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.

School Sucks

Yeah-Tell us something new.

Allright. So yesterday I had to go to school on my bike. I hate my bike. Or the bike hates me. We don't get along very well. It's quite okay in the morning though, because it's downhill all the way to my school. I still arrive all messy and sweat anyway. When I arrived at my school, it was 8:05 am. That's the hour I usually leave my house, so I was there like, 25 minutes too early. Quite a sucky start, I could've slept some more during those 1500 seconds. When the bell rang, I head off towards the Pavilion (the 'center' of my school, they stole it from the World expo in Brussels in '58. Seriously, they did. They took the whole building and put it next to the 'castle', the oldest part of my school, which used to be an actual castle, but don't expect too much of it, it's quite an ugly building. The biggest part of it is occupied by the 5 nuns who still live there). So anyway, right when I got there, I realised "Oh fuck, they put our lockers in the 'recreationroom' (Don't even ask why it's called that way, there's not much recreation going on there) which is on the other side of the school, why not. So I hurried to my locker, and on my way the first bell signal for the start of classes ran, and I crossed my religion teacher. My first class was religion, so I quickly took my books out of my locker, and ran towards my classroom with the speed of light. I got there and everyone was still standing outside, waiting for the teacher, and when she arrived, we all went inside. The bitch started her lesson with "All of you get a note in your school diaries, because you weren't standing in your line in the pavilion. (she's the only teacher who applies this rule, waiting for the teacher in a line) I thought, shit, I already got 3 notes, now I have to go see the principal. But I can live with it, everyone gets a note anyway. Then that woman announced "Oh and Shari, you have a second note, you were to late." I was like, "Uhm, no, actually, I wasn't." And she said, Oh yeah, you were, you were still in the hallway after the 1st bell signal. Bullshit. The rules is we have to be in our class before the seconds, but not immediately after the 1st, I was in the class together with the rest, they can all confirm that. But I didn't complain, the stupid hag hates me already, since I started a fight with the rest of my class during her lesson, saying that I'm not immature, I just think like a 15year old, and not like a fucking 40 year-old sycophant pusher like the rest of my class. She wasn't too happy with me insulting all my classmates, that woman. I did answer her, "Come on, then I will have 5 notes, whereof I got 4 from you! What does that mean?!" Like, is it me or that teacher?  So, my day started with 2 notes and a guaranteed visit to my favorite person on earth, the principal. Oh, how I love that woman.
Then, during English class, a lot of us didn't bring the new unit of our workbooks, so the English teacher went all apeshit and announced; "I'M NOT GIVING LESSONS TODAY!!!" I was like, okay, I can live with that, but then he said, and all of you who didn't bring their stuff, you have to copy all the vocabulary. I was like, "How am I supposed to do that? I don't have my stuff." So he wanted to give me his own vocabulary pages, but right in the middle of giving it to me, he changed his mind, threw them on the floor, and yelled: "Well, GO GET THEM IF YOU WANT THEM GODDAMMIT" I thought, wow, someone's grumpy today. Anyway, then he brought one of the old '90s-styled televisions we have in our school into our class, and said, all of you who have their stuff with them, go sit here, in front of the video. All the rest, you can't watch it. I laughed out loud, it was so goddamn ridiculous. Then, when I was done copying all the vocabulary, I dared to look up to the video, and the mad guy said "SHARI YOU CAN'T WATCH IT, YOU DID NOT BRING YOUR STUFF!!" Okay...how mental can you be? I thought it was rather pathetic and funny. What a hilarious monday that was.

And today, 1 of my friends had to go to the beloved principal to do her assignment (she had to learn an English poem by heart) and another one went with her, and 2 others still had to make their homework during recreation, so basically, I was alone during the lunch recreation. Which sucked. So I went to look for Raphael, another friend of mine, and he was sitting with some people, some of them friends of mine, others more like strangers to me. Because I didn't feel like hanging out with those people, I asked "Hey, have you seen Lotte and Elise (the 2 friends who went to the principal) and one of them, a girl who I don't know too well, said, "Oh yeah, I've seen them pass, they went right over there, next to the bushes" so I was like, okay, and started walking towards the bushes, when I suddenly heard a little giggle and saw them all laughing at me. I felt quite bad, I thought, oh no, really, this again? Because that kind of stuff happened to me a lot in the past, people making fun of me that way, and in this case, some of my 'friends' actually participated. I know it's not quite a big deal, but it happens/happened to me so much that it makes me wonder if there's something wrong with me, why does everybody want to make fun of me and laugh at me? It's been going on all my life, in both friendly and very hostile ways. So I went inside again, walking around all lonely and stuff, and there was this little boy sitting on the bridge, staring down, and I just felt so broken inside. Just seeing that young boy, sitting there, all alone, staring at the ground, made me feel so let down and betrayed by the world. Why is the world such a cruel place that people can just walk past that little boy, still a child, without caring? Without even looking at him? Or looking at him, and ignoring it? It made me feel so sad and angry. But, bad person that I am, I didn't really do anything either. I felt so ashamed and mad at myself for not having the guts to start talking to that boy. I'm not quite a sociable person, and talking to complete strangers always makes me feel very, very uncomfortable. So I just couldn't find the strenght to come up to that boy and start talking to him, and I felt so bad and guilty. My heart just bled when I saw him sitting there, such a cute, innocent being, he doesn't deserve being so lonely. So I talked about it to Michiel, a friend of mine, and he said, well, maybe the boy chooses to be alone. Maybe he doesn't mind." and I was like, god, Michiel, how can you be so heartless? I had seen the boy walking around before, without anyone to talk to, without anyone to laugh with, I mean, how could he possibly CHOOSE to be so goddamm lonely? Luckily, the 2 friends came back from their visit to the principal, and they felt like cheering the boy up a little. So we came over to him and sat next to him. He didn't even look at us. I was like "Uhm, hi, what's your name?" But he kept staring down and remained silent. So Lotte tried "Are you in 7th grade? In which class are you?" But he still didn't reply, nothing about him showed that he even heard us. I though "What are we doing wrong? Maybe we're bothering him? Maybe he doesn't want to talk to us? Maybe we scare him? Maybe he just wants to be left alone?" So Lotte asked "Are we bothering you? Tell us if we have to leave?" But the little guy stayed in the same position he had been sitting in all the time, with his eyes closed and with his little head bowed down. Some 8th graders passed by. "What the fuck are you doing? Do you really think the guy will respond, to YOU? He never says anything, he's MEDITATING (they said it in a really mean, sarcastic way), he doens't mind being alone, he's a bit crazy we think, he doesn't answer or anything, he won't even look at us, the little freak. Just leave him alone!" And I thought like, WTF. How can you be so mean? The boy can hear you! (Well that's what we thought at that moment) and the way they were saying it, like we were doing something ridiculous and hopeless. So I looked at Elise and Lotte, and thought, "No way. We're not leaving." And then all of a sudden the little boy 'woke up', looked next to him, saw Lotte, looked completely confused, like he didn't realise we were there. Lotte said we had been there for 10 minutes talking to him. The boy smiled, the cutest smile ever, trust me. Looking up, the sun made his whole face light up and he looked so beautifully perfect, with his bright eyes and cute smile. I asked (in the most friendly way I could) what he was meditating about, and he answered in this really shy, sweet voice, but I couldn't understand a word he said. Oh well. Then we asked him some more questions, how he likes it at school and stuff, just normal questions, and he answered them all with this adorable smile. Then Lotte asked what we all were wondering about: "So you really didn't hear anything we said to you while you were meditating?" and he answered, "Well, once I reach a certain point, I can't hear what's going on around me anymore" We were shocked. We could never do that, meditating in the middle of that bridge, with all the people passing by, and even reaching that trance-like point. I really admire the little boy for being able to do that. Seriously, I could never, ever do something like that. Then the bell rang and we said goodbye and went inside, but I couldn't keep my thoughts of that intriguing little boy. He's the most beautiful being on earth, believe me. Such a pure creature. Just the way he talked and smiled and all, he seemed so perfect, he lacked the certain ugliness all humans have, he didn't seem to have any signs of anger or hatred in him. Maybe it's the meditating. I was amazed. I felt just so happy and blissful about the existence of such a magical little boy. When I told my friend Michiel all about it, he just rudely said, "See, the guy's crazy. He wants to be alone. He's probably authistic or something." I was shocked. I know he's highly intelligent (my brother, who's also in 7th grade, told me that) but I don't believe he's really authistic at all, when he was talking to us, he was just a normal 12-year old boy, he didn't seem authistic at all. There's a few authists at my school, and I can ensure you, that little boy isn't like that. And what if he is? The most brilliant minds that have ever lived were probably authistic, with the Asperger syndrome. I mean, look at Einstein. To me, the little boy is my hero. He really made my day. I just hope he won't grow as bitter and disenchanted as all the other people do, I want him to stay this pure, innocent and perfect.

Teenage Angst?

I'm lost. Boy am I lost. I'm lost beyond words, and if that's not bad enough allready, I'm also stuck. Stuck in my rusty life. I don't know nothing anymore. I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore, what I'm supposed to do anymore, what I'm supposed to think anymore. I think I even forgot how to be me. It used to be all this simple. I listened to bands such as Alesana and Silverstein and whatnot. Emotional music made by middle class people. So, I belonged, with my perfect life and all. I mean, there was nothing wrong with it, not too many trainwrecks, not too many people who came from broken homes, I mean, I had a lot in common with most of the bands and fans. This was my world. This was were I belonged. But everything changed when I got into punk rock (through Green Day, think what you wanna think about that)

All of a sudden the world wasn't all that nice and carefree anymore. All of a sudden there were stories about people my age or younger, who got abused by their parents, who got abandonded by their parents, who eventually ran away and started a 'new' life, full of drugs and booze and violence. I like the music, yes. I love the politics, the DIY principes and stuff. I love the thought of a bunch of outcasts coming together to make something, to do something usefull. I hate the thought of a place full of trainwrecks. Me, the white middle class girl with the perfect life, what do I have in common with those people on the margins of society?
The simple answer is nothing. So why do I feel attracted to such a negative scene, such an unhappy world, while I was born with all the advantages in life? While I could become a doctor, a lawyer, a judge? I don't have to live in a squat home because I haven't got another choice, I can just buy a big house, house and tree and dog and 2 kids and live a happy carefree life. But at the same time, that's not what I want to do. I know I don't belong in this middle class world, but at the same time, I don't belong with people who went through more shit than I can imagine. The punk people, they've seen too much of the unhappiness in the world, most of them have seen too many sorrow, fear and anger. Yet the middle class people, my own friends and classmates, seem to be too carefree, it's like they don't care about the world. When they see poor people, they say "oh, you know, it's their own fault, they're too stupid to study well and then they end up having these bad jobs, and then they earn too little, blahblahblah.." You know. I don't belong with those people either. At the same time I want to see all the ugliness of this world, because I don't want to close my eyes and live my comfortable middle class life like there's nothing bad out there, but on the other hand, I wouldn't ever want to live in that ugliness, because I will feel too unhappy, and I will have the feeling I need to do something about all the suffering, and then I'd have to conclude that I can't save everyone, and to me, that hurts more than anything, the impotent feeling of not being able to help someone. So punk, with all the drugs and the violence and the ugly things going on, it's not meant for me. And I know this blind middle class society wasn't meant for me either, so where do I belong? Why isn't there anything compromising, like a punk scene with people just like me, people who live perfect lives but just seem to be unable to be satisfied by it? I don't know what to do anymore, don't know where I belong anymore. And I know there's no-one out there who could give me a place to belong. I guess I'm just a complainee who's never happy with what she already has. And it pisses me off. The world pisses me off.
Call it teenage angst if you like, this never-ending sad feeling when you're discovering the world around you isn't as nice and safe as you always thought it was, this feeling of never fitting in anywhere.
Sometimes I just wish I could just back to the world my best friend's in, the world without too many drugs or booze or violence, with all the people just like us. But for some reason, I can't, I'm attracted to a world that I don't even want to belong to. Say that I'm just never happy with all my blessings.

Suivant Sycophant

-'suivant' is French for following/obedient by the way-

Bored. Man, am I bored.

So, let's write a little something about my classmates. I study the direction Latin A (something like Latin-Modern Languages) at this disgusting school where only white middle class people go. Yes, I know, so am I. But it disgusts me anyway.
There's this one teacher, let's call him mister Smartass. He really likes to hear his own voice. Damn, does he like to listen to hisself. Well, I don't. Matter of fact, I really, really can't stand the guy. We just don't quite see eye to eye I guess. In previous issues, he even threatened to smash my head against the wall. He had said, because the class was being all 'loud' and stuff, that the next time we had to speak in front of the class, he'd be this noisy too. So I answered 'okay'. You know, it was kind of a reflex. So he went all apeshit on me and said, "yeah? Well, then that will cost you some grades." So I said "What? Losing grades? Because YOU speak while I'm in front of the classroom?" and then he really went mental and started saying he really wanted to smash me with my head against the wall. I think the guy has some serious anger management issues.

Anyway, last friday, he was showing some pictures and stuff of places in London, because we're going to London in a few weeks. This girl who sat next to me was constantly whispering commentary to me, very quietly, and I didn't even answer, I bet the people sitting a few meters behind us couldn't even notice she was talking, and all of a sudden mr. Smartass jumped out of his skin again, threatened to smash us with our heads against the wall again (seriously, what's the matter with this guy?!) Okay, well, he didn't immediately start threatening us, only after I started defending the girl that was talking to me. I told him, in a very nice, polite way, (okay, maybe not all that nice and polite, but hey, I wasn't screaming or anything either) that she really wasn't talking THAT loud at all, but you know, teachers, they never listen to their students do they? I think it just annoyed him that someone was talking while HE was talking, he really can't stand that, because, you know, he likes his own voice quite A LOT. Everything he says is all that important and stuff. So we started complaining and stuff, and all these lame people in my class, they just told us to 'shut up and do what the teacher tells you'

And this is just one small example of my classmates blindly following and defending a teacher/another form of authority without questioning anything. They really seem to idolize mr. Smartass/other teachers. Oh, and they try to bring me down while doing it.

A-fucking-HEM?!!

Damn, these folks disgust me. They follow and do everything a teacher tells them to. They listen to the music the media tells them to like and wear the clothes the shops want them to buy. They're just a bunch of obedient dumbasses really. If mr. Smartass would tell them to jump into the pit of an erupting volcano, they would definately do it. They never think about anything, they just obey and do it. Like last year, one of our teachers was absent, so we had study, but a lot of us (our class wasn't like this last year) were like 'Bleh. Fuck it.' So we played truant. Heh. We got no problems or anything, no one ever noticed it.
But some of my classmates, the same people who now defend teachers when they're actually wrong, stayed inside for one boring hour and studied.
Sickening.

Come on.

They just obey everything, do everything teachers want them to do, make their homework when they have to, and never go into a discussion with a teacher. I guess they're just brainwashed zombies or something. It's pretty alarming.

So, sometimes it seams like my whole class is against me. I don't get them and they don't get me. I wish I could go to another school or a least leave the class I'm in now, because they piss me off more and more everyday.

Damn, how I hate those suivant sycophants.

Me vs. Nationalism.

Ugh. Yesterday, as I was walking in Zottegem (the pathetic failure of a city aka the nearest 'city' where I live, I noticed this sticker on a pole. It said "against racism towards whites". Mkay. I hate racism, it disgusts me. Whether it's white people being racists towards 'coloured' people or 'coloured' people towards white people, it's wrong. It's awful. Being white myself, I also hate when a 'coloured' person just assumes I am a racist and I hate him/her because of his/her skintone, religion, whatever. This, people, is just as much racism as when I would actually tell that person to get out of the country. As soon as one person discriminates/insults an other person because of skintone or religion, we're talking about racism. I am against racism. All kinds of racism. Let that be clear.

So, basically, although I know Zottegem well enough to know how they meant that sticker, I had nothing against it. But, exactly underneath it, there was a sticker of 'Flemish nationalist youth' all in black and yellow, the flemish colours, and stuff. Damn, did that piss me off. It really fucking pissed me off. And today I saw some posters of the 'Vlaams belang' (The flemish nationalist party). And it weren't even posters of some 'rednecks' or stuff, but really, the youth. What the fuck. Face it, we, the youth, live in a community of people of all races and beliefs. And it's beautiful.
Of course, they are problems, let's not be naive and pretend all the immigrants are good people, and nothing is going wrong in this country. But young people who are that much rightists and that much believe they're better because they're white, they make me sick. Fuck, they really do. They make me feel so lost, like I'm the only white middle class girl around who actually has not even the slightest problem with immigrants or working class people. Why can't we just all live together in peace? Don't tell me immigrants cause problems too, because I know, but fuck, we, the youth, we should get rid of these problems in a nice way, not by just saying 'nay, you can't go into this country'. Youth nationilists make me worry all hope is gone.

There's not even such thing as a Belgian Nationalist. There's either Flemish or Walloon nationalism, but not Belgian. No one feels like a true Belgian I guess.
Now the youth of the Flemish nationalist party (well, not only the youth) are going so far, they even want Wallonia to be divided from Flanders. WTF? Come on, well that doesn't make any sense. They've become so racist and nationalistic they've started hating even the other, equally important, part of Belgium. Dude. I tell you, Belgium's fucked. Last year, one of the more right-winged, nationalistic parties won the elections. Not the übernationalists, but it's still alarming and disturbing as hell. It's the party who want Belgium to be divided, who strive for a fucking independent Flanders. And that while in Wallonia, the other part of Belgium, a socialist party won. And now those tho people have to figure out how to form a government from those two completely different sides. Guess what, they're failing. So much we even broke the record for 'longest without a government'. Without a new government, that is, because the last one's still ruling, they're just limited in their power for now.

Anyways, nationalism. Ugh. I fucking hate it. I really do. I'm quite a leftist girl. I mean, feeling better because you're white and middle class and Flemish? That really doesn't make any sense to me. I myself am not particulary proud I'm Flemish. Or white. Or middle class. All people are of the same value to me. Some people are black, some are white, some are yellow and some are brown. Some are catholic, some are jewish, some are moslims and some are atheists or of any other kind of religion. Everyone's a different person.. But we're all just human beings after all. I don't understand them nationalists/racists/fascists/whatever-ists.
I cannot understand them.
Are we better because we're white and Flemish?
Really, are we?
No.
No, fuck no.
Of course we aren't.
Think about it, black people for example, are better in almost everything. They run faster, they sing better, they dance better.
I mean, we're just lucky for now.
There will be a day the roles will turn, I'm sure.

Now, I love all sorts of people, but as long as they behave.
If a moslim kills his wife because she's not a virgin anymore when she marries him or shit, then that's wrong. Then I'm against it. Same goes up for gangs and stuff. I hate white criminals just as much, there's no difference. I would love all kinds of people in Belgium, they just have to behave. And I'm sure they will.

In short, I just hate young nationalists and racists. They say the future's fucked because of the ascending amount of immigrants living in Belgium. WE are the future, some day we will be in charge, and if so many young people start being such right-winged fascist bitches, then the future will really be fucked.
I'm feeling so fucking sick of  my fellow young white people right now.

Hello World.

Okay.

I guess since this is my first ever blog, I should write some shit about myself.

Allright.

I was born in Vilvoorde in 1995. I've been living in Zottegem, a small city in East-Flanders, in Belgium, ever since. Well, actually, I don't live in Zottegem, but in the suburbs of Sint-Goriks, a part of Zottegem. I wake up every morning to the sound of cows, donkeys, and roosters. It's very nice and peaceful and shit. I hate it.

I go to this catholic school, where we have to wear brown uniforms and stuff. I'm not even catholic, in fact, I'm quite an atheist, and so are my parents. I'm not baptised or anything. I hate my school. Everyone's too middle class and close-minded. They all look like clones to me. (well I guess that has something to do with the uniform as well).

I'm not a very outgoing person. Talk to me, because I won't talk to you. A lot of people seem to think I just dislike them when I sit there, very quite, looking at them, but in fact I'm just too shy to talk. Just so you know.
I feel pretty much like Holden Caulfield all the time. Unsurprisingly, Catcher in the Rye is my favourite book.
Yeah.
Since I live in the Flemish-speaking part of Belgium, Flemish is my first language. I can fully understand an English text, or interview, or whatever, but I'm not all that fluent on writing it and I'm just plain shit at speaking it.
Music.
Yeah, music.
It's my only home.
I used to like shitty pop tunes when I was in primary school. Then I went through a crappy pop rock-fase.
Then I discovered bands such as Alesana, Silverstein,..and fell in love with it. In 2008/ beginning of 2009 I discovered Green Day, and (though wether they're punk or not is arguable) that led to a love for punk music and the punk 'spirit' in general. More specifically, the Bay Area punk 'from Dead Kennedys to Green Day'

You already see the problem; I'm unable to be living in the Bay Area punk scene I adore so much, because, well, this is 2011 and it's not Berkeley.

I play bass. But only since September 2010, so don't expect too much of it. I love it though.

I'm still waiting for my real life to start.