When I was a bratty little 9th grader I thought I didn't have to pay attention to anything that was said in English class. I'd just returned from five weeks in the US, I spoke English with a perfect Californian accent, I knew all the words in our book, why did I even have to be there?
This was probably the only time in my life when I was arrogant, but I passed every test with flying colors without ever paying attention. In fact I don't remember anything I learned in 9th grade, except for one thing: "to be at a crossroads". That's where my ego took a beating, because I thought it was meant to be literal. When I learned its actual meaning, I fell in love with the expression. I couldn't wait till I arrived at a big crossroads in life, just so I could the only thing I learned in 9th grade English class.

I waited for a while. I thought there'd be a crossroads ahead. Especially as graduation came closer and closer. Yet nothing happened. Yes, everything changed, but in a way it all stayed the same: I had some close friends spread around the world, I was in school/college and was a mediocre athlete. I didn't arrive at any crossroads. My road just went straight ahead and even though it was different from the roads of the people around me, mine seemed to take me straight to wherever I was supposed to be. No surprises, no diversions, no crossroads. Until now. Now my world is spinning out of control. That crossroads I'd been looking forward to for years? It's right behind me. And I didn't even get the chance to decide which road to take.

If I'd know I'd finally arrive at a crossroads this year, I would have bought a map. Asked directions. Find a travel companion. Now I'm on an unknown road, with opportunity everywhere. I don't mind being on this road. It has it advantages. But there's one thing it lacks: time for me to blog...
When I came close to my big crossroads, I also started my junior year of college. I was swept onto this road by a tsunami of homework and sweet messages. I work my ass of seven days a week and still don't have enough time to finish all my work. I use all my free time (which is a minute here and half an hour there) to keep in touch with my friends and see my family, but it's not enough. Still I wouldn't want it any other way. I finally get paid for my work at internship. My parents and I are very close now. My friends and I really make time for each other. On top of all that, I met the best guy ever. Maybe I didn't get to choose this path when I arrived at my crossroads, but I can't complain about where it's taking me. I'm the happiest I've been in years. I'm the busiest I've been in years. I'm also the worst blogger I've been in years, but I promise I won't disappear for weeks again. I'm here to stay, on this path and in the blogosphere :)

Stay Awesome!

A few weeks ago I wrote this post about the struggles of sending snail mail. I wrote about not knowing what to write and where to get stamps. After the post had gone up I thought I´d covered the most difficult aspects of snail mail adventures. Then I found out there´s something even more difficult: Receiving snail mail. Story time!

When I cam home from Russia, there was a note on my doormat with the Dutch mail service's logo on it. "We missed you on July 26th!" it said. "Your letter, which requires your signature, is waiting for you at the local post office!"
My parents and I had no idea what this was about. I thought maybe Kanra from The Lunar Descent had sent me something that needed to be checked and signed for. My parents were completely clueless and let me listen to my gut, that said the letter was for me.
At the bottom of the note there was a code. I could go online and use it to check details, like sender and weight of the letter. So I did just that at 1.15am on August 1st, only to find out that my letter was supposedly 1 gram. An envelope alone already weighs more than that, but I shrugged it off and moved on to the other information - except there was none. All fields on my screen were empty. Sender: unknown. I moved the cursor over the word 'unknown'. A message popped up: "The sender of this letter is unknown. This could be because they are not registered in our archives or because your letter cam from abroad."
I sighed. Great, very helpful. There was only one field left that wasn't empty. It was another code. I didn't recognize anything in the code, which wasn't even clickable. I stared at it for a while, trying to make sense of it. The last two letters were IN. India? But no one in India had my address, at least not as far as I knew. Besides, even if it came from India, why did I have to sign for it? I never had to sign for anything I got from Pakistan. What was this all about?

After a short night full of questions about the mysterious letter, I grabbed my stuff to go to the post office. The note I'd gotten had come with a checklist of things I needed to bring in order to be allowed to sign for my letter: an ID card and the note itself at least. Money was a good idea too, just in case.
I threw everything I needed in a tote bag and cycled to the other end of town, where the lady at the counter of the post office awarded me to some suspicious looks as I handed her the note and explained why I was there.
'Were you expecting any mail?' she asked.
'No.'
'A parcel? A letter maybe?'
'No, I wasn't expecting anything!' I blurted. 'All I know is that I came home from vacation to find this weird note!'
The lady didn't raise an eyebrow in surprised annoyance, but she did come very close to doing so. 'Okay then, we'll take a look. Do you have any ID on you now?'
I handed her my driver's license. She checked the picture to see if it was really me. What did she expect? Why would anyone pretend to be someone else for a letter?
She walked away. Stuck my driver's license in a machine. Scanned it. Scanned it once more. Then she put it aside and walked back over to me. 'You'll get that back in a minute. What's your name again?'
I was baffled. Was she really checking if what I'd say wouldn't contradict my ID? This woman was more serious about checking my identity than the people at the Russian border!
'Envy Fisher.'
'Okay, and your address?' she asked, friendlier now she knew I was the real Envy Fisher.
I told her as she pulled a box out from under the counter. It was bursting with letters and I had to tell her my address once more before she found my letter. She put it on a ledge on her side of the counter, where I could see the mangled envelope but not reach it.
'Now if you'd sign please?'
I looked around in confusion. Sign what? Where? 'Excuse me?'
'Right here.'
I had to scribble my name on a teeny tiny touch pad, then finally got my driver's license and my letter.
'Thank you. We hope to see you again.'
'Yeah, bye,' I mumbled as I walked out, still overwhelmed by it all. What was so special about this letter that it needed a full identity check?

I didn't look at the envelope until I was almost home. I recognized the handwriting. The envelope was covered in stickers, two Dutch, three Indian. I didn't open it. That's too difficult when you're cycling anyway. Back home I threw the letter on the dinner table.
'And, did it come from Pakistan? What did Kanra send you?' my parents asked.
'It's from India!' I shouted as I stormed off. I didn't feel like reading the letter at all. I was too annoyed by all the things that happened at the post office. It took me an hour to get over it, then I finally opened the envelope and read my letter.
As it turned out, Kanra had given my address to my friend in India so he could send me a surprise letter for my birthday. That's the sweetest thing people have ever done behind my back, but the stress! I wish everyone awesome surprises for their birthday, but the post office experience? I do not recommend it!

Stay Awesome!

Not too long ago I visited Russia. I thought I was going to have the time of my life, but when I arrived reality kicked me in the face. Hard.
Russia itself is nice.  Moscow is great. I'll write later on about its beauty and the things I did and learned there, but now I need to vent. You see, I didn't like most of Russia and most of Russia didn't like me. I quickly learned that friendliness wasn't invented there. Bureaucracy and bad moods probably were. Most Russians I interacted with had this mindset of: We do things my way, or not at all.
I didn't feel very welcome when I arrived in St. Petersburg. Since I'd been looking forward to this trip for months, I didn't want to let this get me down. That's why I started am 'Only in Russia' list in my Travel Journal. Because some things are things you'll only see in crazy Russia.