No more facebook

So yesterday I finally got fed up enough with facebook to make the drastical decision of quitting for a month. So I wrote this message, posted it and at 00:00, and ran a programma that will block websites (I blocked 9gag too, it's poison..)

Hi all

For the past couple of years, I have spent insanaeoulous mounts of time on facebook. I love that it gives me the opportunity to stay in touch with the friends I’ve made all across the globe and follow the lives of my friends back home now that I’m studying abroad. But facebook also has a dark side: it is hugely distracting and it causes a lot of negative feelings caused by all the photos and stories of the amazing adventures everyone else is having, and the articles and videos that are meant to be inspiring and touching, that somehow always make me feel like I’m not living enough. That I’m not getting out of life all that’s in it, and that I’m not doing enough for the people around me, and the rest of the world too, for that matter. The thing is, I can’t go out and have crazy adventures and add something to other people’s lives if I’m sitting behind my computer (and it’s not helping my revision for exams either..) 

So. I have decided to quite facebook for a month. Yes, with all the issues about privacy I might just as well delete it altogether, but I like my global network a little too much for that for now..  But with the Christmas break approaching, and me going home for a few weeks, I don’t want to waste a single precious second on facebook if I could spend it with my lovely friends and family.

From now until the 15^th of January, I will read books, listen to my records, do a 3000 piece puzzle, work in the darkroom, catch up with my friends, play with my dogs, longboard, write, go for walks, stare out the window, cook complicated dishes, and whatever else takes my fancy. But I will NOT be on facebook :)

That’s all folks.

Love and rockets,

Lise

PS: If you need to reach me, I have a Dutch and an English phone number (and an Icelandic one but I doubt that will be of much use to most of you), four email addresses, skype and a blog (and whatsapp for a couple more days), so you should be okay. If you don’t have any of these details but still really want something from me, stalk one of my friends (like ... or ...).

PPS: If you’re organising an event/party/etc you’d like me to attend, please let me know via one of these other means. The fear of missing out it still strong in this one…

The secod I closed the window of the programme that will block facebook for a month, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I finished the epidsode I'd been watching, but not without pausing it several times to go check facebook.. Seven minutes in I was already feeling the effects of quitting. I managed to watch the next episode without pausing, so I guess I'm already getting better ;P

Day 1 - Waking up and grabbing my phone, I realised I had nothing to do but turn off my alarm and look at how much longer I could stay in bed. It was long enough to read for a while, so that's what I did. The rest of today has consisted of a lot 'calmer' use of my computer: less clicking back and forth between tabs constantly to check for new messages or notifications. I did really miss being able to bitch about or lecturer giving the practice exam as the final though... GAH!

What I would have posted:

 

I wish i had a boyfriend with a beard

The Land of the Scots

                                                                                                       29-8-2014

Dear Diary

It is my first day alone in this foreign land. I have built a shelter to protect me from the rain that falls listlessly on grey stone out of grey skies. I have not yet laid contact with the natives, Dear Diary, but I sense they are near and I expect to hear from them soon. I must go now, the smell of the bacon over my fire is making my head spin.

Love, Lise

                                                                                                         30-8-2014
Dear Diary

Today I spotted a native. He even whistled when he noticed me. I don't know whether I should feel encouraged to seek them out, or take this as a warning to keep my distance. Either way, Dear Diary, I won't be without a purpose the following days. I have discovered a magical forest where a stream murmurs through the thicket, green grass stretches under ancient trees, and where the bustle of the natives daily life is completely shut out. I must explore every corner of it. 

Love, Lise 

                                                                                                           31-8-2014
Dear Diary

I haven't much to report today but the discovery of a beautiful inlet, sheltered away from the relentless winds of the sea. It is a great place to sit and read or simply lay back with my feet in the sand and my face in the sun. Ah, to be away from granite walls and the roar of traffic..

Love Lise 

                                                                                                              2-9-2014

Dear Diary

I met a native today, and a real gingerbeard at that! He was welcoming and funny and he even had an accent! This first encounter gives me hope for the future. I also learned that I consequently grossly underestimate the time it takes me to cycle to places. The rugged terrain, the small hills that seem monstrous in my Lage Landen eyes, but most of all my lack of courage when it comes to steering my bike into a six-laned street while in the chaos of motorised vehicles, zig-zagging cyclists and people crossing the street even though the pedestrian traffic light beeps loudly in protest it is hard to keep a cool head. Also, the drive on the left!

Love, Lise


                                                                                                               3-9-2014
Dear Diary

I had a horrible day. Being alone here sucks. I have nothing to mention but the bag of cheese puffs I downed in ten minutes.
Good day

Lise

                                                                                                                 4-9-2014
Dear Diary

As you know, I've always loved libraries. I love most them for the smell of old books, the quiet, the art on the walls, rows and rows and rows of volumes just waiting to share their knowledge. The thing I like most about the library here is the elevator. The rest of it is mainly black and white and lifeless, and although the light has enough space to play in, there's no surfaces it can warm up. Nevertheless I enjoyed my visit today, because it was still quiet, and there were books. 

Love, Lise







 

The Oranges

Their heels are thin as needles and high as the Big Ben, and their boobs bulge over the front of their dresses like a fat mans belly over the edge of his sweatpants. They clutch their purses and giggle while they frantically try to hide their booze from the bouncers. All night they systematically scan the club for male booty, the guys willingly objectified.
They are the queens (in the non-homosexual sens of the word) of the British night. They are the Oranges.

Zo kan het dus ook.

A: Hey
B: Hoi
A: Marokaan?
B: Nee Berber
A: Islamistisch?
B: Nee Christelijk
A: Ok man. Welkom.

Soms maak ik wat moois mee.

Old.

I once cried during a concert. I´ve heard that´s not an uncommon occurrence when Sigur Rós climb onto a stage, but my tears were probably more sparkly (or just more actually present) than those of the other people around, because a woman came up to me after the show and asked me about them. As usual, I only started to realised why I´d been crying while I was explaining it to her. The song that had first made my eyes water was Hoppípolla. I knew the video (seriously, if you haven´t, go back and watch it!) and it had always made me feel confident in the future.  So many people grow old and bent and bitter feeling that their stooped back and the custom made soles in their shoes mean they can't enjoy life anymore. Dear old people, bent double, knock kneed, couching like hags, remember that thing that youngsters spray paint on walls:

 Growing old is inevitable, growing up is optional

 

More than the tumblr pages with photos of sunsets with words on them, a few people, some of whom were complete strangers, have taught me just how true this is. So, future me, if you ever look in the mirror and only see wrinkles and grey hair, remember these people:

The Ladies on the Bus
I was on the bus, on my way to a concert, when two elderly ladies got on. They were bent over, wearing plastic rain caps over their grey hair and definitely the type of people you´d give up your seat for, but the bus was nearly empty, so that wasn´t necessary. The youngest of the two made to sit on one of the red chairs in the front, the ones with extra leg space and little pregnant women and men with sticks embroidered on the fabric. Then the older lady gently took her arm and they shuffled towards the back of the bus. Softly she said: "Those seats are for old people, dear".

The Couple in the Clouds
I dug my heels in the sand at the end of the short practice zipline. It was a very slow, boring line, nothing like I hadn´t done before, but I was really excited about what was ahead. After the rest of my group had finished the practice course, we headed up to the parking lot where the little van was parked that would carry us past the olympian bobsled track and up into the mountains. From there we´d zip-zag (yeah, I just made that up) over the river that came thundering down into the valley, sending white foam up the steep sides of the ravine it had carved out in the rock.
A group of people in harnesses just like ours climbed out of a van that had just returned from the end of the course. They all looked tired and happy, but one couple caught my eye immediately. A man, he must have been in his eighties, helped his wife out of the vehicle. She, too, must have been about eighty, and they were both stooped and wrinkled in their harnesses. Their bodies may have been old, but one  look at their faces told me all I needed to know about their minds. Inside, the handsome young man and the gorgous young woman they no doubt used to be, were still very much alive.

The birthday
 A man turns 60. He wants to celebrate this with some of his closest friends and family. And that is where the parallel between a regular 60th birthday party and this man's end. No layered cake from the bakery, no flowers on the dinner table, and no "Your roses look amazing! What's the secret, coffee-grounds?". No. This particular 60 year old gathered his friends and took them on a 6 hour hike through this area in Iceland, to a small hut they'd camped in as boys when they were all in a scout troup together. What he didn't know, was that the man who had been his leader back in those days, had organised a surprise barbeque at the hut, and had arranged for all the not-so-able-bodied members of the f&f to be driven up and guided them over the narrow paths the last few kilometers. And this man wasn't a young Adonis in the prime of his life. This man was a stunning 90!

Magnificent
This man, called Magnus, is in his mid 90's now. I met him when I was in Iceland, and he was a true inspiration. His story is too incredible not to deserve it's own blog post, which will hopefully be written soon. 

Remember: You're never too old.

 

Goede oren

"Jij denkt veel te veel na."
      "Ja. Hoezo?"
"Je bent zo stil."
      "Klopt."
"We kunnen ook wel praten hoor, ik heb erg goede oren.
      "Waar moeten we over praten dan?"
"Wat zei je?"

Bevrijding

Vandaag is het bevrijdingsdag, en ik ben voor het eerst naar zo'n festival geweest. Ik merkte eigenlijk vrij weinig van het bevrijdingsgedeelte, de meeste mensen kwamen volgens mij gewoon voor de muziek en het bier. 
Ik voelde me zelf ook niet bepaald vrij. Het was onmogelijk om je ook maar een centimeter te verplaatsen zonder verstrikt te raken in de massa nog winterbleke maar optimistisch in shorts en losse fladderhemdjes geklede feestvierders, en een dikke deken van smog ontsnapt aan de grilltent bedekte het publiek.
Terwijl we voetje voor voetje over het pad naar de andere kant van het terrein schuifelden, zag ik uit mijn ooghoek een shirt en een korte broek door de lucht vliegen. De jongen die ze had opgevangen stond te juichen en te klappen toen de eigenaar van de kledingstukken ook zijn onderbroek uittrok. Dat juichen verstomde toen die onderbroek vervolgens in zijn gezicht belandde. Een inmiddels poedelnaakte jongeman rende nu tussen picknickende festivalgangers door naar het water. Hij maakte een niet bijster gracieuze duik van de steiger en hing even als een stripfiguur dat nog niet naar beneden heeft gekeken stil in de lucht, zijn man-parts vrolijk bungelend in de warme zomerlucht. Wat moet hij zich vrij gevoeld hebben.

Reykjavik Rooftop

I´m standing on a Reykjavik rooftop watching the aurora gracefully stride through a sky freckled with stars. My wonderful new friend´s arm is around my shoulder, the buzz of the party coming softly through the open door and up the stairwell.

My disguise is good. No-one seems to suspect I´m young, and have never been to a house party before, nor drunk fruit punch with vodka from the plastic 2 liter bottle we brought. I don´t think they´d care anyway, but I wonder if there´d be pressure if they had been my peers, or whether it´s simply the free thinking caused by long periods away from home in this stunning dark, snowy country.

Downstairs a large, white-blonde Icelandic man in a full suit and bow tie introduces me to a Dutchie. I try to say ´hoi´, and ´waar kom je vandaan?´, but the words leave my mouth muddled up and we quickly switch back to English. His German friend smiles thankfully. It´s surprising she hasn´t found any fellow countrymen yet, I´ve met more Germans than I can remember since I got here.

I wash away the tortilla chips with pesto dip with the last of my water and get up. The Oxford boy I´d been talking to has followed his friends to Prikið. Most other guests are starting to relocate to bars and clubs as well, and part of the way home I am accompanied by suitman and his companions. In his thirties, he nonchalantly puts his arm around my waist,  Maybe I wasn´t in disguise to begin with.

Mesmerising Music III - BOY

Hey mum, you know Vonder and Bloom right? 
BOY is sort of a lighthearted, Swiss-German version of them.

I´ve been listening to them a lot here, at the Icelandic Scout Centre where I´m currently working for room and board. 
Wait, Swiss-German you said? So no Sigur Rós, Ólafur Arnalds, Múm, Frakkur, then? Nah, surprisingly. You know how when you listen to Glosoli, or 3055, or Green Grass of Tunnel, you can kind of see and feel the mountains, the black sand beaches, the little streams all around you? Well, the mountains, black sand beaches and little streams kind of make you hear the music and that makes for quite enough impressions :) 

So back to BOY. Upbeat in a calm way, dreamy but with both feet on the ground, happy in a non-ecstatic way. 

The song that first introduced me to them is this acoustic version of 
´Drive Darling´.
The next link I clicked on was their video for Little Numbers, but it was only yesterday that I really listened to the lyrics, and I loved the ease with which they put that first stage of being in love into words and sounds:)
Oh Boy (just to keep things interesting, titlewise) is a song about that one perfect person we all know and none of us can reach.
Another thing we´ve all felt is stuck, in school, an job, a relationship, a life that provides us with all we require but none of what we need. We´ve all felt like this Waitress.

Jammin!

(I started writing this blog post when I was in England but for some reason never finished and published it. Now I did. Yay!)

Girl on a gap year in a city full of students with a lively music scene. Jamming. She must be sitting 'round a campfire with a guitar/violin/djembe/etc or at least longingly staring at the people who can actually play these instruments, right?

Wrong.

A few days ago I joined a some people from a volunteer group to harvest the fruits of a local tree. The greengages (a very sweet kind of plum) on the bottom branches were picked with a long stick with a small net on the end. Then something wonderful happened: I was asked to climb up the tree and pick the rest of the fruit by hand. (I usually get disdainful looks from the 'grownups' when I'm Climbing trees and loving it.) I made my way up to the top with a bag strapped to my chest, and I filled it to the brim, taking a short break every now and then to gobble up a gage or two. Then I relieved the tree of the last of its burden by shaking the branches, cascading the others and the large piece of plastic they were holding out in sweet sticky green goodness.

Later that week we gathered at the home of one of the volunteers and turned the greengages into even sweeter jam, Bach playing in the background. I made another friend that night, who talked passionately about midwifery. Or more specifically, how much she loved her job as a Doula, a woman who assists mothers-to-be during birth. As you can probably imagine, I was very surprised to hear that she was 18!
I got home with several jars of delicious jam and a lot more appreciation for organic, homemade food and Bach, and a new friend :)

Greengages