There are too many things on my mind right now. Too many to count, actually. Too many to write. Since I’ve got holidays right now, I should be writing much more than usual – at least that was what I thought – but instead my writer’s block refuses to fade away. I simply don’t know what to write about. And once I’m being inspired, my inspiration comes from little things, not big enough to be worth to write about, in my opinion.
But two days ago I got a very nice mail-review on my blog, which totally made my day. In it the person stated to have always wanted to start a blog, but just never knew what to write about.
And this sentence reminded me so much of myself in the beginning; I felt insecure about what to post: insecure, if someone would read it or just like it or if someone was interested in what I was writing at all. Now I don’t think that way anymore – or at least that’s what I used to think. I guess, that after posting photos everyday, I slipped again into my early state, this insecurity of what to write about.
But after reading the mail-review 2 days ago, I furiously wanted to set an example and so I’m ending up here, writing a post about what caught my eye today, although it’s not something too big:
’cause there’s no comfort in the waiting room
just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
and then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
but I’m thinking of what Sarah said:
that “love is watching someone die.”
What Sarah Said – Death Cab For Cutie
This morning I was listening to one of my favourite bands, Death Cab For Cutie. And somehow it was the first time that I really listened to the lyrics of this song because I just never noticed this beautiful, blue and mostly true passage: “Love is watching someone die.”
It was just one of those moments, you know, when realization hits you, realization of something that you somehow always have known all along but never managed to put in one, single sentence.
And therefore it never came to my mind – in this one, single, complete sentence – that actually, if someone’s dying – and you really love this someone – you’ll stay at his side, no matter how painful or how long until death has taken him. Love is not finished once death has come, but stays for much longer. Love is not walking away. Love is the willingness to take pain and hurt upon yourself to make something better for somebody; to sacrifice your comfort for someone beloved.
When I was ten, my grandmother died. It was New Year’s Eve when we heard that she was ill. We flew back home to Indonesia, but of course it was too late. When we arrived it was New Year and she already deceased. It was the most cruel new beginning I’ve ever experienced. First I was in such a shock that I couldn’t say a word; but one moment later I was crying my heart out. I admired her so much and though I didn’t get much time in my life to get to know her, the few years I spent with her were enough to make her one of the most important persons in my life. Seeing me so broken, my cousin dragged me to the coffin so I could say a proper goodbye to her. But instead I squirmed free of her grasp and ran away. I feared to face the reality, the truth, the beloved face.
I regret it until now, that I couldn’t see her last expression properly. That I prefered to look away.
I know it’s not the exact situation as in the quote above, but it’s the closest to the situation above I ‘ve ever experienced. And when it was so hard to just look at a person already dead, how much harder is it to watch someone die?
And here I’d like to ask you if you’ve experienced something similar?
At the end of this song there was this one question that haunted me for a while (but I’m not going to write about it now):
So who’s gonna watch you die?
I’m so utterly sorry that I didn’t post yesterday. The thing is my father had to download something and work at the same time which means two computers were occupied and I didn’t want to disturb him because if he really needs to be at an other computer than his own it’s something important he has get done. But when I wanted to post today, unfortunately my sister, who forgot her latin book at school, was stupid enough to write text she needed when I wanted to use the computer (since I finally got the pictures) and not hours before and so, I had to wait. And to wait again, because afterwards my mum also needed the computer. Anyway, I’m seething with rage right now and don’t want to bore you with my stories. But since I didn’t post yesterday (this post here’s scheduled) I’ll make it up to you by posting two images of this shot. Enjoy it!
standing alone in the dark
your white clashes against this black
your good against this evil
your hope against this despair
your beauty, you lonely beauty against this shards of this world
The Story: I was actually already pleased at the way the original image turned out, but still I decided to edit it a bit and tried out some variations – and I decided again for some black & white. It’s sad that the violet of the blossoms disappeared but I thought it’d be much cooler if the blossoms had this perfect white against a rather dark background – the reason why I applied this effect.
How much love can you receive all at once? That’s the question I’m asking myself for a while now. Just before I’ve been sitting on my bed and reading all the nice SMS, letters, album pages and cards I’ve got today. All containing birthday wishes in their own way: In drawings, photographs, collages, written words… from near and from far, far away.
Apparently you can get a lot of love at once. Or better, on one day. Today’s my birthday and while I’ve never been much of a fan of birthdays, maybe I should – in a few minutes I’m going to be sixteen. In Switzerland becoming sixteen means three things:
- You can drink & buy beer legally.
- You can go to clubs.
- Everything’s a lot more expensive than before.
But somehow even on this birthday I can’t be very happy about my new reached age. I’m no great fan of beer, I don’t like to go to clubs (I’m a rather concert or café type) and – who likes to pay more for public transports?
So sixteen’s really rather inconvenient for me – that’s what I thought this morning. And I’ve got to say, I still think the same way about it.
In the last days there were a lot of whispering going on about presents for me among my friends. I never expect presents; it’s totally ok for me to spend a birthday without presents – even the ones from my family. I just don’t like to be at the center of attention (The Happy-Birthday-singing in my Spanish lesson today was awfully embarrassing… I just wanted to run away, really.) and surrounded by dozens of people, looking over my shoulder and even more curious than me about the gifts I’ve got.
But as usually I was wrong. You know what I didn’t expect? The joy. When I woke up this morning I calculated that a lot of annoyance and patience’s needed to survive the day – but actually it started with my mum coming to wake me up with her traditional “hair-ruffling” (this year she left the throw-all-puppies-at-Stella out) and I felt so happy just because of this natural, common gesture. On the way to school I read the letter of a friend from Australia (she sent me a package – that was awesome enough!) and the amount of love I found between the lines had already touched my heart. In school I was welcomed by so many friends – I can’t remember in which order – it all happened so fast and when I opened my locker I saw that my best friend had already put her present into it (My first thought when I saw this was actually “Oh my gosh – how could someone got to my locker without my permission? Is something missing?” And no, I’m usually not paranoid about my school books.) and this surprised me so much (positively) that I already put my biggest smile on my face.
When I came to my main class they were all singing Happy Birthday. (It wasn’t as embarrassing as with my Spanish class.) It was so cute, really, even the boys sang, and I realized that in that very moment, I just wanted to hug them and never let them go, so grateful to have them as my friends.
And now I’m reflecting my whole day; just a few minutes before I’ve become sixteen (congratulations to myself), and sitting here – I feel that I’m not that grumpy anymore. No, after a whole session (1 hour) of responding to all the Facebook birthday wishes and rereading all paper stuff – I noticed the large amount of love and effort and time they all put in their little or big works of art. I’ve just been so egoistic refusing to accept any birthday presents beforehand; I know now that I can’t stop them from doing what they want – and when they’ve already but so much effort and time in it – I should rather appreciate the great amount of sympathy they’ve given me. And I do. I really, truly do.
Friends, family, acquaintances – thank you all for making this day so totally cute and bearable. For making me laugh and almost cry, for making me burst with happiness and smile like an idiot; it was all worth it. You’re great and I love you!
Also for the ones reading and commenting this blog: thanks to you all for almost 2 months of supporting! You make my day – everyday – just by stopping by shortly. Thank you!
Now a song that somehow follows me through my birthday (but has absolutely nothing to do with “birthday”):
I see the flashlights in your eyes
and it makes me wonder
what I’ve done wrong
all this time
everything was fine
now I’m left untaught
I know winter is cold
but when did it make you cold, too?
because I don’t know how to
to your demanding questions
and I don’t know how to
to your changing behavior
and I don’t know how to
without losing me
with every try I fail
with every forward I go backwards
with every smile I’m frowning inside
don’t make me leave you
don’t make me see the bad in you
I love you
This came to my mind while being on my way home listening to Sonic Youth’s Total Trash. I’m a total novice concerning this, so please overlook the lyric quality. 🙂
Bah. I hate it. Everyday, and I really mean everyday, I’ve got to edit my posts. It’s so annoying and I’m 100% sure that I have to edit the same ones next week again or so. Do you also have to edit this much?
Anyway as for today, I actually (half-) promised you to write the second part to my “home” post. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten what I wanted to write. (So tragic, it always happens to me.) The only things I can add are my two statements to a saying a friend told me (see the comments of home part 1) and to the movie Up in the Air.
1): Home is where you heart is.
Well, actually, it just confirms my definition of home; because my family’s in my heart, and where my heart is, ergo my family, is my home. But then again, I thought, I must have many homes. Because my heart belongs to Berlin for example, a city I’ve only visited once, but has rapidly grown to my favourite city. Or to my bed, because that’s where I feel safe and warm on dark, winter days (like the ones currently). Or home may also be here in front of my computer, blogging, because doing this feels so right for me at the moment. Is it possible to have many homes? I hope so.
2) Is it possible to have no home at all?
I’ve recently seen the movie Up in the Air, the one with George Clooney, Anna Kendrick and Vera Farmiga. In this movie, Ryan Bingham’s (George Clooney) always travelling around the world, first, because he has to (it has to do with his job) and second, because he wants to tie the record of having 10000 frequent flyer miles. During the film, there are of course a few scenes in which he returns “home”. But is it really home? He calls it home. But how can it be home to him, if he’s hardly ever there? He doesn’t know anything about his neighbours, because he has never time to visit them properly. His flat’s always tidy, because he’s rarely at home to use all of his furnitures and belongings. I don’t think, that his family’s home to him either. He has flighty contact with his sisters; he never visits them and so, doesn’t know them anymore. Home to him, or the real, true feeling of being at home, I think, are the few moments he shared with other people (of course all during travelling), when he (probably) forgot what his goals really were when he completely let himself be there, at this place with this person, and just enjoyed the moment and forgot to actually just stay there for a short time. (Now, if I want to continue, I have to spoil, and that’s what I don’t want to do, therefore I’m not going to say anything anymore about the plot.)
But isn’t this sad? Home for me, is a place where you feel warm and safe, a place you like to be (and concerning me, there can be a lot of those places); or the feeling of being safe, loved and relaxed. A feeling you can always recall when you’re having bad times, and a feeling that will comfort you then. And Ryan Bingham, I think, doesn’t have this feeling or this place. He’s homeless. He’s a lonely soul. He has no home at all.
When I was younger, the thought of going alone through the world, having freedom and all the time alone for you, pleased me. I wanted to be one of those heroes, who were strong, because they’re alone and are able to do everything on their own; who are able to do everything they wanted, having no boundaries at all.
But these thoughts didn’t stay for long; I recognized, that it might be nice just to be alone for a while, but it’s also nice to know having someone supporting you, and accepting you, no matter who you are or what you did. This is the thing I wouldn’t have if I were all alone: acceptance. Acceptance from the people you like. As a loner you’ve always have to fight for some acceptance, for some tolerance. And also an important thing: trust. It’s nice to know people trusting you; and vice versa people whom you can trust. And for my little me (I was about eleven or so), this was the most important reason, why I gave up on the idea of being a “cool” loner. Because I’ve always had problems with trust, because I hardly trust someone and I didn’t want to end up all alone without no one to trust and no one trusting me. And as long as I had my family around me, I realized, this was guaranteed, and from then on I knew where I could find my home.
Uh, geez. That was a big family-love-declaration. I’m usually not this (love-) declaring person.
This morning my mum made me go to the church. I’m not a fan of going there, mostly because lazy me has to get up early in the morning. But it is New Year and so I did her this favour (right use?).
In his sermon the pastor talked about New Year, about a new year. I couldn’t pay attention well, since I was still half asleep, but this one question attracted my attention: In conjunction with the saying that behind each successful woman stands a man (bad translation, I know) and vice versa, he asked us if ,during the last year, there was someone behind us, bolstering us, helping us on our bad days.
From this point on I really lost my attention; I began to think about his question. And came to the conclusion, that there are many people who helped me; but somehow (and unfortunately) I never got to thank them for their help and support.
The following below is a typical “thank you” for all the special people of 2010.
- First, a thank you to my best friend, because especially in 2010 she had to listen to me complaining so much. I promise, I’ll be in better mood 2011! (Well, I hope so.)
- My mum who, I discovered last year, is not only a mother to me, but also a best friend.
- Medea Smyke on FF.net, because her stories lighted me up on my worst days.
- My all-time drunken neighbour, of whom I’m scared of, but anyhow makes me laugh (there are always funny misunderstandings with her because she’s mostly pretty drunk).
- My English teacher, because for the first time in my life, I played a real theatre; and it was even in English! (I don’t count the ones in primary school)
- The nicest and most amazing jewellery designer on the Berliner Trödelmarkt, whom I owe my new-found obsession for owls.
- A big “thank you” to all my friends at home as well abroad, for many memorable experiences and a new amount of inside jokes.
Maybe I’m late with these; maybe I’m not allowed to thank anymore, because I didn’t when the right time was. But “Better late then never!” is what I’ve learned while writing my post speak now and that’s why today, on the beginning of a new year, of a new beginning of everything, I decided to thank to you all. (I now, that not all of the people above will read this, but again, it’s better to at least have said/wrote it once, right? And I don’t think that I should thank every one of them personally, because em… my neighbour for example would be pretty insulted, I guess.)
So, thanks again! You’re the light in my life. 🙂
PS: So far, I’ve posted every day, which is a real success for me (and yesterday even three times)! Yay!
As a Christmas present my best friend made me a lovely gingerbread. Just now I had the guts (and my mum made me) to dare destroy and eat it. (*inner wincing* Such a loss! I love lovely made gingerbread.)
Now some pictures before its destruction:
Oh-oh. I’m still pretty shocked. Me, the maybe one girl in this world being totally anti-romantic and anti-roses and anti-pet-names and anti-sunset-walks found her romantic side. Scary, really. (Don’t laugh, please, it is really scary for me.)
You want to know how? Well as a Christmas present, my sister and me, we got an invitation for going to the cinema with two acquaintance of ours. That’s nice of course, only that one of those two nice girls is only 8 at the moment. And so the selection of the film was pretty much limited. After a long discussion (in which both sides didn’t want to choose because of being afraid to hurt the other side’s film taste) there were two options left: Tangled (the new Disney version of Rapunzel) and Yogi Bear. (Don’t even start to laugh.) After some more discussion we finally decided on Tangled (and yes, it has also something to do with the 3-d effects, which this film contains).
And you know what? This film is still typically pretty cheesy in spite of the nice special 3-d effects and the bit of slapstick, but it’s also somehow… cute? (It feels so wrong of me to say this. Ugh.) Rapunzel in this version is somehow a bit tougher and cooler than in the real fairytale. And a bit less naïve than other fairytale princesses (although I can’t remember the other ones well). And at some point of watching the film, when the thought of finding this film cute occurred to me, I realized that I’m able to be at least a bit romantic. I also have a romantic side like many girls in this world. Or maybe like almost every girl in this world. Oh. (Ah!!! So wrong, wrong of me to say this!!) Scary, isn’t it?
Being romantic was never something I approved. I’ve never seen the sense in calling each other pet names, because calling each other by the actual names has always been a sign of respect for me; it is much more personal and your name is appreciated in that way. For me it’s nicer to be called by my name then being “babed” or “darlinged”. Or Valentine’s Day. Shouldn’t you just appreciate each other everyday? And aren’t presents cuter if they come unexpected?
Well, that was it from me. Anyway, I’m not the one to say these things, having no experience and such. (But right now, I’m confused and one way to get “unconfused” is to write everything down.)
And as for slowly noticing my romantic traits although actually being an anti-romantic, I don’t have to give everything up right? I mean, I can still be anti-pet-names and still find lying under the stars cute, right? (Oh please tell me so, please, please, please.)
PS: And to complete all this romanticism stuff a song from the Tangled soundtrack. Haha.