The Loss of a Lifetime

It was beyond anything I had ever read. It was not the story that was based on the biggest tragedy of the twenty-first century or the characters whom were all very convincing, no it was the style of this book, this story of a lifetime.

Literally the story of a lifetime.

The whole concept of a book is the endless pages filled with letters, words, sentences carrying the story off the page into the real world, bringing it alive before our very eyes. This book was different. It was alive, it was like a journal. Emotion poured into every corner of every page, colours blinding your sight, pages with nothing on it but single sentences, 'I'm sorry' and 'Do you know what time it is?', or even an entirely empty page. Some page were covered by one single picture, though most pages did contain the actual story. But even some of those pages had a different lay-out that the average John or Jane is used to.

Some of those pages
were written
like this.
And sometimes the letters were
so close together
that it was almost impossible to understand.
Some pages consisted of nothing but
scribbles of people testing their pen before buying it.

Does this ring any bells yet?

I'm talking about Jonathan Safran Foer's 'Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close'

Oskar Schell lost his father when the Twin Towers fell and he is still trying to come to terms with his death. The story actually revolves around Oskar's father and the impact he had on several lifes, though he is never named as the cause of the changes the people around him made.

The odd lay-out of this book doesn't come in the way of the story, it makes the story (which is to be honest not that extraordinary in concept) better, more interesting, and you are amazed every time you turn the page.

The writing style in itself is fluent, obviously American (Oskar is a nine-year-old New Yorker) and funny.

I intend to read more books written by Safran Foer and now? It is your turn by starting to read this one. Enjoy!

Heartace Remedy

How to ease the pain of a break-up? With women, it's quite simple: go shopping! There's nothing that makes you feel better than to come home with a new pair of jeans, two pairs of shoes, a couple of earrings and a necklace. To spent money lavishly. To bury yourself in the excitement of entering a store, putting something on that's new and diferent and to feel satisfied when you pay your new items at the cash register. And it helps.

Not.

Heartace can't be solved by shopping or any of the stereo-typical things that are always portrayed in movies and books. It does take your mind off of your pain, but when you come home, you won't feel different. Maybe a bit ashamed about the money you spent, but other than that you're in the same hell as you had been before. Crying your eyes out reliefs you of some stress, but it is truly horrible to be walking around with watery eyes.

The only way to cure you from the pain is through time. It is the simple truth and a very painful one. Who doesn't wish, when you're lying in your bed, having very vivid images of your lover in your head and feeling your heart yearn with desire and love, to have those feelings be ripped out of you? To have the pain stopped. To make the hole in your chest whole again, not broken, preferbably not even bruised, but one piece again. The one and only way to fulfill that wish is through time. Accept the heartace you've got, work with it, break down occasionally if you must, but don't force your way out of the pain. It is okay to drown in your feelings sometimes, talk to some one who can comfort you, make them listen to you for once.

I'm not expert at these kind of subjects. I'm just getting started, really. But there's one thing I do know. If you don't give your heart time to heal, if you lock it in a box. It will break free and come back for you in the end. And then you're in real trouble.

Graduation Day!

I don't want to make a habbit of sharing too much about my personal life, but for graduation day, I'm willing to make an exception.

The day started in blistering heat. I peeked out of my window and deceided that today would be a beach day, no matter who was going to go with me, I would find a way to the refreshment of water.

And it was only eleven o'clock in the morning.

Little less than an hour later, one of my best friends and I set out for the beach, with a pitstop at his brother's (immediatly persuading him and his girlfriend to come with us, which they happily did) to get the key to their windsurfing gear.

We spent two amazing hours in the (cold) water and on the hot beach, burning our feets in the hot sand, watching the boys doing their thing on the surfboard and getting a tan. I hadn't forgotten that graduation was only three hours away, but I never imagined that the sun could make me look like a lobster in such short time. I had only thought of the time on the beach, forgetting the fact that biking there and being in the water would also have effect on my skin.

No worries though, apart from the faint white bikini print on my skin and the burning red shoulders, I'm fine.

After eating ice creaming in Almere Haven (Mariola's is one of the finest ice cream salons in Almere) I went home, showered and drove together with my parents, little brother, grandparents and best friend to my school.

I wore a pretty, red-pink dress at knee length, just some simple blueish-grey eye shadow with a little black eyeliner around my eyes and simple earrings.

Just as the two previous times I've been present at some one's graduation, the principal and the dean held a speech, telling us how much we have learnt, the things we should remember, how proud they were of us and that we would be the new leaders of the Netherlands (No, we haven't been trained as countryleaders, but we studied economiscs and history and geography, so this departement of my school will most often produce the future economiscs and managers, that's why they mention it) and two students also held a speech, including one of my other best friends.

Our mentor had managed to arrange the ceremony to take place outside. We didn't have to sit in a sticky and sweaty and warm classroom! A male classmate of mine and I were asked to hold a speech as well. Our mentor had prepared a little, too, about every one who received their diploma. I don't mean to brag, but to my surprise, I had the best grades in the end. I was stunned to hear this, as was the rest of my family, even though when I told some of my friends they weren't surprised at all! Which is even more surprising!

At the after party I spoke with some of my favorite teachers, thanking them and whishing them good luck, which they all returned cordially.

Some pictures:

So yeah.. don't we all love to do what Americans do?

I had a great day and high school really is over now.

xoxo Marit

Summers day

On a warm summers day, at the end of June, a woman stepped onto the green grass of the park near her home. In her right hand, she held the miniature version of it, namely her three-year-old daughter's hand. The daughter was wearing a pink-with-white dress. The little girl was making soft sounds of laughter and delight everytime a pigeon came near and she tried to run after it. In the mother's left hand, she held a basket. A basket full of delicious food and drinks. The woman held up the basket, seemingly trying to estimate how much it weighted and sighed deeply. Looking at her face showed every random stranger that she was tired. Very tired.

For no particular reason she stopped walking after they had arrived in the middle of the field. She put down the basket, released her daughter from her grip and kicked off her sandals. They flew with amazing grace through the air and landed only a couple of feet away from a huge tree, that provided the sun-overflown public with a little bit of shadow and coolness.

The little girl had taken the unsuspected opportunity of freedom to escape her mother's authority and she had ran off to the nearest fountain. She was staring in amazement at the peculiar statue of a man and a woman hugging each other very tightly, spewing water from their mouths and hands. Sometimes the water also came from the floor and the first time when that happened the little girl had ran away in time to avoid wetting her lovely dress. She laughed a high, short laugh of happyness and clapped her small hands. And so she started to game of the fountain.

The mother called for the child, which didn't show to have heard her, she was too entertained by the water. The mother called again, this time luring her with promises of a sweet, delicious red apple and a slice of pineapple. At the sound of pineapple, the girl turned around with big eyes of excitement and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her to her mother. The mother held out her arms and the girl ran straight into them.

The little daughter told her mother proudly how she had tricked the water into believe it could touch her, but it never could, she was too clever! But mother wasn't really listening, she was staring at one of the little benches near the fountain, padding her little girl's head once, while her face turned sickly pale.



A short story with all of Dutch writer Zwagerman rules: a part of a life, unknown in who's perspective it's written, the reader can add all sorts of information into the story, abrupt ending, etc.

Ringing phones

The phone rang at the last minute. The entire hour had passed before my eyes, I had stared at the clock the entire time. The frustration and the fear I had not allowed into my head forced its way in and I was on the edge of tears.

The phone rang.

Unable to believe my ears, it took me some time to react. But then, as if I had been hit by lightening, I grabbed the receiver and said in a small voice, almost breaking due to the tears

"Hello?"

"Marit, how are you? How are you holding up in there, girl?" My mentor, the man with all the power of the world in his hands, the man who could make or break my day, the man that could send me into euphoria or devastation, was making small talk. I could barly hold myself together and answered a short reply.

"Good, thanks."

"Well, let me see. Just Math, a six*, but other than that you've done an amazing job." He was my saviour after all. I passed my exams, I would graduate, I would go to university next year. My time in high school was over.

Finally.

Six years is a hell of a long time. Six bloody years I worked my behind off for good grades, I made friends, due to some unfortuned circumstances I also lost some, I laughed, talked, ran, walked through that hallway for years and now that time finally came to an end.

Nostalgia. So far (it's been almost two weeks since the previous happened) it hasn't happened to me yet. I've been too happy, too busy to notice any kind of sadness. It did hit me with the force of a bullet that I will go to university next year. I will be a grown up next year, or at least, I have to pretend that I am. I don't think that I'll be sad when I get my diploma upcoming Thursday, I will be happy.

I GRADUATED high school!


* In the Netherlands we work with a grading scale that goes from a one to a ten. A one can be compared to the American F, and a ten can be compared to the American A. And eight or a seven is a B, if you receive a C and you still pass you exams then you can compare that grade to a six. And since I suck at Math, I was pretty happy with my C.

Into The Wild

In the middle of my studying for my exames, I still found the time to finish reading Jon Krakauer's based-on-a-reallife-story 'Into the wild'. Since the author is a journalist, his writing style is very analytic and there's barely a hint of imagination, even if he does start to speculate he always mentions it. The story is quite gripping and makes you think about the brainwaves some people seem to have. The story tells us about the last years of Chris McCandless (I think many have heard of Sean Penn's latest movie, which is based on and has the same title as this novel) and facts about his time before he became this 'strider' (going into 'Lord of the Rings'), this wanderer.

It reads like an interesting report you can read in the newspaper. Like any good journalist, Krakauer gives us the facts, and nothing but the facts. Every now and then he gives his own opinion of what happened to Chris, he even goes as far as to compare himself to McCandless. This is different from the movie. In the movie only the story of Chris is told, but in the book Krakauer gives many more examples of men (yes, funnily enough only men seemed to have felt the need to escape society and seek out the danger in nature) having done the same thing, of whom many have never returned.

The story is also filled with quotations of famous writers like Jack London, Thoreau and other novelties. Mostly because McCandless highlighted those passages. Even though most people would say McCandless was out of him mind to try to survive in the wilderness, I don't think he was mad. He had a sensible mind (I think that's safe to say, cause he reads books like Tolstoy, Thoreau and has strong opinions of government, etc. Though somewhere I think he was just very dissapointed with life and people. I think you'll see why if you read the book).

I'd suggest you'd try it. It's not much (just 200 pages), and has beautiful parts and they sometimes just nail it. All right, that made very thing just incomprehensible, but just read it.

I enjoyed it very much.

I Present: Our Garden

Months after my parents decided to 'restyle' the garden, it finally looks like something. Our garden is probably seven by eleven (meters, mind you) and almost made entirly out of stone. That used to be different, before the 'wish for room' we had more a backyard than a garden. Lots of plants, grass and little room to walk. Just two places that could barely hold a round table and six chairs, which was always difficult with the celebration of, for instance, birthdays, we had barely room to sit and the people who came over were always devided into two (sometimes even three) groups.

Since the weather is starting to be nice again - lots of sunshine - I've been outside more and I must say that I'm really starting to like our garden! So much room! And the plants in pots make it really cozy. Of course, not everything is stone, at the sides we've got some dirt with still developing flowers and other sorts of plants.

I can't wait for the summer!