Baby toys

Went to the baby store today, since I'll be visiting a classmate who recently gave birth, and also next week I'm going to see my godson who's going to celebrate his first birthday.

I stood there in the huge store selling all sorts of things for the baby... from clothes to prams, from car chairs to burn-prevention unit you put on the stove. And of course there are toys... soft toys, stuffed toys, wooden toys, colourful toys, toys that make lots of noise, and toys that put the baby to sleep in a soft soft lullaby. Must have stood there for a long time, wondering what I could buy for the two babies... I wanted to buy everything, to make the babies as happy as possible. They say the first few months and years of your life really shapes you, and especially the things that you come into contact and play with. I felt like whatever I buy will have an impact on the child, so it must be a careful and meaningful choice. It seemed like price wasn't important any more, as long as I could get something that will be in the child's life and memories...

Around me were couples also shopping for toys. Some of the ladies had huge bellies, others had young toddlers wobbling around them.

I stood there, looking at all these wonderful and colourful play things. How lucky babies are to be showered with love.

Tired

I think I've been exhausting myself too much, and feeling the stress slowly creep in and get a hold of me. Last night I lay in bed but couldn't sleep for hours and hours, until it was almost morning. When I finally managed to sleep, it wasn't long before the alarm went and I had to go off to uni.

One more week before my final exam. After that I'll be completely done with my classes for the entire masters programme. I really want to do well, but have been so preoccupied and stressed about my thesis that I've barely even started to study. I've been spending the last week or so just reading and researching for my thesis, but it seems like the more I read, the more lost I get. Was supposed to write up something for my supervisor to read by yesterday, but all I have is around 10,000 words of my typed notes, but nothing concrete that I can show. And I feel pretty guilty, since I had promised I'd give my supervisor something to read, and I really want to make a good impression.

I've decided not to think about the thesis any more, at least for a whole, and just focus on my exam. Problem is this last course is so... boring. Usually I enjoy classes, and pay attention and do the reading and work throughout the year, but this particular one just puts me off. It must be because of that big brick of a 1500+page book that is on the table collecting dust. Just wish it could all be over soon...

As if I don't already have enough on my mind, my brother's been nagging at me to go with him to see the car he wants to buy. I told him that it's really his choice, and that I don't need to be there, but every single day he keeps on asking. So finally today I took a few hours to go do the test drive. It's a pretty amazing car, really flashy from the outside, and a unique shiny brownish-gray colour. The inside is so streamlined and slick-black, with computerised displays and speedometer, and all the essential gadgets and accessories. It's almost brand new, only got a thousand or so kilometers, and has been only used by the car dealer for test drives. Which means the price can be lowered than a completely brand new one.... but still, it's very expensive, and definitely going to be a burden on his finances. I didn't say much, because I've already said what I needed to say. I had already told him that he should buy a car he can afford by himself, and that he shouldn't have to borrow from my mum. But that didn't seem to be important. Not any more, or at least not as important as owning a big, brand new car. I knew whatever I say wouldn't make a difference, because he's already had his eyes and mind set. Me being there was just a formality.

He was so excited, like a little boy getting the toy he's been looking at for a long time and finally has it in his hands. Within an hour documents were signed, and the car will be his coming weekend. I guess I'm happy for him in a way... since it's been his dream ever since he started working, and I'm glad that I'll no longer have to hear about cars, cars, cars again.

But I wondered to myself how long the flashy, new car will have its shine, and how long it will be until he starts to see it as 'just a car', and not as something that's so new and exciting... I guess it's only human that we crave for something so much, and when we finally get it we feel satisfied... but only temporarily. That's what I mean by when he'll start to see it as 'just a car'...

Sunday afternoon

Not sure what it is today. Woke up thinking what a beautiful morning it is and will be… to be ruined by an argument and shouting down the corridor. Not my fight, and I pretended as usual I didn’t hear.

Had breakfast, and somehow I ended up spending over an hour wandering around in my room and wondering whether I should go the library. Problem was, on Sundays the library is open only four hours, and it takes me around two hours just to get there and back. Being indecisive, I weighed all the 'pros' and 'cons' of "Going to the library on a Sunday" in my head... If I go, I could get some useful books and finally (try and) finish off something to hand into my thesis supervisor tomorrow... But if I did go, I'd have to spend money on the train and also probably feel tired from travelling... If I go, I could get away from this house... but if I did go, I might bump into people and probably might not get any work done at all.

In the end I went. The minute I hopped on my bike things started to go a little wrong. I was cycling for a bit in the opposite direction until I could cross the road, and I almost collided into a bunch of people head on. Then, once I got to the other side, three little girls cycled against the traffic, and I had to brake very suddenly to avoid hitting them. They didn't seem to realise and just rode on, but I was left dazed for a moment or two, my mind plagued by images of what could have happened.

On and on I cycled toward the station, enjoying the sun and green shade below the row of trees that aligned the cycle-path. Out of no where a brown rat ran across the path from left to right. I thought it would run on, but instead it suddenly changed directions and turned around to cross the path again. I panicked and this fear of running over this little brown rat gripped me. I missed by mere inches, lucky that I braked in time, and lucky that it ran away quickly enough not to be squashed into mouse mince under my bike wheel. I didn’t want to be guilty of killing another living being, bad enough after the ‘snail incident’ a few weeks ago.

As I made my way to the law faculty, just minding my own business, out of nowhere a pigeon dropped a green pile of poo in front of me. Had I been a mere second quicker, the poo would have struck my head, I thought to myself. It was so close that as the poo splattered onto the ground, the tip of my shoe got splashed on. A close escape...

But it was only when I went to the bathroom minutes later did I realise that the pigeon did hit me! I guess I was lucky not on my clothes or on my body... but the poo landed squarely on my backpack. Slimy, grimy, green and smelly... My fingers accidentally touched the pile. I felt disgusted, hastily grabbed some paper towels and moistened it with water and began to wipe and wipe and wipe. Nothing seemed to get the stain out...

Managed to get some solid work done in the library, and decided it was around time to go home. With my string of good luck, the moment I stepped out the door it started to rain. Drizzle at first, and then it poured. My coat and clothes got soaked, and I quickly looked in my bag for that umbrella I usually have in there. To my luck I had decided the other day that I probably won't be needing it anymore these days, so took it out.

Drenched, dripping, I dragged myself home… to console myself by listening to ‘Lemon Tree’.

The way...

I wish I could capture in words the way the fading light of day was set across the horizon in a display of neon glow of orange, red, purple and blue... the way the slight sliver of the rising moon cut a slit in the darkening evening sky... the way the the wind blew whispers into my ears, while the waves roared as they hit the beach... the way sand steadily flowed across my feet like I was standing in a giant sandglass and watching time go by... or the way seashells crumbled and crunched with every step I took...



I wish I could capture it all in words.

Drizzle

It seemed like it was going to rain today. And it eventually did, as night fell and the winds started to blow. I stood in the drizzle, felt the refreshing droplets of rain fall, feel them tinkle and splash on my cheeks, nose and cling onto my lashes. Slowly raindrops slid down my glasses, and the world fogged and blurried. But it was a pleasant kind of bluriness, because you know when you wipe your glasses the blurriness would all go away. Unlike the other night.

Felt still a little bit dazed today, so plans to study and get some work done amounted to no more than 3 pages or so of reading. Somehow I felt really sleepy, even though I had been sleeping for eight hours or so, which was the amount I try to get nightly. Sleep wasn't really so smooth, and I definitely know I had dreams, which was pretty unsual, some of which were pretty intense, as if I was there again. Like little images and memories playing and replaying themselves in my subconsciousness, because of the lingering effects of the experience. But nothing that really kept me awake. I had a little bucket next to my bed... just to be on the safe side.

Last night I went home and took a long, hot shower, one that symbolised the washing away all the dirt and grime of the previous forty-eight hours. Now and then, I'd still have these moments when I wasn't fully aware of whether I was 'here', or whether I was at another moment in time. So I was still a little disorientated and bedazzled, but even in that state, I managed to fix a proper and healthy meal for the three of us, and clean up the kitchen after me, like I'd normally do. An amazing feat, seeing that I wasn't really 'myself' then. Nobody at home noticed there was nothing wrong with me. Either that shows how 'normal' I seemed or had acted, or how little they care.

I was a bit afraid to eat too much, fearing I'd throw up again. After some experience like that, I felt like I had to be careful with everything I did, as if I was exploring life and all the things I did before for the very first time. So all I had was a light meal of tofu with some stir-fry vegetable mix and olives, and a cup of orange juice. I felt full after that, and was really afraid I'd start throwing up again. I really didn't feel like doing that at home, especially when it'd arouse suspicions about what I've been up to. I remember when I was so out of myself that night, I was still somehow consciously telling myself that whatever happens, the last person I'd call is my brother.

So luckily, feeling full after dinner was just a normal reaction. I somehow managed to write that entry before... it was like the words and thoughts were flowing out of me, and I had to try to capture them before they slipped away from my fingers. At times, just trying to retrace those moments and thoughts made me dizzy and my mind spin, and I felt like I was about to have another fit of anxiety attack. But luckily, I guess it was just the intensity of the experience, like an extreme form of trauma being recalled, that temporarily caused the dizziness and spinning.

It was getting dark when I finished writing. But I felt like going out. I felt I wanted to be free... strange, because I had just experienced the 'ultimate' form of freedom. Somehow, even the looming clouds and dying light of day had their charms, and soon I was on my bike and cycling toward the beach. The wind in my hair, the low hum of the wheels, and slight metalic clink-clank from the vibrating bike-frame... they seemed like music.

On I cycled, and I never stopped... save for the occasional red traffic light. Past the empty and drearily gray beach, past darkened forests and shadows that danced in the dark, past countless houses filled with light and warmth.... On I cycled, feeling and absorbing that sense of freedom I relish whenever I'm on my bike, the feeling you get when you're in control of the direction and speed you are moving in. I felt no tiredness, but a rush. To go faster and further, and to be free.

And I was.

"I think we're dying"

After a night last the last, it's sort of funny in a morbid kind of way to see this...

Ego and id

I'm not sure whether what I'm going to write will make sense. I'm not sure if anything makes sense now. But I feel like I must write, write so as not to forget, not to forget what happened yesterday and today.

It was a normal start to the day, just work as usual. I left home thinking I'll be home again by the end of the day, that it would be just work and nothing more.

But how wrong I was. An innocent home baked brownie turned not so innocent. We ate, and ate. Though there was a pecculiar aftertaste, we felt nothing. Nothing. The dark, dark brownie lay before us, beckoning to be eaten. And we ate some more, but nothing. Nothing at all.



All hype perhaps. The world didn't suddenly start to turn funny, I wasn't seeing circles, I wasn't feeling ill. But the worst was to come. It was still to come.

It kicked in as the alcohol mingled with the brownies in an untested brew of chemicals, hallucinents and fine African herbs. It was slow to start... but we started to realise what was happening to us. Flashes... flashes... things happening so quickly... but, but at the same time happening so slowly, so strangely. Time had no meaning... time and space lost their grip on my life. It was like someone had gotten ahold of my remote control and continuously pressed 'play' and 'stop', 'play' and 'stop' again and again. I remember one moment trying to put into words what I was saying, and the next moment seeing the characters in the documentary we were watching burst into applause. I saw myself, sitting there one moment... and the next feeling miserable and ill.

The nausea didn't come much later. I closed my eyes, realising I was slowly losing it, losing it all. But even though I knew my eyes were closed, I could still see... everything spinning, turning, twisting and twirling around like a slow tornado getting stronger, and stronger. An overpowering storm within me, churning everything in its path, and pulling me deeper and deeper in. I closed my eys, but I could still see... the world, in bright colours, like a kaleidoscope in yellow, purple, red... and there were eyes, following me, watching me... warning me: "You have gone too far... you have gone too far".

Putting it all into words feels dizzying now... perhaps such an experience should never be put into words, was not meant to be put into words... but a writer must write, for he must get those images and feelings out, or else they will consume him, and he will die.

And it was like that yesterday... All those images, all those colours... too confusing to capture, too overpowering to master. The more you tried to control your thoughts, the more you tried to stable yourself, the more and more intense the slow, luring dance of some unknown spirit twirled around you, dancing, dancing, and dancing, waiting for the perfect moment to prowl.. the moment when you are vulnerable. And weak. Now, then, here, there... it all meant nothing. Nothing.

And that moment came. Nausea, pain, furstration, that deep, deep sense of loss and loss of control gripped my body and insides like a monster with sharp claws clinging onto its pray. I felt air within me, poisonous gas that needed to come up, but couldn't because they were trapped in the depths of my bowles, and ferventing even more poison and pain within me. I swallowed deeply, hoping my own saliva would drown away the flood of indescribable unease and physical sickness I was feeling then... but the more I swallowed, the more I felt the flood was flowing up, up, and up... I swallowed, and felt like I was forcing crass and hard wheels down my own throat... There were bubbles, there were air bubbles and water bubbles. I closed my eyes, again and again, thinking with eyes closed everything would stop, everything would be OK again... but no... The world spun, the world danced, and it stormed all around me. It had to come out... it all had to come out.

Arched over the black bin, I felt the sickness pour out. Not once, not twice... but countless times, each one more intense, more dizzying, yet at the same time more relieving and necessary than the last. My stomach growled, and my eyes teared. Streaks of warm tears flowed down my cheeks, as wave after wave of vomit poured out of my mouth and nostrils. "What shame! What embarrasement!" I thought to myself... and out loud I continuously apologised to dear friends who were around me, who were with me all the time, and who watched over me, took care of me, took ahold of me... and who had had a evening of innocent fun twistedly turned into a haunting nightmare they were probably going to remember for a long, long time.



But the vomitting was necessary. The sick had been collecting within me, had piled up over the years, and they had to come out. All had to come out. All the frustrations, the swallowed tears, the surpressed memories, the images of people and places... they appeared before me seemingly simultaneously like a slow slide show. Some were shocking, some were kind, some were loving, some were as horrible as the nightmares and pains of childhood... I continued to throw up, getting rid of not just the bits of food I had consumed earlier that day, but also foul, foul fluids and snot that were choking me, choking my insides, and stopping the beauties of life from flourishing in the dark, dark hollow chambre of my insides. My friends kept on handing me tissues, patting me, holding onto my shoulders, and whispering to me... their touch and whispers were the only things that told me where I had to be... their touch and whispers were like welcome road signs in a dense and dark forest of utter confusion...

I remember apologising profusely. And thanking them again and again. It was a strange mixture, of guilt and pain, struggling and trying to triumph over elation and bliss. On the one hand, I was held hostage by the illussions of hallucination, I was captured and losing every bit of sanity and control over mind and body. And that made me frightened, so very afraid that I would die, just die and disappear into an abyss never to wake up again, and forever in pain and suffering... Yet, on the other hand, I felt such strange bliss, and I remember myself laughing, chuckling and realising that the whole experience would do me much good. I needed the cleansing, I needed the hallucinations, even if they brought back much pain and trauma. I needed them to be sane again, to go on in life and realise that everything is so relative... to realise that everything is so trivial. For when you are out of it, when you are standing out of your body and watching yourself twitch and shiver like a lost, lost and bitter child, you realise that it can all be different. Life can be different, and life can be pretty. I was laughing and remind myself of the possibilities, of the so many beauties that this world has to offer... the beauties and the good that I realised were such a contrast, and such a far, far world away from the darkness and confusion I was feeling then. "Nirvana... Nirvana...the light side, the light side..."


I saw myself, legs crossed and hands resting on one another in front of my stomach. I saw myself in a tranquil and strangely attractive posture, the way you position yourself for meditation. And I sat like that for hours, how many I do not know. In the darkness and confusion, in the world of mind-numbing yellow hexagons and circles, it was as if I knew the way to escape. And that was to meditate... to collect myself, to observe my anxieties and observe my fears... to watch my breath as it went in and out, in and out. And I remembered all those weeks and months in the forests of Burma, in the mountains of Taiwan... I remembered the lessons I learnt about mindfulness and self-observation. I remembered I needed to watch, watch, watch... not to feel aversion or attraction... not to want to get away from fear, not to want to want to cling onto bliss... just watch, watch, watch. Watch the breath as it went in and out, in and out... watch the mind as it wandered and lost itself in confusion. Just watch...

I remember thinking to myself as I sat there in that tranquil and meditative pose, that never have I felt such elation... all those hours of meditation, of trying to calm my own mind and body, nothing could compare to the strange, strange sense of clarity and lightness I felt. It was like I was floating, flying, free. A spiritual experience... of pleasure and pain, of tears and laughters, of love and hatred, of evil and good... a spiritual struggle, manifested in the strong shivers, in the sick that from time to time flooded out of my bowls. In the ramblings and repetitions of perhaps senseless nonsense, which at the time seemed so wise and so true. I remember thinking to myself that I had found the 'Way', the way to salvation, the path to freedom, and that the world could learn from all this I was experiencing. I remember the bloodshed and pains of the world, and felt them on my shoulders... there were moments when I felt that I had found a solution to the world's problems, that somehow I could unite the world and humanity, and that there would be such a beautiful eternal peace and bliss... 'An die Freude' I sang... that piercing piece of poetry and moving music that so truly and deeply symbolises the union of man and woman all over the world. I was moved. The world was moved.

I remember telling my friends, who by then were panic-stricken and frantically trying to figure out whether (and who!) to call for help, that they should watch me and learn from me. I wanted to creep away and die slowly, I wanted my friends not to be bothered by me, and to just let me be. But they couldn't do that. And actually I needed them more than anything else... I needed help, and I had to ask for it. I had to reach out, to touch others, so that I could be touched. "Help me... help me... scared, scared..." I whimpered like a small puppy that had just been kicked and abandoned. And they were there... they were always there.

The unfinished piece of brownie lay on the floor. Someone joked that we should finish it... but hearing the name brownie made me sick. It was as if once I heard it the image of that dark, brown cake which seemed to represent evil at its purest stayed smothered in my vision. "Don't eat it... don't mention it..." I rambled on and on, even fearing that they would feed it to the ducks and geese. But I felt indignant and upset at that possibility. Even in my state of stonedness I knew what was wrong and right. I kept on repeating that the remaining piece of brownie should not be fed, should not be eaten. It was like I had to defend the whole world from everything that was bad and evil, and that all that bad and evil were churning and turning in my insides, making me sick, high, delusion, but at the same time passionate, kind and caring as I thought of wanting to protect the world from everything that was bad and evil.

After that, I threw up again and again, throwing up until there was nothing else to throw up, until all there was was clear stomach fluid that hung from my trembling lips. What a sorry state I have been in... what horrors my friends had to witness and clean up after me... Yet after each burst of vomit, after each ejection of the rubbish that had been piling and stinking up my insides, I felt I was slowly regaining control, regaining consciousness. I was coming to, and I felt powerful, I felt strong. The world spun more slower, and the yellow colours, and spinning hexagons and circles slowed, and slowed, slowed and slowed. I sat there, still in that meditative trance, reasling and rejoicing at the fact that deep inside that the 'good' was triumphing... and that once more I would regain control again of my body and mind. It was like before I had been naked, exposed... all the traumas and the pains were flung open for the rest of the world to see. When darkness took control, when I let go and let life drain away there was the 'real me', shivering and suffering, frustrated and angry. Yet... yet after that nakedness and exposure, it was safe to clothe myself again... it was safe and necessary to wrap myself, to hold onto myself.

"Back, back, back..." I chanted. "Here and now, here and now..." I muttered. Back to reality, back to the here and now, back to consciousness, back to the world as it is, and away from the confused world in its countless guises, delusions and dimensions.

Amid my repeated apologies and gratitude, I felt closer to life and death than I could ever imagine. Closer to life and death than I could ever imagine.

Mother's Day

The other day I lost my scarf. It was a grey one, and a warm one, one that my mum gave me for Christmas one year, some years ago. Being careless I forgot it while attending a lecture. It was only stepping into the pouring rain and the cold North Sea wind did I realise what I had lost something so precious.

Luckily, I found it again the next day. I put it around me as soon as I saw it, and I felt so warm again. I am lucky, because I have a mum who cares. And sometimes I forget that, the way like I forgot to take my scarf with me. But then I find that care and warmth, and realise how precious it all is.

I spoke to mum just now, like we would do every Sunday. She would tell me about her week, and I would tell her mine. In the half an hour or so on the phone, we would bond and bridge the distance and time separating us.

Sadly, the main thing we talked about this week was about... money. More specifically, money for my brother. He's been wanting to buy a flashy new car for sometime now, and recently managed to get a loan from the bank. But the problem is it's not enough... Actually it's more than enough, but it's not enough because the car he wants has a bigger engine, and of course the bigger the engine the more expensive it is. The main difference between a car with a 1.4 litre engine and a 1.8 litre engine is that when you press the gas pedal, the car with the bigger engine accelerates faster. Faster, by perhaps a few seconds or so... but for those few seconds, the price difference is around 3000 Euros.

So the other day he called my mum and asked her to borrow some money. I was very upset when I heard he had done that. For the last couple of months I had told him very clearly and time and again, if he wants to buy a car, use whatever money he has and buy one that he can actually afford. I laid it all out before him: he's been working for less than two years, yet already now he wants to buy a car that's going to be more than his annual salary! I reminded him what little our mum has at the moment, and of all the mortgage burdens she has to shoulder every month... Why do you need a car that can accelerate faster by a few seconds if all you're be doing is using it to get to work and back? Why buy such a new and good car now, when you're just starting out careerwise? And I even asked him: do you really need a bigger car, or do you actually want a bigger car? He admitted that he only wants one.

But, like so many times, my advice and words vanished in the wind, and he went to ask money from my mum despite of all the reasons I mentioned not to. And like the mum who would do anything to please her child, the money was transfered immediately.

I was hurt when she told me about it all just now. For a long time I said nothing. She continued to say, in ways and words of a caring and understanding mum, how much she understands my brother, and how tenacious he can be once he sets his eyes and mind on something he really wants... I asked her why, and she told me how she would do anything to make him happy, and that everything else is not that important... She'll get by somehow, spend less here and there, and she'll get by somehow. True words. Painful words.

At the end of our conversation, I softly said to her: "Happy Mother's Day..."

She thanked me, and told me to take good care of myself. I said the same back, almost inaudibly...

All I could think of was how bizarre it is that on this day when children of the world are thanking for their mum's hardwork and love, my mum would be the one to be giving a gift.

2am

Know I should go to bed soon, and I will, after I finish writing this.

The weather's not been too kind lately. First, it was six weeks of no rain, and suddenly almost non-stop pouring rain and storm since last week. What was strange was as soon as it started to rain, my whole mood changed. Before I was feeling so energetic and so alive, and now suddenly reduced to that chocolate-eating, cookie-munching monsters who spends much too much time in bed, and much too little time studying or working on his thesis! And the more you sleep, or eat, or do nothing you should be doing, the more guilty you feel, and the more guilty you feel, the more depressed you get...

If only the sun would shine again. If only there were more colours in life, like that picture...

Restless

The beach was covered with foam the other day. Rather disgusting, all these dirty brown bubbles everywhere, like a long stretch of stranded and dead jellyfish cluttering up what normally is a clear and clean beach to walk on. Not really normal...

Had my very last class two days ago. Just one more exam to do at the end of this month, and then the thesis to complete, and I'm practically finished with my course! But the problem is the thesis... even though I spoke to my supservisor last week already, and even though I've got some books and ideas to help me start, I don't feel like starting at all. Suddenly, because the classes have finished, I feel like there's no motivation any more to do anything.

Been just walking around, chatting to friends, going to the movies, but not really doing any work at all. And I'm the kind of person who feels 'guilty' if I don't do anything 'constructive'. Woke up much too late again this morning, and went to bed much too late again last night. Had all these plans of doing this and that, but feel so lazy, and feel like going out and just going cycling somewhere. Just really, really restless.

One by One

Here am I
Yet another goodbye!
He says Adiós, says Adiós,
And do you know why
She won't break down and cry?
- she says Adiós, says Adiós, Goodbye.

One by one my leaves fall.
One by one my tales are told.

It's no lie
She is yearning to fly.
She says Adiós, says Adiós,
And now you know why
He's a reason to "sigh"
- she says Adiós, says Adiós, Goodbye.

One by one my leaves fall.
One by one my tales are told.

My, oh my!
She was aiming too high.
He says Adiós,
And now you know why
There's no moon in her sky
- he says Adiós, says Adiós, Goodbye.

No Goodbyes
For love brightens their eyes
Don't say Adiós, say Adiós,
And do you know why
There's a love that won't die?
- don't say Adiós, say Adiós, Goodbye.

- don't say Adiós, say Adiós, Goodbye.
- don't say Adiós, say Adiós, Goodbye.
- don't say Adiós, say Adiós, Goodbye

The ex

The train slowly pulled away, and the last echo of the rails sounded so hard and heavy.
I stood on the empty platform and watched the train disappear into the distance, my body still trying to recover from the hug we gave each other moments before. A chilly morning, cloudy, gray.

Even songs I've heard time and time again had new meaning, and I could almost understood why the lyrics are the way they are. The streets were deserted, hollow and silent, all except for the coo-coo sound of a pigeon trying to woo its other half. The square where it's normally bustling with life, and people, was unearthily still. The sun hid, and even the wind that had been so wild the night before shied away.



For the first time in a long time, I felt this strange and sudden emptiness within me. Strange, because I didn't even realise there were going to be such feelings. Sudden, because it came as soon as the carriage doors closed and as the train inched bit by bit away.

It was a quick trip, but a memorable one down memory lane. We've not seen one another for more than four years, and I guess both of us have changed, somewhat. And grown. We walked around town together, down the same paths in the woods we had walked together... stood on the same beach we once sat and cuddled on... had dinner at the same restaurant we once dined at... even passed by the bench in the park where we shared our first kiss. It was a cold and bitterly windy night, but around the candlenight and in the dusk light of the sun setting over the roaring sea, it seemed so serene, peaceful, and romantic. He stayed over for the night.



All those things we first did together some six years ago, came flooding back as we slowly strolled together... the laughs, the inside-joke, the conversations we shared, the little likes and dislikes that you remind each other of and that end with a warm feeling inside because you know each other so well... We were innocent, perhaps even naive, teens then, and for us both it was our first relationship. For me perhaps the only love I've known until now. Maybe that's why it felt especially empty saying farewell not so long ago... I walked the streets, and wondered whether I'd find that feeling again... whether I'd feel that feeling again.


Into the reflection of a shop window I stared, and a lonely boy standing in the empty streets in a sleeping city stared back.

Remembrance Day

The bells tolled and echoed. And the square suddenly fell silent. A solemn silence, the kind that you dare not breathe in, for you fear that the breath would shatter that sound of nothing.

We stood still.
Tens of thousands of us.
Gathered together on Dam.
To remember.

The wind played with the flags, making them flutter. The red-white-blue at half mast flew above my head, dancing in the wind. It's movement were so random, so free, so natural. I closed my eyes and the image of the flag flying so freely stayed with me. The price of that freedom is invaluable.

May there be peace... May there be hope... May there be freedom... May there be freedom from fear...



In my mind there were flashbacks of pictures, movies, black and white documentaries of brave souls who have moved on, into a braver world beyond this one. They collided with the sounds and images embedded in our TV screens and the front pages. The bloodshed... the cries... the suffering... the nightmares... Wearing such a clean and white shirt suddenly filled me with guilt.

Just as suddenly as silence fell, music rose from the military band. A familiar tune, and in that moment I shivered slightly, making me wonder whether it was the evening breeze, or the rhythm of the national anthem that had such an emotional effect on me. All around me was a low murmur, as people softly sang.

... den vaderland getrouwe blijf ik tot in de dood. Een Prinse van Oranje...

Befitting to the atmosphere, it suddenly became colder. The sun had set behind the Royal Palace, casting a long shadow looming over our heads. The breeze caressed our cheeks, and the mood felt so familiar, but at the same time, seemed so very distant. The white marble National Monument looked soiled, covered in grime and soot, while the carvings of men and women who have just broken their shackles seemed somewhat faded, and eroded with the passage of time. What is normally a touristic photo-op donned on a more solemn meaning.



Wreaths of flowers were laid before the monument, by the Queen and the Crown Prince, by veterans, by the Prime Minister, Ministers. Sixty-two children (one for each year since the end of the war) also quietly laid red and white flowers to rest at the steps of the monument. To the unknown many who so senselessly died in Europe and in Asia... For the first time in history, young veterans, some perhaps just a few years older than me, were able to sit together with the older ones. The world war may have ended, but conflicts still continue to brew, and the Dutch are involved in various 'peace-keeping' missions around the world. In everyone's eyes was an unspoken grief.



I stood there and watched the crowd slowly disperse. One moment the square was full, the next it was almost empty. I pulled on my jacket to keep warm, only to realise elsewhere it was even colder.

Asparagus

- "Do you like asparagus?"

I looked at him, standing a few steps behind me at the supermarket check-out. He pointed to the packet of white asparagus that inched slowly forward on the conveyor belt.

"No, not really. Shame I guess."

- "It's a really good vegetable. I love it." He was around my height, wearing a dark brown sued jacket, and blue jeans. "It's great they're out again."

"Well, I don't like the fibery feeling. But it's alright, I guess. Not that I'd buy it for the sake of buying it."

I slowly put the other groceries into my bag, careful to leave the packet of asparagus until last. It felt a little awkward that what was in my shopping basket had become the object of a random conversation.

- "You have to peel it. And usually I boil it a few minutes first, and then it's ready. You can do a lot with asparagus". The guy got so excited for some reason, and I wondered why... what's so exciting about asparagus?

"Maybe that's why I don't like it. Didn't know you had to peel it."

- "Of course you have to peel it. The skin's pretty rough. Once you peel it, the 'meat' underneath is really tangy. And so delicious!" Are the packets of chocolate-chip cookies, chips and mushrooms less interesting? I had to restrain myself from laughing.

"Maybe I should try it your way then."

- "Yeah, do that. It's asparagus season, and they're fresh and cheap. Lots to eat. I just can't get enough." He smiled, and looked interested.

"Sure... I'll just do that. Maybe I'll change my mind and start liking asparagus."

I looked at the packet of asparagus, and suddenly they looked different. No longer the discounted item I had wanted to buy since seeing that commercial on TV, but... different. As if they were more than just vegetables.

- "I'm sure you will. It's really such a wonderful vegetable. So much nutrients. Especially the green ones. I know these are white, but green ones are best. They're thinner too. And much chewier." The excitement still lingered, and the more he talked, the more excited he seemed to get.

"OK... I'll be sure to try those too. Bye."

I finally picked up my packet of asparagus, and put them gently into my bag. The girl who had just been 'harassed' by this random asparagus-guy hurriedly made her way toward the exit. I stood there for a few moments, and replayed the whole event in my head, trying to search for some kind of 'meaning' behind the whole conversation.

Asparagus... asparagus... it was all just about asparagus! The asparagus that I bought which somehow, in a bizzare and surreal way, became the 'binding' factor between strangers.

Outside, brown and white confetti fell and flew from the trees.

Lazy days

Not sure why, but suddenly have become so tired...

Went to bed 'early' last night, at around eleven, and got up to go to school. Had an appointment with my thesis supervisor, which went pretty well. He's really nice, and we sat down together for half an hour to go through my ideas. Even before I arrived, he had already jotted down lots of useful notes on my proposal, and given me a list of literature I to look at. My topic, on the values of the (so-called) international community, appears to be related to the PhD thesis he's working on, so he really seems to be the right person to be supervising it.

My basic ideas are to question whether there is such a thing as 'international community' in reality... and if there is, what the the values of this community are. There's so much talk and use of the term, and some legal terminology refer to the 'international community', but what is this community composed of? States alone, or something more encompassing, like individuals, NGOs, TNCs? Especially on human rights, we hear a lot about how the "international community" views them as a common fundamental value, and has time and again repeated the commitment to protect human rights for the sake of defending this "international community". But is this mere rhetoric, or something grounded in law as well as reality?

Anyways, perhaps it's because of these mind-boggling ideas, afterwards I felt so exhausted. Sat in the library for a few hours, but didn't get any work done at all. The sunny weather outside didn't help, and my mind kept on wanting to go out. So I did.


I made my way home slowly, even managing to doze on the short fifteen minute train journey. Once I got home, around 4pm or so, I collapsed into bed. Had set my alarm for around 5, but everytime it ran, I pressed snooze, snooze, snooze...

It was one of those sleeps you keep on waking up from, and then fall half asleep, only to wake up in what feels like only moments later, when an hour or so had in fact passed. Usually I have the radio on when I take a little nap in the afternoon, and between periods of half-sleep and awakedness I'd hear bits and pieces of the latest news... Israeli prime minister Olmert refusing to step down... Polish workers 'flooding' into the Netherlands after the lifting of border restrictions... lawsuit against ABN Amro because of its merger with Barclays... three week old Royal Princess Ariane taken up in hospital... And rather unsually I started to dream as well... unpleasant dreams, about this piece of assignment I had to hand in last week.

When I decided I couldn't go on sleeping any more, which was around the same time as when my stomach kept on kicking, it was almost nine.

Queen's day

Walking home under a starlit sky seemed like a relief. The air was cool, and calm, and around me were sihoulete of trees and bushes that rustled slightly in the night breeze. Were it not for my light footsteps, and the occassional embarassingly loud scrapping of my shoes, it was so peaceful. So different from the whole day of din in the city.

The Queen's Day celebrations continued today, and the queen and her three princes seemed to have once again indulged themselves on their traditional 'day out'. It's the one day in the year the queen walks around and waves at cheering crowds, perhaps stopping here and there to receive the random bouquet from a royal fan, and giving the odd handshake. The princes enjoyed themselves too it seems, and this year with a bit of salsa dancing and fish-eating. Ordinary everyday events become extraordinary headlines when the royals do it.


Elsewhere, the country partied on. The entire country coloured orange as streets and windows panes became drapped with orange banners and the national colours of red-white-blue. It's the also the one day in the year when anyone can haul out garbage that have been collecting dust in the basement, and sell them on the streets, without a license. Vrijmarkt (Free market) they call it, and most things that are so tacky and dirty might as well be given away freely. But in this enlightening experience, you see Dutch culture at its most expressive. This is after all a thrifty nation, proud of the few cents that can be saved, and few cents that can be earned at any occassion. Everything, from worn-out clothes (even underwear) to whole furniture sets, from VCRs dating from the 80s to dolls with missing limbs. If it can be used again, it can be seen and sold.



I wandered the streets of Amsterdam (A'dam) with a friend, and admired the impressive array of wares on offer. Some things were still pretty decent, but we couldn't stop laughing as we wondered what anyone would want with a lonesome shoe.



We ventured forward, and spent some time at a gigantic music venue on Museumplein. A huge stage had been erected there, and thousands of people assembled before the the stage that pumped out live music, some good old hits from yesteryears, others more current hits... but all managed to work up the crowd. The sun was bright, and the sky clear. Some had even gone as far as stripping and lying down on the rubbish-filled grass to get a tan. The mood was electric, mingled with the occassional wafts of weed. Funny, I thought to myself, as I recalled that no less than three years ago the same square was bursting at the rims with a quarter of a million angry protesters demonstrating against the pensions reforms institigated by the last Christian right cabinet. Today, the crowd was united too, by the passion of Orange, by booze and by the rhythm of the music. I tried to avoid looking at the fallen pieces of unfinished pancakes, french fries and hamburgers, and had to restrain myself from kicking the tonnes of beer cans and plastic cups lying all over the place. Other people's gardens temporarily became places of 'convenience', as some guys decide to do some watering in broad daylight.



We wandered the streets some more, walking along the narrow streets and arteries of canals that criss-cross the heart of A'dam. Every street corner, at every cafe and every bar, music was blaring, and crowds gathered to shake and move their bodies. Old, young, 'queens', tourists, children ... everyone seemed to have lost themselves in orange fever. Boats carrying loud boom boxes cruised the canals and were boarded by people who moved frantically to the beat, in scenes reminiscent of the Gay Pride during the summer. It was crazy, this one big party, filled with bizzare kinds of dresses and costumes, diverse kinds of music. The taps kept on flowing with golden, foamy liquid, and in the air the smell of grilled burgers and freshly baked wafels made mouths water. We ended up at one place right next to the Westerkerk, right next to the house a timid girl, and writer-wannabe, named Anne Frank hid during the War. The loud band, stringy sounds of hot guitars and incessant drumming that played classic rock and pop songs could not have been a more stark contrast to what happened so many decades ago. People all over the place drank and ate, feasted and partied like there's no tomorrow. Perhaps trying to not remember that tomorrow there's still work... or in our case, class.

I generally am not such a big fan of such street parties where you have to really fight for your space if you want to continue walking. But it's always nice to see what kind of craziness people get up to. And it's always nice to do it with friends, and have something worth remembering about, so that one day we can look back and say: "Remember then..."

Queen's eve

The moon was almost completely out, but still shy, sheltering behind a thin veil of clouds. It was awfully quiet, almost unnaturally so, as I slowly cycled home. The wind was chilly, just like the weatherman had predicted, and a far, far world away from what the temperature had been during the day. Slowly I cycled home, head spinning still from the slight tipsiness induced by the loud music and alcohol. I was getting away from the the noise and choas in the city.

Queen's Eve (Koninginnenach) is perhaps the biggest national celebration in the Netherlands. It's the night before the Queen's (unofficial) Birthday, which falls on the last day of April. Since the weather is so much better than the drab dreariness and gray, and like any celebration in this country, it's always a good excuse for a big p-a-r-t-y.



For a few days in a row, people go wild in the country. The streets dye orange, as flags and banners bearing the colour of the royal family appear in a sudden frenzy. Temporarily orange-fever takes over the shelves in shops, the fashion and even the foods on offer at the supermarket. Unusually, and for the first time ever in my life, I too donned on an orange jumper to fit in.

Agreed with some friends to meet at the city centre, as traditionally The Hague has always been the place to be on Queen's Eve. Indeed, like every year, huge podiums were erected in and around the centre of town, and by the time we arrived the sea of people had already swamped what normally would be wide open squares. As expected, many were in orange, many wearing the official T-shirt of the Dutch football team, others just any odd orange shirt or pants or hats after a good dig in their closets. Lights flashed all around, as loud music drummed into ours ears.

The music was alright, but a little too random, and ended much too soon. One moment you could be swaying to something latin, and the next to a hit from the eighties, to be followed up by techno. Perhaps when you're drunk, you don't notice. And Like any open-air party, the ground was sticky, filthily littered with cups of plastic and beer bottles and coke cans. The air smelt of that smell of beer, one that I personally find nauseating, worsened as other revelers spill it onto you in their half-drunked swagger with two, three cups of beer in their hands. Walking around you had to pry your feet up in order to take the next step, of course, always mindful not to step on the delicious-looking remains of someone else's dinner (and/or lunch). At least the company of my friends was pleasant enough to make the rest seem bearable.



My favourite moment was the 'afterparty', when two girls and I ventured through the crowd and managed to end up in front of the building where we usually have classes. Right next door was a club, playing a (random) mixture of songs. Perhaps it was the alcohol acting up, or the ridiculousness of the way many fellow Dutchies were dancing around us, but we seemed to have suddenly cast off our conscious selves and indulged in what seemed like endless frolicking and fun. We did the pogo-dance and seeing each other's laughters and claps we were encouraged to go on dancing. Right there, in the middle of the street, in front of the very building we have our tedious law lectures, we probably made a fool of ourselves in front of dozens of people, but we didn't mind. We were having too much fun to mind, and kept on pogo-dancing, jumping up and down, spinning and turning around, getting higher and delirous from every single step. Up and down, we lost ourselves, seemingly forgetting all about the worries of the world, and life that goes with it, just enjoying the moment and treasuring it, and every moment of it.

Fun...

"I can't wait for the weekend to begin..."

Pretty catchy song... but the girls stripping I could do without...

Summery days

Sitting at home, the sun is shining brightly outside, like a beautiful day in summer.
Just wondering what to do...

The past month or so has been probably the busiest I can remember. First were assignments I needed to finish, then came the big moot competition, which kept me basically occupied for a good week or so. And immediately after the competition, I had my own moot court to prepare for, which meant another week or so of working almost non-stop to rush to finish a 15000 word memorial together with two other girls from my class. Endless, it seemed. Dead tired, it really was. And to add to that, I managed to kill an innocent snail the other day, while being in a state of complete and utter exhaustion...

But suddenly, it all finished. Leaving me a little empty inside, and wonder what to do. I know I should probably start thinking about the exam in a month's time, or even start working on the thesis due by the end of Summer... but I think I deserve a little break.

Even though it was busy, it was definitely worth every moment of it. The moot court competition took place successfully, and perhaps because I was so good, my boss offered me a position to work on through the summer! Just as I was thinking and worrying about what I'd do, and where I could find a job, it came all so unexpextedly. It's just two days a week, but it's paid, and involves basic management of the office I've been working for in the past few months since September. It's perfect, since it'll give me the flexibility to combine with my thesis writing... and also will be a financial boost to my plans to take a Euro-rail trip with some friends : )

As for the project I was working on with two girls, it went extremely well, especially given the short time we had to complete it in. We were given a fictional case about the fumigation of coca crops to argue, which involved Ecuador taking a case against Colombia before the ICJ for breaches of international law. We were the applicants (suing!) and our claim is that Colombia's plans to eradicate coca crops does damage to human life and the environment, and also harms our State.

For one whole week, we worked on it constantly, to the extend that we started to dream about the case itself in the few hours of luxury we had to sleep. It was probably the best team work I've ever had, as we were all so dedicated and willing to work together and to make sure that the final product is clear and coherent. Of course, cups after cups of tea, cartons and cartons of cigarettes (but not for me!!!), and bags and bags of chips and chocolates and biscuits helped to prolong our ability to go on until the early hours of the morning day after day... And because my defences were down, I caught a nasty cough and felt somewhat miserable throughout the week.

On Tuesday past, we submitted the memorial, and dressed up to plead in 'court'. I wanted a little group hug before we all went on stage, but it was a little embarrasing so we ended up shaking hands. And we awed the audience and the judges with our pleadings. We answered the questions that were bombarded at us with respect and which even made our judges impressed. As I stood there, before this mock court and before the watching eyes of my class, I felt so unbelievably confident. Whatever questions that were thrown at me, whatever objections were fired against my arguments, I (and the others of course) deflected them in grace and style. All the while, I kept that smile on my face, which someone had remarked charmed the audience.

Afterwards, we toasted and drank to our success. Even though our eyes were red from lack of sleep (and my throat still aching, while my conscience was still fragile from having killed another living being...) we celebrated at night away, sitting in the garden, watching a DVD, munching on more junk food and chocolates and pizza, filling ourselves with white wine...

We went our separate ways, again at 3am, but realising we were so much closer together.

"Oh, my god... I killed something"

Stepping into the frigid night air at 3am, I heard a crunching sound. I was dizzy, delerious, and exhausted like I never felt before from the constant writing, meetings and researching over the last seven days or so, but the sound coming from under my shoe shook me awake.

I knew it wasn't good, and suspected what I had just done. I looked down, and confirmed that I had just crushed a snail to bits, and saw the slimy liquid reflect in the dim street light. "Oh my god... I killed something!"

I kept on apologising to the snail, even though it probably was no longer conscious.... or worse, already dead. More than 12 hours of working on a big project due tomorrow with my classmates did not make me feel less guilty about what I did. Which is strange, since a moment before I was so tired I couldn;t think of anything else but bed...

I really need to get some sleep before the big presentation tomorrow... but I'll be thinking of the snail I just killed, and hope it will now and forever rest in piece(s).

A moot week

(Peace Palace)

It was a week I was at first somewhat dreading, but at the same time excited to face. But it went by, despite the exhaustion, meagres hours of sleep, and running around--at times like headless chickens from place to place-- amazingly quickly.

The big moot court competition my colleagues and I have been planning and organising finally came, and went. Quite smoothly, besides the occasionally glitches and mishaps here and there, on the whole. It was not easy taking care of 25 teams from 25 different European countries, with around 200 attendants, assistants and staff members. Getting the whole moot court competition running and according to our tight schedule of court sessions, dinner and fun activities was a headache, but in the end we managed to pull it off.


The students who came were impressed, and delighted at how great an experience it was for them all. From the accomodation to the travel arrangements, from the catering to the closing party, from our carefully selected judges to the carefully chosen teams from many of the top universities of Europe. Everything and everyone came together like they were supposed to, and for close to four days, we roamed the hallways and court rooms of the Peace Palace, deliberating, engaging in deep discussions about this hypothetical case of HIV/AIDS, and becoming more enriched by the experience of it all.

It isn't anyone who can wander the Peace Palace freely like we could. But for the thirtieth year running since the start of this Competition, the building that houses the International Court of Justice itself was our home and office. Aspiring international lawyers, both organisers and attendees, in smart suits and in the companies of some of 'the best of the best' legal scholars and experts in the field... I've not felt some 'powerful' and proud of myself in a long, long time.

(The bench of the International Court of Justice)

Being international law students, it was being inside the 'mecca' of our studies, and we could not resist the temptation of posing next to those 'sacred' seats of the great judges inside the Great Hall of Justice, from where all these cases have been pronounced. We walked around, snapping pictures of this room and this ornament-- all donations from one country or another-- all arranged in such grandeur and style remiscent of a medieval castle.

Of course it wasn't just sightseeing, despite the fact that each time I walked down those grand staircases and corridors my breath was held in awe. There was a lot of running around to be done, making sure that students and special guests knew where they are supposed to be, and behind-the-scenes work that needed to be done so that everything clicked together like clockwork. I also managed to 'network' a little, and acquaint myself with some professors and students, and finalise a number of places to visit for my next holiday.



At the end of four days, I was exhausted... it didn't help that the night before we partied into the early hours at a beach club , and had a bit too much to drink that a number of people kept on buying to show their appreciation of my hardwork.

I went home, sat down and soon enough plopped myself into bed and lay there sleeping for the next day or so.




For rare pictures from inside the Peace Palace, go to:

• Peace Palace- New Academic Building
• Peace Palace VI
• Peace Palace IV
• Peace Palace III
• Peace Palace II
• Peace Palace

Disclaimer: All views expressed are personal, and do not reflect the actual position of the Competition or of its official organisers.

Work, work, work!

It was after eleven at night when I got home, and eight in the morning when I left home.

The second last day before the BIG moot court competition, and it's really work, work, work. So many things to finish before all our guests start streaming in. Already went to pick up three teams from three different countries this morning... three down, only twenty-two teams from twenty-two countries to go.

Been running around the entire day almost, buying this, carring that, doing errands...and then writing emails, printing, copying, wrapping presents, doing all the finishing touches. But I'm glad I have such wonderful colleagues/classmates working together... otherwise I can't imagine what kind of table throwing and shouting and swearing we'd have because of the pressure and time constraints. And the team members I've met so far are really, really friendly. At least as far as I know.

So... four days of competition about to begin. Four days of wearing suits and tie, chique shoes and shirts. Four days of 'Sir', 'Madam', 'Your Excellency', 'Your Honour'. Four days of being on constant standby ready to answer questions and help people. It's not hard work, but it's tiring.

But it should be a really great experience... after all, not just anyone can walk around freely inside the Peace Palce, meet all these important judges and ambassadors. And there'll be so many new people from different universities all over Europe.

And there's free food too.

How gay?

Fascinating article someone sent me today. As much as I don't really agree that science can explain everything about human life and behaviour, some conclusions are striking:

“If you can’t make a male attracted to other males by cutting off his penis, how strong could any psychosocial effect be?”

[...]
Whether women describe themselves as straight or lesbian, “Their sexual arousal seems to be relatively indiscriminate — they get aroused by both male and female images,” Dr. Bailey said. “I’m not even sure females have a sexual orientation. But they have sexual preferences. Women are very picky, and most choose to have sex with men.”
[...]
Sexual orientation, at least for men, seems to be settled before birth. “I think most of the scientists working on these questions are convinced that the antecedents of sexual orientation in males are happening early in life, probably before birth,” Dr. Breedlove said, “whereas for females, some are probably born to become gay, but clearly some get there quite late in life.”
[...]

Dr. Bailey believes that the systems for sexual orientation and arousal make men go out and find people to have sex with, whereas women are more focused on accepting or rejecting those who seek sex with them.

Similar differences between the sexes are seen by Marc Breedlove, a neuroscientist at Michigan State University. “Most males are quite stubborn in their ideas about which sex they want to pursue, while women seem more flexible,” he said.

[...]

A somewhat more straightforward clue to the origin of homosexuality is the fraternal birth order effect. Two Canadian researchers, Ray Blanchard and Anthony F. Bogaert, have shown that having older brothers substantially increases the chances that a man will be gay. Older sisters don’t count, nor does it matter whether the brothers are in the house when the boy is reared.

I do have a brother, so...

PIL Day Out

(PIL: Public International Law)

Cheeks chapped and red from the early Spring sun, and winds that never seemed to be with us, but always against us. Bones sore, and muscles aching from the overdose of exercise.

What was a sudden ‘Schnapsidee’ to get together for Easter in the end it turned into some forty kilometres and almost eight hours of non-stop cycling and hiking. More torturous for the others (especially the hunter-gatherer guys amongst us), since the rented lady bikes had no handbrakes and only one gear. Trying to keep up with my tendency of racing whenever I hop on a bike was perhaps hard enough, but the wind and the countless ‘mountains’ we had to conquer along the way made the leisurely ‘PIL Day Out’ a real ordeal. But divided we are weak, and today we proved to ourselves that advanced and regular together we can ‘Climb every mountain, ford every stream, search high and low".

Every journey begins with a big brunch, and we stuffed on the tones of eggs, chocolates, all sorts of warm bread and cold juices. Calories and any excess body weight gained attributable to me could be burnt later, I reassured. Soon enough we were on our bikes and hogging the inner lanes of the cross-country bicycle highways with our turtle speeds. The legendary PIL Tour had begun.

Being devout loyalists of the monarchy and so grateful for the fact that some great-, great-, great-, great-, ancestor of the Queen had decided to lay the foundations of what is to be The Hague as his hunting ground, we of course had to pay her a visit. We stood before the gates of ‘Huis ten Bosch’, only to be disappointed that the Queen was not in and had apparently forgotten our afternoon tea appointment. No matter, as we counseled ourselves with the fact that we were mere metres to the very building (though perhaps then not yet inviolable) where the Hague Peace Conferences took place.

Onwards we went, in search of our future residences in the luxurious and wooded neighbourhoods of Wassenaar. Translated literally, it would mean ‘to wash-strange’. Perhaps that’s why so many ‘stinking rich’ people love to live in what is the most exclusive area of the Netherlands. Enormous free-standing mansions with tennis courts and swimming pools rolled by, some big, lavish-looking cottages to house the gatekeeper at the beginning of what was more a tree-line avenue than an ordinary drive-way. Shame, the mansion opposite the residence of the Canadian ambassador I had my eyes was just been sold. “One day…”

We amused ourselves watching family dramas unfold from the top of what may have been the second highest hill in the country. We could see the scenic electric pylons in the distance, watch the occasional yellow trains fly past, and admire a certain talented football-players-to-be tackle at everyone and everything except the ball. Then it was through the dunes we went, braving the steep gradients and treacherous uneven cycle-paths that led us closer and closer to where the salted-sea breeze blew and lured. Finally, after expending all that energy and effort which made the rush to finish a paper the night before the deadline seem like a stroll in the park, the wide-open sea lay there waiting lazily before us. As did the ice-cream and ‘poffertjes’ (wo)man.

We sat down to coffee, tea and mediocre service. Though the weather was fine, and the water ‘lovely’, we enthralled ourselves with deep and revolutionary debates about the virtues and evils of nature vs. nurture, feminism, bio-power, identity, and why (to be politically correct, some) girls always seem to go the bathroom together.

On we rode on our metal horses, encountering magpies, a lone pheasant, and plumb pigeons, swarms of “killer, blood-sucking” mosquitoes, and realised the true meaning behind “doing it like rabbits”. We stopped once or twice to climb up to lookout points to take in the skyline and argued amongst ourselves which spire belongs to our beloved and revered Peace Palace. Posing like the inquisitive PIL-students we are, we looked on with philosophical glimmers in our eyes, in search of the horizon.

After numerous “Another fifteen minutes…” from me, we finally got to the fish restaurant at Scheveningen. We were all starving, and drained, our knees weak, faces sober like we just walked out of an exam we failed. The wonderful Dutch hospitality and service never ceased to amaze, but the food was pretty decent overall. All save for the tortured look of three twisted fish heads and hollowed corpses at the end.

Being diligent and proud PIL-students, we could not but pay homage to our place of worship. We cycled through the night, braving the black forests of Schevenigen which are rumoured to have countless sex-addicts lurking around after dark (sorry I didn’t tell you this then!), and with held breaths arrived at the Peace Palace. Easter Sunday, the sun had long set, it was close to ten at night, but we stood almost banging at the gates of the holy sanctuary of international law. In the end we satisfied ourselves with numerous shots of the another moment to remember in the years to come. We may be on lady’s bikes, and some of us may not even have backlights, but made a solemn vow to ourselves that we will one day return in all the glamour and glitz we could possibly muster. Next week, dus, for Telders.

What a day... what a great PIL Day Out!