h a r o h n n y

An online artificial outing of extremely unreasonable sense, so as to be foolish or (not) taken serious. Written by Bo V and Aïda G.

Days in the Sun

“Days in the sun, Winter cold on your cheeks”

Here I am, chilling on a sailing boat somewhere in the pacific ocean. I’m looking out over the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever witnessed in my almost quarter life. I see islands. I see rainbow coloured fish. I see our skipper selling overpriced anklets to poor backpackers to save up for his wedding. I see exhausted divers falling asleep on deck. I see a bunch of restless guys shining their torches into the dark, on the hunt for sharks. I see a couple trying to be Jack and Rose at the front of the boat. I see some British chavs feeding the fish after a hardcore round of circle of death. I see myself staring out over the endless ocean. Wishing to be here forever. Am I happy? The happiest I’ve ever been.

Here I am, waiting my turn to ride a mechanical bull. Waiting for my death. I’m cheering for my friend who’s riding her bull like she’s never done anything in her life before. Which is pretty shocking for a big city girl. But then again, moving to the countryside has done nothing but surprise me. I start thinking about what I’m going to miss here when I have to leave – and I’m not only talking about the cowboys. I’ll miss the drunk nights under the stars. I’ll miss the moonrise. It always managed to take my breath away. The chicken parmi’s at the pub which left me indigested for days. The sun, peaking through my window every early morning. The people, some more than others. Am I happy? Does a bear shit in the woods?

Here I am, lying on a beach, watching my mate’s proud face as he returns from the ocean with a giant fish on his spear gun. I can feel the heat of the sun brushing my skin. While the others are discussing whether the bright coloured corpse is a protected species or not, I put my book about ice climbing aside – don’t ask –  to take a Skype call from my sister. Turns out I’m going to be an auntie. And we’re going to have a Unicorn fish for dinner – talking about an eventful day. Am I happy? Hell I am.

Here I am. Home for the holidays. Ho ho ho. A year later, and it feels like everything’s changed. And in a way nothing has. There are more Christmas cards on the wall than last Christmas. My skin is more tanned, my hair more blonde. My appetite is still non existent, just like the money on my bank account. My sister’s belly is a bit bigger and my list with the people I’m gonna miss has only grown. Instead of spending my days shooting guns and chasing crocs in a 4×4 called Britney – it’s Britney bitch – I post Instagram pictures about my breakfasts. Am I happy? I guess.

Being so close again to family and friends who’re used to my drinking habits and constant moaning about the cold helps me dealing with being apart from the place where my heart lays. They make the grey days, endless waiting for my second year visa and the feeling of not belonging here a tad more bearable.  It’s not the same as having a beach in walking distance, but spending nights sipping the most massive Martini’s and listening to my girlfriends’ awkward Tinder stories almost feels like the sun is gently stroking my skin again. Like she’s giving me a quick reminder she hasn’t forgotten me yet.

 

Advertenties

For the first time in forever

 

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When I was chilling on the couch last night after a long day of work (and an indigestion after another massive chicken parmi), I rewatched for the millionth time some random episodes of Sex and the City. Despite the disturbing trapezes – if you’re afraid of heights you’ll get what I’m saying – and the awkward jew who’s stalking Carrie, something really stuck to me. In this week’s article, Carrie is asking her readers a very important question.

‘When was the last time we did something for the first time?’

Looking at what stage my life is in right now, it doesn’t take long for me to think about an answer. Yesterday, when I made cinnamon rolls for the first time (and they were yum!). Last week was my first time making donuts (and they were even more yum). Same for when I made some beautiful layered lasagna, delicious butter chicken and the most perfect chewy chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever tasted in your whole life. And don’t even get me started on my newest gooey brownies.
This year has also been the first time I travelled to another continent by myself, the first time I had a grasshopper jumping into my face (a not so pleasant experience for me) and the first time I accidentally peed on a frog (a not so pleasant experience for him). I went to a rodeo with my new best friend, got wasted on Moscato, overcame my fear of heights, got on a ferris wheel with a bunch of expired cowboys and left half of my clothes and my dignity on the rodeo grounds . All of that for the first time in forever, thank you.

But still. Even though I feel like every day here in this little country town  is an adventure, I have to keep reminding myself why I’m here. For the money, obviously, but most of all for new experiences, no matter how scary or disgusting they are (like peeing on a frog, wouldn’t recommend it). Because I remember how easy it is to fall back on routines and habits, treating everyday like it’s the same old shitty Monday. No matter how awesome you think your life is, or how many new sweets you learn to bake or acrobatic skills you develop, you can never stop trying new things. So we have to keep asking ourselves that question Carrie was asking all of us already a few decades ago.

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

If it takes you longer than two minutes to come up with something, or if your answer is ‘two years ago when I painted my toenails dark red instead of sparkly purple’, then just start running and don’t look back until you have at least five new scars, two new  enemies and ten new friends telling you what a crazy cunt you are.

TBT: The best is yet to come

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New Year’s Eve. High expectations. I expected to get drunk with my friends on cheap wine, while spooning as much chocolate pudding as I could in my – thanks to Christmas turkey- already exploding tummy.

What I didn’t expect, was that I would spend the end of 2016 in a stranger’s house, with three greyhounds daring to poo all over the house if I didn’t immediately take them for a freezing winter walk. I also didn’t expect to be back at my temporary home the next day (the next year actually) covered in New Year’s cake. I can assure you, this year it’s all gonna be about low expectations.

Dragging my exhausted body to the bathroom, I start reminiscing about the past year. I wonder how I got myself here, wiping whipped cream from eyelids. Everyone says 2016 hasn’t been the best year. With loads of terrorist attacks and poor refugees trying to escape the bombing in their hometown,  it’s seen as a black year. And although I’m not arguing with the terror of these events, I still haven’t lost any of my optimism.

So instead of thinking of the latest attack in Berlin, I look back at the time me and my friend kept throwing coins in the Trevi fountain because we didn’t remember how to do it the right way – is it with your left hand or with your right hand? I think back of the food fight I had in Rimini with my hostel family and the time we fell asleep on the pool table . Or the time I ended up doing shots in an ice cream bar in Florence with a bunch of au pairs from all over the world. I remember having the best time dressing up for an 80’s party where – of course – no one else was dressed up so we totally looked like we were on a hen night. I think back about the time in Venice we rented a fake gondola because we couldn’t afford a real one. I look back at a camping trip in Slovenia with my oldest friends, having fired up discussions about the best branches to make a camp fire. Or the time we decided to give a dozen English lads an impression of ‘All I want for Christmas’ in a sketchy karaoke bar on an impulsive roadtrip to Amsterdam.  And I look back at a beach festival in Jesolo, dancing barefoot from sunset till dawn, the image of overdosed Italians crawling on the sand forever burned into my retinas.

So no, personally it hasn’t been the worst year. I’ve been to beautiful places, met amazing people, had awesome adventures. I’ve also ended up in dumps, had to deal with a few self- obsessed pricks and experienced some disappointments. Forget all the shit you had to cope with this past year – including your inevitable New Year’s Eve hangover. Instead, focus on the random things you did that still make you burst out in awkward giggles.

And the best is yet to come, I’m sure of it.

Promises, Promises

With Christmas lights fading in the background, we start writing down resolutions we know we’re never going to fulfill. I never got to watch all Hitchcock’s movies this past year. I didn’t go running twice a week. I didn’t stop eating chocolate on a daily basis. I’m still drinking much more (mulled) wine than is good for me. Age and glasses of wine should not be counted anyway. I’m still spending too much money on shoes. And I didn’t sell some of my old ones. Sue me.

So as you can tell, this kind of resolutions don’t really work for me. The weird thing is, I don’t mind at all. Because I love watching The Holiday over and over again at Christmas time, crushing over Jude Law (who wouldn’t) and the cute English cottage (fairytales exist). Drinking hot coco spiked with some brandy at Christmas fairs will never stop being my favourite way to spend cold December days. And don’t get me started on the shoes.

My kind of resolutions are more about making promises to myself. Like I promised myself never to change or settle for a life I don’t immediately get super excited about. Sometimes, when surrounded by the comfort of people and places you’re so used to, it’s easy to get swallowed up by other people’s lives. Especially in Winter, when fireplaces, holiday traditions and old friends give you the feeling that this is exactly where you belong. But as much as I don’t want it to, Christmas fades. Decorations are being put down, Advent calendars are finished (I ate all my chocolate in one week anyway but shhh), presents are opened and given a nice place/being returned to the shop because they’re tasteless, Christmas trees start making place for plain old cactuses. You realize this cozy place called home starts losing its spark. You could totally give in to these Winter blues and wallow in self-pity, which gives you even more reason to finish that expensive bottle of brandy. Or, you could see this as a sign to get your life back on track – going to the AA should not be a resolution.

And this is where your New Year’s resolutions come to the rescue. They’re made to keep you from weeping over ripped tinsel and perished mistletoe. They’re just a quick reminder to think about what you want the new year to bring, just like how you asked Santa for Christmas presents. Only, compared to what lovely gifts you found underneath the tree, this present might ask a tiny bit more effort to get to. But it’ll definitely be worth it.

(When) Christmas Comes to Town

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I’m a sucker for Christmas. I wear Santa jumpers during the day and reindeer pj’s at night. I decorated my tree a month before people actually started thinking about putting on a coat. I have a turkey hat that serves as a Christmas ornament for my speakers. Instead of watching the news every day I watch Christmas movies. I know every Christmas carol by heart. Try me.

As you can tell, I’m totally into the Christmas spirit. No hairy Grinches welcome in my Winter Wonderland. Hell to the no.

Every year as soon as Halloween is over, I turn into this over excited elf, wrapping presents no one actually cares about and complaining about the lack of Christmas lights in my street. If I was in Christmas With the Kranks, I would be one of those angry neighbours protesting to free Frostie. I aspire to ride on Santa’s sleigh one day. And why should I not? Why should I not celebrate this holly jolly time of the year, when it’s allowed to be drunk at 2pm – hurray for eggnog. It’s a time when you don’t have to make an effort for small talk with people you barely know. Last week a had a full on conversation with a shopkeeper about the perfect colour for Christmas balls. Blue is a no go, by the way. It’s called a Winter Wonderland, not a Winter Whoreland.

The weird thing is, summer is my favourite season. I love beaches, cocktails and late nights talking to random people from all over the world. Travelling is what I live for. Preferably  to countries that believe snow is something the Americans invented. There’s no place like home vs. the need to explore new places. I thought these were opposites, but I’ve found out they do form a good couple.

What I’ve become to realize during one of my previous trips, is that home is where the heart is. And it’s not because I might feel the need to be at the other side of the world to do whatever I think I need to do there, that I don’t have a home anymore. Of course, I’ll be home for Christmas next year (see what I did there?). But even if I was stuck in a cute old village because of a terrible snow storm, I would embrace the Christmas spirit just as much. No matter where in the world I would be.

I would even do Christmas in July.

Instead of fighting these seemingly conflicting thoughts, I embrace them. I mix & match and know that even fake snowflakes can be charming. So for now, I enjoy the smell of my real Christmas tree. I enjoy the cold December air – or at least I try without freezing to death. I enjoy my friends and family near me. But I will also enjoy putting my backpack back on, packed with memories of last Christmas.