Home alone

Friday night, home alone.

I can't remember the last time I was home alone. My brother's on holiday in the US, his girlfriend is staying over at her friends, so I have the house all to myself tonight! Just tidied up the place a bit, since it's been a while, and a mess. I'm having a bunch of people over tomorrow, so the place should at least look presentable. As I was cleaning and vacuuming I was suddenly reminded of those years I lived all by myself here. Ah, the freedom! I could walk around in my underwear, sing to the radio, sleep in any of the beds I wanted to, or just go from one room to another without anywhere being off-limits... I miss those days. And tonight, for a night I have this freedom again. And it feels sweet.

It's been a long and tiring and hot week. Temperatures have risen (very abnormal for the time of the year) to arond the 30C, and those annoying insects and mosquitos I thought had all hibernated or died off are back again and humming in my ears at night. And this week I had my first full week of classes, since another of my course started this week. It's a course in International Relations (IR)...and if you've been reading my Formosa blog, you'll know it's one subject I have an opinion or two about. The lecturer is great , and one of these professors who knows so much that he can just go on and on and often on a tangent about anything that comes to mind. So for example we were talking about the Cold War yesterday, and at one point, in an attempt to draw an analogy of a conflict of ideologies, he started talking about the Dutch resistance (Calvinists who fought for religious freedom) against the Spanish Catholics in the 80 Years War of Liberation. On and on he went, until he realised the class was almost over and we had not even covered the detente, and that the Wall had not even come down yet! But it's all good fun and amusing, and after two hours you get more than just IR, but a dose of (Dutch) History, Politics, Economics, Sociology etc etc.

As usual, lots of reading to do this week, and I was told even more for the next. When I got to class today, my Public International Law (PIL) lecturer said he'll start cracking down on people who don't bother reading...a suggestion that he'll start asking random questions. We were all instilled with fear. But as it turned out it wasn't as intimidating as it sounded... It's usually the same bunch of people who bother to say anything in the tutorial groups, out of a total of around fifteen. The material isnt't that difficult (yet?), and to be honest I've already covered all the stuff we're doing during high school and my undergrad years, some in much more depth than now. Which makes me wonder whether this is really a masters course, or only just the beginning and an attempt to get everyone up to the same level.

Though, we've got an assignment due in less than two weeks. I'm not worried about the actual writing, but the word limit of 1500words, including footnotes. I mean I used to wrote much longer essays than this, with huge bibliographies of articles, references and cases, and these were excluding the footnotes which sometimes were as long as the actual text of the essay (I LOVE footnotes!) And what makes this assignment even harder is the topic: discuss whether Palestine is a state. Hmmm, the world has been discussing and fighting over this since the turn of the last century, and they want us to elaborate this in the average number of words of my blogs...

Well, which brings me to my other writings. Since the start of my study two weeks ago I've basically had to put a lot of my other 'commitments' on hold, and most importantly my story 'Loving you, Loving me'. Just the fact I've had to find my way around uni again, and get back to study mode and socialise, go out with friends (the usual 'hurly burly of uni life'). And everyday by the time I get home I'm already too exhausted to write anything else. Before I didn't have the problem, and nighttime was usually the time my inspiration and words flowed. But it's different now, and I really need to 'make time'.

I'm still committed to finishing off my story, and my editor has suggested some excellent ideas on how to develop it further... but really it seems like so many things are standing in the way of me actually wrtiting it! To be honest, the story is often at the back of my mind, and I feel a little upset by the fact that I've not been able to continue as I had hoped. I mean usually when I commit to something I want to do it well and until the very end. But now I'm worried if I rush things I might not be able to maintain the same ('artistic') standard that I've up to now been able to write with. I sort of had this fear before I started my studies as well.... I used to have all this free time to read other stories online, read newspapers, write blogs and work on my story, but I really need to cut down now. I gues it must be disappointing to some people out there...

Well, the good news is the next chapter of LYLM is finished, and I plan to post it this weekend! :)

'Amsterstoned'

After almost six hours of running up and down stairs, getting my fingers jammed in mail boxes, and tripping over gnomes, bushes and whatever else people have in their gardens, I was off to Amsterdam (A'dam)!

Was I giddy as a little boy going on safari! I'd been really looking forward to this outing with my new friends from uni, and after getting out of my postman uniform I hopped into the shower and afterwards donned on a fashionably refreshing shirt, slick black jeans and my favourite fragrance.

My friends were already wandering around the city, keeping themselves amused with walks around the many canals, brewery tours and bar stops. But they saved the best for the last, said they just couldn't do it without me.

We met at a park famous for its gathering of hippies and Dutch literary circles. As you'll see, not without reason.

“What next?” I asked innocently.

“We need to get some water”, was the reply.

“Water?”, I asked again very innocently, “I thought you just came out of the brewery!”

“Yeah, but what we’re about to do we need lots of water.”
“And what is it that we’re about to do?”
“We wanted you to be there too.”
“Which is …?” I asked curiously.

“We bought joints already, and we just couldn’t go through it without you.”

(Museumplein...where we engaged in group ritual smoking)

So, within an hour of arriving in Amsterdam, we sat in a circle on Museumplein (Museum Square), crossed legged as if in preparation for a session of meditation, eyes all focused on the holy joint being rolled up before us. Our heads bowed in humble worship. That pungent smell of fine herbs wafted in the air. The sun was beaming, the skies clear and blue.

Technically, it’s illegal to smoke in ‘the public domain’, and being all lawyers-in-training and afraid what we’re going to do in the next few moments would tarnish the rest of our lives when we all eventually end up sitting on the bench at the International Court of Justice, we glanced around for lurking policemen. Luckily there was nobody around, except a bunch of cute guys playing football in the distance. They smiled at us when they realised what we were about to do. Four big bottles of mineral water, bags of chips, chocolate and baguettes, of cigarette filters and paper strewn all over the small circular space before us. Nothing could be more obvious. Well, like Clinton, a defence could always be that we ‘never inhaled’. We also discussed the defence of ‘non-consent’ ‘under duress’, ‘under (undue) influence’, and ‘peer pressure’. Before doing something ‘beyond the bounds of what is permissible’, lawyers think the fastest.

We passed the joint around, like an ancient Native American ritual of pipe smoking. We huffed and puffed, and liberated ourselves from the world, drifting into a state of bliss where everything seemed to be hilarious.

(Coffeeshops don't really sell coffee)

That sour, foul, parched aftertaste lingered in my mouth with each draw on the joint. My sense of smell immediate became overwhelmed by the smoke drifting and surrounding me, which would eventually slowly seep and cling onto my clothes for the rest of the night. I remembered again the reason I stopped smoking after a month in the ‘wild’ liberation months after turning 17. The bottles of water passed around the circle in vain attempts to extinguish rising hallucination effects, bouts of uncontrollable laughter and sudden feel of sleepiness.

Perhaps it was the fact we shared two joints amongst nine people, or that we bought the ‘low’ quality stuff (‘White Widow’) on the menu listing all the different types we could buy. But the effects weren’t as strong as we anticipated. Sure we felt giddy and light-headed, but soon after we all went a little quiet and just sat around looking at each other wondering what to say. One or two people lay down on their backs and napped. Through the exposed skin of my friend I could see the smooth, hairless and flat surface around his belly.

Afterwards the others who had never done this before in their lives said how a little disappointed they were. Maybe because everyone was exhausted after a whole day of wandering around. Perhaps all the hype and commotion around the actual deed made it all the less interesting and exciting when you actually come around to doing it. We sat around a bit more and decided the temperature had plummeted so much that it was probably time to get going. We had dinner, a couple more bar stops, and dinner before the ‘highlight’ for the night: the Red Light District.

We walked through the narrow streets crawling with tourists and junkies offering all sorts of services and drugs. Being righteous and sophisticated lawyers-in-training, we just carried on walking. Girls, in scantily dressed outfits, sometimes with a tit or so exposed, sat in small windows decorated with red fluorescent light (hence the name ‘Red Light District). Next to this toxic mix of pungent 'coffee' from the many coffeeshops, flashing neo-lights advertising 'real-live shows' and sex shops, gawking eyes, excited chatter from groups of horny men satisfied with their favourite kind of ‘window shopping’, the oldest church of Amsterdam stood. Crazy, chaotic, messy and sleazy is how I'd desribe it all.

(Herbs and mushrooms that may not be typical in home cooking)

That ended our tour of the great city of canals, the world's biggest (legal) red light district, coffeeshops. I guess it was fun to be out and about with friends, but as a local Amsterdam is somewhere I'd rather not go unless it's absolutely necessary.