Oh no! It's the last (minus 1) day of August! "What does this mean", I hear you ask in anticipation. Well. This means that this will be the last 'Sea You Later' post of the year. This also means that I'll be doing a round up of all things summery. Or better: what this summer has 'meant' to me. (ugh). As it's traditional that summer ought to be a 'growing period', a period of comtemplation, of getting yourself together and then to present the 'new' and 'improved' version of 'you' on the first day of school. I can reassure you that, unfortunately, no such big jumps have been made (she said, while stressing out over the agenda of coming weeks. Nothing has changed. *whispers* Nothing has changed). And as I read somewhere, it's highly impropable that such a 'big reveal' will make its intended impact, as for instance seen in movies, when considering the average social media use. New you? Not according to those 20 or so selfies you've posted over the past couple of weeks on Insta, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat... (not to speak about all those breakfast/lunch/dinner/snack snaps you took when on holiday).



I think it's the curse of summer that you for one think you're going to be a better person (say: I'm going to read twenty or so books and excercise and not stress about the little things (the future) and eat healthy and be happy etc. etc.) and for two think that you've got the time to do just so. That you have the time not only to look at/improve yourself, but next to that to have the time to just sit back, 'relax' and do nothing (or close to nothing). "You've been fooled my friend", I said to the reflection of myself in the mirror. Each year I believe in the miracle that's called summer. Each year I've been beaten down by that same prospect.


I hate the question "what have you done this summer?". Not only because this means a social conversation with someone I probably don't want to be social with (this includes well-meaning teachers and uninterested fellow students; and yes, I'm writing this in that kind of mood, but don't worry, at the end I'll feel obliged to either end on a happy note or I'll probably put this into a wider perspective -as I'm funnily enough actually already doing right now. That's also to say (as I begun this post on a 'new me, see me' sentiment): it's probably rather a sign/fear of 'the end', the end of summer, and 'the beginning' of something new (of a new, last, schoolyear) than it is a reflection of the 'actual' people I mention above. Although, therewith, I must also say that I'm not a social person and I don't like conversation with 'strangers' (this includes well-meaning teachers and uninterested fellow students). I don't know these people, so it is on one hand rather unfair of me to resent them in advance. But also -in my own defense- very understandable as I'm not there to social or be social (it puts you/me into a position that's, in simple key-words, too much. Stop hassling me with your faked interest!).


"What I've done this summer?", how kind of you to ask. Well, as you might know, I've stayed close to home (due to multiple reasons, but also as a 'tradition'). We had our ups and our downs (most accurately, I think, demonstrated in [this] post).* But overall it was an 'alright' summer. I've not necessarily changed or have undergone an XTREME makeover, a transformation, which makes everyone turn their heads and pave a way for me with their drool (although I must question whether this -in essential- is something I want to strive for in my life?). However if I must believe the media the real jumps, the real changes in 'being', is evoked by the means of travel. To go out of your comfort zone. To go backpacking in your neighbours garden. And as my previous statement must have betrayed: I've never been far far away (let alone on my own, which -I forgot to mention- is the ulitmate change-maker you could experience. Seriously, I don't get why we don't just drop 'our' kids off in the wild wild west and see if they ever make their way home again. A LIFE LESSON would be learned! We all would be saved! WORLD PEACE!). So really it's a question whether my environmental experiences, up to now, have actually been capable to give me such an experience, transformation, 'everyone' is talking about? (although I think it's more something that can be related back to a social environment instead of an actual 'place'. I mean, Amsterdam, London, Berlin etc. won't cure you. Atleast, they won't cure you if you're not open for that cure or if everything else fails you (therewith: it takes a certain 'emotional level' or 'state of mind' that can make or break you. Naturally, obviously, a place/environment has its influences on this 'state of being' that can accentuate or appreciate (compliments) the 'change' you're 'looking' for but the ground work needs to be done first, I think (I guess (I don't know)). Basically it takes more than an 80s montage to make you anew).


How's your summer been? Done some traveling? Feeling like a changed wo/man? (fight me) And last question, in this subtle interrogation: have you changed? Or just 'feel' changed but in reality you're still the same person doing the same thing over and over again? (asking for a friend).

Love,
Dominique


*Actual lowest point: Me trying to transfer some pictures from my camera onto my laptop. I put the USB in the USB-thingy. Nothing happens. I try again. And again. And again. AND AGAIN. I panic. There's something wrong. Is it broken? Are my pictures lost forever? It doesn't work, why doesn't it work? What is this? What? What? I call (yell at) my sister, all worked up. I keep repeating "It doesn't work, it doesn't work". She looks at it and puts the USB in the USB-thingy. There's immediately a connection. I'm relieved. I look at her as if she just performed a miracle. "Why didn't it work?", I stammer. "Well", my personal IT employee responds, "that USB is for the camera, that USB is for the external hard drive. If you put the hard drive in there, the camera won't work and...". I stopped her mid-sentence. I looked at her fired up (embarrassed). "How long have I been doing this?", I asked myself. What a fake. What a fake.

It's Monday the 15th of August. Something magical happens. Well, it depends on your definition of magical. On a second thought, maybe magical isn't the right word. But magical it was. For me. (others might call it smart marketing and consumerism-drive, but -again- lets stay with the 'magical'). Ever since I was a pre-teen I wanted, nay graved a pair of Doc Martens. They stood for something (as they profoundly hashtagged in '#standforsomething'): "Dr. Martens has a rebellious history often associated with free-thinkers, creatives and different subcultures." I wanted, nay graved to be just that.


I thought of myself as rebellious. Or at least, different than the other pre-teens directly surrounding me (I mean, who more was wearing black skinny jeans with a Tokio Hotel fan shirt while sitting awkwardly in a chair holding up knitting needles and singing along to some good ol' boyband Blue beats and thinking about how scary the world is? No one, right?! RIGHT?). But what did I stand for? At that moment: not much. And honestly I think that question can only be answered when time gets the better of us. Not in a 'death is the answer' kind of way, but, basically, pre-teen me was a dummy. Not to say that after-teen me is oh so great, but I guess, I think you first have to 'prove' yourself in some way. Don't get me wrong, I don't have to prove anything regarding someone else, but more in the sense to prove something to yourself; to strive for your morals and lift them to another level during your time here on earth.


In that sense my morals haven't changed, only strengthened. I feel I become more and more 'me' (or a version, an idea of 'me') that's closer to what 'I' want to be towards myself and the world surrounding me. That and I still really really wanted those bloody Docs. I mean, our love is too strong, you can't separate us! We're meant to be! Feel my love! *whispers* Feel my love... Also my trusty black brogues died on me (or I killed them, either way...) after a trusty five or so years of service (and that for some rotten H&Ms). To heal my pain I wrote a bad poem. (I'm someone who needs time to seperate, to take a step back from my stuff. I'm emotionally invested, alright. And although the last year they were a pain in the behind -say broken soles that let water in, broken back of the shoe that made my feet blister- they were still there, on my feet, almost daily. That stuff matters!). Besides letting my heart speak through poetry I also made a run to the Dr. Martens store in the beautiful Utrecht. I realised I never actually go to Utrecht (while it's only about a 20 minute train ride from where I live). But there I was, full of anticipation.


It's funny for how long I've been tackling this 'problem' of trying to get a pair of Docs and how easy it eventually turned out to be. Not only did it took me about ten years to finally make the decision of purchasing, but mostly the way towards making the actual purchase.... Hard labour, man (that in combination with drowning in doubt and your regular stress that comes with people, money and a combination of the two). However when finally standing there, two minutes past twelve in the afternoon, in front of a (yet) closed door, it all soon followed, developed into small talk with the staff (who were -I must say- absolutely lovely), putting 'them' on your feet, decide that you've found the love of your life (I'm easy to please), bag them up and walk out of the store. That's it. Done. Finito. I was, I am the (proud) owner of a pair of Docs. As I said to my mum, this is actually quite the story of my life (not to sound too dramatic): a constant struggle with myself and my surroundings that could be done with just clapping your hands and tapping your feet. Oh well. I'm unique. I'm a rebel. I sing boyband Blue beats, knit jumpers and dedicate my love, my heart, my all, to my new shoes.



For those interested, I went for the 1461 Vegan (semi-new found morals). I've found them to be true to size and fit like a glove. You can't tell the difference between these vegan beauties and their 'regular' material friends and -from what I've researched- when taken care off they ought to be just as good (and maybe even a little bit better). But you'll probably see these bad boys in the upcoming, I don't know, thousand or so blogposts (jk.) (or am I?).

Love,
Dominique


For those waiting in anticipation for that heartfelt, loved drowned love poem for my (broken) shoes, this is for you...

Last Friday (the 12th) my dad and I travelled all the way up north. Our mission: to travel some more. We'd won some tickets to go with a steamtrain, but first we'd go with a steamboat (it's all about that steam, 'bout that steam). How exciting! 


After a car journey of about an hour, we had a sea journey ahead of us of about an hour and twenty minutes (I told you we were there to travel some more). And to be honest, after 10 minutes or so I was already done with it. Apparently I don't have steady sea legs (or interest). At some point a sea becomes a sea and a boat becomes a boat. However when we made our way up to the deck and the wind swept my hair away, I felt a thrill of excitement (anxiety) going through my body. That or the tea I drunk earlier had reached its way to my bowel... Anyway, we slowly but steady made our way to the other side of the pond.


When my feet finally touched ground again I was happy-preppy! Who'd thought solid ground can be so good! Also the change of scene did me some good. But my hair! My poor poor hair had been swept into a new coup. A coup that made my fellow travelers jealous...




And then it was time to wait. We had to wait an hour (!) in Medemblik. (Medemblik being your average tourist township where nothing ever happens). Waiting is quite a running theme -as, quite oppositional, steam- this trip. Which inspired me to write the following about waiting:

I believe there are many different ways to wait. Not only literally: waiting for the bus, waiting for the train, waiting for someone, somewhere. 'To wait' is doing without doing. A passive time between active periods. Between something and something else. Between the bus and the train and someone somewhere.

The difference I imagine there to be, again: not only within the actual difference of what you're waiting for, is the wait that's not necessarily defined between something and something else. Through an anticipated contrast activated by movement. That's to say: the previously mentioned waiting brings you -quite physically- into another space. It's a slight moment of silence that moves your physical (and arguably mental) being from one thing to the next.

There's this French philosopher (previously mentioned here), Gilles Deleuze, who's got very interesting ideas (and literally new ways of thinking) that's all confined within the concept of moving. Moving between, up and under. Moving equally. However there also must be, I think, a case made for the 'standing still'. To wait is often a moment of standing still. A moment of sitting at a busstop and staring into the sky. However to wait, just to wait, to try to take it all in -without any particular reason (moving from a to b)- is a different kind of wait I'm very interested in. It brings you nowhere else. It's a wait that's not in contrast to the moment experienced before, but an extension of it. Or better: an in-between. An active (as well as passive) time between the something and the same. It's not waiting at the busstop, but it's just the act of waiting and taking in -being aware- of that moment. A pause button that doesn't divide but is 'experienced' within a moment.


After 'the wait' we finally went with what we came for: the bloody steamtrain! Or actually steamtram, not because the vehicle isn't a train but -we asked- it travels on rails that's within the same area and not between big areas, so therefore it's a tram and not a train... FACT! (or at least, it's a fact in the Netherlands. It's even enshrined in the law apparently (or at least that's what the man on the train told us...)). Now you can share this new found knowledge with everyone who's standing near you (I'm sure they'll appreciate it).



So the train went choo choo (or actually: it made a hell of a noise! How they could hold up conversation back then is questionable. That and how they could sit on those benches for so long! I mean, today's seats aren't tip top, but compared to these shaky woody hard butt hurters they are luscious luxurious butt holders!). As said, after some time a sea becomes a sea and a tram becomes a tram. She said, after 10 minutes (while the ride of joy would prolong for another -you've guessed it- hour or so). Oh well...


And after a train ride comes... another train ride! But this time a modern one. To be followed with plane, motor, bike... jk. It was followed with a car. But indeed, we've covered our travel-vehicles in this one-day, long-day, day-out. What I've learned on this one-day, long-day, day-out? Good question! Well, I'm not really made or entertained purely by travel or travel-vehicle. This steamtram is in fact a museum (!), but, as I think has been made clear by the excellerating information I've been providing you with, the term 'museum' isn't protected and therefore can be used by anyone who pleases. So: informational = nada, entertaining = meh, company = sublime. When tackling steam, I'll advice a double dose of sarcastic partner in crime who enjoys 'making fun of' and seeking out irony. You'll need it...

So, what's your record of vehicles taken/ridden/waited for in one day? Let me know in the comments below!

Love,
Dominique