Lost in Translation: 2015

Some time ago my dad and I were discussing a trip to Egypt. I was already picturing myself in front of pyramids, taking pictures of camels and freaking out over crocodiles. My dad was thinking of something else entirely. 'Maybe I could trade you for camels,' he joked. 'Young blond girl should fetch quite a few, don't you think?'

I snorted. 'They'll give you one crippled camel for me - if you're lucky.'

The minute I said those words, all hell broke loose. My dad was furious. He couldn't believe I'd spoken about myself like that. 'Don't you ever say those words again!' he yelled loud enough for the entire town to hear. I, as the more or less good daughter that I am, never said it again. Yet I've thought it many times: at the very best I'm worth one crippled camel.

I know that I have self-esteem issues. If you look 'insecure' up in the dictionary, it'll show you a picture of me. I can't even remember a time when I wasn't insecure. There's always something about myself that I hate. Not just dislike, no, pure strong hate. If you'd ask me to describe myself, I'd say I'm an ugly, nasty, selfish person. Maybe that's not really the person I am, but it's certainly the person everyone always told me I am. If people tell you something every day, the chance that you'll start believing what they say are huge. Sadly, I was always told I'm ugly. Not just my playground nemesis said I was ugly when we were in kindergarten, throughout the years my teachers and friends said it too. Even strangers said it. At first I didn't believe it, but as I turned 17, not a single guy had ever shown genuine interest in me. By then, I was already convinced I was ugly, but from that moment on I saw it as the main reason why I didn't have a lot of friends or a boyfriend. Old insults started to haunt me again. "Your nose is huge." "Your eyebrows make you look like an ape." "If an orc had a miscarriage that somehow manages to grow up, it would look exactly like you."

The words echoed through my mind every time I looked in the mirror. For a while I even avoided mirrors. I avoided group pictures. I avoided everything that could show me my face. I hated it. Everyone else hated it, they told me so, didn't they?

I grew a little older, but not much wiser. Friends began to tell me that it's the inside that counts. But nothing changed: I was still a loner at 19. Clearly something more than just my face was wrong with me. Was my inside worthless too?

I was told that I was arrogant and selfish. I was told that I was annoying, a pain in the ass, not good enough. Not good enough. Those words made themselves a permanent home in my brain and in my heart.

I'm lucky though. I have some close friends, a family that cares about me. But the minute I'm being ignored in a group chat, the minute a friend cancels plans, I think it's because of me. Because I'm not good enough to be their friend. I'm not good enough to be around...

Some people tried to help me. They told me they thought I was pretty, but I didn't believe them. These people were my close friends and they had to think I was pretty. That's what friends are for, right? Friends like each other, both their perfect parts and their gigantic flaws.

I didn't believe the people who tried to help me. I realized that. I think I somehow knew I had solve my self-esteem issues by myself.

I don't hate myself anymore, at least not as much as I hated myself when I was 17. I don't know what changed, but something changed for the better, even if it's only a little. I still think I'm not good enough, that that's why I'm always alone. But I can look at myself in the mirror again. I'm part of all my class's group pictures now, most of the time even standing right in the middle. It'll be a while before I'm the one who takes the picture, but at least I'm part of it now. I can even take selfies on good days. Okay, I filter and change those selfies until I don't look like myself anymore, but on good days, I think I'm worth a picture. On those days, I'm almost good enough. Almost, not quite. There's always this little voice in the back of my mind, telling me I'll always be ugly and worthless. That voice sounds like my high school 'friends', who told me not to take selfies: a picture of my face was the ugliest profile picture they'd ever seen, they said, behind my back, but loud enough for me to hear it. That voice, that mean little voice, is the main reason why my selfies often look sad.

A friend of mine once said that I'm awesome when I'm not insecure. I laughed at that. After all, I'm always insecure. Yet somehow he inspired me that day. I don't want to be insecure anymore. I don't want t go around, thinking I'm the ugliest girl on the planet. I don't want to think that I'm not good enough for my friends, neither do I want to think that I'm only worth a crippled camel. I want to be awesome. I want to be that confident blogger you know all the time.

I have a long way to go. There'll be many days on which I wake up, hating myself. But there'll also be days when I just try to be the best person I can. If the best person I can be isn't good enough for someone, that should be their problem, not mine.

Stay Awesome!

10 Fellow Ramblers

Dear glasses,
We've been together since December 2011. I remember the first time I saw you very well. I feel head over heels in love with you. Yet here we are, four years later, and it's time to say goodbye.

To be perfectly honest, I'm glad it's over between us. Ever since my dad stepped on you, things haven't been the same. Multiple times you almost broke and the last couple of weeks I didn't dare fold you (if that's how you say it, probably not) in case you'd break for good. But let's face it, things have been going downhill for a long time. You were always lost. Okay, I admit that it was my mistake that I lost you in my wardrobe. I shouldn't have left you there when I went downstairs to get a cookie. That was my fault. But that time you fell behind a pile of towels while I was in the shower? Or that time I took a nap and you disappeared under the couch? That was your fault, 100% your fault.
And don't get me started on all those times when you fogged up in the winter, or even when it was 20 degrees Celsius outside and I tried to drink tea. The exact opposite bugged me too: when I needed you to fog up in the middle of summer, you wouldn't. How was I supposed to clean you on those days if you wouldn't fog up? Apart from that, would it kill you to stay clean for a second? These last few months no one has been able to clean you. Not even my mom and she can get anything clean!
Seriously, glasses, I know I'm not an easy person, but sometimes you seemed yo go out of your way to annoy me. Every time I put my headphones on, you seemed to be trying to enter my skull. The pain you caused me almost drove me crazy. Taking a nap or just lying down on the couch while watching tv was also impossible because of you. I'm not an easy person, but you weren't easy either. Life together was no walk in the park...

But in the end, my dear glasses, I loved you for most of those four years we spent together. We've seen some amazing places. You've enabled me to see the sun rise over Ayer's Rock and Machu Picchu, you've helped me to see cars coming at me from all sides on my driving exam and you made me see the wonderful grades I graduated high school with.
You've helped me see for four years. That's a long time and that's why I forgive you for all your highly annoying flaws. Time to pass the baton to these awesome guys.

Don't be a stranger, take care and...
Stay Awesome!

4 Fellow Ramblers

I have a confession to make: I am unhappy. Yes, you read that right. I'm not a happy girl and have been unhappy for a little while now. I don't know when I started to feel so blue. A few months ago I was still excited to do a summer program in India, I felt good about myself and had the best friends in the world. Then everything changed. My summer program was cancelled. People started calling me ugly again. My best friend is acting very distant and my other friends either moved away or just don't quite get me and my passion for stories.

Over the past few days I've been feeling very lonely. Add a truckload of college work to the situation and voilà: unhappy Envy.

I was okay with being unhappy. I hadn't even noticed that I'd slipped into unhappiness until a worried classmate asked me if I was okay. That moment I realized I wasn't okay. I was far from okay. Something had to change. I just didn't have a clue how to change things for the better, The last time I'd felt like this was almost ten years ago. Back then my mom sat down on the couch with me each and every day. She wouldn't and I couldn't leave until I'd told about at least one thing, not matter how small, that had made me happy that day. We simply called it the Highlight of the Day.
I tried doing the old Highlight of the Day ritual on my own, because I didn't want my mom to get worried about me. It didn't work. I just brought myself down, thinking my Highlights were pathetic.
Then one day, last Friday to be exact, I found myself on the 100 Happy Days Challenge website. I don't know how or why I'd ended up there, but if felt good. I'd heard of the challenge before, I'd even wanted to try it if I'd ever find time. Finding time didn't seem so important now. Changing my mindset did. I signed up for the challenge the very next day. It felt like the best thing I could do for myself.

The challenge is simple: share a picture of something that made you happy. Do that every single day for 100 days in a row. The point of sharing the pictures isn't to make others jealous or show your awesome life off. The point is to take time to enjoy life each and every day. Sharing makes it easier to keep going, like I realized when I couldn't keep my old ritual up by myself.

I've started my challenge yesterday and decided to write a post about it too. I picked a pencil at random and out of all the fifty pencils I have on my desk (I have a bit of a pencil problem), this was the one I got.

"Things are looking up". If that isn't a good sign to start a challenge with, I don't know what is. Follow me on Instagram to support me during my challenge and don't forget to Stay Awesome!

10 Fellow Ramblers

6 Fellow Ramblers

As summer vacation ended, panic started. My college is big on team building and trust in sophomore year. One of the things we had to do to 'strenghten and stimulate the group's cohesion' is a pecha kucha presentation.

Apparently 'pecha kucha' is Japanese for small talk. The presentation had to have 15 slides filled with pictures and I had 20 seconds per slide to tell something about it. The catch: I had to tell my life story in those 15 slides. Enter panicking Envy: I don't like talking about myself. Sure, I like to tweet pointless information about my opinion on mangoes to stangers, but actual talking to actual people? No thank you.

I spent weeks figuring out what I was going to tell and how I was going to tell it. It sounds easy to fill 15 slides with pictures of your life, but I got stuck after 8 slides.

A whole lot of complaining and brainstorming with friends later, I managed to fill the slides. I used a few to tell how I see myself, I told about my passion and my blog, my friends and my goals in life. When the big day finally came, I was still freaking nervous, but I was so proud of my presentation that I'm going to share it with all of you here today.

Envy's Pecha Kucha

"I wanted to start my pecha kucha with this picture, because I think this is how most of you see me. I'm calm, I'm quiet, reserved... I don't have to be the centre of attention, that's not me. This is who I am to others"

At this point I was awkwardly looking at the picture on the screen. What more was there to tell? I was pretty sure that this was how everyone saw me. Now they'd get to see how I see myself. I wasn't sure if I was ready for my classmates' reactions to the next picture.

"But this picture shows how I am on the inside. This is how I feel about myself: insecure, not good enough. I was bullied in elementary school, which is why I push people away from me. I'm not easy to get to know, I haven't let you come close to me yet. Because of that, it might seem like I don't have many friends."

It wasn't fun to tell this to a group of people who already thought of me as a bit of a pessimistic weirdo, but I was glad to finally say these things out loud. It was also the last negative part of my pecha kucha and I was so excited for the next slide.

6 Fellow Ramblers

8 Fellow Ramblers

Deep breaths Envy, deep breaths.

I was standing five meters below ground level at Rotterdam Central Station's subway station, trying to figure out what was going on. Fifteen minutes ago I was still singing Christmas carols on the train with my friends and classmates. Now people were telling me to get out of the station immediately. Why I was supposed to do that, I had no idea. Nobody was telling me why either, so I just stood there, hoping an E-line train would arrive to take me to Beurs station. That didn't happen. Instead people started yelling instructions.

'We found a suspicious package,' someone working at the subway station suddenly yelled. 'The E and D line trains won't come anymore. Now everyone get out of this station!'

I was in shock, but at least someone had finally come to the point. Not that it made me feel any better. How was I going to get home? Where was I supposed to go? What was this suspicious package? A thousand questions popped up in my head, but I somehow managed to answer most of them right away. If the A line was still in service, I could walk to the nearest A line station adn take a train home. If that one was out of service too, I'd call my dad and ask him to pick me up at college, a few blocks away from Central Station.

I finally took those deep breaths and decided to start walking (even though I didn't like the prospect of walking through Rotterdam on my own at night) when a man approached me. 'Do you speak English?' he asked.

'Yes, I do,' I squeaked. For some reason I sound like a squirrle when I'm scared and in this case I sounded like a squirrle on cafeine.

'I don't speak Dutch... What did they say? What's going on? Could you please help me?'

'Oh, of course!'

And that's how I ended up guiding an Irish police officer to the next A line subway station in the middle of an evacuation.

It was all so surreal. Police officers were locking down the station. I had to cross police lines while all eyes in the crowd that had quickly gathered around the entrance where on me. I was still in a state of shock, but no that I had to help an Irishman to get home too, I surpressed my fear and started making sensible decisions. I asked the officials what was going on, if the A line was still in service and then chose the safest route from Central Station to Beurs. Five minutes (that felt like five full hours) after I was told to leave the station as soon as possible I was safely outside. Never before had I been so scared in this city.

In the distance I could see the Erasmus Medical Center, lit up in the colors of the French flag. The blue, white and red sent a shiver down my spine: what if Rotterdam was going to be the next Paris? What if this suspicious package was something extremely dangerous?

Adrenalin kicked in. My eyes were wide open, my breathing went faster and faster.

'Are you scared?' the Irishman asked as we walked down the Coolsingel.

'I am,' I said. 'I'm not used to situations like these. We always say that our country is so safe, but now this is happening and it freaks me out.'

'You go to school here in Rotterdam?'

'Yeah...'

'Good. Keep going. Don't be scared. That's what they want: they want you to be scared. If you stop going to school, if you stop going to places because you're afraid, they win.'

That moment was the moment I realized I hadn't let terrorists win. Yes, I was scared and yes, the subway station had been evacuated. But in the middle of all that, I had chosen to help someone who needed my help. I could've panicked, I could've thought about myself and no one else when things went crazy, but I hadn't. This one suspicious package that could've led to so much chaos and fear had actually brought out the best in me. It resulted in a helping hand and friendliness. That moment right there was the moment I stopped being scared. If a coward like me could be this helpful in this situation, everyone can. And if everyone does, if we do help each other and stand together, terrorists won't win. Love beats hate, no matter how small the love or how big the hate.

Stay Awesome!

PS. That suspicious package? It turned out to be a piece of luggage some tourist had forgotten. An hour after it was found I arrived home safely.

6 Fellow Ramblers

Source

Nothing much ever happens in my hometown near Rotterdam. Sure there are a few crazy people around: the paedophile from down the street, the mentally handicapped guy who likes girls a little too much and one or two violent drug addicts. But they keep quiet and if you didn't already know they where there, you'd never know.
How different it was in London, where the crazy people are impossible not to notice. I saw a man try to beat up a map of the Underground because he couldn't find out where he was. One man must've thought he was a tour guide: he kept pointing out invisible buildings to an imaginary crowd. One... one even wanted to kill my dad...

It was our last night in London and my parents and I where looking for an Indian restuarant. As we were walking down the street, a man came walking towards us. He had dark brown skin, dreadlocks, wore saggy pants, overpriced sneakes and an oversized shirt and sweater. You know the type I'm talking about, if not from real life, then from internet and movies.
This man kept walking straight at my dad. My dad simply refuses to step aside in situations like these. Usually the other person steps aside, sometimes shoulders bump and on this occasion, things went very wrong.
My dad and the man didn't just bump into each other's shoulders, it was a serious collision. If it had been me, I would've been flying towards a painful meeting with the sidewalk's concrete. My dad made an indignant noise and already started to walk away when the man started yelling at him. I'm giving you the uncensored version so yes, do expect things to get nasty from now on.
'Hey! Are you fucking blind or something? Didn't you see me or what? You fucking stupid man?'
Now here's one, no, two things you need to know about my dad: he's a black belt in karate and doesn't step down from a confrontation like this one. Never.
My dad turned around, looked the man straight in the eye and said: 'Sure, I'm stupid.'
I can remember thinking he was going to give us a karate demonstration. That nothing could go wrong for my dad. I was so naive.
'Yeah? You fucking stupid?' the man yelled. 'You want me to kill you or something?'
When I heard those words, I froze. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think anything except for 'it's over, we're done'.
'I'm gonna fucking shoot you in front of your family!' Tha man, only a feet or two away from my dad, reached for something inside his pocket. I didn't want to find out what he was reaching for. Neither did my mom.
'Come on, let it go, let's get out of here,' she practically begged my dad in Dutch. I was afraid he wouldn't listen to her. He never listens to anyone when he's enraged.
'We're going,' he said in the same language while maintaining eye contact with the lunatic that wanted to kill him. Then, suddenly, he walked away, my mom and I right at his heels. I was terrified the man would follow us, but all he did was yell more threats and throw more F-bombs at us.

We never made it to an Indian restuarant. My mom was trembling with fear and I walked around like some sort of zombie. All I wanted was to go back to our hotel room. We ordered pizza and took it back to the hotel. It'd been a long time since I'd been that scared and it'll be a long time before I'll feel completely comfortable in London again.

Stay Awesome!

PS. Sorry for all those swear words...

2 Fellow Ramblers

I don't know about you, but I don't fall in love very often. It's been over a year since I had any genuine feelings for anyone and to be honest, it was starting to worry me. How was it possible that I hadn't felt butterflies in my stomach for such a long time? I was an expert at awkward crushes in high school, where had they all gone?
I started thinking long and hard, ignoring my homework to figure out the mystery of my lost feelings. Yeah, I totally had my priorities straight these last couple of days, but at I found an answer. Maybe I haven't found anyone who makes me smile as soon as I see him, maybe my stomach doesn't do back flips for a guy, but there's something else that makes me feel that way: I'm in love with languages.

Language is a wonderful thing. Most people I know don't see that, they only see it as a tool to get their way in life. I see it differently. Language is not just that, it's so much more.

Language is a mirror. It shows others who you are, but also yourself. Your choice of words tells exactly where you're from, what you've been through, what's important to you. I learned English in California and you'll always hear that in my choice of words. It's not just the American accent that shows who I am when I speak, it's also the choice in written words. They show everything about a person: intelligence, preferences, influences from other languages. Put it all together and the language I speak shows who I am, who I've been and sometimes even who I will be.

Language is a barrier. It can keep people apart, confuse them and even offend them. The beautiful thing about this barrier is that it can be overcome. Anyone who wants to learn a language can do it. I won't say it's always easy. Mandarin taught me that language barriers might never come completely down in some cases, but the same language also taught me that determination and hard work will get you there.

Language is a shield. When I feel like I can't handle a situation anymore, I subconsciously switch to English. It creates some space between me and the problem. It's almost like taking on a new point of view, sometimes it even feels like becoming a whole new person. It protects me against things that want to hurt me, but also protects the people around me against my harsh words. Believe me, compared to my Dutch and German vocabulary, my English vocabulary is pure politeness.

Language is a weapon. Those who aren't strong and tall but quick of mind can hurt anyone just as badly as sticks and stones would have. It's the strongest weapon I have and it can be put to use in millions of awesome ways, sarcasm being my favorite.

Language is art. Ever thought of all the things a few simple words can do? Words on paper can inspire, spark creativity, strike fear into someone's heart, bring someone to the verge of tears. In all my life, I've never found anything that could show my innermost thoughts and feelings so clearly as words on paper or a screen. Words are the only things that can turn my feelings into reality, something understandable to others.

Language is a living thing. It changes, it evolves. You can invent new words whenever you want. Language is a work in progress that's never finished and that everyone can work on. I guess that's why I'm in love with it: there will always be something new for me to discover.

I can giggle about a word for hours and be mesmerized by pronunciation. Learning a new language excites me, understanding a new piece of grammar makes me feel on top of the world. But the most beautiful thing will always be communicating with people in their own language. I love how much people appreciate that (except the French, who just frown at me) and it only makes me fall in love with languages even more.

Stay Awesome!

4 Fellow Ramblers

A few months ago, when I was asked to review the first book in the Kitty Hawk series by Iain Reading, Amazon had one job: send me the first book in the series. You can imagine how surprised I was when I received the fourth book instead of the first.

To be honest, I'm very glad Amazon made this mistake. I fell in love with the cover right away and the story sparked my interest in a topic I'd carefully avoided until then: the Titanic. Naturally I wanted to write a review, but without Bryleigh to discuss the book like we did for the first one, my fancy vocabulary and well-considered opinion wouldn't translate into a blog post. Standard reviews just aren't my thing, I guess, so when I heard I was going to London, I saw it as an oppotunity to review Kitty Hawk and the Tragedy of the RMS Titanic, Envy Style!

This fourth installment in the series starts in Ireland, where Kitty meets Andrew Murdoch, a nice guy who wants Kitty to take a look at the Murdoch family mystery. I don't want to give too much away, so I'm going to try and keep this simple: Andrew's great uncle was aboard the Titanic, died, and years later the Murdoch family received a postcard of the Titanic with weird scribbles on it and a newspaper clipping, also about the Titanic. Kitty and Andrew go on a treasure hunt and set off to, you guessed it, London!

Now on to the actual review and opinion part. Believe me there's a lot to like about the Kitty Hawk books. One thing I love about the books I've read are the locations. They're very real and very accesible. While I was in London, I went to some of the places described in the book so I could take pictures for this review. I was not disappointed when I arrived at Trafalgar Square. The book described the place perfectly.

Something else that's typical for these books and that I enjoy very much, is the importance of knowledge. I like to think of myself as a well-educated person, but this book managed to teach me almost everything there is to know about the Titanic, a topic I wasn't even remotely interested in before the story brought it to my attention
One of my favorite parts of the book has nothing to do with the Titanic though. While Kitty's in London, she visits the British Museum. Her excitement comes right off the pages and is contagious: when I stood in front of this huge building, I couldn't wait to go in and see the Rosetta Stone, which also plays a part in the story.

Apart from great locations and interesting information, this Kitty Hawk book has some James Bond-like action: a jet ski escape on the Thames, starting at Cleopatra's Needle, in the middle of the night.
Even in broad daylight I could imagine Kitty hiding behind a sphinx, trying to read what's written on the statue, then running down the stairs to the water and make her escape.

But that wasn't all I liked about the book. There are certain details I've come to appreciate while I was in London. The way the Underground was described, for example, was spot-on. Okay, it may sound very logical to people who actually live in a big city, but this one line saved my life quite a few times.

On a more serious note: of course there's more to this book than London and the things I've mentioned so far. As Bryleigh and I have said before: the Kitty Hawk books are YA without all the cliches we've grown tired of.
Kitty is the kind of person I'd like to have as a friend, which makes reading about her just a little more awesome. She's a kick-ass heroine I can actually relate to and never goes into special snowflake mode. Yes, she makes mistakes, but she's not just another brainless blonde after Prince Charming.
The plot is good and reading the book feels like doing a very advanced scavenger hunt. Okay, I would have liked some more time to see if I could crack the codes on my own. If you're a fast reader like me you'll have read the answer to a riddle before you've gotten the time to try and find it on your own. Apart from that I couldn't find much wrong with this book, it just ticked all the boxes for me. And I have to admit that I loved the book that much more for mentioning so many places I visited while I was in London. I think that my parents would've left me behind if I'd said 'You know what happens here in my book?' one more time.

Long story short: Kitty Hawk and the Tragedy of the RMS Titanic is a great book and I'd definitely recommend reading it, expecially if you're in London.

Stay Awesome!

No Fellow Ramblers

I had been doubting about my writing skills for quite a while when I thought about quitting it alltogether. I hadn't put pen to paper in weeks and as summer left, so did my creativity. My mind, once full of wonderful stories, was blank and boring, the thoughts coming out of it dull and My blog was affected by it too: my posts were uninspired, writing them was like a chore.
I was about to do something I'd sworn I'd never do: give up on writing.

I was not exactly in a good place when I started to think about giving up on writing. I came really close to doing it, but then I found motivation to keep doing what I love in a most unexpected place. I found motivation in a college class about German grammar.

I didn't like today's assignment. My teacher had told us about it as if it was a lot of fun. I suppose it was a lot of fun for people who've loved and been loved before. They were all busy, describing their perfect husbands and wives in German. I, however, was still staring at a blank piece of paper.
'Why arfen't you writing?' the girl next to me asked.
I swallowed the lump in my throath and whispered: 'I feel very comfortable writing about this topic. I don't like it...' I looked back at the paper. How did my teacher expect me to write about my dream husband in flawless German, while I'd clearly been labelled 'Forever Alone' and still wasn't sure if it's actually possible for any guy to like someone like me? Beggars can't be choosers, right?
Staring at the snow white paper didn't help much. If anything, it made me feel worse.
'Come on, Envy. Only five minutes left, then you'll all have to read your pieces out loud,' my teacher said.
I didn't want to read anything out loud, least of all my preferences when it comes to guys, but I finally picked my pen up and just wrote whatever came to mind.

One by one my classmates read their pieces. Some had written dating profiles, others a list of things they look for in a partner, one had even written a diary entry.
Much too soon it was my turn. My head turned red with shame long before I'd spoken the first word out loud. My classmates' stares made me nervous. I focused on the small, ridiculously straight letters of my handwriting and read out loud:

"Until today I've never thought about my dream perfect husband, because I think I'll be alone forever. But if I do meet him, I hope he's athletic, so I finally have someone with whom I can talk about sports. If he's not intelligent, there's going to be a problem: I can't stand people who only make stupid remarks. He shouldn't be lazy or egoistic, because I want to know he's there when I need him. Apart from that I hope he's creative and patient, because one needs a lot of patience to get to know me. If I ever meet a man like that, I would barely care about the way he looks.

The silence when I finished reading was deafening. The giggles that erupted when I mentioned intelligence had died down long ago. I didn't look up, but felt everyone's eyes on me. I didn't dare look up, not until I heard a few whispered wows.
Reluctantly I tore my gaze away from the paper as the silence continued. My teacher was looking at me, just like everyone else. As usual her face didn't reveal anything, but her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Half a second later, her voice told me what I'd already seen in her eyes: 'Perfect. Flawless German. And Envy, if that's the way you write, you've got nothing to be ashamed of when you have to read something out loud. Absolutely nothing.'
My head couldn't possibly turn a brighter shade of red. 'Okay thanks' I whispered. I was on the verge of tears on the outside, but glowing with happiness on the inside. Maybe my teacher didn't understand that I was ashamed of what I'd written, not how I'd written it, okay. But that didn't matter to me at that moment. Not at all. She was the first person in a long time to tell me face to face that my writing was good. That, those few small words, made me decide not to put my pen down and keep blogging a little longer.

Stay Awesome!

4 Fellow Ramblers

I promised myself not to freak out and fangirl. I promised to behave like a responsible adult. I promised to look at everything with amused interest. I should've known better...

Yay for bad quality pictures!

Months ago, when my parents decided to go to London, I practically begged them to let me do the Harry Potter Studio Tour. My dad, stubborn as he is, decided that it was absolutely unnecessary to buy tickets in advance. By the time we arrived in London, I was convinced that we wouldn't be able to book a tour anymore. You can imagine how happy I was when I heard we could get a place on the tour just two days later. What I didn't know: I was also just in time for the Dark Arts feature!
Not that I knew about the Dark Arts feature... After arriving and freaking out over the Ford Anglia and the cupboard under the stairs I still thought I was going to have a normal day of awesomeness. It wasn't until after the introduction film that I heard about this extra piece of awesomeness.
"You can actually have your picture taken with a Death Eater,"someone from the staff told the group.
"Now who would want that? Death Eaters are evil" is what I first thought. Turns out, it was exactly what I wanted.

Once the doors to the Great Hall opened, I broke my promise for the second time: I started fangirling and didn't stop. Not even when I was threatened by a Death Eater.

"Yay a Death Eater that's... OH CRAP"

I think she wasn't amused, cause she followed me and tried to scare me. It only resulted in a huge giggling fit from my side. After that, everything became one big blur of amazing props and Butterbeer.

Butterbeer was like nothing I'd ever tasted before. I don't know what was in there, but I went from normal hyperactive to the extreme kind of hyperactivity that's susually caused by Mountain Dew. I'm not sure if it was caused by the Butterbeer though - it could also have been a result of Diagon Alley's creepiness and the Death Eaters stalking the street.

At the end of the day I'd seen so much, done so much and fangirled so much that I was completely exhausted. I tried putting pen to paper and describe the experience. I like to think I'm pretty good at that, but this time I didn't stand a chance. You see, when I was 15 and constantly going to hospitals, trying to figure out why I was shaking like and epileptic while remaining consciousness, Hogwarts was the place I went to so I could forget all my worries. After hearing I had extreme symptoms of hyperventilation, it was my safe place. Being a Potterhead became a huge part of who I am and seeing all the things and places I came to love so much left me speechless. I still can't find the right words to describe my day at the studios. I'll give it my best shot once more: it was simply amazing.

Stay Awesome!

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