tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40803156918443813182024-03-13T05:06:30.719+01:00Immah Vivid IllusionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02180426816230501242noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-57345592834112870002013-10-14T18:17:00.001+02:002013-10-14T18:25:40.180+02:00Relocation Permutation I<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Having my best friend
around is nothing short of awesome (and it's not just because of my place being
constantly clean, having a steady supply of food in the fridge, or even because
I can now ask her to buy me cigarettes whenever she goes grocery shopping).
However, there are some limitations to having two girls live in a small studio
for an undefined period of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><b>1.
Lack of space<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Girls
will be girls, and even the largest amount of willpower will not prevent us
from getting that cute wall decoration or carrying our favorite blankets around
with us when we move, be it to a different street, city, or even country. So,
as you can imagine, a 20 square meter apartment can get pretty cluttered with all
the random, partially useless, but very cute stuff we like keeping around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><b>2.
Lack of privacy<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As if
the above-mentioned issue wasn't enough, my (soon-to-be former) studio has a
massive disadvantage: there is no proper door to the shower. Now, if this were
an adult movie, it would be the perfect setting to a perfect script. But this
is reality and neither of us has any sort of desire to have her back washed by
the other. In fact, anything short of a 4 meter distance (roughly the distance
between the shower and balcony) is too close for comfort as far as we're
concerned. And, to top things off, Rotterdam in fall is not the best place to
take long breaks on ones (uncovered) balcony.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><b>3.
Lack of human decency<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The
issues listed so far are caprices as best when faced with this one undeniable
and unsurpassable problem: Some landlords can really be jerks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It's
not that I mind not having seen my landlord more than two times throughout the
6 months that I've lived here. Heck, I love that actually. It's that he decided
to drop by and actually get involved in my business when I have less than a
month left on the lease (in hindsight it was predictable that this would
happen, but hey! Faith in human nature and all that). And not only did he get
into my business, he also got into Immah's, more exactly he kicked her out with
only two days of notice and with threatening to keep all of the deposit money I
gave him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">That's
ok, Mr. Landlord. I'll take very good care of the place till the end of the
month *evil laughter*.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As you can probably imagine, this combination of factors lead
to the unanimous decision of finding a new place, preferably one that has a
door to the shower and allows us to move around without having to become
proficient in ballet steps. Thus Immah and I began our epic adventure, also
known as "View ALL the apartments!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But that is another adventure with another series of mishaps, which you can read all about in our next post. Stay tuned! </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370432273992290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-31562531546494502262013-10-07T21:34:00.000+02:002013-10-07T21:34:41.751+02:00Rocking Rotterdam<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a while and for that we’re sorry. It has, however,
been a pretty eventful year for us, with Immah returning to the Netherlands and
me… well pretty much doing the same things I was doing one year ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our break was not entirely unfruitful though, as we can now
proudly announce the winner of our Facebook competition. Our hundredth like
came from… *drum roll* <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now back to the bigger news: Immah and I are officially
roommates! Currently crammed in a crappy studio (now try saying that three
times faster), we are now facing Rotterdam together. Or, better said, Rotterdam
should consider trying to keep up with us now!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Speaking of our winner and very dear friend, he’s been
nothing short of a blessing to us throughout these past few weeks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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All jokes aside, we do not exploit our friends and Simon’s
services have been paid in energy drinks, cookies, and healthy(ish) food. Not
to mention our undying gratitude, which can further be converted to hugs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Speaking of food, as any good immigrants, Immah and I try
bringing a bit of our home country with us everywhere we go and are very eager
to shove it down other people’s throats (sometimes literally). As a “Welcome to
Rotterdam,” we decided to throw a small dinner get-together for some friends,
nothing too complicated or too fancy, just some traditional food from our country. Of course, both of us being Romanian, we
managed to cook enough food for a small army, which was then used to feed the
impressive amount of… 5 people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Aside from the friends that I’ve managed to make throughout
the past few years, Rotterdam in itself is a lovely city and I’m ecstatic about
sharing it with my best friend. It’s a city filled with fun, interesting
people, lively places to hang out, and amusing combinations of the two former
elements. Take our latest adventure, for example: An average night at a bar,
spending time with some friends and making attempts at socializing, when the
hunter instinct kicks in for a fellow bar-goer. Why not walk up to the
afore-mentioned girls and start some small-talk? I mean, what could go wrong?<o:p></o:p></div>
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In all fairness, you can’t blame a guy for trying,
particularly when dealing with two girls sitting alone at a bar. What is more
difficult to understand is the tendency of guys to travel in packs, with the
alpha hitting on one or more ladies while his posy lurks behind him, cheering
from the shadows. I’m not entirely familiar with how the gentleman-code works,
but I’m pretty certain that watching your friend get a girl to go home with him
won’t help keep your bed warm at night (with some obvious exceptions that I
don’t feel the need to explain here).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Long story short, a warm and cozy welcome back to the Netherlands
to Immah. As for you, Rotterdam… Prepare for trouble, and make it double.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13370432273992290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-34442332958741548422013-03-25T22:07:00.000+01:002013-03-29T14:54:58.481+01:00Tales from BavariaWe might have mentioned a couple of times in the last articles that I've been spending my last 6 months doing an internship in Munich. All went well and now that I'm leaving I decided to share a bit of my experience here.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvCoTfawwV8Dvwb4jvsnRhhHZYXCxVrTWSMX94B8nE2k5E_raXoAWpgEX7xmrbf9Qb2aB3IaoRHRvP2qCWotXZZk6muE1Gc34_c51jvA4L0NY50tzeX1GWg94413wayXdXmsws85Z2t4/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvCoTfawwV8Dvwb4jvsnRhhHZYXCxVrTWSMX94B8nE2k5E_raXoAWpgEX7xmrbf9Qb2aB3IaoRHRvP2qCWotXZZk6muE1Gc34_c51jvA4L0NY50tzeX1GWg94413wayXdXmsws85Z2t4/s1600/1.jpg" /></a><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Living in Bavaria is clearly a character building experience. Bavaria is known even throughout Germany for its exclusivist nature. All the traditions are kept so stringently and the culture of the place is so well protected that most of the time all the facts that foreigners know about Germany comes from Bavaria. And if you would already expect to feel like an alien coming from the outside, if you don`t even have the common sense to learn German beforehand, you`re going to start living life on hardcore. </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">However, despite all, I managed to have some fun here and I speak it like it is an accomplishment because it is. (It`s funny cause it`s true). </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">So to keep it as less tl;dr as possible I've made some visuals about things that "moved" me.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvFQx6ijP6VW1wjfw-bN1Mn15hFFKv7wcMLsq4roAGX9tfna03h0HF7N_5ZjCeyyXcP9sNPgAY8JruAxmmVPB2nUFFCBGrY_yPwTO5UwrEs3ysDanHXgKzhWxGj0COd4noEDOnZ4JYYA/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6DEs1t2_nYhS2dgyEMPA6u5xwLyNDiByqC2C2m9hZ6OXgqpp3S6pA2HlhoTV_U7sBmpJWTQ3jhX3E5iVTb1xrri3lwKd5h66ofssOTqXnjn9BkuVpU2aZXEpXGul5IoVg45yJyy9fRE/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6DEs1t2_nYhS2dgyEMPA6u5xwLyNDiByqC2C2m9hZ6OXgqpp3S6pA2HlhoTV_U7sBmpJWTQ3jhX3E5iVTb1xrri3lwKd5h66ofssOTqXnjn9BkuVpU2aZXEpXGul5IoVg45yJyy9fRE/s1600/2.jpg" /></a></div>
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This is something anyone tends to notice at the beginning. Simply walking on the street and watching the people they all look like they had the worst day. Germans why so frowny all the time? But on the other side of expressions, I really like the German characters. They`re so nice and cute<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGp-FP2JTE-Wo6Qm48YqQ0sByucaeEFu1J_kudhuodEmp6FIP4yg-tiwoXUr8XRvD4pvclfbJR6eI_UKb9SnUig2NDj7URlM6xsxiFAeDGus8QsF2gOBzndZ-sUQzJrdhTfQG7ztTSWY/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGp-FP2JTE-Wo6Qm48YqQ0sByucaeEFu1J_kudhuodEmp6FIP4yg-tiwoXUr8XRvD4pvclfbJR6eI_UKb9SnUig2NDj7URlM6xsxiFAeDGus8QsF2gOBzndZ-sUQzJrdhTfQG7ztTSWY/s1600/11.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">No I will not understand what`s with the sparkling drinks here. Especially apple juice. Why ruin a nice glass of apple juice by putting sparkling water in it? WHY?!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZiiDdwRBhU4zYGuFxSG3KBQjJS01Gc_kUcM2cwJ3lsliIZK9XfRnYtVCyMqG6XRpCJq6Dkd6XAU8myUDbjjh4Be3y-M19aPsQxZAUpFKxVP0VZQNy6TzhNkSHHTl8m6bb3M1te8FGsM/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZiiDdwRBhU4zYGuFxSG3KBQjJS01Gc_kUcM2cwJ3lsliIZK9XfRnYtVCyMqG6XRpCJq6Dkd6XAU8myUDbjjh4Be3y-M19aPsQxZAUpFKxVP0VZQNy6TzhNkSHHTl8m6bb3M1te8FGsM/s1600/12.jpg" /></a></div>
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The weather in Munich is the most annoying weather I had to live in. And I lived 10 months in the Netherlands. That should say it all.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvFQx6ijP6VW1wjfw-bN1Mn15hFFKv7wcMLsq4roAGX9tfna03h0HF7N_5ZjCeyyXcP9sNPgAY8JruAxmmVPB2nUFFCBGrY_yPwTO5UwrEs3ysDanHXgKzhWxGj0COd4noEDOnZ4JYYA/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvFQx6ijP6VW1wjfw-bN1Mn15hFFKv7wcMLsq4roAGX9tfna03h0HF7N_5ZjCeyyXcP9sNPgAY8JruAxmmVPB2nUFFCBGrY_yPwTO5UwrEs3ysDanHXgKzhWxGj0COd4noEDOnZ4JYYA/s1600/10.jpg" /></a><br />
This country makes home for more<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:German_sausages"> types of sausages</a> that I'm in the mood to draw right now. And yes we did all the jokes that were to be done about this subject. So I've chosen to draw the most traditional one, the Weisswurst. I still have mixed feelings about this one but you know what they say, like it or not you can <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJLC-kqfKqg">suck it.</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1VfYrCb_qQm54PRLDlQnWMz-mvHVvB2rkENVLr3qCNndzrOAl3gNMysud12vYwDtC-XEiqLL9KoOAtQLEJ03NP9qSQP4iphwEKNOWHrgAVryS9scObRRv4TUCM9crh4J8Ixc1ir0cu0/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1VfYrCb_qQm54PRLDlQnWMz-mvHVvB2rkENVLr3qCNndzrOAl3gNMysud12vYwDtC-XEiqLL9KoOAtQLEJ03NP9qSQP4iphwEKNOWHrgAVryS9scObRRv4TUCM9crh4J8Ixc1ir0cu0/s1600/3.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1T2vlHF_HhxovFI6Q0CTkgLcU7X2LSdeZNissDhXphfe5sVFTKXv532VEbTQwQOdMqYIKoXhUM6GfgzFX7Z1Jue1B-4BQifL8pPwfoXKJNOAXB6YkkUVqpSvkUhGcl-5SE1ipa-oEeo/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1T2vlHF_HhxovFI6Q0CTkgLcU7X2LSdeZNissDhXphfe5sVFTKXv532VEbTQwQOdMqYIKoXhUM6GfgzFX7Z1Jue1B-4BQifL8pPwfoXKJNOAXB6YkkUVqpSvkUhGcl-5SE1ipa-oEeo/s1600/4.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgJUUWkccq8XJdfx_-avQ4X-9mVoBjBcrhuuIt_l-InlkMHgJqoALWtAHBCoD6CpZ3cTJhAoQh9ZQevgOpSz631OWUBlBBzdKEoGL1oEy8kEPd-oEi2vwiH1Sv6rq_hV9M_khyYn6vzc/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgJUUWkccq8XJdfx_-avQ4X-9mVoBjBcrhuuIt_l-InlkMHgJqoALWtAHBCoD6CpZ3cTJhAoQh9ZQevgOpSz631OWUBlBBzdKEoGL1oEy8kEPd-oEi2vwiH1Sv6rq_hV9M_khyYn6vzc/s1600/5.jpg" /></a></div>
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Oktoberfest is pretty cool I have to admit. It`s horribly expensive but definitely something you have to try once in your life :D It`s a nice atmosphere, drunk people are always funny (if you are remotely drunk too), the beer is everywhere, the girls are pretty. I would even go so far to compare it with the carnival in North Brabant (I expect I`ll be kicked out of both countries asap) I know it`s a different thing with different purpose but there was there was something that made me put them together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNP0ziGYzHmZhCBed0zn8_f-HqBXEJjJHrTBmyULcaD35rls2Sm94S8toocYN9Q3z_QVi5ZkM1N6rXg7Mf-eRWTr8jH1uKUyfNXoNK2scaEcutPvSa4hoJwKRUVDYEIf2QcX9p8WS0wxg/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNP0ziGYzHmZhCBed0zn8_f-HqBXEJjJHrTBmyULcaD35rls2Sm94S8toocYN9Q3z_QVi5ZkM1N6rXg7Mf-eRWTr8jH1uKUyfNXoNK2scaEcutPvSa4hoJwKRUVDYEIf2QcX9p8WS0wxg/s1600/6.jpg" /></a><br />
If there`s something that helped me feel nicer here it`s listening to the local music. Not only to learn a few more words in German but simply to discover that they actually rock :D <br />
If you`re curious to listen to some of my favourite German songs listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcr8xK3hk_rZHg3WDyvE0gJyaWXFjl3jI&feature=mh_lolz">this playlist</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTAYbingalUBTA1dwDIgA0wvUcP33ta0Re8aKLWbRVI7MD5dNJP2Q3ysgEw5TjDD8NoGh0k_rsUsujbjXS5sw-gXI_Zmp7OESdM_xpJ0dhhCkx1pGVC8VPvS_XifaggoPvcxUSpNLq0E/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTAYbingalUBTA1dwDIgA0wvUcP33ta0Re8aKLWbRVI7MD5dNJP2Q3ysgEw5TjDD8NoGh0k_rsUsujbjXS5sw-gXI_Zmp7OESdM_xpJ0dhhCkx1pGVC8VPvS_XifaggoPvcxUSpNLq0E/s1600/7.jpg" /></a></div>
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If you`re a vegetarian in Bavaria, clearly you`re gonna have a bad time. And even if I'm a proud meat eater I'm still not that fond of the traditional meals (weeeelll except for spatzle, kartoffelsalad, nuddlsalad, dammit I`m a hypocrite). However when it comes to sweets, I have a different stand. Marmor Kuchen, Stollen, Apple strudel, Kaiserschmarrn; that`s just some of the home made delicious cakes and I`m not even mentioning the great candy that comes through export from here. </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PEr14J0rfs_7Vi8WAxU4Hqps3L0q5T5vNXM6UqI58Wmorzb_JkdcE3rC-Lir6PWYmNJzC0y4RK3XByMJ34fnl0nsmcazBhd9vBl6Wsb4W_KgRgmsZI4-C-Uu7P6mc416wNr39rZDxmI/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PEr14J0rfs_7Vi8WAxU4Hqps3L0q5T5vNXM6UqI58Wmorzb_JkdcE3rC-Lir6PWYmNJzC0y4RK3XByMJ34fnl0nsmcazBhd9vBl6Wsb4W_KgRgmsZI4-C-Uu7P6mc416wNr39rZDxmI/s1600/8.jpg" /></a><br />
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Oh internet. Yes, as you know it half of the internet is banned here and people rarely speak meme which saddens me the most (that`s why they make fun of Germans on 9gag because none of them are actually there ). Not to mention how hard was for me to get a proper connection at my place. I think the lack of internet and internet geeks here stood as a very strong point in the "Why I don`t wanna live in Munich" list.<br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">If there`s anything I particularly like at Bavarians, and Germans everywhere it`s their pride for their culture and country. It`s something I admire and somehow envy that I can`t share the same feeling for my country. As a matter of fact I've never met one Romanian to be so proud and respectful towards his own culture (no, Eminescu, not even you, not even once) and by that I don`t mean pissing off some Hungarians with a idiotic rebellious gesture, I mean a really meaningful relationship with one`s cultural roots. </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Most of the time I'm asked if I would ever come back to live here again. I wouldn't say no. In the end it`s a decent place to live and if you`re with the right people, any place will feel like home. I did enjoy the Netherlands more, though, and I still stand by my dream to go back there as soon as possible. (I`ll leave the comparison of cultures for another time ) Somehow I feel Germany has just begun trolling me.</span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Even though there were many times I wished to leave Munich as soon as possible, I have to admit I will definitely miss some people (te quierooooo Eli!!!!!) and I guess that`s the biggest disadvantage to go from place to place, the more you stay the more your roots attach to the ground until it`s too late to leave. And this is one of my fears: getting tied up to a place that does `t suit me. </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">And if there`s one thing I learned in Bavaria it`s: Less complaining, more acting. That beer ain't gonna drink itself. </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_7CQt3QZQDEuTppk0GK0uacU8-7-rFLAtyOVgJ9BJUjYqwHhZgWiO_tHyfInn8eKhhDkLCT-psiWZVNz6Diskk2_xYh0Uv0equSiPZUv0SFeF274CQhKEYFNGXISZ064hGeByQU5CnE/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_7CQt3QZQDEuTppk0GK0uacU8-7-rFLAtyOVgJ9BJUjYqwHhZgWiO_tHyfInn8eKhhDkLCT-psiWZVNz6Diskk2_xYh0Uv0equSiPZUv0SFeF274CQhKEYFNGXISZ064hGeByQU5CnE/s1600/9.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02180426816230501242noreply@blogger.com1Munich, Germany48.1366069 11.57708509999997747.967122399999994 11.254361599999976 48.3060914 11.899808599999977tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-67574018147808005832013-03-07T22:51:00.001+01:002013-03-07T22:52:13.277+01:00Live<br />
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Take a risk. Change something.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
That little Italian place you've been passing by each day on
your way to work? Take 5 minutes to walk in and have some gelato there. That
cute girl in class that you keep wanting to approach, but never seem to find
the chance to? Just walk up to her and ask her out for a cup of coffee. The
relative you want to patch things up with when you have some time? Make time,
call them, before the break gets too big to fix.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Things won't happen on their own, you have to make them
change. Take a chance, do something.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Don't settle for 9 to 5. Don't settle for "we get along
well enough." Don't lie to yourself saying "I'll do it when I have
the chance." Don't settle. Strive for better, for your dreams, for
happiness. You might never reach your goal, but trying to get there will make
you feel alive. It will make you feel like you matter.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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It's not about where you'll end up; we all end up in the
same place. It's about what you do until you get there. It's about how many
times you smiled and made other people laugh. It's about the places you saw and
the things you experienced. It's about that one time you took your shoes off
and danced barefoot in the rain. It's about that stranger you kissed on the train
without ever seeing them again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9lOiYMrvOWE/UTkLfVI5OMI/AAAAAAAABGU/f0dC8QNz64A/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9lOiYMrvOWE/UTkLfVI5OMI/AAAAAAAABGU/f0dC8QNz64A/s1600/blog.jpg" /></a></div>
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Be stupid. Be crazy. Be alive. Be anything you want, as long
as it makes you happy. You only get one chance at life, don't spend it waiting
for life to just happen.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-38719602135025481352013-02-15T00:17:00.000+01:002013-02-15T20:08:58.231+01:00Anti-Valentine's day manifesto<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">I hate Valentine’s’ Day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">There, I said it. And no, I’m not single,
so it’s not just bitterness towards all the happy couples that are snuggling to
the sound of cute love songs while surrounded by rose petals and candlelight. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Before you judge me, take a breath and hear
me out. I am a big fan of romance; I do believe in true love; I love pampering
and being pampered by my loved one. So why the hate towards a holiday that
celebrates love? It’s forced and fake. Fake. Fake. FAKE!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvABTfkn6yZElaaKoEykXEPHcCHhDEY8KCnUO3HhDeoAhtfgGdPlIqIb7KBL_-N1y8Dpd2bkMFi8ivzeyzlIIaviZbilsagwu5Rn_D81mV2Lyoj9vGXqQTF5X9MaGco3a6k9bz77JV2w/s1600/drawings2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvABTfkn6yZElaaKoEykXEPHcCHhDEY8KCnUO3HhDeoAhtfgGdPlIqIb7KBL_-N1y8Dpd2bkMFi8ivzeyzlIIaviZbilsagwu5Rn_D81mV2Lyoj9vGXqQTF5X9MaGco3a6k9bz77JV2w/s1600/drawings2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I never managed to understand the point of
a holiday that forces you to buy candy, teddy bears, and flowers, present them
to your significant other and expect the same in return. Aside from all the
shopping-caused stress, there’s also the “you’re dead if you didn’t get me
anything” factor. Yeah, way to go humanity! Let’s force our partners into
buying us gifts, not because we deserve it or they want to make us feel
special, but because they have to, else they’re killjoys, cynics, or
inconsiderate.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">Then there’s the obligatory dinner and/or
movie, the bubble bath, the fancy wine. “But, Vivid Illusion, all of those are
very nice and romantic things to do for someone you love.” Yes, reader, you are
very right. IF YOU DO THEM BECAUSE YOU WANT TO. There’s nothing romantic about
having to book a restaurant table weeks in advance, or rushing to be the first
one to grab a day off from their boss so they can try their hardest to make
everything perfect. It’s like the whole Christmas [link towards Christmas post
here] disaster all over again: even if you had anything to be happy about on
this day, you might be too exhausted from trying to make it perfect to actually
enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGKR_NR92qfv6Ik4GiBeKTNyfZE6cA4Crpztr4TfquJlk4EFaWV9sNzAh-lP7xX5zKMMMhEA3foj_VBiH77YwmsRzfbeycF2Y2zps0pk49tZCkRYKrfMs-vvIPT0tQRttEsTRZLH1K9k/s1600/drawings1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGKR_NR92qfv6Ik4GiBeKTNyfZE6cA4Crpztr4TfquJlk4EFaWV9sNzAh-lP7xX5zKMMMhEA3foj_VBiH77YwmsRzfbeycF2Y2zps0pk49tZCkRYKrfMs-vvIPT0tQRttEsTRZLH1K9k/s1600/drawings1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But what kills me most of all about
Valentine’s Day is the principle of celebrating love. On a particular day. The
same day that everyone else does it. Love isn’t something that should be
commercialized like this. Love is the reason we’re alive (well, most of us, but
I don’t think it’s safe going too much intro that). If mommy and daddy didn’t love
each other, most of the people reading this blog wouldn’t be here. Love is what
keeps us alive, when our moms hold us in their arms and simply know that they
would give their own lives to keep us safe. Love is what makes us work harder,
when our significant other is unwell and we know we can provide for them. Love
is something special, that we should surround ourselves in, every single day,
not something we should celebrate on an arbitrary date (yes, not arbitrary, I
know. Just forcing a point). The love between you and your partner is not the
same with the love between that couple holding hands on the street. It’s
completely different from the love between that girl that’s crying on the phone
in a café and her boyfriend that’s miles away on a business trip. No two love
stories will ever be identical, same as no two couples will love in the same
way. Then why take something so intimate and demean it by turning it into a
product? How does anyone dare measure their love by how big the heart balloon
they gave to their partner is?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduHH9IEPJ7MI7mn4mfPPL90r6ARkfkJvZnA5nbOFtfds_7HKDEXxaFwWKe8NyeE8c-TK9c2rkksAqGGEvyGM4PfSnCHS6xhYrRQr6k9Qvl28Hi3bF8uG1dxBFzdvv08yhm00KdrHVQ6c/s1600/drawings3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduHH9IEPJ7MI7mn4mfPPL90r6ARkfkJvZnA5nbOFtfds_7HKDEXxaFwWKe8NyeE8c-TK9c2rkksAqGGEvyGM4PfSnCHS6xhYrRQr6k9Qvl28Hi3bF8uG1dxBFzdvv08yhm00KdrHVQ6c/s1600/drawings3.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">You want to celebrate love and happiness?
Do you really want to make your significant other feel happy and cherished?
Then feel free to celebrate Valentine’s Day however you see fit; but remember
to show your love every day besides that. Buy them that occasional box of
chocolates, take the time to hold their hand and take a walk through the park.
Make silly, funny, cute gestures every chance you get, and tell them that you
love them as often as you feel the need to. Because that’s what love is:
beauty, warmth, happiness.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">At the request of Immah, I'm also going to
point out another brilliant aspect of Valentine's Day and of "proofs of
love" in general. What is up with all the candy, balloons and stuffed
animals?! Aside from the obvious ridiculed of the celebration itself, the
choice of gifts is just flabbergasting. You stuff your loved one full of
chocolate (look at the bright side: you might get them fat enough and they
might not leave you because they'll be insecure); you give them stuffed animals
that, in all likelihood, will just end up pilling up dust on some forgotten
shelf somewhere; you give them balloons which, like your commercially-induced
euphoria, will deflate after a couple of days; if you're really serious about
things, you might even get them jewelry, because your love might not be
forever, but diamonds are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOERYpA_K0nijDHaC4phQ4-WU8fBgaJS91Oxrr6YfhzONxKFG24Bf2MtxTonPVaZFMIi4Jhjgb6AIpoM4XIM2-Ee6HjiF13Igv8Bz2OLqQSvJzIU9a8K-11nhQQ16bmUYhy5jlygm_gCw/s1600/drawings4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOERYpA_K0nijDHaC4phQ4-WU8fBgaJS91Oxrr6YfhzONxKFG24Bf2MtxTonPVaZFMIi4Jhjgb6AIpoM4XIM2-Ee6HjiF13Igv8Bz2OLqQSvJzIU9a8K-11nhQQ16bmUYhy5jlygm_gCw/s1600/drawings4.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> All
in all, I have to amend my previous statement: Valentine's Day is not
sufficiently stupid on its own; Valentine's Day along with the overrated
"symbols of love" you can find at any cornershop, however, make the
image complete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02180426816230501242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-72094023930178290452013-02-03T23:25:00.001+01:002013-02-03T23:47:58.242+01:00Home is where... where the... Where is Home?<br />
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Once again I offer my sincere apologies for being completely
incapable of maintaining any schedule, be it self-imposed or enforced by
others. In other words: I'm being lazy again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Despite my talent to procrastinate, it isn't entirely my
fault this time around. You see, after the whole <a href="http://im-vi.blogspot.nl/2013/01/holiday-cheer.html">Holiday mess </a>that was so
eloquently described in our previous post, we eventually had to make our way
back to our daily lives in freezing, windy Holland and snow-filled Germany.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Speaking of which, some belated congratulations are in order
for Immah, who has successfully breached yet another border and infiltrated the
German ranks for roughly 6 months while she's doing her internship there. Maybe
a post would be in order from her part, so she can share the Bavarian experience
with the rest of us mortals (which would also mean I can postpone writing a
post myself).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Back to the point, it's always weird going from home to…
well… home. Yeah, I said it. It's not a matter of cultural identity, national
pride or anything of the sorts. For most healthy beings, home is where you're
comfortable, where you're happy and where you sleep at least 4 nights a week;
therefore, it can get a bit confusing when you have a home in Romania, a
country whose beauty is overshadowed by some of its less-evolved inhabitants,
and another home in the Netherlands (or Germany, for some) where the streets
are clean and the stray dogs absent (although there is a slight possibility
that both situations are caused by the horrible wind that can probably kill
even cockroaches).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Jokes aside, I often find myself torn between my birth and
adoptive country. They've both been nice, caring, and giving to me. And they've
both had many an opportunity to screw me over. But then again, there is one incredibly
essential difference between Romania and the Netherlands that has to be pointed
out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The people. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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While I can't say I've met every person in either country
personally, I can sum up my experience with Romanians and Dutch as follows: hot
and cold. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CfV6koh3FGw/UQ6qy6fJhtI/AAAAAAAABFk/jkE28yCRmK0/s1600/drawings_homevs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CfV6koh3FGw/UQ6qy6fJhtI/AAAAAAAABFk/jkE28yCRmK0/s1600/drawings_homevs1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Event that actually took place: after he was struggling with a store door for who knows how long, this poor man received a moment's help from Vivid, which caused him to promptly burst into tears while riding away on his bike. Only in Romania.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Romanians, despite being a part of the former Soviet Union,
still track their heritage back to Ancient Romans. And we're so damn proud of
it as well. We boast with our Latin blood, using it as an excuse for mostly any
outburst. Yes, we are a passionate people. We love, we hate, we rebel, we
fight, we drink, we kill, we swear, we cry. And we do all of it with passion.
Unfortunately, we're also misguided, conceited, and sometimes ignorant. At our
best we are caring, sympathetic, and generous. At our worst we're uncivilized,
deceitful, and petty. With the clear distinction that the latter stand out a
lot more (not because of numbers, simply because pain, filth and destruction
are more easy to notice than an act of kindness).<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then, there is the Dutch people that are simply… cold. They
are extremely polite and helpful, but will never go out of their way to do
something for you. They will wave or smile back, but just because it's polite
to reciprocate. As a whole, they are very well-mannered, just overall decent
people. But you'll have a hard time actually gaining their friendship, trust or
glimpses of who they actually are. Of course, there is a high possibility that
I perceive them as such because I am, after all, a foreigner to them, but it
seems more likely that it's simply how they decided to build their society. It's
“live and let live”, with a touch of social responsibility. Don't get me wrong,
once you manage to penetrate that polite barrier of theirs, they can be pretty
amazing people (which applies to most of the Dutch people I've actually
befriended), same way I'm convinced some of them are complete scumbags. But it's
so frustrating that you never know until it's too late.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CXbAM4uKO-8/UQ6tf-gTfzI/AAAAAAAABF0/AJmk_RQ0nbc/s1600/drawings_comic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CXbAM4uKO-8/UQ6tf-gTfzI/AAAAAAAABF0/AJmk_RQ0nbc/s1600/drawings_comic.jpg" /></a></div>
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Excuse the part about the Germans, Immah has her own humouristic way of seeing the world she lives in. I'm sure she's just teasing.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuyF_3qU6Lo/UQ6qy1FMdBI/AAAAAAAABFg/UGO8uRxBf94/s1600/drawings_homevs2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuyF_3qU6Lo/UQ6qy1FMdBI/AAAAAAAABFg/UGO8uRxBf94/s1600/drawings_homevs2.jpg" /></a></div>
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You learn to love both of them (sorry, German people, I lack exposure here). The same way I'm certain I
could learn to love Spanish, Croatian or Norwegian culture. But the weird part
is trying to adapt to your new habitat, without losing track of who you are.
That's why I said it's not a matter of national identity: all that matters is
who YOU are. Just because you were born in a country, doesn't mean you belong
to that country; it is entirely up to you where you end up and what you do there,
just make sure you do it as YOURSELF.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eTYEsO_fnP8/UQ7jOE8GlZI/AAAAAAAABGE/SRaqJpneZsk/s1600/drawings_epicness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="403" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eTYEsO_fnP8/UQ7jOE8GlZI/AAAAAAAABGE/SRaqJpneZsk/s640/drawings_epicness.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-2215493264831922202013-01-02T22:46:00.002+01:002013-01-02T22:58:44.741+01:00Holiday Cheer<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">After a very long and undeserved break from
writing, along with ceaseless nagging from Immah and various other friends,
I’ve finally gathered up the courage to come up with our new blog post, hoping
that the next one will take a bit less to come up with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdSp-xWdK-udNCTHofzvDBlUSK-am0__mLaLw0nFeWhY7ZnKtpzsf9aHhuzsbPKJ6koC1Myr6yaeB5uCzBApgwTDz6eDNIRrTg4lrFKTcKCq1Hxzv7q_aImEKbqF4TcX_LyrKfn3WP8w/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdSp-xWdK-udNCTHofzvDBlUSK-am0__mLaLw0nFeWhY7ZnKtpzsf9aHhuzsbPKJ6koC1Myr6yaeB5uCzBApgwTDz6eDNIRrTg4lrFKTcKCq1Hxzv7q_aImEKbqF4TcX_LyrKfn3WP8w/s1600/1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It’s no coincidence that we’re posting so
close to the winter holidays. We both had the great opportunity of going home
to celebrate Christmas, and the overwhelming feeling of Christmas cheer
provided plenty of inspiration for me to write this eulogy to Romanian holiday
customs (I wish conveying sarcasm in writing was easier.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I know that this blog should be mostly
about our experiences abroad (which are now very broad and interesting. Damn, I
really should write more often), but I feel that the world knows too little of
how us, Romanians, celebrate Christmas and, more importantly, how we prepare
for it. It begins with making a list, then checking it twice. The twist being
that it doesn’t matter if you’re naughty or nice, you’re still in for a world
of hurt. You see, everyone makes their preparation plans well before Christmas.
No one actually starts doing the work until there’s three days or less left,
meaning that you can kiss that sweet sleep goodbye until Christmas Eve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCv_SG_vHI57ZH3HBnjxCunCy0APJYM9brLYo-wpftE6lKXtw_H_jdGe_F4EcaDRNcxiPyORktEY0HtBiFGGKyNsgb5cp9DvifM_dLg_5vffz_tu2DAUAIsizFJFdsaEV9PnCDkSVcW8/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCv_SG_vHI57ZH3HBnjxCunCy0APJYM9brLYo-wpftE6lKXtw_H_jdGe_F4EcaDRNcxiPyORktEY0HtBiFGGKyNsgb5cp9DvifM_dLg_5vffz_tu2DAUAIsizFJFdsaEV9PnCDkSVcW8/s1600/2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">First, there’s the cleaning. Aaah, the
cleaning. Nothing helps you feel that Christmas cheer quite as much as having
to vacuum, dust, mop, wipe and scrub every square inch in your house. Oh, it’s
snowing outside? Maybe we should wash the windows as well! Do we have
industrial amounts of food to cook? It might be a good idea to make sure the
kitchen is spotless before that. You’re going to bring in a Christmas tree that
leaves needles everywhere at the slightest touch? The floors better be
immaculate then! All these, and many more, are logical, intelligent ways in
which we prepare our homes for the arrival of Saint Nick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWKjyxF7h-nKgozrR78iOSpsJvkonBez1LmcUUCADFocWfMmqvFvtIogNPkwyW9mTnkuxKoUgvi_azPzGVeis85WtLuAQj0gmqxLxdnoFbt10fs4kE15mSG8GM9znCdf0DttLRg6xAcw/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWKjyxF7h-nKgozrR78iOSpsJvkonBez1LmcUUCADFocWfMmqvFvtIogNPkwyW9mTnkuxKoUgvi_azPzGVeis85WtLuAQj0gmqxLxdnoFbt10fs4kE15mSG8GM9znCdf0DttLRg6xAcw/s1600/3.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Once the house has been thoroughly cleaned,
you can merrily begin preparing the food. Let’s say you have a family of three
and are expecting about 4-5 other people to visit you throughout the whole
holiday season. Well then, we should probably cook around 10 different dishes
in massive quantities, let’s say about 3kgs of each. Yeah, that sounds about
right. But how can we cook all this food without any supplies? ONWARDS, TO THE
STORE! Christmas shopping (for food, not presents) is such a lovely process;
you take your list of groceries (nothing short of two pages will do), grab a
shopping cart and start plowing your way through all the other happy shoppers
that postponed doing everything till the very last moment. Fast-forward to four
hours later when you’re done throwing half the store in your cart and you will
find yourself halfway through waiting in line behind many of the
afore-mentioned shoppers, among which there will be at least three that have
forgotten to have their fruits weighed or have a few products that don’t have a
barcode on them. Another eternity afterwards, you can finally make your way
home with all the stuff for all the food that you’re planning to prepare for
your family and friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Now, where were we? Ah yes, cooking so much
food that restaurants seem like amateurs. The process is pretty
straight-forward: you’ll find that you don’t have enough pots, pans and
containers, every other hour you’ll realize that you forgot to buy something
you urgently need, which will force you to make a run for the corner shop where
there’s little and less to choose from, and by the end of the day you’ll find
that the smell that’s impregnated in your skin is unlikely to leave you for the
next few days. Just hope that you have enough perfume and body lotion to cover
the smell of pickled cabbage and smoked meat (you probably don’t. nobody does.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Okay, so you’re done cleaning, all the
shopping is done and the food is nicely cooked (and decorated. You have no
self-respect if you don’t spend at least an hour decorating all the dishes).
But wait! You don’t have a Christmas tree yet! How could you possible enjoy all
the hard work you’ve put in without having a tree that’s been cut down and
thrown around in trucks? But worry not, my friend. That tree will look majestic
in your living room, covered in all the decorations you’ve gathered throughout
the years, and a few more that you’ve purchased in your recent shopping trip.
It doesn’t matter that it’s going to start looking downright morbid after a
couple of days when the branches start to bend under the weight of all the
pretty shiny stuff, or that it’s going to leave a huge mess in your
newly-cleaned house. You need a tree, and you need it natural.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Well, now you’ve got it all covered.
Everything that needed doing is done. So what that you haven’t slept in three
days and you’ll end up throwing out half of the food because it’s not going to
be eaten? Who cares that your stress levels have never been higher? You have
successfully prepared a very Romanian Christmas and you should feel very proud.
In the meantime, I’ll have a nice hot chocolate, enjoy my foldable Christmas
tree and exchange gifts with my friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Hope you had a Merry (stress-free) Christmas! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Happy new year!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02180426816230501242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-91198395621445981152012-03-03T13:20:00.000+01:002012-03-03T13:20:20.444+01:00Roaming Breda<div class="MsoNormal">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).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="goog_220099724"></span><span id="goog_220099725"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmX6i-3Gw7hpqFAVgtYwEl-x0XKOW6XZAz82bbFdHdlIEvol0Vrj7QScnZxFbrVtY9kT6m7fdOkwPP_BebIW7E5goRCNMKOTK-RJff-F0o02eRJWuQIon5FgcIQV2cYVpVPn5opeqIt4/s1600/st1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmX6i-3Gw7hpqFAVgtYwEl-x0XKOW6XZAz82bbFdHdlIEvol0Vrj7QScnZxFbrVtY9kT6m7fdOkwPP_BebIW7E5goRCNMKOTK-RJff-F0o02eRJWuQIon5FgcIQV2cYVpVPn5opeqIt4/s1600/st1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pU9Vl5gS-Vs/T1IH9vev2uI/AAAAAAAABCw/ABUD1wiyiPY/s1600/bredadventures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pU9Vl5gS-Vs/T1IH9vev2uI/AAAAAAAABCw/ABUD1wiyiPY/s1600/bredadventures.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal">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).</div><div class="MsoNormal">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). </div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-30733866630417223132012-02-22T16:50:00.003+01:002012-02-22T21:38:56.037+01:00The carnival groove<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMV0gEyX3HdZ0EqZFoI4V89FSR3SLzLMDZ7vhxM3VILwB3EViKbt_reBMC8byoyj1af3HZ8bnBIyv9cgO-8r-3egoXh2mVkcDUZq6ZKYQ0Q4UMxCJ68Ia4LJt7fSiJV7ATVVi6PpK8jFI/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMV0gEyX3HdZ0EqZFoI4V89FSR3SLzLMDZ7vhxM3VILwB3EViKbt_reBMC8byoyj1af3HZ8bnBIyv9cgO-8r-3egoXh2mVkcDUZq6ZKYQ0Q4UMxCJ68Ia4LJt7fSiJV7ATVVi6PpK8jFI/s1600/6.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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!). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy23BfQz7JVALQ_vwB0YpodvvRBQ4R0Fn1RQ6ygSTfwaCngg482TSSXqrmBkWbWXLDNwzIa8A6DEWWaFFVTVJtGVlnpGNfTDC1sk1d3JnSdYuJ56IwTGlgDD_mpVu4yZAD2WEtE2aCAdg/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy23BfQz7JVALQ_vwB0YpodvvRBQ4R0Fn1RQ6ygSTfwaCngg482TSSXqrmBkWbWXLDNwzIa8A6DEWWaFFVTVJtGVlnpGNfTDC1sk1d3JnSdYuJ56IwTGlgDD_mpVu4yZAD2WEtE2aCAdg/s1600/5.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vE2LR-lgK6ikGgI1RV_B8X9w1eFJpVzAqLvkOhDG4iRrpn1FqDJk54WM5aTgdjV0xtmoPSBrvZs-CHUetZQtWzc3RUJNxJEy1iRa3D37y0zWQnGAPbf7_FTo6Fq5hv8-mb7FGaI4GPE/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ciMm93agZAYu5I-A3zwtIqrOR8qUlYqPVgbl3wfVcFpu_U0KdPTSoRxUGsl89K79-S1SlK0-f2ihv27V4CArBW48-7R4_LT2hDCbBMrwAD6X3VvMdR6-ty9u53FaYybEwCK2W4kSAEs/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ciMm93agZAYu5I-A3zwtIqrOR8qUlYqPVgbl3wfVcFpu_U0KdPTSoRxUGsl89K79-S1SlK0-f2ihv27V4CArBW48-7R4_LT2hDCbBMrwAD6X3VvMdR6-ty9u53FaYybEwCK2W4kSAEs/s1600/1.jpg" /></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLVz_goVDliBtsKZvg-HXWUAXGH1E3kpOQprTiESpinrlAUjS99z5dQPwCPSXaE6DXwgtP8FTEl6cTU9GMfi3CWKdexP5b94mOnMxk-9DMbPfHkUy9QVHV-86r4VeFemtBr1SlYPjunI/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLVz_goVDliBtsKZvg-HXWUAXGH1E3kpOQprTiESpinrlAUjS99z5dQPwCPSXaE6DXwgtP8FTEl6cTU9GMfi3CWKdexP5b94mOnMxk-9DMbPfHkUy9QVHV-86r4VeFemtBr1SlYPjunI/s1600/3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkldHx950bK29yqWpXcefZUBrJUk5VlHZizDYZOxMQ3NW7A-5Ad1Oxd8YKNCAz8J2zVCDVqjlU0nHKsqyYWErS5vBFVoRMHUrLIf3teBgL4BsHuWRUy6SUBMZzARDu4TvZ7yPJN-nHTU/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkldHx950bK29yqWpXcefZUBrJUk5VlHZizDYZOxMQ3NW7A-5Ad1Oxd8YKNCAz8J2zVCDVqjlU0nHKsqyYWErS5vBFVoRMHUrLIf3teBgL4BsHuWRUy6SUBMZzARDu4TvZ7yPJN-nHTU/s1600/2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> 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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_tLqh6ym9hlMP-jL4dTt4iwQdnw6IVDAbMplV9NyovzsuhRDV4Up5GFoxPbXL3Mev9KsJGQDe5VajJJMM-2d-zrVIfJQXRsJ5sBFXkPiobKNaYKjmE88QvQFAtgFCwni3O4QfVLiGPo/s1600/4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_tLqh6ym9hlMP-jL4dTt4iwQdnw6IVDAbMplV9NyovzsuhRDV4Up5GFoxPbXL3Mev9KsJGQDe5VajJJMM-2d-zrVIfJQXRsJ5sBFXkPiobKNaYKjmE88QvQFAtgFCwni3O4QfVLiGPo/s1600/4.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">And this was probably the funniest scene from Saturday evening: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnKhbLEghbDwNXO4Q5Qmo1OzoXrI-9ryfWEgNHlTyNIKAGJSnIEF0wFFTshCeNAtZoe12bGnC57drhn9eMhDDZtyJrYlv-MEGXkC6Ouygvpt5Yg6rWiny71xCfysBWiaYmJk4RVpyWBs/s1600/carnival1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnKhbLEghbDwNXO4Q5Qmo1OzoXrI-9ryfWEgNHlTyNIKAGJSnIEF0wFFTshCeNAtZoe12bGnC57drhn9eMhDDZtyJrYlv-MEGXkC6Ouygvpt5Yg6rWiny71xCfysBWiaYmJk4RVpyWBs/s400/carnival1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0INayO4C2agDVAzLAqPYnN4olTv48vuQeHhHxIDtPRNiHP_aMh1MOwXppRBDFQAb4jqkKDXzoQaLFO7Byxo0gvbE8X1nkHqGOIDKc5KD30c8PO6yT07_94Q-uZAssC1tJEAqhyphenhypheneZPW88/s1600/carnival2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0INayO4C2agDVAzLAqPYnN4olTv48vuQeHhHxIDtPRNiHP_aMh1MOwXppRBDFQAb4jqkKDXzoQaLFO7Byxo0gvbE8X1nkHqGOIDKc5KD30c8PO6yT07_94Q-uZAssC1tJEAqhyphenhypheneZPW88/s400/carnival2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02180426816230501242noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-67349109475445705332012-02-07T21:07:00.000+01:002012-02-07T21:07:59.339+01:00PRSC<br />
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cNO8KwoURSk/TzGD5s6guxI/AAAAAAAABCA/7dy5dst0J04/s1600/A235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cNO8KwoURSk/TzGD5s6guxI/AAAAAAAABCA/7dy5dst0J04/s400/A235.jpg" width="326" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AYgK0T0nA3w/TzGD6VVbyqI/AAAAAAAABCE/P-LcsAHRC8k/s1600/A247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AYgK0T0nA3w/TzGD6VVbyqI/AAAAAAAABCE/P-LcsAHRC8k/s400/A247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2hyjzkjo4x0/TzGD638VteI/AAAAAAAABCM/Cqtamhlee0c/s1600/A249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2hyjzkjo4x0/TzGD638VteI/AAAAAAAABCM/Cqtamhlee0c/s400/A249.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LXga_BaD1Pk/TzGD7EaCy4I/AAAAAAAABCU/JaGPgWBtWw4/s1600/A257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LXga_BaD1Pk/TzGD7EaCy4I/AAAAAAAABCU/JaGPgWBtWw4/s400/A257.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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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).</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgERzONtOiU/TzGEKGWV0-I/AAAAAAAABCg/w4okbQ78Kdk/s1600/prsc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgERzONtOiU/TzGEKGWV0-I/AAAAAAAABCg/w4okbQ78Kdk/s1600/prsc.jpg" /></a></div>
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But that was back in high school. We’re older, more
responsible and mature, and with a very different sense of humor. NOT. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">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.</i></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-36338719116432251872012-01-28T17:49:00.001+01:002012-01-29T14:22:16.772+01:00Leaving<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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 <span class="hps">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.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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.).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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.</span></span></div><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4080315691844381318&postID=3633871911643225187&from=pencil" name="GoBack"></a><span lang="en-US" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidprLAWBVS7fl39oVW_m3osfkQnm4iq9gW2_e6XrSoT3sZgpVPkEHSMdsYkRW5e1fCKDFw5dgHlD-DUcCmdDNeCsUPvjwjkJ8yMYXxqHpYDZDilwgjcCbF8uegzpzPe1Qk0VDNsDxzkC0/s1600/leaving1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidprLAWBVS7fl39oVW_m3osfkQnm4iq9gW2_e6XrSoT3sZgpVPkEHSMdsYkRW5e1fCKDFw5dgHlD-DUcCmdDNeCsUPvjwjkJ8yMYXxqHpYDZDilwgjcCbF8uegzpzPe1Qk0VDNsDxzkC0/s1600/leaving1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPs9JZyrIvEW2Ifi_l-vlRpL5IJvPwSFqwYfT_9pLno6VFHAMpXq_9p4Fr7FUer-foUvjtF_rMCf4Fxw_eFr_z176g1Nf99sUzxYy_Mp3YKSAasYGujALE64g_U_t8HR6OqvWXUSWLKWM/s1600/leaving2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPs9JZyrIvEW2Ifi_l-vlRpL5IJvPwSFqwYfT_9pLno6VFHAMpXq_9p4Fr7FUer-foUvjtF_rMCf4Fxw_eFr_z176g1Nf99sUzxYy_Mp3YKSAasYGujALE64g_U_t8HR6OqvWXUSWLKWM/s1600/leaving2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Dc3MAHljG8/TyQkJZwvV1I/AAAAAAAABBg/zmvhvIBrj-U/s1600/leaving1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VmNdwDbOef4/TyQkMQMxojI/AAAAAAAABBs/m3YLqM5Z31A/s1600/leaving3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VmNdwDbOef4/TyQkMQMxojI/AAAAAAAABBs/m3YLqM5Z31A/s1600/leaving3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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!))).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hv-5icOq9Lg/TyQkbdUYuiI/AAAAAAAABB4/1HaDfNMVnm4/s1600/leaving_coloured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hv-5icOq9Lg/TyQkbdUYuiI/AAAAAAAABB4/1HaDfNMVnm4/s1600/leaving_coloured.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span style="line-height: 115%;">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.</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4080315691844381318&postID=3633871911643225187&from=pencil" name="GoBack"></a><span lang="en-US" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-88039214324454826302012-01-24T15:07:00.001+01:002012-01-24T19:41:14.449+01:00rEvolution<span id="goog_1259240587"></span><span id="goog_1259240588"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
We interrupt our normal program with the following news: <b>Romania is being weird</b>. 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.</div>
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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.<b> The one thing everyone agrees on is that a change is needed</b>.</div>
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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:</div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">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?</span></div>
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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. <span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
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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. <br />
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<br /></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4080315691844381318.post-22151887498724319412012-01-21T19:57:00.000+01:002012-01-21T19:57:23.366+01:00Who am I?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who am I? <b>IMMAH<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>VIVID
ILLUSION!!!</b><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><b> </b> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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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).</div>
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<br /></div>
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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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxyHFKaa0WY/TxsHpuN6aHI/AAAAAAAABAA/MJpvCfi8bi8/s1600/os1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxyHFKaa0WY/TxsHpuN6aHI/AAAAAAAABAA/MJpvCfi8bi8/s1600/os1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ZqA3ci7qtw/TxsHqLmcIdI/AAAAAAAABAI/7jXyiT8H9wE/s1600/os2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ZqA3ci7qtw/TxsHqLmcIdI/AAAAAAAABAI/7jXyiT8H9wE/s1600/os2.jpg" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zXQ3viNV_08/TxsHrNE99JI/AAAAAAAABAM/P3axLXsXmyw/s1600/os3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zXQ3viNV_08/TxsHrNE99JI/AAAAAAAABAM/P3axLXsXmyw/s1600/os3.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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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.</div>
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<br /></div>
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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.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ta-daaah!</div>
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<br /></div>
<span lang="en-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Lucida Grande","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Immah</span></b><b> </b><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">as
seen by Vivid Illusion</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s
Immah, the person I call my mommy and the most awesome person in the world.</span></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<span lang="en-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Lucida Grande","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Vivid Illusion</span></b> as seen by Immah</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is Vivid Illusion and she is my best friend. Oh wait! I
have a vivid illusion as a best friend!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(* forever alone face *)</div>
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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?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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!!)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </div>
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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 </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her dreams and aspirations?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
..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? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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
:> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UyV3gSIjI5c/TxsJYg3eY2I/AAAAAAAABAg/RLHThQQ8-z8/s1600/us---Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UyV3gSIjI5c/TxsJYg3eY2I/AAAAAAAABAg/RLHThQQ8-z8/s1600/us---Copy.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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 ^.^</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0