It isn't that open-minded here either.

I've been contemplating some things. First I need to blatantly make some things clear.
I am a "citizen of the world." I've lived in many many many countries. I've met many people, and many cultures, and many philosophies.
I am, in a non-traditional sense, a widow. I have loved and been blissfully, ignorantly, truly happy, and then been crushed down and felt like not living.

I am now living in a small sub-town right outside of Rotterdam, a place with a couple bars, shops, and plenty of people. I've noticed that even though the Dutch are considered open minded and free spirited, very few actually are. Over here, I get looked down on every single day because I speak English, I drink on week days and/or before 5 o clock, because I have fun and sing and dance, because I randomly help people who seem to not know what they're doing...
I don't mind it, in fact I could not care less. They're missing out.
But I'm also missing out. I'm missing out the people who join you when you have a drink. I miss the people who see you dance and dance too, or sing along when you sing. I miss "thank you" and "you're welcome."

I don't mind people staring at me because they finally see me dance or hug or kiss someone new. But I mind when they mind.

I only have this one life, and it may end tomorrow or the day after. I won't waste today thinking if the woman next to me is judging me as an immigrant because she heard me say "thank you" in English. Or if that girl is looking at me dirty because my dancing may be a bit out there.

So why do the rest of them have time to think about those things?
Why do they let it bother them?

Why do you?

coffee shop mistake

Today my parents were in town, and whenever they're in town they go and have a cup of coffee. However, being new to the country and lacking the osmotic mind of a curious and immoral teenager, they had no idea that a coffee shop is not a coffee shop, but is more like a marijuana cafe.
So there's my parents, stepping into a coffee shop, thinking it really is a coffee shop, and stumbling out with bitter expressions, commenting in disgust at the despicable habits of these people. Druggies! All of them, crack'eads! (I don't think they know the difference between pot and crack..).Well, at least they don't do it on the streets, they conclude. If only they knew.
They come home, telling me this amusing story and I ask what the name of the coffee shop is (by mistake, I didn't realise what I'd asked until 2 seconds after), but luckily they'd forgotten, and didn't find my question out of place.
Yeah, if only they knew.

I thought it was pretty funny though.

Wilheminaplein

Wilhelminaplein is where it's at, yo. Or where I'm at anyway. Some pictures, because it's really, very beautiful.
This is all within 500m from my house, so it really is like this. I didn't go around trying to find the best-looking spots in Rotterdam ;D





And that's where I live. Those ugly little brown box houses there. Well, I live in one of them. Not all. Obviously.
Idiot.

Spring

It's coming. It's opening the door slowly, it's an old creaky, big oak door with rusty hinges. It smells of dust and fresh flowers and kicks up a powder storm as it comes in. The sun floods in and you can finally see, stop shivering and feeling sorry for yourself and hating this goddamn freezing country and begin to like it again.
But, it's different now. I love spring. I love spring. Except that I walk around looking like a crack addict from all the allergy meds I take, but I love spring.
Still, there's something that's missing. I don't feel it.
I'm missing something.