O is for Onions and Marina

There is a very interesting connection between Marina and onions. First of all, neither of them brush their teeth. Second of all, Marina seems to devour these things as though they are simply apples that need to be bitten into.

Onions seem to have a knack of attacking her when she is having a friendly conversation with Bamba the cactus about how nice the lamp has been for giving them light.

Two minutes later, a fleet of onions storms her room and start slicing themselves and making her cry. It is a very sad occasion. The world seems to have turned against Marina in her eyes of complete insanity. It probably has. Even Bamba's prickles now turn deadly with poison. His read head now engulfed with rage for Marina had not resisted the urge to cry.

I stand there, in the air, despite the laws of gravity, pitying this poor soul. But pity never gets anyone anywhere does it? Annie Sullivan never gave an ounce of pity towards Helen Keller. Why should Marina and her onion problem be treated any differently?

The answer is no. She shouldn't. The onions are her problem. And yet, I find myself gliding down rather slowly to observe closer what needs to be done to defeat these hideous onions.

I begin to feel sad for these onions. The only way they will be defeated is if I hack through each and every one of those onions with no mercy in my heart. It would be easy enough, I recently bought a "Forever Sharp" chopping knife. The knife is merely 10 metres wide. That should be long enough don't you think?

Yes. It is.


HACK HACK HACK HACK HACK HACK!!!!!!!


The deed is done. The onions are defeated. Marina is now safe. Bamba has turned to his normal state of cute prickliness. The world is now safe from harm of any onions.

Life Lesson: Pity is not excepted. Saving someone from the peril of onions is.

I commented on Lyndsey's blog this week.

S is for Singing

When I sing, everything inside me gets left behind. When I sing, I don't think. When I sing, the world around me escapes it's solidity and leaves behind a misty cloud. When I sing, the audience disappears, all except for the people I know.

When the world sings, the audience sits in awe, knowing no sound more beautiful. Then the world will finally be at peace.

Unfortunately, some people don't want to sing. People seem to think that singing would make them die. They think that the whole world will laugh at them because they supposedly 'can't' sing. Everyone can sing.
People think that when they sing, people will put them down and say things like 'What was that?'. Some people will actually say that but those are really stupid inconsiderate people. Most people who hear someone sing want them to do well.

So the problem lies in making people sing. Even in churches people don't always sing. I find it extremely difficult not to sing, but that's just me. And a lot of other people. In churches I can kind of understand if the pitch isn't right but then you could sing off key and have a great time anyway.

When I lived in Holland, I used to on Christmas go to midnight mass. The only real reason I went there was because I could sing Christmas carols with my dad in whatever other language there was of that particular carol. Very fun singing O come All Ye faithful in Latin. Yet another fun thing about singing.

If you're worried about not sounding very good then live with it and continue to sing. Or you can go to a singing teacher and have fun there. Or join a choir. It is the best way to meet new people and becoming a better singer in general.

Overall, I think singing is the best thing ever. Everyone should sing, not because they have to, but because it's fun.

Life Lesson: If the world sings, peace will come to the world.

I posted a comment on Libby's blog this week.

H is for Home

Imagine you were born in one country, moved to another country half a year later, stayed there for eight years, moved back to the country you were born but in an entirely different place in that country, stayed there for two years, then moved across the Ocean and have been there ever since. Where is home then?

I have dual nationality. Which means that I have two passports. A Dutch one and an American one. I lived in the Netherlands for eight years and my dad is Dutch so it makes sense that I have a Dutch passport. And yet, I have never lived in the U.S. and I still have and American passport because my mom is American. I was also born in England. So where is home? Holland? Or the U.S? Or maybe even England. And now, What about Canada? Questions Attack my head like mosquitoes attack me. Where is Home?

To many people, home is where you live. In your house. To many other people, home is which country you were born or the place of your passport. And then other people say that home is where you spend the most time. Some really weird indecisive people say that they are simply from the planet Earth and are happy not to live in another solar system. So who is right? Where is Home?

Maybe home is everywhere. Like the really weird indecisive people said. Quite frankly that description describes me perfectly.

Every place I've been to seems like home. When I was little I used to sit by the raspberry patch and stuff my face with them. In Holland, I biked everywhere and played with my neighbours every day. In England I spent six days of the week with my best friend Freddie. In Canada I have a bunch of really good friends that I laugh with and have a good time. In the U.S I have friends and a really awesome hygienist and my grandparents. Where I've spent pretty much every summer since I was born.

I think that's maybe why I want to be a circumnavigator. So that my list of where home is can become even bigger than it already is. So I think that home is where ever you think it is. And for me, It's everywhere.

Life Lesson: Home is where you say it is.
I commented on Saski's blog this week.