay?

Feeling: Hopeful

Well, it's been a weird year so far, but I feel like good things are about to come. :)

Wow, five months just went by and nothing has changed. Whoops.

Hi internet,

I've been feeling weird lately, and I think it's because I haven't been writing.

Writing is something I really, really love to do, but somehow somewhere along the road to becoming a "grown up with a job" who's trying to be "healthier" and become "fluent" in Dutch, I got confused and mistakenly thought I was too "busy" to make time for the things that actually make me happy.

So, I'm gonna start doing that again. :)

I feel like I'm drowning.

In stark contrast to yesterday's post, today I feel defeated and exhausted. :/

Dear B,

It has been a long time since we talked and whether that's because you actively don't want to talk with me or you don't care much for correspondence is another story.

So, you don't know this, and it likely doesn't matter to you, but today, I found out you're doing okay, and it makes me genuinely happy. :)

Sometimes, my heart breaks.

I don't know what to do, and I don't know what I can do. But I think about you and I love you and I want the world for you and sometimes my heart breaks for you.

You deserve to be happy and free. You deserve to be able to make decisions for yourself, without an invisible leash around your neck. Your babies deserve all of the love and kindness that the person who promised to cannot/will not give them.

And I don't know what to do.

How do you help someone who is in a difficult, abusive, wrong mess? How do you get them out of a horrible, disgusting situation when they can't/won't make any moves on their own, and they can't/won't ask for the help they need?

How do you make someone understand that there are people there for them and that care about them and that will support them and that will not judge them?

What can you do, besides get your heart broken?

It is so easy to turn your back on them when the hole they're in gets deeper and deeper, but that won't fix the problem. And it needs to be fixed. The cycle needs to break.

But how do you actually do that?

Note to self: Consume less, create more.

Feeling: Accomplished

I finished a poem! I haven't done that in two years apparently.

It's different from what I usually write in the sense that the subject matter is something I've never addressed before.

And I really should write more often.

So, anyway: shameless link.

How do you make your dreams come true?

I am so very anxious.

It's been three weeks since I submitted my thesis, and I should find out how I did within the next week. And I want to do good, but I also don't want to be disappointed. What is the proper way to manage one's expectations?

Besides that, I need to find a job that I can be passionate about. I mean, doing statistical analysis about the effectiveness of advertising campaigns two days a week is fine and my colleagues are wonderful... but I want to make the world a better place. How do I do that? Is there a job for which I am qualified that will allow me to do that and pay me enough to make a living?

Then, some time at the end of next month, my building will be demolished and I will need to find a new place to live. But the non-student housing market in Amsterdam is so expensive and confusing and what's up with people posting fake listings?

So, there's a lot of pressure to get my bits and pieces together, and it's freaking me out.

Being an adult is hard.

Being an adult thousands of miles away from my family is even harder, I think.

Sometimes, I worry that I am subconsciously sabotaging myself. Like, come on, Sue-Anne. You can do this. It's okay. You will not waste your life away.

This post was brought to you by my messy thought process.

Listening to: All The Rage Back Home by Interpol

As the year draws to a close, 2014 seems to have come and gone incredibly fast. But at the same time, a lot has inconceivably but definitely happened.

1. Got an internship at a wonderful company
2. Charmed them so much I also got a job
3. Ran a goddamn 41.95km marathon!!!
4. Climbed my first mountain at 4,095m
5. Partied on the boat of a random 60-year-old stranger
6. Finally hung out in the Temburong jungle
7. Started taking Dutch lessons
8. Went on a spontaneous weekend trip to Oslo, Norway
9. Conducted an experiment about an issue I deeply care about

It's weird. I feel like such a slob who doesn't know what she's doing with her self, yet I actually managed to follow quite a number of dreams in what now feels like such a miniscule amount of time. And these are things that I'm actually proud of having achieved.

Holy crap, was 2014 a year!

So, even though I am freaking out about the short month I have left to finish my WHOLE MASTER'S THESIS - the same month I need to sort out my life and get cracking on the next looming chapter - I'm also kind of excited.

:)

Days remaining: 32

In light of something I said previously (about not understanding how being a creep is sexist), I think I figured it out.

Being catcalled and flashed and masturbated to in public when a woman is on her way to work or school or brunch is a product of sexism because it is something that all women have experienced and in perpetrating these acts of street intimidation and harassment, men are saying they own you, that they can do whatever they want to you because you exist to whet the appetites of men who have nothing better to do than whistle and shout at girls as they walk past.

How's that? Did I get it right?

I am 24-year-old woman living in a little flat in Amsterdam; 10,917km from Brunei. It is beautiful here and I actually love it.

Sometimes, when I bike past the canals or get a waft of that distinct Amsterdam smell (you know what I mean), I remember that I am here, chasing a dream to learn and grow and be great. But other times, I remember exactly how far away I am and wonder what the hell I'm doing. I made this decision to make myself happy, but it's a little sad that if things continue to go according to plan, I will constantly be too far away from the people I care about.

If only there was a way to move them all here...

So, that's what's up after more than a year of silence. I am older and (maybe not wiser but) four months away from becoming a Master of Science. :)

Days remaining (a): 20
Days remaining (b): 118

(a) Submit 5,000 word Entertainment Education and E-Health Intervention Paper
(b) Submit 35 page Thesis

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