Frayed laces and Foreign Places!

So I recently noticed that I have a huge temptation to start all my blog posts with the word 'so'. Yep. All of them. All NINE of them *smugface

All right, you can stop rolling your eyes. I'm still pretty darn proud of myself. Which brings me to the word 'darn'. Isn't it ridiculous how we have these substitute curse words so we appear more polite, when everyone knows what we're really speaking of? Pointless censorship. It beats me why swearing even has such a negative connotation. I feel it's a very effective way of letting out emotion, as the evergreen Hank of Vlogbrothers(pun absolutely intended) elaborates in this video. (It opens in a new window so you don't have to right click and all that jazz. Aren't I thoughtful?)... My train of though derailed-sorry about that.

Now, the entire soul, crux, point and other tautologies of this article is a point I haven't even touched on yet. It's my recent trip to Denmark. Yes, I've returned. Yes, I' have deep-seeded holiday blues. The reason I'm writing this so late is because every time I return from a vacation, I spend weeks mulling over every single thing I did. So I thought I'd share some of that with you guys!

This exchange program has been a journey (an ongoing one, actually, since the Danes will be coming over in March), and one I've completely enjoyed so far. An experience like no other. Now, I've visited a fair share of countries. I've begged and pleaded my parents to explore forbidden lands seeking adventure (aka eating KFC in a hotel room, crying as I watch bad reality television). I've visited about twelve countries, I'd say, but I've only truly experienced one. Only one have I locked in a special cubicle in my heart. Only one has blown my mind so thoroughly that sweet memories of it are revisited every morning I wake up. If any of you dunderheads (or Ron Weasley) reading this haven't yet understood which one.....it's Denmark.
Funnily enough, it's not the sights we saw, the food we ate or the natural beauty we experienced that made it different. It was...the feel. The spirit. The depth. The aura about it. We didn't listen to a radio guide who told us the exact year something was built. We didn't call ourselves food connoisseurs and then only eat McDonalds when in the country. We didn't spend five minutes on the top floor of a really tall building, clicking photos of a city that looks like every other city from the top floor of a really tall building.
No. We stood still. We watched. We marveled. We stayed at a Danish family's house. We ate their food. We greeted them in the morning. The fact that the domestic atmosphere here and there are so different, yet the same....
The way they addressed each other. The way they joked around. The way they just...family-ed. Exactly like our own families. Exactly like every other family in the world. But in a different setting. In a first world country, instead of a third. With cows mooing and horses neighing and the wind hooting instead of cars...horning and beggars crying. We never think of people so foreign and so different to be as much of a real entity as we are. And that in itself is ridiculous.
Anyway, ten days in a foreign land definitely leaves you wanting more. But so does fifteen years in your home country. I only wish to interact with other foreigners as well. Oh boy, a place where I can freely talk with other people of different nationalities, where we can share ideas and thoughts and feelings about common things that matter to us, creating a diverse platform for enhanced communication and meeting awesome people! How awesome does that sound! Where can I have that, I wonder?

Wait a minute....

It's a Wobbleful Life

I'm guaranteeing you guys have heard of the famous Indian Head Wobble. If you haven't, it's something foreigners think Indians do when asked a yes/no question, where they wobble their heads left to right, center to front, and in every other direction humanly possible.

The reason I know of it, is because I Google things like 'What foreigners think of Indians'.

Getting to the point, I had assumed this to be a purely fictional thing, because I'd never seen a real life Indian do it before. So imagine my consternation when me and some of my fellow curry maniacs were accused of doing that very thing. Following this, I decided to observe people around me for one entire day. And guess what I found out? It's a real thing, ye potato heads.

We're just supremely accustomed to it, and don't think it's anything out of the ordinary.

Having said that, I think the Wobble is an extremely effective form of communication. It's a great way if responding without really responding. In the following circumstances, for instance:

"Didja do yer homework?"

Wobble Wobble!!

"Didja feed the dog??"

Wobble Wobble!!

"Didja go to school??"

Wobble Wobble!!

"I haven't seen the dog for the past week! Do ye know where it's gone??"

Wobble Wobb....Wobble?? WOBBLE!!!!!!!! ***

So, folks, until next time....

...

Wobble Wobble Wobble, yeah!

***- RIP Doug the Dog. You will be missed furry much.

Denmark Diaries

So I kinda promised people I'd daily blog my Denmark trip, and I obviously haven't been doing that. Oh, by the way, I'm on a Student Exchange Program to Hjørring, Denmark. There's 22 of us, and we flew out on the 13th. 

The reason I didn't daily blog is because there was nothing particularly remarkable about what we did the first two days. Yeah, it was the first time I flew without my parents, and yeah, we sat on a two-loop roller coaster and we had epic fun, but none of it triggered the writey part of my brain. I sure didn't want to write about what I had for lunch the other day. 

To begin, let me give you some background about the kind of place we're staying in. It's essentially a farmhouse, and there's a hundred cows in it. In fact, we get deliciously fresh milk on the table every morning. So, we'd been told about this neighbour of my host's, who carved wood sculptures. He lived about half a kilometre away. It took us 10 minutes to get there on foot. To give this some perspective, it takes all of five steps or two seconds to get to MY neighbour's place.

So we get there. The entrance's decorated with cool sculptures of a unicorn, sea horses and owls in interesting poses. You can take a look at them at www.olmholm.com. 

It was about eight in the night, or in the evening, if you have to be all Indian about it. His house was way off the main road. We walked through a small forest patch to get to it. 

Beautiful sculptures and beautiful surroundings, it was great. Later, we went to an even more remote area, to see a totem pole he had made. We  chatted with his wife, had an all-round awesome time.

It was there, standing in the grazing field, with sheep nibbling at our toes, trees peeking in to take a good look at us foreigners and two dogs prancing about happily, that the rareness of this experience really hit me. This was far from a tourist site. This was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, the Eiffel Tower is a tourist attraction, everyone knows about it. I've been there twice, and both times, the tower has remained the same. This, however, was nothing like that. Few people probably even knew about this, or other things like it. Like I visited the Tower twice, I'll never visit this again. Even if I come to Denmark later in life, never again will I stand in that exact spot, and look upon that perfect scene around me. Never again will I breathe this exact same fresh, un polluted air I'm breathing right now, and marvel at how the sound of the dogs' barking is in perfect tandem with the wind whistling through the woods. This is now, in the moment, and this moment will never come again. 

I've never really absorbed everything around me as much as I did then. My mind is wandering, usually. Thinking of everything but what is happening right now. And that alternate reality is always crazier and more picturesque than everyday happenings. That, however, was definitely one moment where the two came damn near close.

Diary, I'll see you soon.  

The Power of the Dream?

6th April, 1990: A child is born in West Mumbai. Another in West California.

Just your average kids, brown hair, brown eyes, cute smile. Their relatives see them, kiss them. Their futures are speculated, their facial features analysed and matched. Two happy families.

6th April, 1994: Both turn four. One has picked up a paintbrush, the other a book. One makes rough, bright, haphazard lines on white paper, the other, a poem about the family dog. Both are praised, encouraged.

6th April, 1999: Both turn nine. Well into their school life, they enjoy every moment. By now, one is an art geek, the other, a book fan. Their obsessions slightly ridiculed by their peers, they are nonetheless supported.

6th April, 2000: Both are encouraged to write bucket lists. "Paint all the world into one canvas", says one; the other, "Change the world with my words." Show this to their parents. Parents promise to make it happen. Both kids swear to hold them to it.

6th April, 2002: Their twelfth birthday dawns. Relatives well aware of their art, one rips open gifts containing canvases, oil painting guides, liquids of all hues and fresh white sheets; the other, brown leather-bound volumes with gold-embossed titles. Both rejoice. Both remind everyone of their dreams. 

6th April, 2005: The fifteenth birthday. By now, both have their dreams set in stone. Both sets of parents inspire, motivate and appreciate. Only one set says the dream is impossible to reach. Only one kid sighs with disappointment. 

6th April, 2008: Both kids create art like never before. Both now strong in their fields, both wish to conquer the stars. One goes off to art school, ears filled with words of encouragement and confidence. One goes off to a College of Commerce and Accountancy, much more invested in writing than in a prospective career. 

6th April, 2012: Both graduate. Both have refined their art to near perfection. Both know that a carefully placed drawing, or a single sonnet can change the world. One of them is scared, however. Scared of his talent. Scared of society, and scared of poverty. One of them never shows his writing to anyone, ever again. The other one enjoys the attention, the limelight and the appreciation. Emboldened by society, he aims for the sky.

6th April, 2020: Both are happy. Families of their own. One struggles to make ends meet. The other's is far more successful. If we're speaking of money, that is.

6th April, 2028: One's work frequents art galleries. The other's? The bottom of people's files.

6th April, 2032: One lives in a two-bedroom apartment in South Jersey. The other, a multi-storeyed villa in New York City. A teenager walks up to the artist, hands him a roll of paper, says, "You inspired my childhood." The artist smiles, he feels his life's purpose fulfilled. The New Yorker returns home after a long day at work. His wife smiles, cooks him dinner. He writes a story before going off to sleep.

6th April, 2042: Both hit middle-age. Both remain happy. One because he's the world's 4th Richest Man, the other because his art matters. 

6th April, 2062: The artist dies in bankruptcy. He's mourned by family and close friends. His tombstone lies in a wayside graveyard, visited by few. It reads, "RIP, Henry Cook. Your art mirrored suffering and joy alike. You impacted the world without it ever knowing."

The accountant had died a few months ago. He was given a state funeral, attended by celebrities and Senate members. His tombstone, polished and glistening, read, "RIP, ", the name was soiled over, ",Accountant."

Too much Internet?

Get home, a multitude of things to do,
Privileged life, but just feel blue.

Seek numbness, our mind does bid,
Settle before the laptop, flip open the lid.

Sluggish thought, quick clicking,
Mindless scrolling, commenting.

The love for Tumblr you cannot deny,
Press 'Sign In' for a drugless high.

Digital rock bottom our brains have hit,
"But, Mom, just one more minute!"

OmGzz! I'm SoO WeIrDD anD RaNdoM LOLZzz!! (This is meant ironically. Please do not click away.)

"Wow, I'm so different and cool. I bet no one else thinks about such deep stuff the way I do," thought every teenager in the room.

The other day, I found myself listening to One Direction. I was listening to We Found Love covered by Lindsey Stirling (which is ridiculously amazing, by the way), and 'Story of My Life' cropped up in the Suggestions Bar. I know what you'll probably say. It's autotune, overproduced, sung by talentless, painfully pretty people, and only as popular as it is because of a cult following consisting of hyper twelve-year old girls. See, I agree with you on these points. But it's also insanely catchy. I will reluctantly admit that I hit the replay button over four times. And it's the very existence of this reluctance that led me to write this post today.

Take this situation into consideration: Bob is just your average guy, trying to fit in. Ironically enough, he'll never ever admit he's trying to fit in. He'll have his own 'unpopular' opinion. He'll tell the girls at school he's 'different' from the other guys. He'll make jokes about Justin Beiber being a girl and secretly listen to 'As Long As You Love Me' under the covers a night. He'll think of himself as an uber-intelligent person. He'll try to be as random and quirky as possible. He'll spit on mainstream media and criticize celeb culture and be as individualistic as possible.

You're probably sneering at this Bob character as I rattle off sentence after sentence. Now, I beg you, take a simple look at yourself. Is this behaviour that alien to you? If you're being honest, and provided you're not overly self-righteous, the answer will be no. Because try as we might to deny it, the truth hits us hard. We are all Bob.

Simple example: The first time I read Twilight, I didn't like it. Then, the 'Twihard' culture followed. It was cool to like it. It was cool to want a sparkly centuries-old vampire attending high school to fall hopelessly in love with you. This culture was loved by most, despised by a few. The few that despised it, made jokes about it. About how Bella was a ridiculous role model. About how vampires that sparkled were ridiculous. About how RobPat sold out after playing Cedric. This hate was so lasting that it almost completely crushed the Twihard fandom. A huge rift in the otherwise peaceful Town of Teenagers was created. No matter whom you met, if you asked them if they liked Twilight, the answer was likely to be 'Oh God, I hate it! <insert overtold joke about how PB&J is a better love story>. Most of these Twilight haters have something in common: they are trying to deviate from the norm, where they think loving Twilight is the norm, and that they're being the 'cool hipster kids' by having an out-of-this-world, likely-to-shock opinion.

They do this so much so, in fact, that they don't realise the norm shifted ages ago. Now, people who secretly like Twilight will never admit this in person. People who have never heard of it will openly insult it because everyone else is doing it.

I'm not saying such societal pressure is an entirely negative thing. For example, I decided to try out Classic Rock because no one at my school/in my friend circle particularly listened to it. As I struggled to hipsterify myself, I found love in the sweet chords of Led Zeppelin, the killer drums of Rush, the husky voice of Kurt Cobain, and the amazing guitarwork of Jimi Hendrix. A love of music was born.

Such is the power of society upon us. It demands to change us, change our opinions of things, change our worldview according to its own standards and ideals, whilst we blindly keep thinking we aren't following the beaten track. Society has the power to hypnotise us into thinking we're self-made, independent, out-of-the-box thinkers, when we're all really just Bobs.

This post has been overly cynical. I do not intend to put you down, or lessen your worth in any way. Innovation and creativity still exist. Exert your ideas, free your soul, but make not the mistake to think it is only in your heart that a diamond lies.

That being said, don't be afraid to put out that eccentric idea of yours. It's normal to be eccentric. So seize the day, my friends! Carpe that diem! Hah, this seemed to me to be a profound piece of writing, which, ineloquent as it was, I hoped to shock you all with. And in the end, it all boils down to one cliched phrase everyone's been repeating for centuries. If that doesn't summarize the point of this article, I don't know what does.

Some Muggle Appreciation

I have woken up late at night thinking about a huge, ragged, bearded Keeper of the Keys whisking me away to a school of magic. I have shivered with anticipation on my 11th birthday, eagerly waiting for a special something I knew was never going to arrive. I have curled up, sighing, with a fat book with 'JK Rowling' embossed on the cover when the most notable event of my 11th birthday was me upsetting a huge carton of mango juice. I have stayed up all night, rapidly making my way through a newly released 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'. I am, what some might call, a Potterhead.

And Harry Potter is, if you haven't gleaned it from the title already, what this post is going to be about. All my non-Potterhead readers,.....go read it already!

So, today, I'd wish to tell y'all about something that has always bothered me, although it's something I myself am guilty of: Muggle hate. Now, I'm not talking about the kind of thing the Death Eaters have against Muggle-borns, or the kind of bullying a certain blond apple-lover has done in regards to the subject. I'm talking about the way other (most) Potterheads both in my real life and Internet presence have said they wish they lived in the Wizarding World, because the Muggle world is stupid.

For me personally, walking the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley holds as much appeal as living in other fantasy lands (see: Middle Earth, Camp Half-Blood etc). And that appeal stems solely from the fact that all of those aren't real, that it's something different to our Mundane everyday life, and would be a wild experience. 

But if actually given the choice to stay or go, I'd be torn between two lovers, and here's why.

I love the human race. I love our quirks, our perks, our achievements and the fact that it is the sole reason why someone living in the depths of the Pacific Ocean can easily read this post (provided they have WiFi. And Oxygen.) And when compared with the wizarding world, life here is so much easier and better.

Avada Kedavra? We got bazookas capable of wiping out an entire city within seconds. Brooms? Airplanes, jets, airbuses, helicopters, you name it. Wizards never reached the moon! (And everyone knows that wizard who claimed to have reached the white ball in the sky using a Cleansweep Seven was lying.)

Talking via Floo Powder? Skype! Admittedly, you can't feed toast to people via Skype, but still. 

As I grew up, I really realised that.

Reality's boss, brah.