3 March 2012

Roaming Breda

Ever found yourself in the awkward situation where you’re telling a group of people about a funny story that happened to you, only to find that the humor of the event can only be enjoyed by people who actually experienced it? That describes most of the experiences that we’ve had throughout our lives; it’s very usual for us to tell people about one of other adventures together, laughing so hard that we run out of breath, only to find them utterly not amused by our experience (they usually end up laughing by the end of it, though that might be cause of Immah’s innate talent for taking long laughter breaks in the middle of her stories).





 


It also perfectly describes our first days in Breda together: whenever I think about them, I remember them as these epic series of events that kept me laughing and smiling incessantly for three days; however, when I try putting it all down on paper I find myself at a loss for words. 



The visuals that Immah provided for this post are pretty enlightening and self-explanatory: there was the overwhelming feeling of joy when we met at the train station (said train station not having any elevators or ramps and me having a bike with me. That’s also how I met Cristi, Immah’s roommate, who I exploited within the first 2 minutes of meeting him by coercing him into carrying Mitza – my bike – up and down the stairs, as needed); there was the ridiculously amusing bike ride back home, during which I ended up leading the column half of the time (did I mention this was my first time in Breda?); there was the Romanian-style shopping trip (buy ALL the stuff!) that ended with the realization that 6bottles of drinks, 3 bottles of wine and 3 bags of other groceries might be a bit tricky to carry on three bikes that had no carrying pouches; there was Immah’s first encounter with saté sauce, which she utterly disliked (although I still claim she’d appreciate a properly-made version); there was an extremely confusing door in Immah’s kitchen (despite the claim that it was obvious where it led, I still hold on to my belief that they should open that door someday); and I got to show off my superior biking skills, by having no issues on the narrowish streets of Breda or with the downtown traffic, yet falling off my stationary bike, and dragging Cristi down with me.
But wait! There’s more! There’s the St. Joost Academy – a Hogwarts-like building, in the middle of a friggin` forest and also the only place where they have basketball hoops on the grass. Then we had the fun, yet disorientating trip to Ikea, when I believe we managed to make a perfect spiral shape before actually finding the road we were supposed to take. Or the rain clouds that appeared out of nowhere, poured down on us for a bit, then vanished just as fast (then again, that’s pretty normal by Dutch standards).
Then again, all the events that took place seem to fade compared to the feeling of joint mischief. We didn’t do anything too stupid or destructive, but in our memories they’re all pretty damn epic, no matter what. Besides, it gave us some pretty good insight to how it would feel living together (a dream that we’ve shared for years and which we’re still hoping to bring to life someday). 
Months after the whole thing happened, I’m left with one distinct feeling: I want to do that again, without changing a single thing. And yes, we will keep telling those stories to everyone, even being fully aware of how dry it sounds for people that weren’t there and knowing how our narrative skills are slightly lacking. Simply because we had fun.
As a closing remark, I’d like to point out that Cristi, Immah’s roommate, gave me permission to mention him, while requesting that I mention that he’s an attractive, intelligent, single guy, that managed to put up with the chaos caused by us two airheads and succeeded in making a favorable impression on me within the first 2 minutes of meeting each other (the fact that he carried my bike might have a lot to do with that though). Also he has very nice hair. I’d know, I cut it myself.

22 February 2012

The carnival groove

In the past few weeks I learned that there are two types of Dutch people: the ones who joyfully celebrate the carnival and the ones who hate it with almost the same amount of passion. 


What’s all the carnival fuss about after all? It’s probably big for me because, well, it’s the first time to see such things; if the photos didn’t draw a good enough picture of it, I’ll try in a few words (oh, the irony): the carnival is that time of the year when North Brabant goes mad. It’s that time when everybody gets to put on a costume and party like a maniac not for one but five days in a row! (Take that, Halloween!). 


The surprising amount of costume shops in Breda were full weeks ahead of the event. The merchandise ranged from wigs, colored contacts and professional make up, wizard cloaks, medieval dresses and knight swords to anything anyone could come up with like lemon or pizza slice costume. 

 

The great big celebration exploded like a volcano on Friday the 17th and suddenly Breda became the most awesome place to be in! Pretty decorations and lights changed the face of the city, alcohol started to pour in all the forms possible, there was loud Dutch music (from time to time covered by an ambulance alarm) and, despite the occasional bad weather, people were everywhere, animating the atmosphere with exhilaration and the most creative costumes I’ve ever seen!


Everyone is having a good time, the bars are more crowded than the busses in Bucharest at 7:30 in the morning (let the *ahem* “networking” prosper), I’m caught up in the bathroom between three drunk girls trying to explain what my costume is (also, statistics show that most 9gagers of Breda go to Speeltuin ), I have no clue what everyone is singing about but I’ll guess it’s about Mardi gras (what the carnival is also about) and by the midnight the streets are already starting to get cleaned up, the real paramedics are mistaken for people in costumes and the ambulance can’t get through because the street is blocked by the crowd in front of the ATM (no one wants to lose their place that gets them closer to their next drinks), foreigners like me chase people to take pictures with them and thankfully the Dutch are always friendly, especially when you look like a very good support against gravity. 


 All in all it was great fun for the only two days that I was there. It was a lot to “digest” for a newcomer (although the warm waffle I ate at midnight was delightful), I loved the atmosphere, I saw a new face of Breda the one that can leave everything aside and enjoy the hell out of it!
 

p.s: To the guy who had the Trollface costume, whoever he is: Respect. Same amount of respect to all who recognized ALLbert. And for the guys who had the guts to dress up like girls. 


And this was probably the funniest scene from Saturday evening:







7 February 2012

PRSC


The Netherlands isn’t a very big country, which is fortunate since it allows the two of us to actually see each other once in a while. Luckily enough, Breda and Rotterdam aren’t insanely close together either, else this country would know the true meaning of destruction.
Confused? Our apologies, allow me to explain: Immah has a very creative nature; Vivid Illusion is the kind of person that gets bored very easily. Put those two together and you have a veritable force of nature, as our friends, families, acquaintances and generally anyone unfortunate enough to cross our path may have noticed. Take high school, for example: there was a constant lack of white chalk in our classroom (yes, we still use blackboards in Romania. Get over it.). ‘Not very uncommon’ one might think. Think again; sitting at their desk in the back of the class there were two creatures, whispering, giggling and extremely focused on the apparently menial, yet highly engaging activity of sculpting small objects out of chalk, using only their pens, pencils and the occasional loose screw from a desk or chair. This operation (which required more dexterity and attention than it is given credit for!) was frequently frowned upon by fellow classmates, who had to explain to our teachers why our classroom was constantly under-stocked.




That is also how our currently inactive political party came to life. The Romanian Party that Destroys Stuff (or PRSC following the Romanian capitalization of the name) promises to do nothing else than what its title states. We destroy stuff. Thoroughly and with a passion. From sculpting chalk, to destroying pens, stealing screws and nuts from chairs (whether they were being used or not), taking over things that other people forgot in our desks and even stopping cars with our faces (although it took Immah a while to fully recover from that one).



But that was back in high school. We’re older, more responsible and mature, and with a very different sense of humor. NOT.

Immah’s internet connection is, unfortunately, not working at the moment, which leaves us without much of the content that we hoped to put on. This problem should be solved soon though. Until then, we apologize for the infrequent and disappointingly short posts and hope that you’ll bear with us.

28 January 2012

Leaving

Throughout the past few months before leaving, we’ve both discovered that silence is seriously underrated: people seem to fear and resent it with such obstinacy that you’d think silence killed their family, friends and pets. But one thing is even more difficult for understand than the fear of silence: the crap that people sometimes use to fill it with.

When leaving your home for a long (loooong, possibly veeeery looooong) time, it feels natural, almost needed, that you try spending as much time as you can with the people you won’t get to see for quite a while, whether they’re family, friends or just close acquaintances. Maybe it’s out of guilt of “abandoning” them, maybe because it makes you feel like it will take longer for you to miss them, maybe simply cause you’re hoping that they’ll annoy you enough that you won’t ever want to see them again, thus making it easier on you; you don’t question why you do it, you just do it (we are in no way affiliated with Nike. Furthermore, I resent myself because I cannot hear those three words without instantly thinking of Nike. Or condoms. Go figure.).

At the point where you start meeting up with people, there are two possible situations: they already know that you’re leaving, or they’re about to find out. If you’re smart and you value your sanity, you’ll try going for the second one: it catches them by surprise, they don’t have time to think through all the things they were planning to do with you, all the things they needed your help with, all the advice and support they were expecting you to always provide and is now heartlessly being taken away from them (don’t frown, we love our friends, but if you want any chances at survival, you have to accept that even the teddy bear you sleep with might have some selfish reasons for being so damn cuddly). This way, the only questions you’ll have to fend off are the friendly ones, coming from polite interest rather than desperation and clinginess: “That’s so nice, where are you going? What are you going to do there? Oh, study? That’s nice, really brave! Figured out where you’re going to live? Well, good luck, I’m sure it’s going to turn out great. I’m so happy for you!”. You have to put up with that for roughly 10-15 minutes, and then you can continue your conversation as you normally would, passionately discussing the weather, politics, psychedelic drugs or whatever makes your fancy.







Advice #2 about sharing the information with other people: don’t use facebook/twitter for it. Really, don’t. Aside from it being a blatant defiance of the previous advice we gave you, it’s one of those actions you look back on and think “What the hell was I thinking?!”. People you haven’t talked to in ages will suddenly be very concerned about your health and future plans, and there’s always that one person that knows someone else who is relocating to the exact same place as you, and feels that it’s his or her responsibility to introduce you to each other “just so, you know, you can help each other out and stuff” (meaning that the newcomer will assault you with questions ranging from accommodation and living expenses, to convenient locations to buy underwear or condoms (what is it with me and condoms today?(OMG, it’s a bracket inside a bracket, inside a bracket… we went too deep!))).
And the last and most important advice either of us could give you is this: when you do meet up with someone and tell them that you’re leaving soon, have a clear, well-planned list of subjects to discuss with them. DO NOT, under ANY circumstance allow more than 2 minutes to pass without either of you saying anything. Remember that silence thing we were talking about earlier? Here’s why we dislike it so much: at the point where you reach silence their wheels will start spinning, the processing system will commence at full-power and you’ll end up putting up with a full assault of “but what will I do without you?!?” comments, while feeling the odd mix of guilt and fear build up in your body. Really, it’s a dreadful sight to witness, so avoid it at all cost.
This all probably sounds very harsh. Part of it actually is. Other parts are there just for amusement’s sake. But, all jokes aside, moving away from your family, friends and everything that’s familiar and dear to you is a scary process, borderlining on painful; you keep thinking of what’s to come with a mix of excitement and terror, but you look at all the things that you’re leaving behind and you can’t help feel the slightest twinge of regret. We know that our loved ones… well… love us, but love always has and always will be an essentially selfish sentiment; they can’t be blamed for expressing their distress for losing us (well, they can, but we love them, so we won’t), so instead, we choose to arm ourselves with all the proper tools to prevent them from getting a chance to.

Oh, and if all else fails, just bring tissues and alcohol: the tissues are for when the waterworks ensue; the alcohol is for you, to make it easier to listen to them whining.

24 January 2012

rEvolution

We interrupt our normal program with the following news: Romania is being weird. Fighting for its dignity or going through some pre-election jitters, we’re not entirely sure what’s going on. Here are some things we are sure of though: whatever it is that’s happening, it’s very confusing and leading us on an emotional rollercoaster of sorts: we went from hoping for change and wanting to “join the cause” to thinking that this won’t lead anywhere because they’re doing it wrong. And then back. A couple of times.
Please don’t misunderstand, we haven’t forsaken our country (no more than it has forsaken us -_- ), but it seems that even the people taking part in the riots aren’t sure of what they want. You have elderly people asking for higher pensions, working men and women asking for less corruption, young adults shouting for freedom, some even wanting a change of regime. The one thing everyone agrees on is that a change is needed.
As a matter of fact, Vivid Illusion got a bit carried away when hearing about the first few riots and her imagination already lead her to the “field of battle”, as you can see from the following bit of text:

We were both born in 1989. We didn’t experience communism, the fear of our leaders, waiting in lines for days just to get a loaf of bread or shivering in our own homes every winter, but we do know one thing: current-day Romania is not what people rioted against and died for in 1989.
Both of us decided to leave the country. We’re not sure to what extent of permanency, although our ideal situation does include frequent returns to Romania: during breaks. No, we didn’t leave because our lives were harsh or due to injustices committed against us. We left without putting in massive amounts of effort to change something, without trying to defeat the system that disgusts us both. In that case, how come we’re complaining about the evolution of our political class, of how corrupt our leaders are, how much stupidity and ignorance our Government can withstand and how absurd our legislation can be at times? We’re doing all that in the exact same manner in which everyone else does it, regardless if they’re in the country or abroad, students, working or retired: in  silence. We all complain, we know things aren’t right, we all want something better. And we all censor ourselves, thinking that it’s well out of our hands anyway.
And then something changed. A simple legislative change managed to create an impressive tumble effect: after 22 years of allowing itself to be trampled upon, the people of Romania started dreaming and hoping again; they gave up muttering and started shouting the truth for everyone to hear, understand and fight for. They saw that change won’t just happen. And, for the first time in 22 years, they seem to be willing to fight again.
What’s our part in this? None. We’re too far away and too disconnected for it to seem real; we are holding on to our hope though, as are most Romanians, scattered across the world. Sure, we have friends here, some probably have families and great lives, the likes of which they never could have had back home. But then comes the problem: for some it’s still home and we still dream of it.
We were both born in 1989. Some people call us the “generation of revolution”. And after 22 years in which we’ve been living off the change our predecessors fought for, maybe it’s time we honor our change. We’re the generation of revolution. How about we revolutionize something?

And following her example, Immah tried imagining how things would look like if we were back home, going to the protests, fighting for our rights and for a better future. The results were… well… disconcerting. 



But it’s not only us. Another thing that these riots revealed is that Romania is a country inhabited by trolls. You’re probably acquainted with the current meme phenomena, right? Well, so are we. And so are the rioters, as a wide selection of pictures can prove.






In the midst of “No More Corruption” and “We Want A Better Life” banners, one can find the Romanian trolls, with slogans like “Basescu, GTFO!” (Basescu is our country’s beloved president. Charming chap, really), “Who still uses Internet Explorer 6?!”, “We want cheaper Photoshop and no more Comic Sans” and “CHUCK NORRIS, HELP US!”. What can I say, we’re nothing without our sense of humor.
Bottom line: we still have no clue what’s going on. We’re just left with hoping that something does change (for the better, at least this time) and that Romania has indeed woken up. We’re just bummed it didn’t happen while we were actually around.

21 January 2012

Who am I?


Who am I? IMMAH VIVID ILLUSION!!!         

Actually, there are two of us. Immah and Vivid Illusion. And this is our feeble attempt at cooperating in order to create something (as opposed to our usual destructive habits which will surely be explained in a later post).

We’ve been each other’s best friends for most of our teenage and adult-ish lives, which seemed to be an unlikely occurrence at age 15, when we first met, at the very beginning of high school.  Back then Immah was a happy-go-lucky, pink-clothed with blond highlights, overly-friendly, hyperactive little… thing (she was a bit like a chibi, if you want to get a better image). While Vivid Illusion was gloomy, anti-social, wearing tons of eyeliner and mascara in order to look like a badass kind of creature (she also tended to growl at people that tried to come to close to her, although no reports of bites or scratches have been filed).  That should explain why this friendship was unforeseen, unplanned, unrecommended (I know it’s not an actual word; bear with me, ok?), but later on highly appreciated by both sides, right?


That just about covers who we used to be; I still haven’t explained who we are now though. We’re students, dreamers, girls, humans, airheads and a series of other, more or less obvious, things. Our current country of residence is The Netherlands, a part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands (which also includes Aruba, Curaҫao and Sint Maarten; that’s a useful bit of trivia, right?), but our point of origin (geographically, we’re not involving our moms into this) is Romania, the land of plenty (not going to mention plenty what, that’s to be covered in a bit more detail later on). We traded off warmth and familiarity for cold winds, bucketloads of rain and adventure. Was it worth it? We don’t really know yet, but we’ll be damned if we’re not going to do our very best to make it well worth it.

We figured that it would be nice if we started by introducing ourselves. Then we realized that we don’t really like talking about ourselves. Quite a conundrum… until we came up with a way of making things easier (although I think Immah kinda hates me for this idea): Immah as seen by Vivid Illusion and vice-versa.
 Ta-daaah!


Immah as seen by Vivid Illusion

I’ve already described Immah as she was in the beginning of her teen years, now I should cover her current form and a bit of her evolution.
If her 15 year-old self was easily describable as a Chibi, then her present one would most certainly be a pixie. She outgrew her pinkness and replaced it with a polychromatic prism to view the world through. Her mischievous nature is toned down by her OCD-ish tendencies; she’s sarcastic and a borderline cynic, but loyal, reliable and empathetic (I would definitely know, she’s been my shoulder to cry on for years now).
She’s prone to hyperactivity, so, for the love of all that’s holy, do not feed her sugar, coffee, chocolate, cake (especially not chocolate cake!), pie, muffins…well, you get the picture. And if you think this warning should be taken lightly, just remember the gremlins…
I have a confession to make… when it comes to the visual arts I’m about as knowledgeable as a bat (how does that work? “Yes, that’s a lovely painting, it sounds incredible”). However, even I can tell that Immah is nothing if not a kick-ass artist. She’s mostly a graphic designer, currently extending her talents into the animation area as well.
She can be quite deep at times and she worries about things that are out of her control (as we all do), but the one thing that never stops amazing me is how the outside world can only hope to catch glimpses of this “darker” side she has.
Often I’ve tried imagining how the insides of Immah’s mind look like. I imagine it beautiful and scary (and a bit perverted, but who am I to comment?). There’s colors that no one has ever seen, ideas so thrilling and captivating that they might just be dangerous, shapes and patterns so intricate that you can’t even begin to examine or understand them, all you can do is sit back and admire… and there’s cookies. Lots and lots of cookies.
That’s Immah, the person I call my mommy and the most awesome person in the world.



Vivid Illusion as seen by Immah
 
She is Vivid Illusion and she is my best friend. Oh wait! I have a vivid illusion as a best friend!!! 
(* forever alone face *)
If I had to be serious for a moment and think about words to describe her, I couldn’t find my words. Not because of her, it’s simply because… yeah, it’s difficult for me to find them. That`s one of the things that are radically different between me and her: she always finds the right words to say or write whenever it’s needed, whether it’s in Romanian, English or maybe even … Dutch soon?
Vivid illusion is one of those rare, dying breeds who can spot humor where everyone else fails to see it. If some people put fun in funeral, she takes it to a whole new level (funeral on the roof everybody!!)!  If I were to guess, I’d probably say that it’s her “fault” that I remember high-school as this awesome comedy show where we were constantly at risk of getting kicked out of class because we kept on laughing our asses off.
As she admitted previously, she wasn’t too be much of a people person when we first met; however, things changed a lot over the years and she became this friendly, outgoing but still selectively sociable person. I’m proud and sometimes – I must admit – I envy her awesome people skills
Her dreams and aspirations?  Well, a few of you might know I don’t really say this about many people, mostly because I think the world is full of incompetents, but when it comes to Vivid Illusion I really think she could achieve anything she puts her mind to. That only if she would stop procrastiiii...OH LOOK AT THE KITTEN!
..speaking of, I should have warned you from the start: Vivid Illusion is a cat person. Hence the cat-like personality that is visible since the first day you meet her. She’s nice and cuddly when she likes you… but please try not to step on her tail, will you?
It might be just me but I always think she gets over-excited over any new shiny thing regardless of the prospect of future. Despite the fact that it makes me crazy-worried, I think this way of being is part of her own personal charm – she reminds me of how important it is to enjoy the moment.
All in all, Vivid Illusion is a great REAL person, and I’m lucky to have her as my best friend… and daughter, and sister, and … we`ll see :>

The love is unbearable, isn’t it? All jokes aside, this explains mostly everything. We see each other as a constant, necessary and adorable presence in our lives. All the more reason to embark on this whole new journey called “Life in Holland”. But that’s for next time ^.^