On Narnia and the Bible

My, sometimes I hate how skeptic I have become of almost everything.


I’m trying to reread Narnia, but in the first book I’m just constantly thinking “Really, Aslan? Why would you do that?” or “Aslan, you are contradicting yourself”.


I feel like a lot of things just don’t make sense, like how he’s telling the talking animals not to drop to the level of the non-talking animals again, as if those are worth less, as if they are just stupid and inferior, while I thought he meant them all to be equals.


Then he goes on telling the new King that he should always attack first whenever there’s evil out there. I just don’t like him saying that. I think the new King and Queen of Narnia are meant to be peaceful and all, and to just tell them to always attack first seems a bit off to me.


Then again, Narnia and especially Aslan are greatly influenced by the Bible and religion, and well, lots of stuff in the Bible doesn’t make sense to me either. I mean, I just don’t see why people would believe that some kind of deity would, if he had the means to create a new and perfect world, choose to create a world that’s so unbalanced, where a small group of people holds all the power, whether in real life or Narnia.


I hate that it sort of killed Narnia for me.

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone?

Een blog in het Nederlands, dit keer. De plaats waar ik tot voor kort opschreef wat in mij opkwam, alle kwaadheid, de bitterheid en de eenzaamheid, is niet langer een toevluchtsoord. Wat dacht ik, toen ik besloot mijn hart op het internet uit te storten? Wat gebeurd is had ik moeten voorzien, het internet is geen privéplek. Dit was een dagboek, een journaal van emoties. Negatieve, meestal. Ik ben geneigd niet te schrijven over de positieve dingen in mijn leven. Ik ben 1 van die mensen die alleen maar kunnen klagen over wat ze niet hebben.
Ik zou mezelf kunnen verdedigen, moest ik weten dat dat niet compleet nutteloos is. De beste verdediging die ik heb is een zeldzaam 'artikel' in mijn eigenlijke, papieren dagboek, zeldzaam in de zin dat het 1 van de weinige positieve schrijfsels zijn, geschreven 8 juni (zo gewoon in het Engels te schrijven dat ik de Amerikaanse datumnotering overnam)

Ik weet niet eens meer wat te zeggen. Shari, die zoveel te zeggen heeft en over een eindeloze bron woorden lijkt te beschikken, is de mond gesnoerd. De pen, in dit geval, het toetsenbord, is machtiger dan een zwaard, en oh, hoe waar blijkt het te zijn. Woorden kunnen liefde doen ontstaan, mensen helpen, de wereld een klein beetje veranderen. Evenzeer kunnen zij schaden. Ik, van alle mensen, had dat moeten weten.
Wat schrijf ik nu? Maakt het nog uit? Ik heb alles vergooid, alles waarvoor ik zo dankbaar was, in 1571 woorden.

Kijk, de mens heeft de drang zich te willen verdedigen als hem onrecht wordt aangedaan. Mij wordt niks aangedaan, in tegenstelling, mij doet anderen iets aan.
En toch kan er hier een verdediging komen, hoe flauw ook, hoe nutteloos ook. Er is toch niets meer dat ik kan doen om dingen erger te maken.

Ten eerste: de beruchte blog is geschreven 18 mei, 4 maand geleden. Ik was boos, zeer boos, omdat ik het gevoel had dat Ophelia niet eens met mij mee wou gaan naar Pukkelpop. Ik was bang, ook, bang omdat ik voelde dat de band die ik ooit had met Ophelia begon weg te vallen. En verdrietig. Omdat bleek dat ik na al die tijd nog geen "gelijkgezinden" heb. Ik heb mij hierin verkeerd uitgedrukt.
Wat daar had moeten staan is "gelijkgezinden op het gebied van muziek"
Vrienden, hoe goed ook, kan ik toch niet verplichten met mij mee te gaan naar een festival waar ze niet om geven? Op dat gebied was Ophelia de enige voor mij. Op dat gebied zit ik met een tekort aan vrienden, een tekort aan: vrienden die naar dezelfde muziek als mij luisteren, dezelfde ideeën over de muziekwereld hebben, omdat muziek zo'n groot deel van mijn leven is.

Geen tekort aan vrienden. Ik heb vrienden. Of, ik had.

De paar vrienden die ik heb, op school, hebben, laten we eerlijk zijn, niet dezelfde interesses in muziek als ik. En dat hoeft ook niet. Uiteraard, ik kan de eenzaamheid niet ontkennen die ik zelfs op school bij momenten voel, maar dat is niets wat niet normaal is. Dat is wie ik ben en altijd geweest ben. Waar die blog over ging was dat ik vrienden nodig had die mijn liefde voor muziek delen. NIET om mijn eigen vrienden te vervangen, gewoon, om samen mee naar concerten te gaan, om samen mee cd's te delen. Ik herhaal, NIET om mijn vrienden te vervangen. Dat is nooit mijn bedoeling geweest en zal nooit mijn bedoeling zijn.

Ik weet dat ik de fout gemaakt heb het woord 'fair-weather friend' te gebruiken om het grootste deel van mijn bestaande vrienden te omschrijven. De impact daarvan heb ik bij het schrijven over het hoofd gezien, in al mijn onwetendheid. Ik ga niet beginnen aan het verschil uit te leggen tussen echte vrienden en vrienden die ik (nog) niet genoeg vertrouw om hen te raadplegen in mindere tijden. Ik was zo dom, zo onwetend om te denken dat de echte vrienden wel zouden weten dat de benaming 'fair-weather friend'  niet voor hen van toepassing is, niet aan hen gericht was. En nooit heb ik dit gemeen bedoeld, al wat ik bedoelde was dat ik zelf te onbekwaam ben meer dan 1 persoon echt te vertrouwen, en die ene persoon is Ophelia. Nooit heb ik willen zeggen dat zelfs diegenen die ik niet zou vertrouwen met mijn problemen, "te min zijn voor mij". Nee, ook van hen hou ik. Al wat ik wou zeggen is dat ikzelf en de onmogelijheid voor mij om mensen echt te vertrouwen een probleem was. Die blog was niet zozeer een verwijt aan anderen als het was aan mezelf. Er is niemand op aarde die ik meer minacht dan mezelf, en ik heb mezelf daar weer een andere reden toe gegeven. Ik dacht, in al mijn idiootheid, dat toch niemand buiten Ophelia die schrijfsels ooit zou lezen, ik dacht, dat het wel duidelijk was dat ik mezelf verweet mensen niet te vertrouwen, en dat ik hou van de vrienden die ik heb.

Ik zou nog honderd regels kunnen vullen waarin ik mezelf probeer uit te leggen, maar ik begrijp mezelf al amper, laat staan dat iemand anders het zou doen? Laten we het kort samenvatten met dat ik dom ben geweest, heel dom, maar dat er ook verkeerd geïnterpreteerd is geweest, dat niet al mijn vrienden alleen maar "fair-weather friends" zijn. Verre van, en ik heb nooit anders beweerd.

En nu? Leren leven met mijn fouten, zoals ik altijd al doe? Ik verwacht geen vergiffenis, ik verwacht niets. Ik zou mezelf nooit meer een blik waardig keuren.
Ik heb het verpest en zal dus de gevolgen moeten dragen.
Al wat ik kan zeggen is sorry, ook al maakt het niets uit.
SORRY. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

The Day Pukkelpop Stood Still (08182011)

The night Pukkelpop stood still.

Apparently the whole world knows what happened by now.

There was something in the air that morning; something I believed was the feeling of excitement about going to Pukkelpop.

Let’s skip the happy moments I had at my first ever big festival, and go to around 4 pm. My dad and I parted ways, and he gave me my raincoat ‘just in case’. Laughing, I looked up to the sky and said “As if any rain will still fall today.” How wrong I was.

Around 6 pm I left the ‘Shelter’ tent after a very fun performance by the Black Pacific. I noticed it was raining outside. Annoyed by the change in weather, I put on my raincoat.

The moment I stepped outside the tent, it was as if I had stepped into utter Apocalypse. The sky had turned black, rain and hailstones were gushing down at the few people walking outside and while I was running towards the bigger Marquee tent, I saw a tree falling down somewhere behind me, seemingly very close to the tent I just came out. I didn’t care, oddly enough all I was thinking at that moment was “I need to get to the Marquee to see Panic at the Disco!!” Once there, the rain kept coming in through the sides of the tent, along with winds at cutting speed. “Everyone standing at the sides, GET OUT!!” someone screamed. I ran into the darkness, looking for some place to remain dry, though that seemed needless, as I was already soaking. Having found a safe spot, I looked around and saw the same expression of shock and disbelief on the faces of the people surrounding me. “Where the fuck did this come from?” When I caught a huge hailstone and stared at it, not believing what I was seeing, a man was still laughing at me, “Got hit by bigger than that, girl” Everywhere I watched, people were taking shelter underneath food cabins or trees. Hiding underneath a tree seemed the most stupid thing to do at that point, since that tree could come down or get struck by lightning every second. Not for a million Euros would I ever stand underneath such a tree. I preferred getting soppy wet underneath the tiny roofs of the food cabins. Around me, boys were standing in their bare chests and girls in their thin t-shirts, surprised by the sudden rain and hail. I grabbed a girl, smaller than me, and dragged her underneath a roof, leaving no spot for me anymore so I had to stand in the full rain and hail. She gave me a look as if I’d just assaulted her, but I couldn’t care less, I was wearing a raincoat and I just couldn’t stand the sight of that girl with her bare arms getting hit by those hailstones. Giving one girl shelter from those hailstones was the least I could do.

Surreal as it looks now, I was still desperate not to miss Panic at the Disco in the Marquee tent, so I decided to take the risk of getting struck by lightning while running through an open field. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I bet my gym teacher would be proud of me since I’m sure I broke my personal record. I can’t describe what it looked like by then, when I was running I could barely see where I was going, and the whole time I was thinking “This is a hurricane. It’s fucking rapture. We’ll die”. This may seem exaggerating as I couldn’t yet see what the rest of the festival site looked like from where I was, thus not realizing just what was happening, but at that moment I was honestly really scared.

When I got in the Marquee, the first thing I did was text my dad to tell I was okay, wet but safe in the Marquee. The message still seemed to come through. The next message I sent, telling my best friend trees were falling down and the Marquee was shaking, didn’t. I think that was the point where I first realized something was off, something bigger than I thought was going on. I moved towards the middle of the tent. A boy, still completely dry, watched me as I took out my line-up, which was completely destroyed by the water, as was the 20 euro’s I got in my pocket. He smiled at me. “Got a little wet?” – “Yeah, but only a little” I joked. I remember worrying about my paper with the line-up being destroyed. How would I know where to go to? Soon after that, a man came up on stage, telling us that for now, none of the bands would be performing while they were checking the damage. “Damage?” I thought, in my ignorance, “Sure this was rain and hail like I had never seen before, but what damage could a 15-minute storm have caused?” The news of bands not playing was received with a loud booing, but then the man onstage said, with a little shaking in his voice: “People, be serious. Look behind you. Shit is getting life-threatening here”

As everyone turned around, you could almost hear the shock. The sound of gasping was everywhere. That minute, we all realized there wasn’t any band performing there that night anymore at all. Walking slowly towards the exit of the Marquee tent, I could not believe my eyes. I couldn’t grasp the true meaning of what I was seeing. Outside, the sky was a filthy grey, even though it had already cleared up a little. The site had turned into a swamp and one of the huge poles with signs on it to show directions was stood askew, several signs had fallen off. The gateway between two sides of the field had been crushed by a giant tree, with the entrance looking hardly any better. The iron structures that had once formed the entrance had come down and the 10 foot tall letters that had proudly read PUKKELPOP now lay scattered upon the floor. But worst of all was what I saw when looking straight before me. Where once had stood the Château tent, now lay a pathetic, messy pile of poles, ironwork and canvas. The whole tent had just collapsed. It was a terrible, sickening sight.

I started laughing. It was the laugh of a man who just saw the roof of the home he grew up in disappear. A laugh of shock, disbelief and grief, not comprehending the impact of what had happened. Everywhere I looked I saw people crying and desperately trying to call up their friends and family. The phone network was over capacity, no one could reach anyone. There wasn’t any mass hysteria at that point, but it would be outrageous to claim no one was panicking.  Everyone looked devastated, shocked by how such a beautiful summer day turned into such a tragedy. The thunder and lightning still rattling and cracking through the sky gave the whole thing a haunting post-apocalyptic feel. Ear-deafening silence was torturing all the attendants. Before, the festival was one colourful mix of music and laughter from all the different kinds of people attending Belgium’s biggest alternative festival. Now, the colours had been drowned in black and grey and all you could hear was silence and shock, disturbed every few minutes by the sound of sirens from the ambulances.

All I could do was wait. I thought my dad had received the message that I was in the Marquee. He didn’t, but luckily he found me there, unharmed, after just 30 scared minutes. Strangely enough, I hadn’t been worrying about him. Not once did it come to my mind that perhaps he could have been hit by a tree, or been in that tent. Perhaps it was the naïve positivity of a child still believing nothing bad can happen to the ones they love. Or perhaps I was just too overwhelmed by fear and what had happened to be worrying about him. All I knew was that I was glad he found me. “We’re leaving, now!” he said. I still couldn’t believe what had happened. This couldn’t be true...it couldn’t be over…perhaps the tent had been empty and no one got hurt? Still naïve, but slowly, the impact of the events started hitting me. That tent couldn’t have been empty; thousands must have been taking shelter from the rain inside. It was impossible no one got seriously injured. Or even worse, though that was something we didn’t dare to think about. “So it’s really over? Pukkelpop’s cancelled?” I asked my dad. This question may seem absurd considering the situation and considering I knew people must have died there, but I just couldn’t comprehend my first big festival experience really ended this way. I learned that there is a difference between knowing what happened and understanding what happened. It must be a nightmare. “We have to get to the car” A wave of fear raged through me as I realized we had parked our car underneath some trees. What if?

All the attendants spilled out onto the streets. On the way to our car we saw streets completely drowned in muddy water, an old woman came running towards us, branches of a tree next to her house had fallen off and taken her house’s electricity wires with them. These now lay in a puddle of mud and water, making it an extremely dangerous place. All the way through, we tried to contact my mother and grandmother, telling them not to worry, that we were alright and heading home, but our phones still wouldn’t work...When we got to the car and finally were able to reach our family, we were extremely happy nothing bad had happened. Since we were one of the first to leave the scene, we got out relatively quick, on our way home.

Inside the car, we put on the radio and the news started coming through. Countless injured...municipal disaster-plan put into action..1 death...press conference held by Chokri, Pukkelpop’s organizer, and the major of Hasselt…speaking of 2 deaths…more seriously injured…other tents collapsed as well…3 deaths…

I came home shocked by what I had been a witness to and immediately put on the news. Everyone was talking about it. This was without doubt the most tragic day in Belgian festival history. Images of youngsters, not very different from me, desperately trying to find their friends, trying to contact their parents, telling them they were alright. Reporters had lost their camera crew and started filming with their cell phones. It honestly looked like the end of the world.

My cell phone, mysteriously still working after all the water it had seen, brought to me messages of worried friends. “Are you okay? Heard what happened. Please let me know.” “Shari? Everything alright? Answer!” This came as a shock to me, knowing how many people actually cared for me, had been scared for me. It may seem more than normal they were worrying about me, but that evening I still hadn’t fully realized how big the impact of this disaster was, that even I had been in danger, though I had been lucky enough to have found a shelter in what turned out to be one of the safest tents on the whole field. It even still seemed absurd people in America would hear about this.

It wasn’t until Friday when I started to understand. 5 people dead, 140 injured. I heard what tents had collapsed, what tents had got hit by trees. I saw the press conference held that day at 10 am. Whereas merely 18 hours before, I had called Chokri a filthy capitalist after spending 7,5 euro’s on a miniature Kebab, I now felt sorry as hell for him. The man looked as if he had lived over a 100 years in misery. Last year, a shadow fell over Pukkelpop as one of the crew members died of a heart attack and Charles Haddon, the singer of Où Est Le Swimming Pool? committed suicide on one of the festival’s parking lots. But this…this was something way worse than he could ever have imagined, something no one could have predicted. One Dutch interviewer shamelessly blamed Chokri for not having warned anyone about the storm. When Chokri helplessly explained that no one could have known what was coming, the Dutchman kept going and said “You knew there was a possibility a storm was coming!!” Indeed, a possibility. Everyone knew, but what happened there was no storm. Not on ordinary one, at least. There isn’t anyone on this Earth who could have predicted what would exactly happen. Does he expect Chokri to stop the weather or what?

I also heard of more tents having collapsed, one of them the ‘Shelter’ tent, the tent I just came out when the storm started. Apparently, the support bar fell apart and the whole thing broke down in half. Now, the people who lost their lives there are getting faces and names on the news, making everything much more real. A young couple..a student going to Pukkelpop for the very first time..

Turning on my computer that Friday, I discovered messages from people all the way in other parts from Europe and even America worrying about me after they heard what happened. I can’t explain how much this means to me.

Only now I’m realizing what happened. The future of Pukkelpop is still uncertain. Last year it celebrated its 25^th birthday, possibly it won’t ever celebrate its 30^th. Such a shame, for it was without doubt one of the best and biggest festivals in Belgium, second after Rock Werchter, but having kept that peculiar feel and alternativity that RW has lost over the years.

One thing is certain though: Pukkelpop will never be the same after this.

There had been something in the air that morning.

Sigh

Okay okay. I only write stuff when I'm not feeling well. Don't think I'm like this 24/7.

...it was funny, yet horrible. Still I watched the whole thing. I had to. I said I would. But I could not deny it hurt me, and even frightened me. People scare me, that's nothing new. I only wondered when they had started scaring me from a simple video? Maybe it was because these where strangers to me, but not to her. These are people who are close to her, closer -as I realised watching it, though I wish I hadn't, because the truth sometimes hurt- closer to her, than even me.
What do I still mean in her life?
Nothing. An eternal nothing tortures my mind. Nothing, you mean nothing to her anymore. She doesn't need you anymore.
Do I still need her?
Stuff didn't look too good for me back in September. I completely shut down, remaining silent during recess, even wishing for the classes to start again, every day.
But slowly, I started to befriend some people. I can have fun with them now, every day.
However, they are still nothing but fair-weather friends, I would never trust them with my fears, my incertainties. Neither do they trust me in that way.
Do they share my interests, opinions, dreams?
No.
Neither does she.
But I love her, and I need her.
As a friend, as a best friend.
I should count my blessings, be grateful for what I have, and I am, I swear I am.
But is it too much to ask for at least some people who I could share my life with?
She has those people, everyone has.
So why can't I?
Yeah, why can't I? Social skills are something you can't learn from books.
That pretty much explains everything.
Doing great at school, but failing in everyday social life.
And still I depend too much on her, like an addict, like a parasite.
I should let her go, let her live her life.
But I can't live without her, fuck, I can't.
She doesn't need me. I know. That's allright.
I am the problem.
My own worst friend, my own closest enemy.

Looking at the future, I see how I will grow into a bitter old woman, someone who has never known love from a man, and only sees love in the form of cats. I will die, surrounded by 4 of them. No one will notice, but they will wail and weep, and they will also die after a while, being the only ones mourning me, my only left friends. I will be 90 something. All my old friends will be long dead and gone, having lived and loved. I was left behind, only to grow more bitter and frustrated every time the day turned into twilight and the night turned into dawn.
After 2 weeks they will find my rotten body, they will cover their faces trying to defend theirselves from the smell of death filling the air. My funeral will be as lonely and hollow as my life was. There will be no music, no tears.They will bury me in a wooden coffin and there will be no flowers on my grave, no one paying attention. Slowly my body will start to fall apart, until there's nothing left of me but some bones, and eventually, these will also fade away, until I finally am what I was always supposed to be: Nothing.

Angry and let down

...happiest blog title EVER.

Okay. I have no idea if everything I'm feeling right now (which is not too much actually) will come out as I intend it to. I mean, I was never good at putting my thoughts into words. Which means I suck at it. Let's start at the start.

No, then we'd have to start 15 somewhat years ago, my birth.
But let's go back in time 1 month ago.
I heard about the line-up for Pukkelpop, an annual festival in Belgium, this year.
There were some bands that appealed to me, and I thought "Let's ask my best friend if she's going!!"
50 percent because I actually wanted to go to that festival, 50 percent because I had to keep my promise of going to a festival this summer, a promise I made 2 years ago, when I was still under the illusion that by 15, I'd already have a place to belong to and a bunch of like-minded friends.
Anyway.
So I texted her, asking "Do you have anything to do the 18th of August?"
She texted back: "Pukkelpop xx"
I asked her if she was really going, she said yes.
She said she was already going, with some friends.
At that moment, I didn't really understand the meaning behind those words.
So, we arranged we were going to Pukkelpop.

I was really, really happy. The first actual festival I would be going too! With my best friend!
The next day, I ordered my tickets. One for me, one for my dad.
My best friend said she would order hers as soon as possible, but that she first had to arrange Graspop, a metal festival that she desperately wanted to go to. I was okay with that, but I warned her that she didn't have to wait too long, before it was sold out.
Meanwhile, I finally realised she had said "I'm already going with some friends"
Meaning, she asked those friends before she even thought of asking with me.
I was feeling...pissed...let down...abandoned, even.
Why would she aks those people before she asked me, her so-called best friend?
Did she think she wouldn't have fun with me around?
Didn't she WANT me to go with her to that festival?
I ignored all those questions, because I was so happy I was going to Pukkelpop this year, finally!

Last weekend or so, I heard on the radio the tickets were sold out. I rushed to my cellphone, thinking "Oh god, say she's already got her tickets, please let her already have her tickets"
What did I expect.
I was angry.
I was so, fucking, fucking angry.
I still am.
I warned her several times that she couldn't wait too long, because it would sell out.
Apparantly, Graspop means more to her.
Fine.
Really, I can't blame her for preferring to go to Graspop with her friends rather than going to Pukkelpop with me. I mean, last year, she was very depressed, she didn't enjoy her life too much, but now, she's living a completely different life. She has a ton of friends, she goes to a concert every week, and she loves every single minute of it. She mostly abandoned her old life, which is great, and I'm really happy for her.
Too bad I'm part of her old life.
I really wish I could just let her go, enjoy her life, instead of bothering her with all my stupid problems.
But fuck, she's the only one I have, the only one I can trust.
Without her, I'm nothing.
I feel so guilty for being a chain that keeps her from living her life the way she wants it, but at the same time, is it so wrong that I want to have a life as well?
Because, let's not try to hide it, I have very, very few friends. There's 10 something people at my school who I really like and love, but I'm not sure if all of them are real friends. Most of them are just fair-weather friends. They're only there to have fun. Outside school, I have no friends at all. Just my best friend. Who's completely independent from me whatsoever.
For me, it's different. I depend on her for EVERYTHING. While she can go out with friends, I can't. I never come out of my house to do anything, except for when it's something with her.
Slowly, I can feel I'm losing her.
I can feel the distance between us growing every day.
And now this.

Immediately, my parents said "go with someone else then!"
I. Don't. Fucking. Have. Anyone. Else.
And then they started getting all angry at me for depending on her so much, for not being able to have fun without her, for having no friends beside her.
They're right, of course.
I'm sorry, but I'm a social failure.
"How comes Ophelia can go to a concert and know 50 people there, while you're always alone?"
I'm sorry mom.
I'm not Ophelia.
I'm sorry.
So, now I'm going to Pukkelpop all alone. With my dad.
Great.
Awesome.
Oh, how I am going to have a bunch of fun!

And I thought I was going to have fun with her.
I want to be so angry at her, but I can't.
When I'm texting her, I always fail to express the anger and feeling of being let down that I really feel.
I can't even write it here.
The problem is, this brought up the familiar problem, me not having any friends or any group to belong to.
My parents even suggested going on facebook.
Like that would help.
I'm useless, sorry.
My social life is a mistake, a joke.

I just wished I knew all this before I wasted 160 euros on fucking Pukkelpop.
What am I going to do now?
Walking around there, all by myself?
Witnessing how all the other young people have tons of fun with all their friends?
Feeling so goddamn lonely?
Being just completely bored?
Yay.

I was looking forward to it so much, I was so happy I could go to Pukkelpop with my best friend.
And now I just wish I could sell my ticket to someone else.

In the car, just a few hours ago, my dad went mad at me.
Saying I should make some friends.
Saying I should find a place to belong to.
Saying that it's all my own fault.
Basically, saying what I already knew: I fail in social life.
If it weren't for school, I wouldn't even HAVE a social life.
And it sucks.
I mean, there's no need to get angry with me
Does he think I'm happy being like this?
Does he think I ENJOY being alone all the time?!
Does he think I don't WANT to meet like-minded people?
Does he think this is a choice or what?
No dad, I don't fit in anywere.
Yes dad, I know, everyone else can do it.
But I am not everyone else.
How I wish I were.
I can't make friends.
I've never been able to anyway.
Did it seriously take you 15 years to figure that one out?
I will probably die alone.
I can just picture myself dying at 80, thinking about all the stuff I was supposed to do in my youth,
but missed because I can't seem to be able to make any friends.
I thought it would change,
but it doesn't.
Every day I'm growing more bitter, frustrated and disenchanted.
Every day I'm growing older, and I'm not having any fun.
I'm just here.
Alone.
In my claustrophobic room.
Locked up inside these 4 walls.
Staring at a computer screen.
And I can't even have fun on the internet.
It's awfully depressing when I see my contacts list on msn, or on my cellphone. Less than 30 people, and no one's ever online.
No one ever starts speaking to me.
Unless they need something.
Because I'm doing great at school.
BECAUSE I HAVE NO LIFE.
Seriously.
I get better grades than ever, because I'm also more lonely and bored than ever.
I've got nothing else to do.
I get up.
Eat.
Go to school.
Come back from school.
Do my homework.
Eat.
Play bass.
Stare at my computer screen for 2 hours straight, doing absolutely nothing.
Go to bed.
End.
I know there should be something fun in my day schedule, but it's missing.
There's this awful lack.

Maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe my crazy biology teacher is happy.
She's all alone.
Never got married.
Never has any fun.
Gives her students tons of work to do, so she can correct it, to spend her time a little.
She's got nothing better to do.
She's probably bitter.
She's everything I will probably be in 40 years.
But like I said, maybe it's not that bad.
I mean, maybe she's happy.

Sigh.

So, I'm going to Pukkelpop alone with my dad because I don't have any friends to come with me.
That pretty much sums it up.

I'm still waiting for my life to begin.

I probably will still be waiting for it when I'm 80.

Maybe, one day, someone comes up to me and open the door to my life.
Like, without doing it because he feels sorry for it.
Just, comforting me out of free will.
I dream about that every night.

But dreams are just dreams.

There are still things I like

Everyone better believe it. It's true, when I'm being asked what makes me happy, I have to think about it for a way too long time. It's not like I'm walking around completely depressed all day, absolutely not, but I'm feeling pretty average these days. I guess it's some kind of teenage personality crisis. I don't know who I am anymore, or who I want to be. I don't even want to think of the person I will be 10 years from now. That often scares me. When I try to psychoanalyze myself, I can only come to the conclusion that it is the way it is because I'm turning 16 in December, and even when I was still a little kid, I imagined myself being a completely different, more enjoyable person at 16. But now that I feel that age coming, I feel as if I've failed. I feel like I've let the 8-year old me down. And that led to this, what are we going to call it,  mild personality crisis. Which makes me very uncertain about what I still like and what truly makes me happy. Not too long ago, this would have been easy to answer, but everything's kind of blurry these days.

But yesterday, we had the annual 'picnic in the park' day at my school, when we get to wear normal clothes (instead of our dull brown uniforms) and we all eat sandwiches in our park. There's usually a really good atmosphere on that particular day. Everyone seems happier,friendlier. People were playing games, enjoying the weather, and listening to the school band playing a song. Traditionally, everyone sits on the meadow in their own little and bigger groups of friends. But the little boy, the gifted one who’s always meditating on the bridge, was sitting all alone, quietly eating his sandwich. Having forgot to put on normal clothes, this added up to the whole feeling of loneliness that his figure expressed. The grassfield seemed huge compared to him, while he seemed so tiny. Some kind of instinct (Hell, do I know where I got it) gave me the feeling that I had to protect the boy, I HAD to. I felt as if I had to protect him like he’s my own son. So I discussed it with my friends, and though most of them were against it, two others agreed on inviting the boy to our group. We knew he wouldn’t take offense, because in an earlier experience, we were sitting on the bridge in the park, quite close to him, but not talking to him, and this guy Wolf (Not a nickname, that’s the guy’s actual name) suddenly sat next to him, coming completely out of nowhere. The little boy moaned and crept closer to his friend, who was with him, and muttered something about ‘negative energy’. He stood up and went away. The Wolf-guy didn’t know what just had happened “Did I just do that?” We always thought the boy didn’t like us sitting close to him, but that he just didn’t dare to tell us, but from that experience, we learned that we didn’t bother him, if we did, he would just have gotten up and gone away, like he did with Wolf.

So we offered him to join us, and he was like “Well, okay, I don’t mind”. So we brought him with us and introduced him to the group, after which we just talked to our friends. The boy never interrupted us, but every once in a while a high, cute giggle reminded us he was still there. Slowly, the ice kind of broke for the boy, and he started to join our conversations, telling stories and making us laugh. He looked as if he had a good time, and I felt happy because we’d taken him out of his loneliness. We stood up for the guy, and showed his classmates (he’s in 7^th grade) that even if they think he’s a freak, 10^th graders like him, which is something I know some of his classmates envy.

After a while, it was just me talking to him, telling him stories, listening to his. I got a great feeling out of this, a feeling that felt like I hadn’t experienced it in a while. It felt just so right. He turned out to be extremely funny, and not at all ‘socially handicapped’ as some people describe him. I think he just hasn’t got the chance to prove himself yet, to show that he’s fun to hang out with, because they have all these weird thoughts about him. Everyone gives up on him before they get to know him, because he’s kind of a loner, the vegetarian kid who sits alone and meditates. He’s just a misunderstood young boy, really. I recognized a lot of myself in him, because when I was in primary school, I was a lot like that myself. People avoided me because I was ‘the weird one’, never understanding me. In the end it turned out they didn’t understand me because I was’ intellectually at a higher level’ than they were, which caused them not understanding me and my interests and thoughts and stuff. This seems strange to say, but it’s just  like that. They couldn’t understand me and my weird thoughts. I guess that’s exactly what happened to the little boy, considering his IQ of 150. When we were talking, I recognized so much of my primary-school-self in him, I randomly told the boy loads and loads of stories and stupid facts about myself, and so did he.

Afterwards, I felt very surprised by my actions. You see, usually, when I meet someone new, I’m very shy and quiet, and there’s no way I would ever be the first one to start talking. But my little chatter with the boy suddenly remembered me of another character treat of mine, one that I had almost begun to forget. I have always been shy and clumsy when I meet someone new, but in the past, once the ice was broken, once I felt some sort of connection with the other person, I started talking. And talking. There was no end to it. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had that kind of immediate trust in someone and I start telling stories to that strangers that I almost forgot I could do that. I think the last time it happened was 2 years ago in the summer. Most of the time I’m just quiet and people think I’m weird or that I don’t like them because I don’t speak, but really, I’m just too scared, because there isn’t a connection and the ice is still deeply frozen. The boy brought this piece of me up again, which I’m very grateful for. He remembered me of how innocent I was in the past, and how, despite my shyness, I could still make friends through my excessive talking when they were, somehow, able to break through my wall of shyness. Nowadays I strengthened the wall, so it’s almost impossible to just break through it without trying (and no one finds me interesting enough to try), and I hardly make any new friends. The boy was, unconsciously, able to reach me, which I think is amazing. It felt so good, so right. Seeing the boy, who’s usually so lonely and not exactly cheerful, having fun, and having fun myself, that’s what makes me happy.

Fish' IQ

That was the only blogtitle my über-creative mind could come up with. Fish.

Anyway, I'll keep my blog nice and short today

-I always write way too long blogs-

Anyway, a few days ago, everything started of pretty boring.
Well, English was quite fun, we had to do some exercises in pairs and I had to work together with this girl, who's extremely shy and quiet, but she can also be extremely hilarious. She has the most infectuous laugh EVER.
So I was reading one topic, which was something like; "You and your boyfriend have been fighting all day. You have been shouting at him and now you feel sorry for what you've said. What would you do?" And she was like "What? What?" so I let her read the thing, and she was like "Shooting? Schieten? Schieten op u lief?" - "Annelies, you have to speak English!" - "Shooting? At your..boy...friend?"
hahahahahhaha
I almost pissed myself
just the whole situation, with her quite bad mixture of Dutch and English (because she's not very good at English) and how she thought it was 'shooting' instead of 'shouting'
I couldn't stop laughing. xD

anyway.

We were sitting next to the little boy from my previous blog again today, and we were randomly talking about IQ's, because a friend of mine got hers tested once and the result was an IQ of 128, but because of her low grades, nobody believes her so everyone mockes her all day ("oh, miss 'highly-intelligent", how much did you get on your test? 4,75 out of 15? Highly intelligent huh?").

You're only officially highly intelligent from 130, so they have no point, and it's not like school results always reflect intelligence whatsoever.

So when were talking about it, and I asked Lotte, another friend of ours, what her IQ was, because I know she's gifted as well, and she answered "oh, 146" And I was like "146?! SERIOUSLY?"
and then the little boy raised his head (he had been meditating the whole time again) and quietly said "150" with his little cute smile. The boy's just adorable. I just can't believe all his classmates think he's a freak. I mean, he can completely block out the world when he's meditating, AND he's given up meat and sweets. How many 12-year olds can do that?

It kind of made me wonder what my IQ could be. Probably just 100 or something. Nothing special.