Op reis met mijzelf / A journey with myself

A journey with myself

© 2013 by Boo Siew Hui (Kimberly). All Rights Reserved.

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OP REIS MET MIJZELF


Kimberly S.H.Boo

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Contents

Goedemorgen 1.

Our meeting with a Surinamese man 2.

Just how can you not respect her 3.

Macaroni taught me things 4.

The weekend at Carlijn’s – Carnaval 5.

Stepping into a LGBT bookstore 6.

The never-ending talk about nothing 7.

Journey through Dutch history with .. 8.

Lecture on the Red Light District at.. 9.

Jheroenimus Bosch Museum 10.

Sadomasochism & Sex culture 11.

Circus Act 12.

Liar liar pants on fire 13.

Dutch is unnecessary 14.



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We’re strangers who clicked 15.

Moment of light sent to my eyes 16.

A wandering soul and her guitar 17.

OT301 18.

Volunteer at Joe’s garage 19.

The greatest yet 20.

Rijksmuseum, the famous one 21.

Day out with Heleen 22.

My very first.. 23.

Hallo, King Willem Alexander 24.

Excitement. Anxiety. Insomnia. 25.

Dappermarkt with the ouders 26.

Other than the mona lisa 27.

MacDonald’s, a hidden test 28.

Sunday morning with the ouders 29.

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Frustration at the airport check-in 30.

I fell, again. 31.

Sitting in the sun 32.

Right by the waters 33.

Lecture by Kim Ghattas 34.

Stay for the night 35.

Is this it 36.



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From the author

This project comes as much as a

surprise to me as it is to you, I would

say. Just who would’ve thought? Me?

A writer? It would have been one of

the wildest dreams people (such as my

parents) could have imagined me to be.

I would also like to ask for your

understanding in bearing some

grammatical or technical mistakes in

which you have noticed throughout

this book, just like how I might have

left them uncorrected. This was also

done considering an advice from a

dear friend of mine to try and preserve

the raw form of what was written.

Maybe I might even reveal some of my

emotions or intentions through the

making of those mistakes. Maybe

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these mistakes could bring you some

good laughs. I found myself to be

infatuated with documenting my

travels as well as sharing some of my

thoughts and perspectives since

around 3 years ago. An impulsive gush

of feelings motivated me to put these

snippets into something tangible and

material. I really hope you will enjoy

this read. In order to make it more fun,

I would really love it if you could kindly

leave a date and place in which you’ve

read this book at the very last page.

After which, do pass this book on to

someone else who might be interested

to read a new book, a book like mine.

Maybe, just maybe, one day this book

might circulate back to me. I will then

be very amused. However, if you do

want to keep this copy on your



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bookshelf, there’s no stopping that. I

could only lament for the fate of yet

another book left to die on that inch of

space along with some others. I do

admit I am such a book murderer at

times as well and thus am in the fitting

position to describe this. This is also a

good reminder to pass on some of the

books on my own shelf. Thank you and

goodbye. Or maybe, see you soon.

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Foreword

‘Op reis met mijzelf’ or ‘ A journey with

myself’ is indeed a fitting title for what

this little project comprises: a record of

encounters not just of the individual

relative to the hustle and bustle of

travel, but of encounters with the self.

One is occasionally taken aback,

sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not

so pleasantly (though nevertheless

precious discoveries in themselves),

when one observes with a slightly

detached, amused interest at the

scope of reactions one is capable of

producing. The range of possible

experiences which travel can throw to

one could best be described as a

dizzying myriad, ranging from the

mundane and hassle of practicalities,



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to the precious simplicity of heart-

warming interactions, to the moments

where one experiences beauty so

transcendent that one knows language

has reached its limits, where the mere

act of attempting to translate

emotions into words becomes injustice

in itself.

Each of these experiences demand

much from the self, be it to challenge

one’s strength of will, or to challenge

the very foundation of this will itself.

One learns to understand, to

communicate, to cherish, to mature, to

love. To realise simply how huge and

foreign this world is, and yet how a

common thread of humanity underlies

every interaction.

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Op res met mijzelf reads simply,

realistically, as if the reader

experiences these for one’s self. Yet

simultaneously and profoundly, it

encapsulates these treasures of travel.

Friedrich Schlegel, a German writer,

offers what might be a particularly

appropriate suggestion regarding the

quality of this little project, and how

the reader could approach it:

“Es gibt eine schoene Offenheit, die

sich oeffnet wie eine Blume: Nur um zu

duften.”

which when roughly translated,

elucidates that



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“There is a beautiful kind of openness,

that opens like a flower, just for the

purpose of smelling.”

Just as the flower opens to reveal its

scent, Op res met mijzelf offers an

unadulterated glimpse into the travels

of this individual, both internally and

externally.

We are all travellers, and this treasure,

as a little flower along the roadside

thus offers itself to the reader for a

sniff- as a means of understanding, on

the journey of not just travel abroad,

but of life and discovery.

From a dear friend and fellow traveller,

Constance (Siew)

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“Goedemorgen!”

This phrase has brought me much fun

and surprise. I used it quite often and

find much pleasure in greeting Dutch

people I meet with a pretty perfect

pronunciation of it early in the

morning to brighten up one’s day. But

more than often this phrase continued

to bring me a series of surprises I’ve

had from people. The most common

one would be to be bombarded by

chunks of replies in Dutch in which I

immediately drown in. Nonetheless I

often get pleasant responses and am

happy in doing so, so I’m going to

continue doing this. I can already feel

that taking Dutch lessons might not be

that big of a mistake or a “waste of

time” after all.



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Our meeting with a Surinamese man

Sitting through dinner with a few other

guests has been really delightful.

Sitting through dinner with the entire

conversation at the table in Dutch has

been EVEN more delightful. I felt bad

that charlotte felt really bad for putting

me through this because to be honest,

I quite like this feeling. It’s not entirely

alien for me because it’s interesting

how my ears picked out certain words

I’ve learnt. It’s such a learning

experience money can’t buy.

Sometimes I don’t really want people

to accommodate me or my culture too

much because that totally defeats the

whole purpose of being abroad. For

me, it’s to experience a whole new

culture. This is precisely the case in

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language as well. This night has been

really precious for me and is

somewhere at the top of “my lovely

Dutch experiences” list. How often do

you get to sit through such a heart-

warming dinner with a room full of

Dutch speaking Dutch?

Just how can you not respect her?

I called for help as I can’t seem to work

the pedals on my bike. They’re stuck.

Two lovely classmates of mine stopped

in their tracks just to help me. I ended

up tearing the chain protector apart in

order to save the bike. My lecturer

came out with her bike and saw me in

a whole lot of mess. She took my bike

by the hand, flipped it around, said



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“well I usually do this” and started

doing the dirty job of helping me fix

the bike. For a moment, I stood by the

sidelines, watching in awe as I try to

draw the connection of the poised

prim and proper teacher who led our

discussions just a while ago, with the

image of this woman trying to fix my

bike. She earned every bit of my

respect through, doing what she

perceived as “an insignificant act”.

Macaroni taught me things.

Have you ever wondered if Murphy’s

Law works? It does. As I ride with my

bike, macaroni, I would often look out

for pits and would consciously try to

avoid them but somehow my body

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reflex would respond in an entirely

contrasting manner to my mind. This

usually ends up with my butt hurting

from the bumps with signs of macaroni

complaining as well. I think this is a

very apt example reflecting my

perspectives of things, and even with

my own life. It just suddenly dawned

on me that I am actually

acknowledging that I am such a person,

consciously. I was always looking out

for pits to avoid. But now, I’m just

looking out for the smoothest path

through.



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The weekend at Carlijn’s - Carnaval

I felt so showered with love and really

good wine I actually felt bad for not

being able to do something better in

return! If hospitality could be

quantified, I’d say I was drowning in

the warmth of their home. Here’s why.

The planning and effort put into how I

should be dressed for carnaval (and for

the fact that I am ACTUALLY

ATTENDING carnaval) was really

commendable. It’s so funny that this

whole thing was started by a mere

“HEY you should come for carnaval!”

and me saying “OKAY!” without much

idea of what it actually is and that’s

basically it. Well, I’ll never regret this

decision. In fact, I’m very much

thankful for it. Maybe not the part of

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having beer spilled in my hair and

clothes smelling of marijuana. But YES

to meeting a new “hippee” friend who

then hosted us to a very warm dinner

at yet another lovely family home.

Funny how I’ve yet to figure out how

she really looks like in real life due to

her dressing and make-up for Carnaval.

And yes, her mom graciously adorned

us with face paint so as to blend into

the crowd. If you look normal, that’s

basically the worse look ever and you’ll

be strikingly obvious in the whole

crowd of people in costumes and

ridiculous wear. Throughout the whole

entire night I swear my friend asked

me more than thrice an hour if I’m

enjoying myself, in fear that I was not.

How would I not be happy when I was

entertained by a dancing sheep for



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something over 10 hours! To be honest,

as much as I was turned off by some

weird people, I really did fall

somewhat in love with this festival. To

me it was an environment when

conventions were challenged and

judgments abandoned. It’s when you

can truly be what you imagined

yourself in your wildest and most

ridiculous dreams. It’s how you want

to act. It’s how your limits are

challenged. It’s where you can observe

the most authentic of people dynamics.

Just how can I not have enjoyed myself?

And on top of that, having chips at

3am made me really realize the simple

pleasures of life. It also somehow

reminded me of how having a

chocolate biscuit while walking back

from the school in sri lanka brought me

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much joy. We actually don’t need

much to be happy. We all know that.

But just when will we start realizing it?

Or have we been oblivious to our small

simple experiences all along?

It was so heartwarming for her mom to

pick us up at such wee hours. I felt bad

because they must have worried about

me having to cycle such long distances.

I think my parents’ would just ask me

to head to the nearest macdonalds to

sit there till dawn and take the bus

back (which, in actual fact, they really

did this before.) I have yet to recover

from the shock of this experience as an

only daughter.

To top off, the next day was the

parade! (fact: carnaval lasts for 5 days

so there’re activities for every single



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day where the whole city celebrates

them together. Yes, they’re so

dedicated to this.) AND THE BEST PART

WAS, we were invited to join my

hippee friend’s family for this. A family

member of theirs lives along the

designated route for the parade and

her uncle is a judge for the best

performance and vehicle design so we

had such a great view in the warmth of

the house with food! It was also

interesting interacting with her family

and they were so welcoming of us!

And I picked up “HAI-YER”!

I was also treated to dinner at carlijn’s

before we headed back from blerick to

Utrecht and then me to Amsterdam. I

really loved the atmosphere during

dinner and we exchanged contrasting

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cultural experiences and it was really

interesting to converse with auntie and

uncle. I felt weird addressing them

auntie and uncle, which is so

Singaporean. Well at least I

entertained the house with my

horrible Dutch HAHAH! I had such a

great great time I just couldn’t thank

my friend enough. I can already feel

that my decision to come here is

definitely a well-made one and also

one I’d never regret in time to come.

My very first experience of stepping

into a LGBT bookstore

My pursuit for a book I’ve chosen for

my review hilariously brought my pair

of legs from a place to another, the



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American book center to vrolijk.

Having only half an hour before class

starts, I rushed in search of this

bookshop for my book. My first few

steps into the store were such a new

visual experience for my pair of eyes. It

was then that I realized that this is an

alternative bookstore. However, apart

from the genre, everything looked as if

it was just another bookstore. Yeah,

why the need for stigmatization? They

say the brain and heart is always

separate. To an extent, it’s true I guess.

I know the ideal situation is to immerse

your thoughts into a free open space. I

can’t help but pass judgments of

deeming it as a gay casual sex store or

what. Nonetheless, it’s comforting to

know that they still had a few shelves

reserved for books dealing with social

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issues and context more noteworthy to

me (which was why my book can be

found there. It takes 10 days for

American book center to order in but

just 4 days for this store. Wow.). I just

wished there were more of such books

since the struggles of identity and

social stigmatization faced by the lgbt

community is of more importance to

the society than superficial acts of

sexual desires. Maybe I feel the

potential for this bookshop to defy

common skewed perceptions by

having a mainstream lgbt bookstore.



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The never ending talk about just

nothing

It’s funny how sometimes you can just

engage in conversations which led

from one to another and another and

another till you lose track of time.

Maybe it’s the warmth of the corner of

her beautiful house, away from the

chilly cold, overlooking the homely

garden evidently tended with care, the

re-unity of a familiar soul, the

enriching of a friendship. Even funnier

how our talk almost extended through

the already extended late breakfast

until we were hurried out of the house

by her mom before I miss out the

whole of Rotterdam city.

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“You don’t come to Rotterdam just to

talk!! Go to the museum!” and off we

did.

Oh I’m so thankful for such a delightful

weekend spent with her family. I’m

sorry for the overly-spicy dish I

whipped up. Grateful for fulfilling my

wish of eating ice cream in the freezing

cold and everything that happened to

me. Oh and of course, my first time in

starting a fire place!! Like what?!?!

Thank you Heleen, and your wonderful

family.



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Journey through dutch history with a

dutch literature professor – priceless

Entering into the royal palace, or

rather, the town hall of the 16th

century is such an overwhelming

experience of itself. I was captivated

since the first observations of its

exterior till I stepped into the building

till the main hall and thereby

throughout the whole tour with my

professor painstakingly explaining the

meanings of the depictions throughout

the entire place. I am so honored by

this whole trip and the opportunity to

have such a detailed explanation and

exposure to such an art.

Thereafter, we dropped by the ons’

lieve eer op solder, the catholic hiding

church of the 17th century. The living

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quarters were pretty normal and as I

walk through the house I started

harboring thoughts of this being mere

typical 17th century house, or a rather

small and shabby one indeed. These

thoughts all disappeared as I took my

first steps into the upper levels being

modified into a small distinctively

catholic church. Involuntarily, I blurted

out a rather sounding “wow”, which

was quite embarrassing as that was

echoed by my professor, reinforcing

the magnificence of such a structure in

such a place. To be honest, I really felt

as if I was in hiding when I sat down at

the benches for a mere moment. The

attempt to understanding the feeling

of how these catholics felt when they

were here was somewhat haunting me.



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Sympathy. For not being able to have

the freedom of worship.

To end it off, we went for a drink at De

Waag, one of the two 15th century

buildings left in Amsterdam

Lecture on the red light district, AT the

red light district

Wow. What better away to prepare for

the lecture by actually getting lost in

the streets of De Wallen itself. I was

already struggling to find my way of

the district to our meeting place. To be

really honest, I really did shy away and

avoid eye contact with the prostitutes

initially. I felt that I simply have no clue

how to react or express any facial

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expression upon meeting their eye

contact. I am also terribly afraid of

expressing any judgmental or rude

gestures unconsciously. Thereafter this

did improve a bit as I was actually

encouraged to give a light smile or just

simply treat them as people trying to

make a living. Well at least after the

end of the day I felt that this might be

that little step I have achieved in

looking at this trade in a different light.

Not so much with a degrading eye, not

so much of skepticism, not so much of

criticism. Maybe I even attempted to

derive some understanding from their

background, that most of them are

most probably forced into this, and

even an element of pity.



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Jheroenimus Bosch Museum

I must say that being one of the

earliest visitors to arrive on a gloomy

morning and making my ascent and

tour alone is no easy feat for me. This

was especially so with my fear of

heights as well as the atmosphere

created through the rather haunting

music from the audio guide and of

course, the depictions made by Bosch

himself. I ascended to the top, with an

amazing view over s’hertogenbosch. It

was all downhill from there, literally

too. Descending with such a narrow

circular winding stairway with an open

view of what’s below sent chills down

my spine resounding that of the creaks

with every step I took. Moving through

rather confined and enclosed

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exhibition spaces don’t also go well

with my slight claustrophobia. Living

with all these conditions, I found

myself trying my best to interpret and

appreciate his paintings and works

which I hope does justice to his talent.

Discussions on Sadomasochism and

sex culture

I simply can’t put to words how

uncomfortable my time reading the

text for this week has been felt by my

ignorant soul. I just wasn’t, for 22 years

of my life, been in touch with the topic

of sex other than on primetime dramas

like Grey’s Anatomy. To get me to

sieve through the analysis and theories

of not only the conventional sexual



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behavior, but those of unconventional

(well to put it in my words, bizarre,

weird and sometimes, sick and

perverted) sexual behavior is almost

suicidal to my rational mind. The

discussion in class also pushed my

boundaries further out my comfort

zone which was indiscreetly shown as I

articulated my rather conservative

views and perception from my

upbringing in my society which kind of

shocked my classmates as well. I guess

that whole lesson was a “shock”

exchange. How apt is my time of

“exchange”. Well, I guess this is

precisely the reason why I’ve chosen to

do what I want to do here, which is to

expose myself to what I don’t have the

opportunity or conducive environment

to interact in or exchange ideas openly.

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oh god, did I just answer my own

question about why I am putting

myself through this?

Circus act

You won’t believe it. After achieving a

personal first of being able to cycle

without my hands, I exceeded my own

expectation of cycling with a laundry

rack. It wasn’t even planned for me to

achieve this but it happened. I saw a

laundry rack on sale and thought about

how charlotte has always wanted one

so I decided to just get it for her. Little

did I expect that I was about to do

something as hilarious and challenging

as this. When the seller came with the

laundry rack, she had bicycle tides



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which secured the metre long

structure to the rack behind her bike

with it hanging out. I didn’t have the

privilege of having a bike tide and so it

took me around 10 minutes to attempt

all possible ways of fetching it till I

found the most comfortable and “safe”

way to transport it. I simply held it with

my right hand while balancing the bike

with my left hand and I just went with

it. And of course, subconscious prayer

in my head. I did it. I felt so

accomplished! Charlotte couldn’t even

believe I did it. Could you?

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Liar liar pants on fire

I contacted a foldable bike seller on

marktplaats, an online dutch ebay.He

told me he was not going to be free

anytime soon and thus we postponed

our meeting till a week later. I made it

clear that I wanted the second-hand

foldable bike that he was selling for 29

euro. I felt that it was definitely worth

my long trip down to krabbendijke to

get the bike since it was a really good

deal and it seemed that the bike was in

a pretty good condition so my trip of

20 euros will be worth it. Plus I get to

explore and enjoy the journey.

However, once I got there, I was being

shown an electric foldable bike. I

thought he was merely trying to show

me how the different folds of the bike



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were but apparently not. When I asked

him about the 29 euro bike, he seemed

rather surprised and told me that the

bike he was showing me costs 350

euro. I thought my understanding of

the dutch language was so horrible

that I couldn’t even tell the make out

what he was saying or simply couldn’t

believe my ears. I insisted that that

wasn’t what was agreed but he kept

insisting that this was the bike I

wanted. With my frustration building

up through the whole conversation in

dutch, I whipped out my phone and

showed him the text history which

indicated all so clearly what was being

conveyed. He then assumed that I was

coming from Groningen and was

actually a man coming to pick up the

electric bike, which I am obviously not.

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I was already exhibiting frustration

through my voice by saying “ik ben niet

de man, ik com niet uit Groningen

maar Amsterdam en ik heb over de

fietsen dat is 29euro gespreken, NIET

DIT ONE”

(i’m not the man. I don’t come from Groningen but from Amsterdam and I

have enquired over the 29 euro bike, not this one.)

and i was so frustrated by i couldn’t

very much express how i really felt (if

not he would have gotten a full blow of

my anger I swear because the journey

took about 3 hours to get there). I

wanted to express all these

frustrations so I asked “spreekt je

angels” but unfortunately he can’t



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understand nor communicate in

English and so I continued my

ramblings in my pretty limited dutch

while struggling to find vocabulary in

my head. Surprisingly, it is always

times when I get angry that I find

myself more fluent and confident in

blurting out incessantly.

“ik ben NIET de man!! Ik ben een

student en nu heb ik 13 euro voor dit

reis!! Ik vind een vouwfiets nodig!! Ik

kom uit amsterdam!! Mijn reis om hier

te komen is heel lang!!”

(i’m not the man. I’m a student and i’ve spent 13 euro on my ride. I need a

foldable bike. I come from Amsterdam and it takes very long to come here.)

I stormed off.

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The krabbendijke station could be

described in a single word: bare. It was

just 2 platforms and that was basically

it. No shelter. I stormed to the

platform and sat down. Boiling mad. I

took a moment and suddenly realized

what was lying ahead of me was such a

beautiful and captivating scene. It was

like an endless field of green patches

against the blue, blue sky with trails of

power lines connected by scattered

structures. The sun was shining so

brightly, seeping through the

translucent clouds. Here I am, in such a

small town by this small station. The

tranquility hit me. I looked at my watch

and found myself having 10 minutes

before my train was to arrive. I took a

small walk and whipped out my

camera in a bid to capture the beauty.



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For a moment, I thought I simply just

had a small nightmare, or have I just

fallen into another dream.

Okay, but when I got up the train I

continued feeling cross.

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Dutch is unnecessary

And so is alcohol consumption, putting

on make-up, watching a movie,

catching a soccer match, getting

married, buying a car, patronizing

H&M, bungy-jumping, trying weed,

taking photos with the famous

landmarks of the world, eating a

chocolate bar, bothering why I am

bothering to learn dutch, wondering

why dutch is unnecessary. Etc.

It all boils down in your ability to see

value in it.



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We’re strangers who clicked

I entered the church with a smile.

Strolling just a minute into the church I

saw a man who noticed my presence

and I simply said “goededag” against

the sounds of the organ.

He asked: “Do you know the famous

composer who wrote this piece?”

“no I have no idea”

“oh such a pity, this is so famous!”

“deeply scanning through my mental

dictionary but nothing came up as I

grew more perplexed”

“KIDDING they were just tuning and

testing the organ”

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“=.=”

I asked if the church was a catholic or

protestant one because the whole

design is staunchly catholic but it was

converted to a protestant one during

reformation but I’ve no idea about the

present day status. The man started

telling me a story which I politely gave

my input intermittently

The man: “you know there was this

tyrant… *points to a tainted glass

panal* ”

Me: *tyrant rings such a bell* “is it

Philip II?”

“oh you know him, yes, he was evil and

against what god said about loving



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your enemies, he was killing them,

those living in the netherlands”

“oh but I thought it was the Duke of

Alba who executed the orders?”

“yes him too. Before him, the situation

is okay with this lady *points to

another tainted glass depiction*”

“Margaret of Parma right?”

“ah, you really know something, but

during her time, things get a little

messy and people started destroying

churches, it’s called the *deliberately

pause for my response*”

“iconoclasm”

“WOW. Why do you know all this?”

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“I am taking a dutch history course

now and I really liked it”

“arhhh…so you know Erasmus? Come

here, there is this book maybe you

should take a look at it someday, it’s

also in English written for you. It’s

about Erasmus and his connection to

Gouda.”

“wow that’s interesting, who wrote

the book?”

“me.”

WHOA I SWEAR I was shocked. This

random middle-age man I was talking

to and showing me around st. janskerk

and explaning to me stuff is actually an

art historian and author!! Thereafter,

he started introducing me to this other



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guy and raving about how I managed

to answer all his questions (which

made me quite embarrassed because

that’s all I know actually, if he were to

probe further maybe the percentages

of me getting it right will decrease.

According to statistics.) and so, it turns

out that the other guy is holding an

exhibition starting today in the church.

it was a closed exhibition and WOALA I

got invited. Turns out the exhibition is

about an old preserved building right

across the street, deeply connected to

the church and what was shown was

drawings, photos and other depictions

of it and how it is connected to the

church. it was held in an enclosed area,

cordoned in a part of the church. it was

kind of awkward when I first got in

because everyone inside seemed to

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know everyone and on top of my

distinctive Asian features and small

build, it was pretty obvious I was

strikingly off. It was so so SO NICE of

the other guy to come around to me

and offered to go through the exhibits

and start to explain to me but he was

also busy entertaining other guests as

well so he just said to me “don’t worry,

you can help yourself to the koffie at

the corner, you are my guest.” I felt so

so so honored and wonder just what I

did right to deserve this. After a while I

felt really out of place and finally

caught the historian/author guy free

and went up to offer my leave, he

insisted in a photo with the event

photographer and I was dressed so

skimpily oh god. Yes, I called out to god

IN a church. In material terms, I’ve



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never been more religious than this.

Which is rather an irony because god

and his grace is immaterial. Okay I’ll

leave that for another discussion. I left

the place feeling too…I can’t put words

to it but I feel that this was maybe way

beyond what I deserved.

Moment of light sent to my eyes

I had some time after the man left me

and it was 15 minutes before the

exhibition starts. Just as I stood still to

observe a panal of tainted glass, the

setting sun came by, shining through

the glass, straight into my eyes,

highlighting my whole presence in that

shiny cast of light. I felt goosebumps all

over me. It was a moment felt. I

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prayed. To be honest, I am not a

religious person, far from it as some of

my friends would probably say. But at

that moment, I just felt like doing it. I

felt something. Something really nice.

Maybe it was the whole “the author”

and “the exhibition” thing. Or partly.

A wandering soul and her guitar by

the beach..

.. in a temperature of 5 degrees, all

wrapped up in 4 layers of clothes and

struggling not to be blown away. What

a weird sensation to be a little

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of all my sunburning experiences, I’ve

got to say that this definitely tops my

list for being unique. To be honest, I do

not regret my decision. I’ve to say that,

after standing in the wind for a while,

your body will adapt to it somehow

and your mind begins to focus on

something else besides the cold. That’s

when you start to hear the slightly

screechy sound of the wind in your ear

caused by your hair, all this in sync

with the periodic smashing sound of

the waves against the shore, you begin

to observe the vastness of the sea

against that of the sky. With the sun

behind my back, its presence can’t be

missed as you bask in its rays. You’ll

feel warmth at the back of your chest

while your arms still send cold chills to

you. A look around you’ll observe

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people in groups or pairs, strolling by

the coastline. For a moment I felt

lonely, for there is no one by my side.

Then again the cold bites of my

exposed fingers holding my guitar

reminded me that I am not alone. I am

with my music. My music that stays

with me wherever I go made me

conscious of those treasured

memories as well. I thought about my

family and loved ones and realize how

blessed I am to have people who I miss.

I am not alone.



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OT301

Wow, what a night. I really liked how

random it is that I was just asking a

friend if there’s anything interesting to

do tonight and off she went “hey why

not come for this and oh! Why not join

her and another friend for a light snack

before heading to the event?” and off I

went!

It was a night organized by the

philosophy society of the UvA at a

squatter. How interesting can it get? I

was literally mind-blown I swear by

that hour and a half of hardcore

philosophy lecture about…something.

The seminar by Graham Harman and

Tristan Garcia is highly and I would say,

even damagingly interesting. I think it

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was my first contact with the topic of

object-orientated philosophy which

refers to all non-people and people

elements. Many have argued that

practice of philosophy comes before

theory to which Harman disagreed

because his stands that practice

distorts theory and in fact thereby

creating some sort of reality. Hence,

every relation distorts relation.

However, it is important that we do

not undermine or over-mine our

analysis to which we reach the ideal

analysis of dual-mining.

On the other hand, Tristan Garcia

focused on explaining on how he

defines objects. Every object has the

capacity to be something, by being

something would mean to be the one



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and only thing which is dependent on

two factors of solidarity and

exclusiveness. This is also regardless of

the factor of time. By factoring in the

element of time, the something would

be a collection of many objects at a

given time. However, true identity is

only bestowed to the “something” and

not to the objects which elapses with

time. There is also a concept of

something-ness that is universal.

Everything would have to be

something and not any more nor less

than that. Garcia’s argument comes

that, if something is less than

something, it would have been nothing.

Since something can only be derived

from something, there cannot be

nothing. On the other hand, if

something is more than something, it

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can only be one thing which is

exclusive and absolute. To make it

even more complicated but yet

explanatory. His explanation of the

difference between “to be” something

and “to be in” something is very

convincing to me. if you ARE that

something, you immediately loses the

capacity to BE that something due to

you viewing from a third person

perspective and detaching yourself

with the BEING of something. Hence,

we can never derive at a

comprehensive understanding of what

something really is. This somehow

strikes me as a very philosophical trail

of thought from Spinoza in which his

philosophy arrived at the description

of something that surpasses all

thought and matter to inhere which I



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referred from Johnathan Israel. This

also somehow reminded me of

Sandra’s Harding critique to objective

research as she advocates a partial

positioning which includes the

researcher in the perspectives of the

subjects. Okay I think I veered off a

little too much. I must have been

subconsciously influenced by my dutch

history professor.

Overall I really had a love-hate

relationship with the seminar and how

good it is, but it also gave me a

headache trying to think and

rationalize what was being said.

Thereafter I just hung around for the

after party but decided the music is

not helping my headache with its

strong beats after all and simply

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headed home. The 9km ride to this

event was definitely worth it and it was

a beautiful Saturday evening.

Volunteer at joe’s garage

Gave me a cigarette burnt scar on the

palm of my hand. Here I go, exploring

another squat. It was an interesting

afternoon which consisted of me

baking a vegan cake over a discussion

with Dilma about the squat scene and

the culture. Thereafter, I explored the

small space, the ground floor of only

around 20m2 I would think. Colorful

and diverse posters claimed the walls,

a small corner make up the bar where

coffee and tea were being served for

the day café. Alcohol is only reserved



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for the night. The place is actually

neatly organized in cluttered corners

to serve the different events

throughout the week. I also found out

that every Saturday or Sunday (I’m not

sure), they are actually turning the

place into a geefwinkel which is a place

where people can freely donate or

take away stuff. What an interesting

concept to reduce wastage and to help

the really needy. I also got to know

that they serve vegan dinners every

Monday and Thursday, cooked by

volunteers. Tomorrow a Pakistani girl

would be the head chef. How

interesting. But every Wednesday,

which is today, is a day café where

people simply can chill. The room was

brightly lid, unlike out skewed

perception of squats being dim and

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eerie. Everyone who patrons the place

are free to get some coffee or tea and

cookies themselves provided they

wash up their own cups and clean their

own mess. Cups were being dried on

the heater. Cookies kept in old age

rustig boxes. Or shall I say they don’t

really patron, but rather, visit the place.

As I sat at the bar as I watch the people

who walked in and out through the

door. Their appearances and dressing

strike me as “hippies”. Long thick

beaded hair, piercings, tattoos and

sometimes a shaved side on the head.

Most of them come here to use the

free internet on just 2 computers

provided. Hence, there is a simple

queue system. While waiting, some of

them sit at the bar, having a warm cup

of drink, waiting. Maybe a roll-up



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cigarette. I had a chat with a couple of

them and found out that they were

also squatting at some other places,

some places even without water and

electricity. I asked him how did they

manage to live there? He shrugged and

continued smoking. Thereafter he said,

“yeah they’re lucky to have found this

place.” It struck me with the reality of

survival. It’s always a game of chance.

We are being trapped in a game of

chance. We ARE the game of chance.

We make the game of chance. From

the moment we are born, the moment

we make a decision, the moment we

give someone a choice. It’s often not

the act of taking chances that’s risky,

it’s the giving up of your chance. Life is

about taking chances, the moment you

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give up in taking chances, you gave up

on life.

Not to say that taking chances does

reap benefits all the time, it has its fair

share of downs. I took a chance, that’s

why I’m here, in this squat talking to

people I’d never imagined I’d ever

would meet in my life. Just like the

discussion I had with this middle age

man whom I’ve found out that he had

been squatting for the past 15 years.

He even serenated me with his

adventures in a squat in Prague and

how if I’d ever have the opportunity to

go there, I should check out the last

existing squat left. Not only that, he

also shared about how the squatters

have been badly represented since

those people who do analysis on



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squats aren’t really true blue squatters

and those squatting don’t really bother

in such stuff. This thus creates a

misrepresentation. I questioned him

on why not doing a write-up

documenting such a way of life himself?

He said he’d rather do something else.

Oh I forgot about my point. Yes, the

down side. Yeah when I was reaching

for a cup across the bar counter, I

leaned my palm against the edge to

get the cup. But unknown to me was

that there was a leftover lighted small

piece of rolled up cigarette right at the

spot where my palm leaned. And so is

the birth of a cigarette butt burn. Oh

wells. Whatever. I think some things

are just the way it is and when it

happened, it happened. Actually one

of the first thoughts in my mind was

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not about if it’s going to scar or not or

whether how my palm will be

aesthetically altered. But rather, it’s

about whether or not to tell my mom

and dad about it and thinking about

how my mom would probably be more

worried sick than she already is. But

basically her range of worries is

already as widely varied as a

department store so after a while I was

rather comforted by this thought.

I was actually quite amazed by my

thinking this time. It’s amazing how I

am actually analyzing my own

reactions, as if I am the subject of my

own research. I’d most probably be

applauded by Sandra harding’s theory

of research. Okay maybe not. I can

almost observe this transition through



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my years from analyzing how my

reactions to such situations have

evolved. In the very long past I would

be mad at the person who have placed

the cigarette butt there. Then it

evolved to a mentality where I’d be

mad at myself for such stupidity of the

act and the failure of not checking. But

this time, I was rather indifferent to it,

as if part of me envisioned or accepted

the happenings as the way it is. Why

and how have this happened? I could

not figure it out.

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The greatest yet

Usually we perceive such a title as

something positive which is what I’m

going to overthrow. I just had my

greatest fall from grace yesterday night.

I was going pretty fast on my bike

knowing that I’ll be riding for a pretty

long distance and I wanted to get back

as fast as I could. As a result, I

underestimated a kurb and literally

flew out of my bike, landing by myself.

I think I just remained in the position I

landed and the first thought in my

mind was “did I hurt my head” because

my left cheek took some of the impact

as well. I thought I couldn’t feel my left

leg. I turned over and saw that my pair

of pants was torn at the left knee. I

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properly because it was dark and I

couldn’t seem to see much. A really

kind man stopped and helped my bike

and asked if I was alright. I

remembered responding to his

question on whether I could get up

and if I wanted help getting up. I sat up

and said “I think I’m alright but I just

need a minute and stay down.” He was

in a rush for his work so I thanked him

for stopping and off he went. Two

cyclist slowed down and asked if I need

help…I think I heard “vind je help

nodig?”. I recalled replying “mag niet

uit” and off they went. I composed

myself, looked at my wound again. this

time, seriously. I saw blood starting to

ooze out rather profusely at certain

spots now. I tore my pants further to

widen the area to uncover the

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wounded areas because I don’t want

the fabric to adhere to my wound. I

rummage through my backpack and

retrieved stripes of plaster and

attempted to cover the areas bleeding

because I don’t want them exposed.

While tearing the paper wrap of the

plastic, I noticed my hands slightly

shaking. Further on, I shut my eyes for

a few seconds and observed that in

fact, my whole self was shaking. It was

surprising that my mind was rather

calm because I was actually measuring

myself and my reaction. I concluded

that my body has yet to recover from

the trauma of the fall and so is in a

“shocked” state. It’s such a

complicated feeling because I can

almost feel my mind trying to calm my

body now. I clearly recalled forcing my



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action to plaster my wounds. I

managed it rather properly. I found a

towel in my bag which was pleasant. I

secured my knee by tying the towel

really tightly and firmly, ensuring that

it doesn’t veer much from bending my

knee. A pair of headlights came shining

in my direction and a lady hopped out,

appearing very concerned. She asked if

I need help. I said I think I’m fine. She

asked where I stayed and my answer

of “science park” seem to worry her

even more. I said It’s alright, I can

make it. she lingered for a moment

and decided to respect my decision. i

pushed my along, wondering how am I

going to make my journey of around

7km home. I bent my knee, knowing

that I could feel spurts of blood oozing

out disobediently. I thought to myself,

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“I need to make it back and I should

stop thinking about whether or not I

could, because I must.” So I mounted

my bike, going really slowly, relying

mostly on my right leg for pedaling. I

think I thanked my bike subconsciously

for surviving that fall as well. But for a

few moments I cursed in anger of my

plight. As I rode on, the cold wind hit

my way, making me consciously of the

injury at my left cheek. The problem

with that is that I can’t see it and

there’s no way I could assess it till I get

back. I stopped my thoughts from

running wild about how it is. I soaked

in the moment, thankful that I’m still

alive. I thought about the survivors of

war, I’m lucky to be alive. And it was

these thoughts that overcame the

biting pain on my face. I will never



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forget this feeling, the feeling that

fateful night.

I got back. I drew my curtains and saw

my reflection in the window pane. I

can only describe myself in two words

“MESSED UP”.

My major worry throughout attending

to my wounds is not about whether I

have a sprain, strain or fracture but

how am I going to face my parents

during our skype session in two days.

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Rijksmuseum, the famous one

And to no surprise, with fame comes

the crowd. I kind of hate crowds, partly

because I’m a little claustrophobic. I

don’t really like the lack of space. And

it can’t be helped that the painting I

was to present to my class is one of the

world-renowned one. The milkmaid by

Vermeer. I admire my professor’s skill

in trying to carve out a space as close

as he could get us to the painting and

allowed me to start talking about it. As

I was presenting, it was pretty obvious

that we were gradually being edged

out by the continuous flood of tourists

and like tidal waves washing up shore,

we were soon washed out of the area.

It was such a pity because I didn’t get a

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literally stand there for a minute to

observe what I was explaining. Well to

make my feelings worse that it can

already sink to, there I was, observing

a lot of people trying to get the best

angled shot of the painting and once

that’s done, they simply leave.

Sometimes I wonder, if most people

are attracted by the fame of the art

piece rather than the art itself. Well

but this applies to traveling as well

isn’t it? going to famous places mainly

to see and snap shots of them. I am

not implying that this is a “wrong” or

“inferior” or “unauthentic” experience.

It’s not that I don’t do this sometimes.

I am simply trying to figure out why I

am saddened by such approaches. I am

simply trying to figure myself out. I

guess, I tried glancing from the lens of

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an artist. I wonder, if I would want this

for my piece of art, turning it into a

piece of what seemed like commodity,

an object of tourists’ triumphant. Urgh,

there’re just so many thoughts in my

mind battling against one another.

Also, as a student studying some art

history, do we often see only what we

are being told to see, or just

subconsciously adopt the perspective

of what was being offered or told to be

the right “analysis” or what “greatness”

is being observed in the painting. Well

maybe in the end we stopped

experiencing or exploring with our

feelings what is great with the painting

but simply, identifying what was told

to be great about it. sometimes,

maybe just at times, I wish we could

stop in our tracks and look, observe



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and even feel the message behind a

painting. Don’t be too bothered by our

“untrained” eyes or ignorant minds

about the painter or art history but

simply feel the moment of what the

painting is trying to express, what the

painting stands for, how have this

person created such a piece of work.

that for me, imagining myself as a

painter, would hope for my work.

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Beautiful, beautiful day with Heleen

A really random suggestion led both of

us to enkhuizen, around an hour up

north of Amsterdam. For her, it was a

re-visiting of old childhood memories

and me, a much needed serenity away

from Amsterdam. Strolling along the

lake, the rays of the sun hitting the

waters with such sparkling sights, all

this against the background of rows

and rows of yachts. What a lovely sight.

The visit to the zuiderzee museum also

brought about much fun and laughter,

mostly concentrated on my foolishness

and ignorance in the context of

environmental biology =.= well it was

DEFINITELY LAUGHTER for heleen and

EMBARRASSMENT for me :x OH WELLS.

We merely played with goats and even



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tried communicating with them in

their language. The cinnamon stick

served as a great snack. But maybe it

needs some getting used to. I still can’t

believe the fact that we actually went

on a boat trip out to the sea with just 4

euro and got the whole boat to

ourselves. Apart from the “engine

noise” which I wasn’t even bothered

about (okay but maybe for sailors this

is an annoying thing), it was such a

beautiful ride. At a certain point a

helicopter glided past right above us

and at that moment I was caught in

awe around all these sights. I don’t

even think my words could serve

justice to what the scene offered. I

guess this is the closest I have ever

been to “sailing” out to the open sea. I

also learned what’s a “tiller” and a “sail”

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from the sailor herself. HAHAH.

Achievement. Well, or simply what is

being referred to as “common sense”

for the dutch. I also tried my hands on

the clog shoe sailboat making. Can’t

get more dutch than this I guess. And

can’t get more frustrated as I

expressed myself in dutch I guess. I can

only say, don’t underestimate

carpentry. I can only say both of our

“whatever” attitude worked well. In

fact, on second look, our sailboat

looked pretty good! Well maybe our

design made it so much better. What a

beautiful, beautiful day spent.



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My very first…

…time conducting an interview for my

research. It went so pretty well! She

was really so nice and our chat went

really pleasant it exceeded my

expected time spent by an hour. It

almost seemed as if we’ve so much to

talk about. What we discussed also hit

me deep into understanding my own

views as well as re-evaluating my

perspectives. Okay it all sounds so

general but I can’t help it because I am

respecting the confidentiality of it. all I

can say is that it was lovely.

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The 5 second hand waving to the King,

Willem-Alexander

Oh how our efforts and determination

got us all the to the other side of the

river ij in a bid to catch a glimpse of

royalty. We were there about 2 hours

ahead of time to catch the boat and a

good spot. My leg started acting up

again and I decided that I make a good

person to take a spot for the rest of

the time till the royalty grace us with

their presence. I’ve never loved sitting

in the sun so much! The view and the

energy was simply great. As time

passes, freebies were also given out

which resulted in a sea of people with

orange inflated balloon crowns and

everything orange. I think I have not

seen this much orange in my life ever.



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When the royal boat came by, it simply

zoomed past in what seemed like 5

seconds and that was it. Well, Royalty.

Excitement. Anxiety. Insomnia.

I am so much more than ready to hug

my mom. I can’t seem to fall asleep.

Part of me is afraid of not being able to

wake up in time for my train to meet

them. Part of me is really excited for

them to explore this part of the world.

Part of me wants them to thoroughly

enjoy what they really, really deserve

to be enjoying. Part of me wants to

give them everything pleasant and

beautiful this country has granted me.

Part of me can’t wait to share my life

and experiences here with them. Part

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of me wants them to feel reassured

that I am taking very good care of

myself. Part of me wants them to be

proud of the decisions I have made.

The whole of me loves them for all

they have done to get us to where we

are right now.

Dappermarkt with the ouders

I swear my parents almost patronized

every single stall in dappermarkt! The

highlight of it all was probably the fried

fish and seafood stall. My dad is

absolutely in love with the freshness of

the fishes sold and almost couldn’t

stop talking about it all day. It was also

such a surreal feeling strolling through

dappermarkt with my parents this time.



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I can almost remember the times when

I was lamenting about how I wished

they were here bij me and now they

really are.

Other than the mona lisa

Louvre. Drawn by the publicity of the

Da Vinci Code and the world famous

Mona Lisa, there’s something else on

my agenda. My favorite painter of all

time, Johannes Vermeer. I guess this

was also the reason why the

receptionist was a little taken aback

when I asked for another set of

directions other than the one leading

to the mona lisa.

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I was very impressed by the

mona lisa and the intricacy and magical

touch of da Vinci as I manged to inch

my way up front as well as all around

to observe the different angles and

interpretation of it. all these, until my

dad told me about his view on the

painting. I swear it freaked me out and

got me heading to the exit of the hall

not long after. MY DAD ALWAYS DOES

THIS TO DESTROY MY MOMENT OF

INDULGENCE IN SOMETHING I LIKE

AND SOMETHING HE FINDS BORING.

Anyway, I hopped with

excitement to the much anticipated

Lacemaker and the Astrologer. I was so

so fortunate to arrive at them with no

one viewing and thus had them all to

myself for pleasure. I almost can’t



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seem to contain my excitement and

started telling my parents all that I

know or draw from it. guess what, MY

DAD TOOK A NAP AT A BENCH IN

FRONT OF THE PAINTING. Lovely.

Macdonalds, a hidden test

Maybe also a bid to save

money which was simply an irony

because it’s probably just a 5 euro

difference from eating out. Maybe my

dad’s taste buds are like that of the

Singapore weather. Okay for a couple

of days of anomaly but ultimately

returning to the same zone of

temperatures. His search for food

brought us to MacDonalds (after

patronizing KFC in Amsterdam =.=). I

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was in the queue with him leading up

to the counter and observed that all

the orders were made in French.

Maybe the low concentration of

tourists in the area we’re living spoke

pretty good French. I was wrong. So

here’s basically how it went.

My order went pretty

smoothly at first, as orchestrated in my

mind. “je voudrais un macchicken, un

mcwrap en un filet o fish. Ne veux par

meal. Emporter.” (heaved a sigh of

relief) but she replied me something

out of what I anticipated which I didn’t

really understand so I was thinking if

we could speak in English instead since

I did show some effort to speak some

French but that’s pushing my limit

already.



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“vous parlez francais”

“NON.”

I almost fainted upon hearing that. For

the next 3 seconds we merely

exchanged blank stares. So I was

forced to wield every nucleus of my

brain cells to try and comprehend as

she rephrased her sentence. It’s no

wonder why I didn’t do well for my

French test.

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Sunday morning concert with the

parents

Surprise! I really want my parents to

experience for themselves what I have

been raving about. Not just the lovely

music by the Radio Filharmonisch

Orkest, but also, indulging in the

ambience of the world reknowned

Concertgebouw. It is also about

listening to a live orchestra as well as

imagining themselves as those of the

old people coming to a concert on a

Sunday morning instead of playing

taichi for a change. The rays of the

morning light seeped into the hall

intermittently as though they were

also in sync with the movements of the

music piece, in command of the

conductor’s stick. I could not put to



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words the whole sensation of sight,

sounds, ambience and company all put

into the moments of our concert. I

hope my parents enjoyed what I

planned.

Frustration at the airline check-in

I was so piping mad I could also feel my

blood boiling in the arteries of my

eyeballs. My parents were trying to

check their luggage in and I have to

leave them for a moment because that

area is closed to non-passengers. They

were having some kind of a trouble at

the luggage self-check in and I could

see that a couple of the other people

down that row have similar problems

as well. Maybe because some of them

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are first time klm passengers or just

not familiar with this procedure. First,

with regards to the procedure, I can’t

believe that the system is simply

inflexible to the point that they could

not seem to account for the sharing of

luggage allowance between a group of

people. For example, my parents were

both allowed only to check in 1 piece

of luggage each which is still

understandable. However, it was

assumed that there should be an even

spread of the luggage weight. What if

one luggage is 15kg and the other 25kg?

which was basically the gist of their

problem. Apart of the inconvenienced

caused to my parents because of this

rigid system, there weren’t any

support from staff who were simply

standing idle and chatting among the



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two of them. While to be honest, the

staff stationed at the opposite row

were very friendly and helpful and

were alert and quick to come to the

aid of seemingly confused passengers.

However, this was not the case for the

row my parents were simply

unfortunately in. I always knew that

getting good service is always a matter

of luck but I never knew that the

difference would be so great even

within the same airline. Appalling.

I attempted to call out politely with a

couple of “excuse me” resonating from

my forehead to the 2 of them chatting

so as to direct their attention to my

parents which was to no avail as I was

still at a distance away. I simply stood

there and witnessed the awful

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situation that my parents are caught in

and was so fuming mad and frustrated

that I could simply do nothing to offer

any comfort or help to get them out of

the situation. It sort of bottled up to

the point when they were finally

sorted out (BY FIGURING IT OUT

THEMSELVES SOMEHOW and

GATHERING INFORMATION from

OTHER FELLOW PASSENGERS).

I did something which shocked my dad

a little I think. I stormed up to 2 other

service staff at the entrance to the

check in queue with some sentences

rehearsed in dutch in my mind.

“sorry, Ik heb iets te praten” (I’ve

something to say)



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“Ja? (greeted with a smile. And so for

that, extra points for klm)”

“zij zijn heel veel verschekkelijk!!

(pointing to the 2 of them), my ouders

heeft soms problemem en zij just

stond daar!”

They are so terrible! My parents are

having some problems and they just

stood there.

“(shocked and silence preceeded)”

“(fuming mad) okay i am going to

switch to english now (because i think i

reached my limit for dutch at that

point) aren’t they supposed to help

when people are met with problems?

A few of them were also having

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problems with the luggage and they

simple stood there!”

“oh but you must understand that it’s

a self service thing”

“YES but DON’T TELL ME THAT THEY

COULD JUST STAND THERE LOOKING

AT PEOPLE STRUGGLING WITH THE

SYSTEM?”

“I am sure they helped”

“yes people at the other row did but

not them.”

“ja I am sure they will help”

“okay I’m not here to argue, I’m just

trying to offer some feedback so

maybe you can improve and that



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others don’t have to go through the

bad experience my parents faced over

there.”

I stormed off.

Then I thought to myself, maybe I

really do have changed.

Field trip with our professor and class

Sometimes I wonder, what I must have

done to deserve this. This time we

took a trip to Den Haag (The Hague)

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where we visited the Constantijn

Huygens exhibition at the grote kerk. It

was so hilarious in the sense that we

kept getting into trouble with the

security the whole day. First, I was

being warned against pointing at a

poem by Huygens through the glass. I

was simply referring to a sentence

while asking a question to my

professor. Next, we proceeded to the

room specially designed and

remodeled against the “Orangjezaal”, a

room that is in the real royal palace of

Den Haag today which reflected the

glories of Fredrick Henry

commissioned by his wife. It was

simply stunning. The amount of detail

and attention paid to every single pane

was astonishing. I was trying to take a

picture of it when the same security



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guy came over to give me yet another

warning. I swear my professor simply

flipped a white eye and retorted “well,

you better follow us throughout our

whole tour here because we’re bound

to make another security mistake.” I

can’t help but laugh this issue off. Our

streak extended to the maurits house

where they have this yellow line which

you can’t cross which we took literally.

Well it seems that our finger-pointing

couldn’t cross that line too. Guess

what, I think we set off the alarm like 5

times. Oh wells. It was also fun being

tourists in another town and getting

horn-ed by bikes which took us by

surprise while we were talking about

how annoying are the tourists in

Amsterdam. At last as we were

heading back, guess what! We just

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walked past IN MERE INCHES away

from the dutch prime minister which

got my professor jumping about and

me not even realizing who he is. I

simply said “wow that man has a really

nice suit.” Yo. Peace out.

I fell, AGAIN

ONCE AGAIN. but this time was little

fault of mine! I was riding home one

fine evening with NO ONE ON THE

STREETS like seriously? I was thinking,

how is it even possible that any injury

could come from such a nice safe

journey. As I rode further I saw a

middle aged couple at the side walk, I

was like “oh okay cool” GOD KNOWS

WHAT they simply stepped into the



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bike path without checking back. I was

ringing my bell as I approached by

which they should freaking step away

from the path right? Which they didn’t.

they simply froze in the middle of the

bike path. I just jammed my breaks a

like took a light fall about few metres

before hitting them. Urgh. I shouldn’t

have assumed. Okay at that moment I

just felt so pissed. But when both of

them approached me, their expression

just hit me like those of my parents’

and so my anger dissipated in a second.

I guess, sometimes we do experience

times where it seemed so nostalgic, as

if you could almost imagine how it

would have happened picturing it with

someone else.

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0

Sitting in the sun for an afternoon in

the “ugliest place”

It was so blissful. To lie in the sun on a

mattress with food and drinks. And to

talk about stuff. Maybe I am getting

used to doing this often. It’s good in a

certain way I guess. It somehow stops

you in your tracks and makes you think

about yourself, what are you doing

with yourself. It’s good to re-evaluate

once in a while



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1

Right by the waters

Ooooh, how can you even put words

into this experience of sitting right

beside the waters of the canal, looking

across to a trail of restaurants with

people sitting out while presenting a

contrast to simply the two of us sitting

across the water here. Them having

their wine and food while resting on

tables and chairs, us having orange jus

and kaas stengels while laying our

butts on the floor. The slight view of

the painting right in front of the

townhall was also pleasant. It was also

hilarious as we played occasional

helpers to those getting on and off the

“ducky paddle boats” and even helped

a group of bachelorettes on the boats.

Fun times.

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Lecture by Kim ghattas

Her position as a Lebanese living in the

frontline of the conflict who then

further progressed to a successful BBC

journalist covering the travels of the

then secretary of state, Hilary Clinton

was both extermely inspiring and

interesting. I could not imagine living in

the middle of the religious conflict. By

that she also meant it literally. Her

front door opens towards the Christian

quarter of the town while she passes

part of that area often to get to a

muslim school which is at the other

side. She also emphasized the

frustrations and resentment of their

perceived indifference of the American

power to not take visible action in a

bid to restore peace. She also shared



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sentiments of despair on the ground,

the feeling of being abandoned. By

that time, I was already being slightly

shaken while listening to this. Delving

deeper into this discomfort would

probably led to the very cliché cause as

attributed by most Singaporeans I

would say, it’s because Singapore is

almost too safe. However, that’s not

just it for me. It was the discomfort

from why I am not aware of this, why I

do not share the interest in finding a

resolution, why, are we so indifferent.

Is it because it does not concern us

directly? Or have we been taught not

to be concerned with it?

Through her talk she also highlighted

the shift in the focus of the US foreign

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policy to include the other big 5 to take

responsibility in international peace-

keeping. Not only that, I was very

inspired by her ability have a clear

stand as a journalist even with such

close and intimate proximity to the

Secretary of state. As I quote, “It is not

so much how the decision was made

but how do people live with the

decisions made. Journalism is thus how

we make this decision accessible.”



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Stay for the night

I can’t really express the kind of feeling,

emotion, gratitude or consolation all

mashed together that in this very

foreign and seemingly cold country lies

a place I could seek solace in, just 5

minutes away from where I’m living.

Not just the place, but also the people

in that apartment which radiates some

kind of warmth no words could

describe. My friend caught me at the

perfect timing as I try to escape the

heavy beats of the dorm fest party as I

struggle with my headache, sore throat

and every possible related common

illness you could be down with in

combination. After few games of sets

and cup of milo and tea, I was just

wondering how I’m going to deal with

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the music and party through the night

and if I’m going to have any sleep. I

didn’t even say all these out of my

mouth before my dear friend of mine

said “I think you should stay for the

night. Sleep here tonight.” Off she

went to get me a toothbrush and a set

of clothes and even a towel in case I

wanted to bathe. I thought for a

moment, I must have done something

really right in my last life to have

accumulated such karma or something

to have met with wonderful things like

this. It might seem insignificant, but

don’t insignificant things usually end

up being the most memorable things

one would remember so naturally?



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Is this it?

I just got back from the apotheek

(pharmacy) earlier this afternoon and I

walked out feeling over the moon and

really accomplished because I got

through the whole conversation in

Dutch. I complained about my throat

and having cough and cold in Dutch.

This might just have been the happiest

thing to have come from my miserable

sick stint. Okay going back to the point,

I guess my sickness is in fact helping

me deal with the slightly sad fact that

I’m counting down to my last days

here. As I reflect more into this, I think

somewhere deep inside me tells me

that I probably won’t be coming back

anytime soon. I don’t think I would

prefer this over the comforts of Asia.

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Iets van mij...

Ik wil mijn familie bedanken want ik

zou niet degene zijn die ik nu ben

zonder hen. Zij zijn mijn liefde en steun

geweest gedurende mijn tijd in

Amsterdam. Daarnaast, wil ik mijn

goede vriendin, Constance bedanken

voor alles wat zij heeft gedaan voor mij.

Een van de dingen waar ik geen spijt

van heb is dat ik Nederlands heb

geleerd. Omdat ik Nederlands heb

geleerd, heb ik veel grappig en unieke

ervaringen gehad. Ik voel me erg

gelukkig dat ik soms inspiratie voor het

leven hier vind. Sommige inspiratie

kwam van mijn goede Nederlandse

vriendin Charlotte. Ik denk dat ik haar

nooit genoeg kan bedanken.

Tot volgende keer, doei!



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Date Place

Op reis met mijzelf / A journey with myself

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Transcript of Op reis met mijzelf / A journey with myself