When I was a kid I used to 'taste' words. A new word had to be tested first. It was rolled around on my tongue, stretched and shortened, repeated until it was mine. Some words tasted great, others felt bad in my mouth. 'Emmer', the Dutch word for bucket, never felt right, whereas 'waarom', the Dutch word for 'why', become one of my favorites rightaway.
As I grew up and started new languages, I added another element to my word tasting: the literal meaning. Some words are great in one language, while they're absolute rubbish in another language. For example: the Dutch word for vacuum cleaner literally means 'dust sucker'. I'll take that over 'vacuum cleaner' any day. But to be honest, i usually think that English and Spanish words are better than Dutch words. Dutch ahs the tendencay to sound harsh and slightly angry. English sound friendlier. Except for this one case: wishing someone good luck.

My best friend doesn't speak Dutch, so whenever I have an exam he says 'good luck'. I know he says it with only the best intentions, but it irks me, as a Dutch girl, to no end. Because here in the Netherlands, we know the concept of wishing each other good luck, but we use completely different words to make it reality. We wish each other success. When someone has an exam or assessment, we simply say "Success!" to them. I don't know about you, but success is something I'd rather have than good luck.

It's the sound of 'good luck' that irritates me. As if I only need good luck to achieve awesome results. As if my result depends on coincidence and luck rather than skill and hard work. No, I don't like the sound of that. The words taste right, but they're not the words I'm looking for when I want to wish you all the best and great results.
Success is what I want to wish you. Because I know you have the skills to achieve awesomeness. You don't need good luck for that, you've got matter in your own hands. You deserve credit for all your hard work, you deserve the success you've been working so hard for. So that's what I'll wish you. Success.


We've probably never met. Maybe we never will. I don't know what's going on in your life, but I know one thing: you can do this! You can make all your dreams come true, not matter how big they are, if you work for it. So go, make your dreams come true. You don't need good luck for that. I won't wish you good luck for it, not now, not ever. No, I'll wish you success instead. Time and time again.

Stay Awesome!

When I thought of Berlin, I thought of grey buildings, a big wall right in the middle of the city and people in a terrible mood. Berlin just isn't beautiful in my mind. Yes, I am biased, yes, I've seen too many documentaries in East Berlin. My previous trip to this city couldn't change my mind: I was three years old and spent the entire time playing house in the gigantic wardrobe in our hotel room. Maybe I even found Narnia, I don't remember. Fact is that I couldn't think of Berlin as beautiful.
Last Thursday I went to Berlin again, with my college class this time. I got another chance to change my mind, but didn't. Berlin isn't beautiful. It's something else entirely.

Berlin is historical. If anything, it's historical. I don't know any European city that has been through more awfulness than Berlin. From the Olympics in 1936, it pretty much went downhill because of some nutcase called Hitler thinking it'd be a good idea to try and conquer Europe. As a result, Berlin got heavily bombed at the end of the Second World War. Then America and the Soviet Union took over the city, which eventually led to the Soviets building a freaking wall around the western part in 1963.
Berlin is one of those places where you feel like you're somehow a step closer to history. Maybe it's just because I know so much about what happened to the city. Maybe it's just because of the impressive sights. I don't know why, but when I was at my hostel in Prenzlauer Berg, I felt like I was on the eastern side of the Berlin Wall that divided the city for so many years.

Berlin is still divided. That Berlin Wall might not stop anyone from going from east to west or the other way around anymore, but if you take a tour through the city, you can still feel the division. The eastern part has more flats and apartment blocks that are just squares, but on the bright side: it also has cute stop lights.
The western part has this weird mix of modern and old architecture that kept surprising me. One moment I was surrounded by tall buildings at Potsdamer Platz, the next I found the Gendarmenmarkt with its classical style.


It's curious, but even some of the people from Berlin "have the Wall in their head", as one of my tour guides said. There's still a feel of East and West colliding. And of course the Berlin Wall still exists, not in its entirety, but in parts at the East Side Gallery.

It's unbelievable that the Berlin Wall fell less than a decade before I was born. Because of that, Berlin is a hipster. There's a place for everything and anything that's alternative and, quite frankly, downright weird sometimes. European rickshaws, Trabant cars, murals of kissing politicians. It's all part of the city now. Everything vintage, weird, alternative or unusual is awesome here. Which explains why there also are loads of hipsters roaming the streets. Berlin is the hipster of cities.

The city is something else too: Berlin is art. To quote my friend Debbie: "Everything that's ugly in Berlin is art, everything that's not ugly is architecture." We mostly said this because we had a tour guide who called every brick and every smudge of paint 'art', but there really is a lot of art in Berlin. The entire city is a canvas for graffiti and while most of it sucks, you'll see some amazing pieces if you keep your eyes open. It's awesome just walking around and discovering the little details of all the things they call "art" and "architecture". Still I wouldn't call it beautiful. Berlin isn't beautiful. It's unique, raw and rapidly developing, which makes it beautiful in its very own special way.

Stay Awesome!

A few months ago, I wrote these words about the guy who used to be my high school crush. I haven't thought much about him since that post went up. I haven't crossed my fingers since New Year. He never got on my bus anyway. But then, one day, he did.

"Help! Get me out of here!"
All my best friends received an SOS text on a sunny Thursday morning in March. I'd never thought I'd see this guy again onmy way to college. Why did he have to get on my bus on this so-far perfect day?
Panic rushed through my veins. What if he saw me? What if I'd lose my cool? I wanted to get off that bus, but he'd chosen a seat right next to the door. I had nowhere to go... Even though my best friend texted me to forbid me to think about him, I started looking back at the past I'd shared with this guy. At 16, I had the biggest crush of my life on him. He was smart, taller than me, had nice hair and most important of all: he liked Harry Potter just as much as I did. He made me laugh, he comforted me when I cried and if I threw my math book away in frustration he piecked it up and explained it all to me.

I looked at the guy in the seat next to the door. 'Scrawny' was the first word that came to my mind. He used to fill my world with his presence, his laughter could drown out all the noise around us. Now I saw how unfriendly his face looked when he wasn't smiling. He couldn't have been all that tall. I realized I'd probably tower over him in the shoes I was wearing that day. He couldn't fill my world anymore, no matter how hard he'd try. He'd changed, I'd changed. I knew I missed the person he once was, the person who always had my back. That person was long gone though. The guy in the seat next to the door was someone else entirely, someone I didn't know.

The bus arrived at the subway station. I wanted to walk past him and make a big deal out of not noticing him. I looked good that day, and even though it was petty, I wanted to show him I didn't need him to feel good. But he'd disappeared before I got the chance. Now that I look back on that day, I don't mind that I didn't get that chance. After my first few moments of panic, I realized I felt absolutely nothing for this guy anymore. If we'd started a conversation, I wouldn't have known a single thing to tell him. That Gotye song was perfect for the occasion: now you're just somebody that I used to know.
I thought I'd be sad when that statement would become true about him and me. Now I know I'm not. It feels good. 'Cause now I'm finally on my way to better things.

Stay Awesome!

It's marked on my calendar in big red letters: Berlin. From April 21st till April 26th I'll be in the German capital with my college class. My mom is glad college is offering this chance; Berlin is familiar territory and I won't be all alone in a big city. Loads of people will keep me from getting into trouble, she thinks. She's not worried about this trip at all. No, she's worried about the word on my calendar that's covering May 2nd till May 7th: Ljubljana.
My trip to the Slovenian capital will be my very first solo journey and while I'm well-prepared, my mom isn't sure I'll survive...


My mom thought she had me there, right with her first question. I'm one of those people who easily forget a meal once they're in some interesting place. Because hey, that tree looks cool! Oh look, a bird! Woah, that building is so beautiful. Wait, wasn't I supposed to do something?
Especially when I'm on my own I forget about food, which is one of the most important things to keep you going while you're out exploring the world. So I have a food schedule. It may sound lame, but for some people it's useful to keep an eye on themselves. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, simple as that.


Plan might be a big word I used at that moment for the simple thing I had in mind. I would have liked to use the word 'strategy', but my mom also isn't impressed by fancy words for small things. You see, whenever I go out by myself, I realize I fail at adulting. I'm very bad at taking care of myself and easily forget things. So to keep myself aware of the fact that I sadly can't live on chocolate bars, I buy one piece of fruit every day while I'm away. When I leave my hostel, I always take a piece of fruit and a bottle of water with me. Under normal circumstances I forget about both fruit and water, because of the cool trees and birds and buildings I already mentioned. So when I go out, I put that piece of fruit and the bottle of water right on top of all the other things in my bag. That's a good thing because your fruit won't get squashed and every time I need to get my phone or camera out of my bag, I'm reminded of my duty to eat and drink like a responsible adult (Did you hear that? That was me laughing because I just can't imagine myself as a responsible adult).


I prefer not to get sick or injured while I'm away. It would be weird if I did like those things. I keep an eye on myself, try to eat healthy food around the same times each day. I generally try to prevent any kind of mishap, but shit happens. And when it happens, it's always nice to know some basic sentences and words like 'Where is the hospital?' in the language of the country you're visiting. Just to be sure.


I'm going to be honest with you guys: every time I go out there's 50% chance something will go wrong. I'm very clumsy and usually not that health-oriented. So sites like Amino help me out when I, once again, forget to take care of myself. The site helps you find a doctor. You tell them what your problem is (I mean asthma for example, being chaotic doesn't count in this case), how far you're willing to travel and also takes health insurance into account. Oh, and don't worry if you're chaotic like me, the site will guide you through all the steps and offers reviews and information on all doctors who could help you out. Honestly, it's so easy to use, I couldn't make a mess of it, which says quite a lot actually. Not even my mom could mess it up as she sat on my bed, trying the site for herself.

It was October when I discovered this glorious channel called Buzzfeed Video. One video of Americans trying Indian food and I was completely hooked. I thought nothing could top the taste tests, but I was wrong: the Try Guys were even better.
When it came to Buzzfeed, I'd been living under a rock until that day. I didn't know there was a website, neither did I know you could write for it or that becoming a Buzzfeed writer was an option. But now, about six months later, I've found out five reasons why I'll never be a Buzzfeed writer. The reasons will astonish you!



I was there in the 90s! Well, from 1996 till the end I was there, but my main focus was eating, sleeping, and being an adorable little baby and toddler. The things I remember are playing outside, watching the Lion King and knocking over the stack of VHS tapes, because the Lion King somehow always ended up at the bottom of the stack. But am I nostalgic? Do I miss the typical 90s stuff?
No. Okay, I miss climbing trees and playing in the woods, but which kid didn't do those things? You don't have to be a 90s kid to miss childhood. So sadly, I won't be able to contribute anything to Buzzfeed's beloved 90s lists.

While everyone who's ever written a Buzzfeed article has an appropriate gif for every situation, I'm still trying to figure out how to pronounce the word. I simply suck at it, both at pronouncing and using gifs. It's not for lack of trying though, but every time I try I end up throwing my hands dramatically into the air, thinking: 'What am I doing wrong?! Why can't I freaking do this?!'



Now let's take a step back. There's Buzzfeed UK, Buzzfeed Canada, Buzzfeed India, Buzzfeed Japan... Probably some other branches too. But Buzzfeed Holland? Not gonna happen. We Dutch people prefer to read in Dutch or stick to regular Buzzfeed, 'cause we love everything American and the rest is way too exotic. So no Buzzfeed office for me to work at.
There's also the thing about being white and some Buzzfeed branches (*cough* Buzzfeed Canada *cough*) seem to prefer minorities...

I know one Kardashian: the one that was compared to an orca when she was pregnant. There's not a single boyband I really like. I'm trying hard to come up with a third example, but I'm failing miserably, which only proves that I'm not good at the whole celebrity thing. I don't care much about the 'awesome' celebrities, I don't care about the regular famous people and I definitely don't care about the shitty celebrities. So how would I ever be able to write about something completely crazy like the 1D baby conspiracy? Hats off to the person who wrote that one by the way, but I don't see myself pulling it off.

I've done my math. On average, my list posts contain 6,4 items. Buzzfeed lists? Well, I didn't do the math for Buzzfeed lists since I've reached my math quota for this month by analyzing my own posts. Anyway, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that their lists are much longer than mine. They have this things with 10 and 15 and for some reason I don't get, 21. If anyone knows why, do tell me.
Either way I'll never be able to meet that criterium, because this is only my fifth reason why I'll never be able to work at Buzzfeed and uhm... I'm kind of done...


I wouldn't say no to a job at Buzzfeed. Acutally I wouldn't turn any job offer that involved writing articles down. But let's face it: I'm no good for this site.
Stay Awesome!

My mom is one of the loveliest people I've ever met. Also one of the kindest. And also one of those people who believe that a cup of tea will make every situation better. I don't remember a time when my mom didn't drink at least three cups of tea a day.

Just like every other little girl, I wanted to be like my mom when I was three years old. I'd already found out that baby dolls should be glad they weren't real babies with me around, and my tiny plastic kitchen was the biggest mess a three-year-old could make without putting effort into it. Playing house wasn't my thing either, so I was set on doing that one grown-up thing that seemed simple: drinking tea. My mom bought me special children's tea. It scared me to drink  something hot, because I'd never done that before. But I did it, because I wanted to be as cool as my mom. Besides, the package it came in was pretty bad-ass: it had a princess on it who was doing magic with her sidekick: a dragon. Now let's be honest, who wouldn't want tea if it looks that awesome?
My first sip was a deception though. My mom was the most awesome person I knew, and if I wanted to be awesome like her, I'd have to drink tea. Slowly, drinking tea together became a real mother-daughter thing.


When I started kindergarten, my mom would always have a cup of tea ready for me when I came home. We'd sit down at the kitchen table and talk about my day. My mom would ask me what I'd learnt ("Nothing, I've already finished this week's book"), how my teachers were ("They won't let me start a new book") and with whom I'd played during recess ("Me and Carlo tried to fly today!"). Then she'd give me cookie and the world was great again.
Nearing the end of my elementary school, when I was bullied by pretty much everything that breathed, tea time turned grim. I'd usually come home crying, but my mom was always there, ready to comfort me with tea and cookies. Sometimes I wanted to throw my cup of tea against the wall, or burn myself with it. It were dark days, but my mom and her tea got me through it all. Tea time was often the highlight of my day.
High school came and went, tea time stayed. My mom would still ask me the same questions: did you learn something new today ("Cucurbitam describe is Latin for Draw a pumpkin"), how are your teachers ("My Ancient Greek teacher said that if I keep talking at this rate, I'll soon run out of words to say") and what did you and your friends do during lunch break ("Lars pulled a prank on Geoffrey while I was drinking and then I laughed while drinking and water came through my nose...")?  I don't know what made tea time so great: sharing stories with my mom, eating cookies or drinking cinnamon flavoured tea. I guess it's the combination of the three that made it so great.


Now I'm in college, sophomore year is already coming to an end.. After all these years, my mom and I still drink tea together every time. There have been some moments when we deeply regretted drinking tea together, especially after the Gingerbread Tea Disaster of 2013 or the "Spring Breeze Flavour" Failure of 2010. There have been days when we drank half our tea, then decided that it was way too hot to be drinking tea, or days when we looked at each other and said: 'We should've made ourselves hot chocolate." But on average, tea time with my mom is among the best things in life and I'm so grateful to have my mom and her tea in my life.

It scares me to think that one day I won't be able to have these moments with her. One day she won't be here anymore with her cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on or a smile on her face when I tell my stories. It's a fact that makes me very sad, but it also makes me appreciates drinking tea with my mom much more. If there's one thing my mom taught me over the years, it's this: tea isn't the solution to everything, but it's certainly a good start.

Stay Awesome!

It happened on an almost daily basis when I was an overexcited four-year-old. I'd run into the house, yelling: 'Dad, dad, I need my bike! Can you get it out of the shed?'
My dad would look up from his book and ask: 'Which one do you want?'
It was one of the toughest questions I had to answer as a kid: which bicycle would I take for a ride today? There was the tiny purple one that went really fast, or I could go for the black one covered with 101 Dalmatians stickers. The rusty one was also an option, just like the mountain bike and the pretty white one my grandparents had bought me. And I still had my tricycle, but that was for babies.
In the end I always chose the tiny purple bike, because it was so light and fast. My dad would take it out of the shed and soon I'd be off to join the bicycle races I held with the other kids from my block.

Growing up in the Netherlands, I never realized that it's a bit odd to have five bicycles when you're four years old. Every kid from my street had at least one bike and if you still had your training wheels on at age five, you were a total loser. The faster and better you could ride your bike, the more popular you were. I think I was 10 when I noticed that the bicycle culture is a typically Dutch thing. In a country of 17 million, we have 20 million bicycles. It's part of who we are, just like cheese and tulips. My bike is my bae, I don't feel complete without it. Because here in the Netherlands we get put on a bike almost the minute we are born and stay on it till the day we die.

Meet my loyal friend: my bike

At age two we get our first tricycle or a miniature bike with training wheels. Bikes define your status in those early years and the competition is fierce. Everyone wants to have the fastest, prettiest and biggest bike. If there's and image of a clown or a lion on your bike, you're basically the king or queen of the playground and when it comes to wheels, size does matter.
About a year later the training wheels come off. Every three- and four-year-old will be practicing as much as they can, because they all want to be the first to win a bicycle race without the training wheels. Let me tell you, it's not easy to get rid of those things. I was three, almost four when my parents decided it was time for me to become a big girl. My dad took the training wheels of my tiny purple bike and said he'd catch me if I fell. We started out easy: my dad held the bike straight as he walked behind me, while I was busy trying to cycle and not fall over at the same time. Suddenly my dad picked up the pace and started to push me. Faster and faster we went. I loved it - until my dad said he'd let go of the bike. I looked over my shoulder and saw I was cycling on my own. 'Look ahead, Envy! Go go go!' my dad cheered me on. For half a minute everything was amazing. Then I reached the curve at the end of our street; I panicked and fell over.
At the end of the week I could ride without training wheels. I was queen of my street for about two weeks, until the other kids mastered the skill too.
After this one big step we Dutch kiddies go everywhere by bike. We go to kindergarten, the supermarket and grandma's house by bike- of course with our parents on their bikes right next to us in case we fall.

The mindset of most cyclists here

A couple of years later, around the time we learn to read and write, the first kids show up at school on their bike, but without a parent. That's when everyone starts begging their parents to let them cycle to school all by themselves. And when your parents finally give in, you once again feel like a queen - queen of the world this time. Especially when you cycle past all the kids who still have to cycle to school with their parents. They see you rollin', the hatin': elementary school cycling in a nutshell.

For a couple of years nothing changes. Then, at 15 at the very latest, the Dutch change their attitude and become fearless daredevils as soon as they get on their bike. You're not a real Dutchy if you haven't avoided a major accident by mere seconds - without wearing a helmet of course.
That's how almost 100% of our population grows up on a bike. And once they're all grown up, you don't want to be an unsuspecting driver. We cyclists don't stop for anyone or anything! The road belongs to us!

Stay Awesome!