On Plans and Everday Life

We lay out our lives in a narrative we understand, like a movie. But are you enjoying making it or are you wondering: “who’s watching my movie?”

-Donald Glover

Hey guys :)

These last few weeks have been filled with uncertainty and emotional ramblings, and I may have lost sight of what this blog was supposed to be all about: Keeping you folks in the loop. I think I've touched on the issues here enough and I'm not even willing to try and discuss my mental state (read a Lewis Carroll novel sometimes) so I figured I'd keep things basic this week, and give you an oversight of what I've been up to.

As a 25-year-old taking his first steps in the world of journalism, much of my time is obviously spent on working and word-related activities. I work in sports (Breaking News to be precise) so even when I'm not on the clock, I still need to stay in the loop. Along with a handful of colleagues I run a group on Skype in which we constantly discuss all sports-related content (though mainly footy), as well as other stuff (mainly nonsense and birds). It's really fun, even though it can be very tiring. The job itself is divided between recaps, which are very stop-and-go, and the breaking stories, which carry quite a bit of pressure in terms of time. With the Champions League, NFL Draft and World Cup on the horizon, it's not going to get any easier either.

Aside from work, I mainly try to see as much of London as I can. There's countless of interesting (and often free) musea that house everything from animotronic dinosaurs to paintings from Degas and Constable, two of my all-time favourite painters (I know I'm an elitist piece of *ss and an incredible snob, but yes, I have favourite painters). Constable in particular is phenomenal at using texture to bring forth minor details and his brushwork is amazing, and I'd never seen any of his larger studies in real life to fully appreciate said brushwork. 

Next on my list are the Tate Modern Museum, National Gallery, the Royal Museums at Greenwich (including the Meridian Line) and Battersea Power Station, if only for the Pink Floyd cover. The Tate Modern is currently running an exhibition on Cézanne and Matisse, so if anyone is interested, please let me know. I'd love to actually have someone to visit these places with.

I'd like to take a moment to wish my mother a happy birthday for the final time this year (it seems kind of stupid to keep doing that), if only because it saddens me I couldn't be there to celebrate. I've sent out two parcels since coming here but I've yet to hear from either of the recipients so I wasn't willing to risk sending the present overseas (not sure whether the other two didn't receive their parcels or simply failed to let me know they did) so in a way I felt like a right tool for just sending a long mail and no more.

It was all a little too reminiscent of last year, when my siblings threw my mum a birthday bash and forgot to invite me. At the time I was quite upset, though this is usually about the time of year I make off for the Basque Country and it was perhaps understandable for them to assume I wouldn't be able to make it anyway. I was working at a kind of flowershop-company and would have been late to the party regardless, but it still wasn't particularly pleasant to be passed over like that.

Fast forward 12 months and I've actually put a significant body of water between us. No one to blame but myself this time :) however, I hope to see you all very soon and I'd love to be able to wish my mum a happy birthday in person in a few short weeks. As of right now it looks like I'll be coming to Belgium from the 19th to the 21st of May, so if you could all let me know whether those dates suit you or not, that'd be great. If you have no interest in seeing me you can sod off that's fine, just let me know. I won't be mad; I appreciate the honesty. And you can still sod off.

Do let me know whether those dates suit or not though. The sooner I know whether I can see everyone I want to see during that span the sooner I can reserve seats on the train and all, so really, fire those messages my way. You'll notice there's a Tuesday night in there, and I'd like to spend that one in Leuven and at least partially forget what happened when it's all said and done.

Now, for something completely different. One of my American friends who apparently reads this blog asked me to truthfully answer a question here in front of all to read, and because I have very little shame I fully accepted providing she'd do the same in her blog (which I promised not to link to here). When the question actually came I couldn't help but laugh, as it alluded to a conversation we had more than a year ago and I had long since forgotten about. I am however a man of my word, so here goes.

Q: Did you get lucky on your prom night?

A: I think so. Let me explain: I went to two proms (and should have gone to a third, more on that later), as I had a girlfriend in her senior year who took me to prom when I was a junior and I took someone else to prom my senior year. I know I didn't "score" as a senior as my date got absolutely hammered to the point she could hardly stay on her feet and my mum had to drive her home. It was quite a horrible experience to be honest.

My junior year however I think my girlfriend stayed the night, and you could safely assume we did the no-pants dance if that were the case (sorry mum). I don't exactly remember however (and feel kind of awful for admitting that). I remember very little of that night beyond the dress she wore and the dinner we had. And I swear I didn't get drunk. I even think I was still very much anti-drinking at that point (ah, the good old days).

I was supposed to go to a third prom when I was a freshman at university (because I look amazing in a suit and people kept asking me) but I got roaring drunk the night before and missed my connection home to pick up my suit and stood her up. This is still arguably the worst thing I have ever done in my life and I'm still very, very embarrassed by it. It took the girl years to forgive me and I've yet to forgive myself. I have truly hated anything even resembling prom since then and couldn't be happier my old classmates have yet to come up with the wonderful idea of organising a school reunion. 

Back on topic. They've just announced the cast for the new Star Wars and I have NO IDEA who any of the new castmembers are, but I couldn't be any less excited about a seventh Star Wars anyhow. I am however extremely excited at the prospect of a Sherlock-special (as reported by Cultbox, via IGN), particularly as we've just seen the conclusion of Community, Archer and HIMYM and there's only one Person of Interest-episode left. On the plus side, Game of Thrones is back and SPOILER ALERT that little sh*t finally got what was coming. Yes, I am still a huge nerd. As the guys from the very underrated and utterly fantastic Better Off Tedd would say: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIwd40pg1xQ

I have a date this Saturday (or Friday as the guys from work just asked me to change my shift) and I'm really not looking forward to it whatsoever, but as a 25-year-old whose only friends are either on the internet, living back in Belgium or about to embark on another wild season of sun, surf and a ****load of wild holiday-sex, I'm simply not allowed to turn down an open invitation for a drink at a bar. She's kind of cute and I will most definately probably tell you how it went. Please don't expect too much. My last successful date happened back when it was still cool to send people videos of Rick Astley (bad example, that's still way cool). 

Okay, that'll be it for this week. I hope you're all doing great wherever you are and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you very soon. Take care everyone.

Song of the Week: Going with a serious classic here. I heard this earlier this week and it made me feel older than I have ever felt. Apparently, I was seven when this came out, and I remember skating to this song when I was maybe 13. Good times. 

Outkast - 13th Floor (Growing Old)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWszICEBSLU

On Home and London

“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” 

-William Faulkner

It's a cliché as old as the world, but factoid don't obtain the status of 'cliché' for no reason: Some things truly never do change.

I've mentioned my affinity for crossroads and imagery that has been hopelessly played out before, and as we draw ever closer to the end of April, I can't help but elaborate once more. I'd previously made reference to some potentially big news, and I now feel like it's relatively safe for me to come forward with it. Perhaps I'm still jumping the gun, but I can't be bothered. I'm already writing anyway, and if there's one thing I've never been particularly good at, it's knowing when not to do something, or when to decide against something.

Up until a few days ago, it was looking very likely I wouldn't be able to remain in London beyond next week. By very likely, I mean "more than a 90-percent chance" likely. My stay in the Big Smoke has been somewhat of an uncertainty ever since I got here, but difficult circumstances involving British bureaucracy at its finest and some miscommunications between the UK and US branches of the company I work with seemed to have sealed my fate. I'd be forced to leave the country and move back home, and that would be the end of it. Since then, new developments have come to light and as of right now, it looks like I'll be able to prolong my stay just a little longer. No certainties yet, but at least it's looking a lot better than before.

Filled with doubt over what my future would look like, these last few weeks had been an absolute nightmare. At one point I took a tube to St Paul's and just started walking and taking photos (if you know me at all, you know how I feel about photos) and before I realised what was happening I was standing in the middle of St James' Park in the dark. I'd literally walked from St Paul's to the City, Monument, Bank, Tower Bridge, all of the South Bank, Westminster, up to Buckingham Palace and back to Duck Island. For those of you unfamiliar with London: That's a pretty long walk. Like, about six hours-long. I was just completely lost in my mind, and truly scared for what was about to come next.

Now I'm obviously not going to go overboard trying to explain why all of this would be such an issue for me. We've all got better things to do.

But last week was the start of the surfcamp-season, and for the first time in six years, I won't be a part of that. It's a very odd sensation, seeing status-updates and photos from former collegues as they start preparations for the first few groups of guests who I assume will be arriving at some point next week (the schools and stuff, actual guests will be a few more weeks). 

I'm having a harder time dealing with this than I thought I would. I love surfing, and I love the whole surfcamp-vibe, but after the debacle that was the summer of 2013, I'd just had enough for a while. I wasn't sure I could go through all of that again, and when the fall and winter took a turn for the worst and this opportunity in London came to light, I had to take it. Sure, London hasn't been all that great either (more on that later) and I have come to learn I do not accept change the way I used to, but I stated this was something I needed to do when I first came here and I'm standing by it.

Still, it's only natural for me to miss my former life. After all, it was a pretty epic one, and realising the lot of you will be going through the motions once again (I'm looking at you two specifically, Peter and MIKEY, even though neither of you will ever read this) while I won't be there for the first time in over a half-decade hits home.

But it's more than that, more than just me missing the camps and the beautiful Basque Country (it really is beautiful btw, for those of you still planning your summer holidays. San Sebastian might be the greatest city I've ever visited). Receiving word my credentials for surf coaching and lifesaving had expired hardly even registered.

I'd come to accept the inevitable nature of a move back home in recent weeks, and on some level, I was looking forward to it. Despite the obvious disappointment of failing at a job I really don't want to fail at and not being able to see through a six-month contract I signed, I relished the thought of seeing my friends and family again. I first left home the moment I'd finished high school, and now, at the age of 25, the thought of home has never felt more, well, homely, if you will.

Which stands in sharp contrast of how I felt when I left the damn place just a few months ago. I'd spent so much time in contempt of my surroundings and couldn't wait to leave. I'd had it with that place, those lands where I was born and raised but which hadn't felt like home in a long time.

At some point we learn to accept those places define who we are. I was molded by my home, to paraphrase the fantastic Friday Night Lights, and no matter where I go, I will always carry my home with me. I will remember the places and the people who made those places worthwhile for the rest of my life, regardless of where said life takes me.

And for all of the deficiencies that come with home (******* UBER-banning, De Wever-voting, bigoted, sexist, racist bastards), there are some aspects that are very hard to let go of. I miss my friends. I miss my mum and my dad and my brothers and sisters. I miss some of the little things, like the foundations of the old pier that someone decided to tear down while I was in France this summer or the hundreds of little paths that run all through the lakelands near my dad's house. The view of the forrests, looking out of my grandmother's gardens and the ridiculous music of De Weerelt.

Ever the nostalgic, I could see all of the benefits associated with a forced move back home. And yet for all of this, I simply couldn't. I still can't.

I can't go home, not after everything I went through in the last 18 months or so. There are some things waiting for me that I'm simply not ready to face, and I'm seriously starting to doubt whether I ever will be. Sure, I can visit, and I'm already making plans for a trip back home very soon. But only for a couple of days.

Those final few weeks before I moved countries were some of the darkest I've ever gone through. The utter hopelessness of the situation weighed down on me in a way I can't describe, and looking back on that period, I can honestly say I'm surprised I made it out unscathed, or in physical form at least.

I hated the man I'd become and relived every decision that had led me down that path in a constant cyclic motion. I couldn't bear the though of what my future would look like, and to put it nicely, very much considered whether such a future would actually be worth it.

People don't just change because they get up and move. There's no such thing as new beginnings, to paraphrase some more (bonus points if you can guess where the following quote comes from without using the internet).

"With every day we live, we pick up new baggage, baggage we must carry with us for the rest of our lives. There's no dropping it and pretending we are fresh and clean, just because we get off a boat in a new place."

More than just part of who I was came with me to this new place, and as we now live in the 21st century, we're never truly able to create real distance between us and our past, unless we want to. Frankly, I've yet to decide. Faulkner says the past is never dead -- it's not even there. But there's hope here, in this new city, the belief things could be different. For the first time in ages, I'm having some success convincing myself things will be different.

It's the paradox of home, and the saving grace of this city. London is a vast place, and it's mean. Dark, grey, often rainy and it couldn't give a crap about anyone's problems. 7.5 million people live here, and on some level, they all struggle. But because of its size, you can both lose yourself and get lost in it in the blink of an eye. It's possible to be truly invisible here, as you make your way around the city. You take in all of the history (there's quite a bit of that here) and nourish the nerd within (St Barth's! 85% of every Doctor Who episode!). And around every corner, there's bound to be new possibilities. There's always something new waiting, and while I've done my very best to get to know as much as I can about the place in such a short time, I've yet to experience over 99% of it.

Yes, I'd much rather be in France right now. And part of me will always hope there's a way for me to rectifiy some of the mistakes I made, so that one day home will truly be home again. 

But I was always convinced I needed to change the narrative of my life, the way I was living. I needed to stop running from things and start running towards them. And lately, I'm not so sure whether either is the case. I've started to feel like I'm not running anywhere at all. I feel like I'm looking for something, and I don't know what. Maybe I'm looking for myself, to get all teen-drama-queeny about it, or maybe it's the ghost of Christmas past (Dickens ftw). But I can't shake the feeling I need to look, and keep looking, and perhaps one day I'll find.

Not sure how I ended up here. What I was trying to say is that while I miss you all very much, I'd rather not be coming home anytime soon if I can avoid it. I can't do it, and it's not you. It's 25 years worth of bad decisions, broken promises, shattered dreams and me reading too many books and watching too much TV to realise life doesn't do happy endings. So perhaps I need to do some growing up before I get to rejoin you. Three months ago I chose exile, and my sentence isn't over yet.

I'd like to end this week's entry with a double shout-out: First of all, to Steven Moffat. Before Sherlock and Doctor Who, this genius created Coupling and Joking Apart, and while seemingly everyone knows the former, the latter might have become one of my all-time favourite TV shows in a very short space of time. Both shows have really brightened these last couple of weeks and are well worth a watch if you're looking for your fix following the conclusions to How I met Your Mother (which was rubbish) and Community (#sixseasonsandamovie).

Secondly, on Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Next to F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ivan Turgenev and Charles Dickens, all of whom are long dead, no single author has had as much of an impact on my life as the Godfather of Magic Realism. His passing may not have been much of a surprise given his age, but it is still a sad thing nonetheless. I absolutely loved Hundred Years of Solitude, but Love in Times of Cholera is one of my personal bibles, part of a collection of novels I read once every year. I've shed tears over those words on multiple occasions, and in November of last year, at my very lowest point, it was the story of Florentino Ariza that pulled me through.

I would loved to have used quotes of the man himself throughout this entry as opposed to Faulkner (nothing against the latter, obviously), but for some reason, none of them felt right. It does however feel fitting for him to have the final say. I hope you all realise that for all of the miles that currently separate us, I still love you dearly.

“If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.” 

Song of the Day: TV on the Radio - Family Tree

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMv_PuGHSGA

On Intermezzi and Centaurs

Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? ...Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience. 

-John Steinbeck, East of Eden

The timing of this particular entry seems a bit off. I haven't written anything in nine days, making this piece a little overdue, but at the same time I hardly feel compelled to write anything, and I should have some rather big news coming up in a few days. I do not want to come across as mysterious, nor do I feel the need to build tension or anything. As of right now, I simply don't have all the details yet. 

But nine days are nine days, and I promised I'd make sure you'd all get regular updates. I recently learned part of my readership consists of the people I work for/with (bit of a shocker), and I'm assuming my utter lack of tech saviness somehow has me publishing this blog, which was meant as a courtesy to the friends and family who've been forced to deal with me constantly leaving home ever since I turned 18, on a much larger scale than I'd originally intended. Obviously I don't mind (you don't write a blog unless you have a certain level of vanity. In the end we all want to be heard, but we want people to tell us they're listening even more so) but it may result in me alterring the manner in which I've approached this blog up to this point ("What if they realise I'm a talentless bum? What if they fire me on the spot?").

I think I may have already mentioned I live quite close to Loftus Road, the stadium of Queens Park Rangers (that's a football club). QPR play in the Championship, the second level of English football, and they were a Premier League club last year and will most likely be so again next season. In other words, it's a pretty ******* big stadium. Like, nearly 20,000 people screaming at the top of their lungs-big. And by quite close, I mean the same street. I need to walk past the damn thing on my way to the snackbar (which I tend to visit quite a lot).

As QPR are doing quite well in the Championship, things tend to get quite loud on gameday. I like sleeping in, particularly after working a late shift, so last week I was actually woken up by 20,000 hysterical fans celebrating QPR's third goal against Nottingham Forest. It was 2-2 going into the final minutes, and Rangers would score three times in a thrilling final 10 minutes. Needless to say, those three goals really woke me up. As far as alarm clocks go, 20,000 people cheering isn't too bad. I quite enjoyed the first two goals actually.

This got me thinking: I need to find a way to plan having a girl over during a QPR game. If I get everything right, I could be cheered on by 20,000 people while having sex. Not like on a live cd (still the best soundtrack to sexual escapades, Miles Davis be damned), but real-life crowd noises. Imagine that.

Speaking of, I'm really bad at this dating-game-thingy. I don't know how or why (maybe it has something to do with the fact I used to be an actor and followed that up with becoming a surf coach, both of which made seducing women fairly easy) but I seemingly can't do anything right. 

Take two weeks ago. I start talking to this really nice girl (and I mean nice in every way, not just the way she looked) and we sort of hit it off and for a few days we'd just talk constantly. Talk is cheap obviously, but even when we met (and I got past the awkwardness of the first hour) it was just fun. Time flew by and while things certainly didn't go perfectly, by the time we neared the end she started asking me when I'd have the time to see her again, even trying to set down a date.

Next day, it's the whole distant, leave-me-alone mess that women tend to do. And I just don't know what happened. Women, if you're reading this: I know you want to be left alone at this point, but at least tell a guy why. Trust me, we've all been hurt to the point where getting turned down after a first date is as close to meaningless as it gets. Men and women alike, we've all got our baggage. At some point we just want to know what we did wrong so we can avoid making the same mistakes with the next one, as cruel as that may sound. 

Besides, life is cruel. Deal with it. I happen to be hung like a horse (this could very well be the Song of the Day), am in excellent shape (I work out every day) and women have travelled countries for one more night with me. True story. Okay, the horse-bit might be a bit of an over-exaggeration. But the conditioning and travelling bits are definitely true. You get the point (for the love of god, I hope you never read this).

Parents, I'm very sorry for what you just had to read. Little brother, you're probably snickering. But parents, I apologise. And I'm sure you couldn't care less, I saw/heard far worse stuff growing up anyway. 

How are you btw? I couldn't be happier I get to talk to my dad every week, but I haven't heard from the rest of you all that much lately. My brother won't ever answer my messages. 

Nah, the dating game isn't all that it's made out to be. And it's not for me anyway. Never really has been.

Man, this city. I could write novels on this place, and I probably will elaborate in a future entry. Soon.

Take care everyone.

Song of the day: (the hauntingly beautiful) Far Away - Jose Gonzalez

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZO1SGvFSgZQ

On Duality and the Results of Sleep Deprivation

Thomas Hardy once wrote:
There is a condition worse than blindness, and that is seeing something that isnt there

As I like to say, life has a way of kicking you in the shins the moment you feel like you're on the right track, which is why it's usually best not to acknowledge any form of happiness, at all. That's not say man can't be happy for a prolonged period of time; it's just wiser to refuse to acknowledge said happiness. Pretend to be miserable, and secretely enjoy every second of every day.

It now seems like my friends won't be visiting after all, as they're too busy with school and the likes to make the trip down here. It makes perfect sense of course, and I don't blame them. Some of us screwed school up pretty bad in the past (I'm not pointing any fingers) and passing your degree is simply more important than spending a few days in the Big Smoke. In the end I'm the one that moved countries, and it would be only just if I were the one to make the trip across the Channel to reunite for a little while. With the NFL Draft and the Mayweather fight the beginning of May might be getting quite busy, but I'm sure I'll manage a couple of days. I haven't seen my little brother in ages and even though we do occasionaly speak, it's not the same.

As I worked today's early shift following several night shifts, I once again failed to get some sleep and spent a couple of hours musing as I waited for the sun to rise. London is a fantastic city, but in the past week or so I'd noticed there were certain things it doesn't have, certain aspects of life I was missing. Obviously there's a whole bunch of people back at home I miss every day, but that's not what I mean. I'm talking about the little things, the details right at the edge of the frame that you don't really see until sleep deprivation brings them into the light.

The biggest one is pollution, for sure. No, London isn't dirty (it's not very clean either, as people do have a tendency to just dump their trash on the street and don't respond well to some Belgian kid handing it back to them), but the light pollution is horrible. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me.

As a child, there were few things I loved more in life than stargazing. I'd spend hours looking up at the sky when I thought my parents weren't watching (did you guys ever notice?) and I could completely lose myself in the infinity of what I saw above.

Over the years, I've had the good fortune of spending my time in places that are perfectly suited for stargazing. From the beaches in the middle of the Basque forrests to the solitude of Pigeon Point, far removed from Tobago's capital of Scarborough, I got to look at some of the most beautiful night skies I could ever imagine.

The skies are never truly clear in London. There's just too much light to really see the stars, not to mention the fact this city appears to be in a perpetual state of overcastness (what a word). It might sound stupid, but I miss the stars of home.

Similarly stupid, I miss my car. I never even questioned selling my thrusty Mercedes to help finance this move, without fully realising I loved that car. In fairness, it broke down once, at the most inopportune moment imaginable, but other than that it was a perfectly nice ride. Driving was fun, even though I'd never ever want to drive around London (I'd like to try left-hand shifting once though) and public transport is phenomenal around here anyway. But I literally got my final driver's license days before moving to the UK. It just feels like a shame.

And then there's the duck-dive. Obviously I miss surfing, and I officially stopped being a surfcoach two days ago (license expaired, huzzah!), which in itself is kind of easy to miss. I mean, you get to coach people (and mainly kids) on how to surf. You have all that responsibility, occasionally have to save lives (not bad as far as job satisfaction goes) and get to spend all day at the beach. Do a bit of surfing yourself, get a nice tan and that classic surfer body, chat up a few girls and then get paid. Seriously.

But that first duck-dive of the morning, that's what I miss the most. That feeling of anticipation as you can almost smell the lineup, the first splash of cold water to your face and the grip of the wave passing over you, telling you exactly what kind of session it'll be. Passing right through the storm beneath the surface and into the calm waters right over the shoulder; there's nothing like a perfectly executed duckdive. Incidentally, the ones that end poorly are quiet fun as well: OOPS

I'm not quite sure what the purpose of today's entry was. It's not particularly dramatic or poetic, and seeing how I just finished an eight-hour shift in which I wrote somewhere between 8.000 and 13.000 words, I fail to see why I would feel the need to sit down and write some more. I feel like there's so much I need to tell you all, but i'm all out of words. At least for today.

I'll just leave you lot with a song. Take care guys.


Song of the Day: Circadian Eyes - What Remains of Our Chalk Road.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqAUPOHxT4U

On Continuity and the Perks of Being Gleeful

Hi everyone!

April Fools' has come and gone, meaning I've been in the UK for two months now. It's been quite the ride so far, and it hasn't been all that great, but I've noticed a bit of a change in the past few days. For the first time since I got here, I actually feel like I'm enjoying myself. In fact, if you'd ask me to be completely honest, I'd have to say that I'm actually enjoying life for the first time in quite a while. I haven't looked forward to getting up in the morning like this as much since summer.

Life is starting to set into a bit of a routine, and that's always helpful. From working out every morning before work to enjoying a fruit-break in the afternoon (I can't believe how much better fruit tastes since I gave up smoking. Mangos are the best thing in the world), a day filled with things to look forward to is a day worth living. I missed that back at home, and as much as life in the Big Smoke has s*cked at times, there have been plenty of moments where I simply felt better than I had in a long time.

Work is great. I had over 600.000 readers in March, pushing my total over the mark of one million. I realise I'm just a cog in the B/R-machine, but that number makes it feel like I had an impact. I was noticed; I was here. I did something, created things, and people read it. Not just my parents and friends, but strangers from all over the world. The feedback has been overwhelmingly positive, both from bosses/co-workers and the average reader. My bosses seem to be satisfied with my output and I'm complimented on both the quality of my work and my work-ethic every day. With all of the menial jobs I've held in the past few years, this much job satisfaction is a refreshing experience (okay, it's not surfcoaching, but what is?) and I actually feel like I matter, like what I do matters. I love writing, and the fact I get to do it for a living is not evident in 2014, where people my age usually settle for far less.

I had my first guided tour of London today, although that description might be pushing it. Literally the first thing my tour guide did was ask directions to Covent Gardens. She then proceeded to get lost in the centre of London, proudly told me she knew where we were when we entered Picadilly Circus (really?), pointed out the fact it was Picadilly Circus while we were both looking at a massive sign which, obviously,  read 'Picadilly Circus' and needed me to point out the location of Speakers' Corner.

Of course, none of that mattered. She happened to be the very first person I've met here in London who was nice to me without getting paid to do so (no, I don't mean prostitutes) or having to do so on the account of working with me. I had a blast pacing the centre of London with this odd 5'2" local beside me, and despite the fact we visited one of the most renowned tourist traps in all of Europe, I did feel like a local for the first time. It didn't hurt that she was a really nice, fun person (she enjoys watching Glee and Hunger Games and supports Spurs, but we all have a dark side)(yes, click that link please)  and didn't seem to mind my general weirdness.

With the amount of time I've spent on my job so far, I think I forgot how enjoyable social contact can be. Ironically, I'll be missing the birthday party of the best friend I have here in London because of work, but I'll be with you in spirit Elise. I also saw the perfect birthday present today, so we'll have to meet up soon regardless. Tell Conrad the pizza was mediocre at best, but I've found my spot since then. Last but not least, some of my best friends might be in the city next week and there's no way we're not checking out The World's End in Camden, and I think it would be really cool if you could grace us with your presence, if only for a little while.

The biggest development since I last sat down to write this blog is some very exciting news, but it's far too early to get into that. I've always been an impulsive person (far too impulsive in fact) and I'm trying to change that, but let's just say my relocation to London could become less permanent for another reason than me having to go back home. People often make the distinction between running from something and running towards something, and I've yet to figure out what it is I've been doing for the last six years. I'd like to think it's been a search, but I've always had a hard time convincing myself of that fact.

If there's anything anyone should take from this ridiculous entry, I guess it's that I have the feeling I'm doing fine :) sure, none of the problems that have haunted me since I made the move to this gigantic city (it's really massive guys) have been resolved, but for the first time since I got here, I'm not letting any of that bother me. I feel excellent physically, and as far as I can tell, I'm more mentally stable than I've been in along time. I still have some very dark thoughts from time to time and my mind will wander into places it should never go, but I've enjoyed torturing myself for so many years now, I don't see any reason to stop it. I love the fact I get to talk to my dad nearly every week and I can't wait to go back home and see all of you again, but not because I no longer want to be here. I'd still rather be in a different place, but for the very first time since I got here, I can believably say that I feel being here right now is good for me.

That said, I couldn't be more excited some of my friends might be coming down here in two weeks. I miss you guys, more than you know. Contrary to past years, when I'd ditch the lot of you to go be Mr. Sexy Surfdude, I now finally realise the strain I put on all of you by always leaving. And I'm sorry, I really am. It's selfish, and I never realised how truly remarkable it is that you're still there whenever I get back home. No, things aren't always the same, and there have been times where I almost didn't feel welcome, like you'd all moved on. Which would have been more than understandable. But you didn't. You'd allow me back in, take time out of your schedules for me, and when we'd get around to seeing each other, I'd be part of the gang.

I don't think I've ever thanked you for that. So thank you, really. I never had many friends growing up, and I always felt like I didn't belong. You guys changed that, and especially you two, Vincent and Lieven. I know the latter has found his own way and has pulled away from us in recent times (you have no idea how happy I am for you though, and I really, really hope things keep working out for you. I can't think of many people more deserving) while the former was perhaps the one who was hurt most by my neglect, and I really wish I'd have gotten drunk enough to let you guys know how dear you were to me while I still lived in the same area code. I went through some pretty bad patches man, and there were a lot of dark thoughts. I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't for you two.

Okay, that was way too serious.

So yeah. Things are't perfect, but life never is. There are times we might look around us and feel like time could stop and we'd be eternally happy, but something crappy usually happens right after that. And yes, there's an alternate timeline to all of this that still is so much more appealing than the one I'm currently in, but I should really cut back on the fictional approach -- that already featured quite extensively in previous posts.

But overall, this is probably the best I've felt since I left for London, and by extension, the best I felt since summer. The surf-season is coming up and it really s*cks. There's no waves anywhere near London and I don't have my boards or anything with me, and I'm sort off starting to regret choosing a different life as this will be the first time since I graduated middle school that I won't be joining my surf-friends in France for summer. But I did in fact make this choice, and it's too late to turn back now. Nothing is ever truly permanent, but I have to ride this out at least. And as of right now, it doesn't seem like such a drag.

Take care guys. Talk to you soon.


Song of the day: Franz Nicolay - For My Next Trick I'll Need a Volunteer
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ


























(Sorry guys, April Fools'. Actual link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUMq7anqcd0 )