Maria Mena live @ De Effenaar 27-11-2013

Great music is there when you need it. Songs can make you understand that you’re not alone in facing this. They help you get through situations and experiences. A good song tells a story, a great song may just tell the story you yourself weren’t able to put in words. For me, songs from Maria Mena do this.

I remember many moments feeling down and misunderstood and finding comfort and understanding in her songs. I remember long carrides to France where her music always accompanied me, I remember blasting her words through my headphones to overshadow the fights that happened downstairs. I remember thinking Maria, you have got to stop stealing the pages of my diary. “I feel like I’ve grown up with you Dutch fans”, Maria smiled at her concert on the 27th of November. No, I thought. I grew up with you.

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I’ve wanted to see Maria Mena live for a while now, but I’m horrible with keeping track of concerts and buying tickets on time. I was also a bit worried about not getting back home, because public transport can be horrible in my hometown. Two days ago it finally happened. I saw her live.

Maria started out with a blast. The dancing beats of her new album Weapon in Mind sounded great. They really made you want to move along and indulge in the experience that is Maria Mena. While I was nodding my head and slightly shaking my hips, Maria was dancing like there was no tomorrow. Girl, you can shake it! It’s amazing to see artists having a good time on stage and there was no doubt she was having a blast.

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Girl, you can move! Also my pictures suck. I need photography lessons and a better camera on my phone.

Don’t let yourself be fooled by the dancing spirit. Her lyrics are still very profound and close to heart. As a writer you have to be honest to yourself and open up to your feelings. Writing is difficult, because there’s nowhere to hide behind your words anymore. It’s there, written right before your eyes. Maria Mena is honest like no other. Writing must be her therapy and she’s taking us all with her on this journey. In between songs she was very open. She told us how she sees the world now. How it took her a long time to realize it’s useless trying to be someone you’re not (in my own words).

She took me to me teenage insecurities with Just a Little Bit. No epic beats, no dancing. Just Maria singing the words I once believed. Then she and her band transcended to I Always Liked That, which is about how she views the world now. Finally realizing that it really is on the inside what counts. She told us we were through with thinking we had to be a little bit better,  stronger and wiser. I believed her.

Maria Mena was everything I could have hoped for. Her honest, well-written, lyrics (inspiring me to be a better writer) were accompanied by a voice that sounded just like it came from the record. I don’t mean this in a bad way. I can just imagine that she doesn’t need to do a thousand takes to make it sound like it does in the final product. During the concert it wasn’t like is she singing live or not? She was clearly singing live, but it still sounded like the record. Except for some old hits that she converted to her new dancy style, like a more upbeat version of Just Hold Me. This was a nice change from the arrangements I’m used to.

I have to say Maria and her band were at their best singing vulnerable slower songs like Habits. But it was wonderful to see a woman who has come so far on her personal journey. The dance beats show she feels more comfortable in her skin and they made me, being the shy person as I am, dance my butt off.

Thank you, Maria Mena for this experience. It was inspiring and liberating. Thank you for your personal ‘tips’: let yourself go by saying fuck you in a while, it’s really on the inside what counts and be free. See you next time!

To the people that were in the audience standing around me: sorry for singing along. I heard myself sing at one point and yeah… it wasn’t very good ;). I should really leave that to Maria.

I’ll finish this blogpost with a snippet of the song that she ended with as well. You Hurt the Ones You Love.

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Intertwined: Miharu try-out

As I’ve mentioned in my co-creator post I am working on a story called Intertwined with a co-creator. She, Amy, is responsible for one of the main characters. We’re kind of having a hard time to try to fit her into the story. I’m too afraid to mix things up and change her whole personality. I have promised Amy that I would write from her perspective, so here’s a little something I tried. I won’t say I’ve succeeded, since this heavily relies on Shogo’s storyline, but I’m proud of it nevertheless. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this, but I’m just really looking for some feedback on this one. Is it any good?

The woman sits strapped in the chair. Her eyes are placed on the cameras that zoom in to her every movement. She licks her lips and smirks. Men with masks try to calm her down with needles. Or women. Maybe there are also women. Their white attire blends in perfectly with the entire wall of white light behind them. Where have I seen that before?

A mother holds her hand before her child’s eyes. I wish she could shield mine. I see him standing amongst them. A pink-haired girl clings onto him, but he has no attention for her. He looks straight at the screen, while clenching his fists. The woman seems to stare right back at him.

The white figures leave the room. Someone pushes a button. It’s not red, but green. An invisible toxic starts to creep up to the woman, just as she did to all her victims. The women starts to laugh hysterically and spasm in her chair. Digital numbers appear on the white wall. They are counting down. Only sixty seconds to go. Forty. Twenty. Then it happens. As she breathes out her last breath all the screens fade to black. But it isn’t over. He knows it and I know it. The white figures appear again.
“Is her heart still beating?” whispers a man that couldn’t have been older than twenty. He doesn’t dare look at the corpse.
The other man leans into her chest and checks. Nothing.
“No, she’s-“
The younger boy gasps.
There is a hand around the older man’s neck.
“Hello, there”, the woman says in a raspy voice.

I hear heavy breathing. It takes me seconds to find out it is my own. I look up and see the wooden ceiling. Quickly a little owlet appears before my eyes. I smile.
“Hello, Shannan.”
The owl pecks lovingly at my head. Then he hops on over to my nest of red curls, where he decides to make himself comfortable.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
He doesn’t need to say it. I know it’s okay.
“I hope Shogo is alright.” The words escape my mouth before I can hold them back.
What am I saying? Shogo told me not to worry about him, so I can’t.
“Should I call him?” I stutter.
Shannan makes a sound.
“You’re right”, I mumble. We don’t really talk much. He’ll really think I’m weird if I call him now. But I know that look of his. Something is off.
“I wish I could still believe it’s all just a dream”, I whisper. More words that I didn’t mean to say out loud.
“I know”, Shannan whispers.
We both know that somewhere in Kurogane a woman that was executed on live television is somehow still alive right now. Or at least… she’s still moving.
“All those people”, I let out.
I try not to think of all the thoughts. All the pain, all the fear, all the relief when it’s over. But it’s not over.
I pick Shannan up and hold him in a cup of my hand. I sit up and hold my hands close to me. I try to hold back all the tears, but there is something that has to keep me from bottling up all of their emotions.
“It’s okay. We’re safe”, Shannan tries to reassure me.
I can only nod.
“But they’re not.”

Welcome to my Life 6

I’ll try to make this a weekly thing. Every sunday I will try to tell you guys what it is I did this week. With little stories about interesting things that happened. Scratch the little. Knowing myself they’ll probably be a little longer than that.

Tuesday brought us another day at the muniment room. Our class has been assigned several questions in smaller groups. We had to look up the sales volume. Who would have thought that could be so difficult? We already went to the wrong place last Friday and this time around the documents we needed were in another place! We’ll finally be able to look at them tomorrow. Luck is not on our side. We did spend five to six hours in that place. Our other classmates forgot to tell us that it wasn’t obligatory to come at a certain time. Natascha and Rebecca spend six hours looking at old documents and trying to do this assignment. We deserved to get a treat after that. Since Rebecca had to make an exam at school she couldn’t go home yet, so she had asked us if we wanted to go out for dinner with her. Another classmate of ours had told us about a cheap italian restaurant I have wanted to check out since I knew of its existince.

So we went to Happy Italy in Tilburg. It was so good! Mouthwatering tastes welcomed us with our first steps of entering. Modern stylish design is mixed with the building of an old shack. Paintings of the Golden olden rolemodels like Audrey Hepburn painted with bright colors covered the walls. The whole restaurant is an interesting mixture of revamped old touches in a distinct modern style. It’s one of those places that make you feel cool to eat there, because it looks so freakishly stylish. Or am I just lame for thinking that?

Forget all prejudices that a Italian restaurant should be full of traditional italian elements or any other judgement of the interior, it’s obviously all about the food. The restaurant works on a ‘hipper’ image, which doesn’t include all traditional standard italian dishes like lasanga. All the ingredients are actually gathered from local farmers. I think this is a good intiative, but I did miss the chance to order lasanga. When I took my first bite of my pizza, I didn’t really care any more. It doesn’t have a really thick bottom, but all ingredients make your tastebuds water.

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Excuse me for taking a bite  before taking the picture. It was that good (and I’m new and not very commited to this blogging thing)

It’s already decided that I will be going back. Perhaps in a few weeks or so when I celebrate my birthday. Happy Italy also has some really good homemade desserts. Do check out the menu card. Can you believe those prices? One of the biggest pizzas I ever had for a whopping 8 euros! If you’re in the area, go there. They also have the same place in Rotterdam and other cities. Also, I’m not a big eater, so I couldn’t finish my pizza. That wasn’t a problem at all, since they just put it in a box for me so I could take my leftovers home. Apparentely this is a service that’s normal in more restaurants. Why wasn’t I aware of this sooner? I wasted so much precious food because of my stupid small tummy T_T.

On wednesday I had to pitch my story idea to a class. This also wasn’t my lucky day. The bus decided not to show up, so I was running late. I also think I didn’t really get my idea across properly. I talked way too fast, said a bunch of shit and then felt really embarrassed. Maybe I shouldn’t only have focused on the idea, but also on the presentation of it all. I know my weakness and yet I choose to ignore it every time. If I had only prepared my pitch it would have been much better.
My story idea is to write about a boy that has been molested as a younger child and has still issues with his sexuality. I always read stories about girls being raped, but you never read much about boys. Stories of girls should be told. I only wish it wouldn’t have to be told, but unfortunately it does. It just struck me that it’s so expected of boys to constantely think about sex that I was really interested in writing about a boy that his issues with that. I’m going to write from two perspectives. The boy and his girlfriend who lives in the same studentdorm as him. I’ve decided to let my characters live in the same city as I do, so I can put details about the vibe and setting in the story. I’ve taken on such a hard topic as rape because I want to challenge myself. In one of the lessons we learned about our inner censorship. My inner cencorship gets triggered when I have to write about sex and I want to challenge that. I want to surpass my limits, because I think it will benefit me as a writer and person.

On Thursday I took a Dutch exam. It’s pretty embarrassing that as a native Dutch journalism student that’s the only test I’ve yet to complete. Let’s hope I make it this time. If I do I’m back on track.

Amy and I both wanted to see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire and Thor2. We went to see Catching Fire first and thought it was so good that we didn’t even go to Thor anymore. I’m a huge fan of the books by Suzanne Collins, especially the second installment. I’m so happy they did it justice. I honestely think it’s one of the best book adaptions out there. Catching Fire is certaintely my favorite movie of 2013. One of the most heartwrenching scenes from the book is when Katniss and Peeta go to Rue’s town on their victor tour. That’s when they first get personally confronted with the rebellion and the impact they can have. I love that the seemingly coldhearted Katniss gets so emotional that she has to say something about Rue. But then there’s the sign of respect that’s so powerful. When reading the book I felt a lump in my throat and seeing this powerful scene translated on the movie nearly had me in tears. For me this is one of the most powerful scenes in the entire series.

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It was a pity that we were surrounded by teenage girls who were totally jizzing in their pants for either Peeta or Gale.
I like the love triangle, but for me that’s not what it’s about. I love The Hunger Games because of their powerful political message. What could really happen when an entire nation is led by a leader that is so driven by fear that he enslaves all the other districts. I love how this series shows the actions and reactions of a nation dying to change. I know who Katniss is going to get with in the end, but honestly I couldn’t even care less if she got with Finnick or Haymitch. All I cared about was seeing the Mockingjay light up an entire nation without intending to and her path to trying to strike down a corrupt leader. I guess my preferences are a little different than your average teenage girl. I am glad that a series like Hunger Games is getting populair, because the storytelling is much more phenomonal than the horror that was Twilight. Even if some teenagers have a hard time understanding it, One of the Peeta fangirls asked who the real enemy was when Finnick told Katniss to remember who the real enemy was. I mean.. REALLY? *facepalm*  I’m eagerly awaiting the DVD-release. I might just go to the cinemas again, which I seriously never, ever do.

For the rest of the weekend I just did some gaming on Guild Wars 2. I also tried out something for a character on my original story Intertwined. I might post the snippet that I wrote.

This week I’m going to see one of idols and biggest influences as a writer: Maria Mena. I am beyond excited. It’s only one day away, but I just can’t grasp it. I’ve been a fan for about eight years now, so it’s surreal. I should probably make a seperate post for my Maria Mena experience ;).

Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass

A few years ago Alice in Wonderland was everywhere. There seems to be an ongoing trend of re-telling old classics, which I first noticed with all the  Alice spin-offs. You had the new Disney movie starring Johnny Depp, a horrorgame about Alice, lots of jewelery of the characters and elements from the story and cosplay interpetations. Something charmed me about all of these. While Alice in Wonderland wasn’t Depp’s best film, it was still an entertaining and visually breathtaking adventure to watch. And I’m a sucker for Alice in Wonderland jewelry because it usually has tiny teacups – let’s just say I adore tea.

While I loved the re-tellings I wasn’t familiar with Lewis Caroll’s classic. Of course, I knew about most scenes. Whether it was because of the (orginal) movie or/and their iconic status. I was curious how it would be written. About how I would interpetate the original. Would their be all kinds of underlying messages I could decipher? Was there some kind of element of the storyline that I had missed?

I probably missed all the underlying messages and most parts of the story I already knew. I do know understand why Alice in Wonderland & Alice Through the Looking Glass have become classics. There’s a quality in this story that only a good storywriter can create. It’s not so much about the storyline and the silly world Caroll created, but for me it’s about a child’s vision. While reading I transported back to my own youth and thought about all the hours where I would make the simplest things into a story. It’s about the thin line between reality and a child’s imagination. I had forgotten what it had been like as a child, but this book made me remember. Sometimes Alice can hardly concentrate. When something happens her thoughts are already at the next thing. When she feels a certain emotion, she can forget it soon enough to feel something else again. Never stopping to look and wonder, but just going on and playing with the world around you. I think that is a grasp of the essence of a child.

Lewis Caroll has captured that essence so skillfully that it triggers your own imagination and curiousity. He makes you think about odd constructions in the English language and the origination of it all. With his words he transplants Wonderland into your own brain and makes you think about all the things in that world.

Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t contain the qualties that a story should have, like an inner conflict or one central happening. It’s just Alice dreaming about several meetings with ‘mad’ characters, who might or might not return. When she leaves her dreams it’s hard to say where there has been character development. And this is all jumbled between poetry she (forcefully) has to read out to the citizens of Wonderland. Yet, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass is a indeed a masterpiece in my eyes. Because it triggers our childlike imagination and will continue to do so for many generations to come.

It’s silly to rate or write a review about such a classic as this. I rated this 3/5 stars on Goodreads, because I think all the unnecessary poetry takes away a bit of the power of the tale. But taking into consideration that you have to be a master of a writer to take adults back to their childhood I might even give it 4/5 stars. Please take this rating with a grain of salt, because I merely wanted to post my thoughts on Alice in Wonderland. Who am I to rate Alice in Wonderland? It may not be the best story I ever read and even contains some highly irritating factors, but it’s still rightfully a classic. 

Welcome to my Life 5

I’ll try to make this a weekly thing. Every sunday I will try to tell you guys what it is I did this week. With little stories about interesting things that happened. Scratch the little. Knowing myself they’ll probably be a little longer than that.

On Tuesday we spend our day at a centre with lots of documents from over hundred years ago. Even though the minor course I’m taking right now is called Creative Writing, my Journalism study also decided to incorperate a little of Data Journalism. This is my first real venture into this Journalism sidebranch. I’m not sure if this is for me. I can see why it can be very excited, but only if the subject you’re trying to find information about is really something close at heart. I’m trying to find this project interesting, but it’s rather hard, because it all happened so long ago. I used to love old stories and imaging what older times would be like, but somehow this just doesn’t click.

The day after that I had my first exam of the year. We were asked essaylike questions about Dutch(and Flemish) literature we had to read in class. It was so much easier than I expected! I actually felt like I knew quite a lot of answers. All the other exams I have to make deal with a really annoying system. When you get a right awnser you get a point, but if you get something wrong than they take a point. There’s also an option when you fill in a question mark, which means you can’t be wrong or right, so your score stays the same. This system makes you have to calculate how much answers you have to fill in. Which is pretty hard if you don’t have any mathskills.
Thank god this test was different and I think it paid off. Today I read that I had scored a 8,2 out of 10. I was NOT expecting that one.

After this test we had to do some writing exercises again. This time we had to take pieces of poems we were given and try to write something about them. The piece I chose had some keyelements: violets, moss, elysium, butterflies, 1000 years and lights. I tried to incorperate them all in a little story about seeds of violets that had remarkely been nesting themselves into the moss and only felt comfortable to come out when it was finally spring. I don’t really have a special connection to nature, so I didn’t feel very connected to my own piece. When everyone was done writing we all had to stand into a circle (awkward~) and when you felt like it you could read there story. I notice every time that only the same people feel comfortable enough to read something out loud. Of course people don’t have to read what they’ve written, but it’s kind of a shame that they let this change slip. Especially since after reading it out loud means you get feedback from the teacher, which has really helped me in these few weeks. Even if people told me it was wonderful (actually that has helped me the most, because I really needed to believe I had talent again). However I tried not to read my story this time, because I wanted to give others a change to prove themselves (to themself?). It didn’t really work. All the same people that always read out there stories went for it again. Maybe I should just give up on it. It’s just that I’m curious about the other writers in our class as well. All the others that do read out what they write are actually really good and a joy to listen to.  The teachers however was dissapointed that none of the girls seemed to give it a shot. I confessed that I had not spoken up, because I wanted to give others a chance. She kind of ignored it, but did ask me to share it with the group. As soon I was finished a boy shouted: “I really can’t write like THAT.” Especially since I had written a lot of words about violets. Bea Nobbe, our teacher, then said that I was an ‘easy writer’. Writing comes easy to me, she explained. “It’s a gift”, she added. I was really happy to hear this, but also felt a little uncomfortable due to such a big compliment. So I just mumbled “well, it can also be a burden. Sometimes you write too much and-” Of course no one replied to my mumbling statement.

I also managed the impossible this week. I seriously screwed up cooking rice. I know, it’s considered, as one of the things that can’t go wrong. Well, I proof you wrong. I was cooking curry rice, a Japanese version of Indian curry, and it was not going as it should have. I put way too less water in the pan and then decided to get back to my room, because the curry needed to stirr for a little longer. But then I slowly started to smell a burning smell. I immediately got up to the kitchen to find that much of my rice had already turned into kohl. I’m an idiot. Just putting that out there. The pan couldn’t be saved anymore, but of course I bought a new one. Even though the rice failed, the curry was still delicious.

Wednesday really was a busy day, because I finally saw Amber again. We had a fun time as always. We ate Kapsalon, our number one guilty pleasure fastfood (döner with salad with french fries, cheese and garlic sauce), watched Sherlock, laughed a lot as usual, drank lemonade and finally were able to catch up on our lives. I only know Amber for about a year now, but it’s like I’ve known her for a longer period than that. It’s crazy to think how fast we ‘bonded’, but – as cliché as it may sound- I couldn’t do without her anymore :). I also went for a testride in her new electric wheelchair. I think I gotta get me one of those ;).

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Here I am in Amber’s self-proclaimed ‘racemonster’

It was my dad’s birthday on a thursday, but I didn’t see him before fridaynight. Natascha, Rebecca and I had decided to work on our assignment about the industrial textileworkers from Tilburg in the 1900s. That took way longer than we expected, but fortunately I could relax at Amy’s with some delicious Chinese food and Adventure Time. Am I the only one that has shows that are linked to certain friends? Like Amber and I  have our Sherlock nights, just like Amy and I have our Adventure Time … time?

Welcome to my Life 4

I’ll try to make this a weekly thing. Every sunday I will try to tell you guys what it is I did this week. With little stories about interesting things that happened. Scratch the little. Knowing myself they’ll probably be a little longer than that.

First of all, this update is super late. It’s only the fourth one and I already can’t keep it up anymore. Sorry about that. Second I’m not even sure of all the things that I did last week anymore, but I’ll try to remember them.

Because I had a monday off school didn’t start until tuesday. For me it’s better this way, because that means I don’t have to get up early to catch the train to Tilburg. I often spend the weekends at my parents house, so that’s quite a long journey. I usually have to get up at 7 am. This probably isn’t all that early, but I am not a morning person. I’m not one of those girls that has a whole morning ritual to wake up early and do her make-up and hair. I envy your willpower for those who can do that. I’m just that lazy that I prefer to be in bed for as long as possible (or longer than possible).
On tuesday we went to the Textielmuseum in Tilburg to kick-off the new project of this minor course (Creative Writing) that I’m taking right now. We are going to write chapters in groups about worker families that lived in 1900. Currentely I’m not really that excited, but that may come. Perhaps we stumble upon a really interesting story. I do feel like there’s not really a chance to express yourself in this assignment, which makes it seem a little more boring for me. However I’m not saying this sucks, because we haven’t properly started our research yet.

The lesson on wednesday was more my cup of tea. Neske Beks will be giving us three lessons to guide us to the so-called ‘free assignment’, in which we can come up with our own writing project. She gave us three little exercises, one of which I’d never done. For the first exercise she showed us two pictures and we had to give live to one of the characters that we were free to make up. We had 15 minutes. One of the pictures showed a boy with big glasses and an obviously forced smile. Although his lips formed a grin, his eyes did not smile with him. That was why there was something disturbing about this picture. My first intuition was that the boy had to be bullied, but to me that was too obvious. So a story about a little boy that had lost his mother started to take shape in my head. Then I started to write how he and his teacher talked outside on the schoolgrounds, while the other mothers came to pick up their children. The boy continued to smile, but was confonted by weird looks of the older women. In fact his mother had died not that long ago, but yet the boy kept smiling. In the last part he hopes his mother will come running onto the schoolgrounds, late as usual. I’m quite proud of this story that I thought of and wrote in 15 minutes. When I read this to get feedback I was glad to hear Neske Beks thought it was a beautiful story. In Dutch we say: “Je bent een fijne pen”, which literally means you have a nice pen, but can be interpetated as I like your writingstyle. We also had to write a scenario, which I had never done. The nice thing about this minor is that I get triggered to try new things. I’m a person that needs a little push to come to greatness.

On thursday I finally got Amy to measure me for an Asami Sato (Legend of Korra) cosplay. Cosplay means the making and wearing of a costume of a character from a tv-series, comic, movie or game (often Japanese but lately you see more western characters). I used to go to a lot of Japanese anime/manga conventions with friends when I was in high school. To me these were moments where we could be completely myself, although that started to change for me a little. I started dressing up as certain characters that I felt were expected of me and this didn’t make me feel accepted at all. Even on conventions I felt more concious about the way I looked than what I wore in real life. While cosplay should be a celebration of being yourself, it had been for my friends. That’s why I strayed from cosplaying and conventions in the recent past. It started to become less a part of me. However, for a school assignment I had to do a story. I chose to do something I felt was gravely misunderstood in the media; cosplay. I intervieuwed Clueless Vision and Shiro. Their passion for the hobby grabbed me again. I remembered all the fun times I had with friends and thus I want to venture into the cosplayworld again. Asami has been a character that has inspired me. She’s at her best when she’s the independant businesswoman that can stand up for her own rights. I know she’s just a cartoon character, but she has traits that I wish I had more. That’s why this is so important to me. I always feel a little embarrassed talking about this, but that’s bullshit. This is something I like to do. That’s why I commissioned this cosplay at Clueless Vision, who will make it for me with their eye for detail and love for the show. Maybe one day I talk myself into upgrading my currentely non-excisting sewing skills.

asami full bodyThe cosplay that I want to do is this version.

On Fridays I read an interesting Facebook update from Imagine Dragons. It contained a link to their EMA performance for only 5 euros. Let me get this straight. I spend my earlier teens glued to MTV and the former TMF. Music has always been a big source of inspiration and interest. I remember watching the awards shows and thinking one day I’m going to be in that audience (of course there was also daydreaming of me on that stage, but let’s not mention this again). Yet it never really happened. When I read that the EMAs would be in Amsterdam I have to say I got my hopes up. However tickets were impossible to get. You either had to audition to even be a part of the audience or you had to be selected to even have the chance to BUY a ticket. Although this was highly unfair I was quickly over it. Seeing Miley Cyrus’ behavior and my reaction to it has made me realize that I am no longer part of the teen generation. It’s weird to realize that, but I am not part of the swag team. I am however a fan of Imagine Dragons. I’ve been listening to their album for months and can probably sing all the songs by heart. They have quickly become one of my favorite bands. Of course I doubted when I saw the ticket. Is this real? What exactly am I buying here? How will I get back home? But then I envisioned being out there and looking up at that stage with them standing there. Even while daydreaming a huge energy overcame  me. So then I just bought the tickets and got really excited.

On Saturday it was time for the birthday party of my uncle and aunt. My parents had told me at least four times every weekend that I needed to be there. And so I was there. My aunt and uncle were actually suprised that we came, but it did make them really happy. It’s reactions like this that make it all worth it. It’s nice to know we were welcome.

EMA ID lookLike I mentioned before, I am really bad getting out of bed early and do my make-up, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like dressing up and pampering myself for special events. I can get really excited creating my (makeup)look in my mind.

But then sunday the real party started. I didn’t have a lot of time to get used to the idea of getting to see Imagine Dragons live, but the whole day I was nervous as hell. I was also anxious of what to expect. We had not been informed of the scedule. We did know that we ‘had’ to look at the red carpet and part of the EMA show on a big screen. The event took place in the Heineken Music Hall, which is only miles away from Ziggo Dome, where the ‘real’ thing took place. It was so bizarre to be within a kilometre of Bruno Mars and Katy Perry, yet not actually be there. So close, but yet so far away. During the show we still didn’t know what to expected. Amy and I only knew our ‘deadline’. We had to get back to the train that departed at eleven o’clock. I spend my night being (over)excited to being dissapointed to being anxious to screaming my longues out being hyperactive. I got my hopes up and then let them fade. I repeated this about ten times throughout the event. At ten o’clock the host told us they were going to be there soon. Before this he had told them we would get five or six songs, which was way more than I hoped for. It took more than a half hour for them to be on stage. The band started out with Amsterdam and immediately set the tone. They gave us their energy and we gave it back. Imagine Dragons played what we wanted to hear and it was magicial. There’s something about that bond you and the artist share in a concert. I got overwhelmed by this rush of pure energy. I’m a shy person, but it didn’t matter if people heard me sing along (sorry for any earbleeding), saw me jump up and down and saw me put my hands in the air. It was like a trance. Then they played On Top of the World and for a moment I felt it. Yet time was closing in. I checked my phone and it was already 22.45. I felt like Cinderella stuck on a curfew. My ball was over. The only difference is that I didn’t leave any objects behind. If I did can my prince come and return it, please?

Next week you will read the story about how my teacher called my ability to write a gift and more. Much more. This is offically my longest WTML yet. TL;DR?

PS: Why is this entire post almost the entire amount I have written for NaNoWriMo so far? Ugh.

NaNoWriMo 2013 first weeks

It’s not going well. So far it’s day 8 and I only have written 1654 words in total. I feel like I’m trying too hard. My story feels too overdramatic, but then again that’s what teenagers are like. This time I had actually set up a plan of things that are going to happen throughout the story, but I don’t know how to get there. I’m too worried if the words I wrote are any good. Which shouldn’t matter, because the whole thing about NaNoWriMo is that you just write. Wheter it’s good or bad. I just don’t know if I can do it. You can read the first part below.

KissmyKorra typed:

This site saved my life. In class I feel so empty. I am there just to be there. It doesn’t matter what I say. My voice is never heard. That’s why I sit in the back of the class. Only doodling new sketches for my newest fandom. In these sketches I feel alive. I feel like I matter. I want to thank tumblr for giving meaning to my life. It’s like only tumblr understands what I’m going through.

#dramaqueen # anxiety #tumblr #fandom #sketches #unfff so sexy #tbh

CaptainThoreal replied:

            I know right! Unf, what were to do without tumblr? I wore my Loki shirt to school today and people couldn’t help to talk about it behind my back. I don’t give a shit, because I had 40 reblogs on tumblr. Bitches be jealous! Tumblr made it okay to be myself. By the way, your blog is amazeballs.

#bitches be jealous #loki #bow to loki mortals #be yourself

The reply comes only minutes after I’d posted my messages. I feel sorry for my random outburst of desperation, but my guilt fades after reading that reply. Instantly I go to the blog of the replier. I try not to reblog everything as images of The Avengers, The Legend of Korra, Sherlock and Japanese anime catch my eye. It’s so stupid if I try to copy this entire blog. Which posts shall I reblog? It’s not that easy to just name a few. I must come off as such a loser if I keep reblogging them. What will that person think of me? It’s obvious the sympathy won’t last very long. But look at this cool cosplay! Is it selfmade? If only I could make that. That would be so cool. An image of a tan girl in a tight blue shirt, pigtails, tribal armcuffs and an open skirt with fake animalfur is displayed on my laptop. I decide to save it in my inspiration folder. My third inspiration folder, because the other ones already have like 1000 images.  Cats, comics, Japanese heroes, game screenshots and book quotes are just a grasp of the information those folders contain.

It’s silly how a few gifs on a site can make me smile. It probably is silly to you. You who laugh at me for liking something you don’t. You call me childish, ugly, a whore. That last name is rather ironic, because you fucked more guys than I’ll ever know. Still, I’m always lying when I say I don’t care. Words can hurt. I remember holding a knife in my hand and focusing on my wrists. I remember the screams my mother gave when she caught me. She grisped the knife out of my hand before I could do any fatal damage. The only drop of blood that fell on the carpet was hers. She had accidentely cut her finger in trying to rescue me from any harm.
Obviously I was grounded for weeks, but the worst part was that she only made me go on my laptop for like two hours. I tried telling her that I had to make an essay, but she would seriously stand behind me and check what I was doing like every few minutes or so. It was so annoying. You can imagine that excuse didn’t last very long. I about died in those weeks. No life, no laptop, no one who understood.

Because that’s the thing. People on this website understand me. They like the same things I do and know that it’s the coolest thing in the world. They know what it’s like to be laughed at for doing your thing and share their experiences on the net. Tumblr is my safe haven. Tumblr is my life.

A new message on my dashboard wakes me from my thoughts. CaptainThoreal is the sender. Shit, did this person see that I reblogged like half of her blog? Oh my god, I’m such a nerd. Why couldn’t I just stop? I’m like the biggest stalker in the universe. That guy in class that jerks off to all the Facebookfriends of cheerleaders isn’t even as bad as me.

CaptainThoreal asks:

Hey dude, are you okay? Don’t let the posers win. It’s so not worth it. I really meant it when I said your blog was cool. You’re way too cool for them!

A smile forms on my face. I don’t know this person. I’ve never met this person. Hell, I just saw this person’s blog for the first time. Yet I feel accepted. I’m okay again. My purple nailpolish chipped fingers rush to the keyboard. “Thanks for making me feel like I’m worth it,” I want to type. My right pinky hits the backspace button. That’s so lame.

KissmyKorra replies:

Thanks, I’m okay again. You’re right they can’t bring us down. Haters gonna hate! Btw, omg! I saw your Sherlock fanart. Did you draw that yourself? I’m loving it. Sherlockfans unite. Sherlock and Watson are like a married couple, aren’t they? Heh, one true pairing for sure.

I look at the right corner on the screen. What?! It’s already 2 at morning? I could’ve sworn it was twelve o’clock when I started browsing tumblr. I sigh. Tomorrow school starts at 8.30 am. Of course of all courses I have to have math tomorrow. Jamie will sit behind me. At least then I won’t have to look at him goggling Mrs. Frederickson’s boobs. I’ll probably just have my backpack to lay on the seat next to me. Usually I try to sit in the back, but in this class all the seats were taken. I hate it when you’re at the front and you feel all the eyes burn in your back. As if they’re trying to kill you with their looks. They’re probably laughing at me or throwing notes with badly drawn dicks on them. Of course Mrs. Frederickson doesn’t notice. She’s the only one too occupied with her class to notice anything. It’s the worst when you can’t see others faces, but you know they are mocking you. It’s not a matter of if, just a matter of when and how.

The last thing I do before I go to bed is follow CaptainThoreal’s blog. I don’t think I’ll speak to him (or her?) again. By tomorrow this person won’t even know who I am. It won’t mean anything. Just another conversation with a stranger. When I’ve put on my Full Metal Alchemist shirt, brushed my teeth and hugged my plush alpaca to try to get to sleep I still think of the words. Someone actually cared for me.