ConriSade

When do you realise that writing is important to you?

I used to write to order my thoughts, starting with something that bothered or surprised me. Especially in case of heavy emotions, I would reach for pen and paper and scribble many drafts until I felt calm again. It did not always result in poems to share or post online, but it always resulted in me looking at the situation differently than before.

Whenever I write "poetry" (usually a free verse) I randomly come up with ways to limit my expression: focus on metaphors only, alliteration, dismanteling morphemes and finding meanings in words where there previously was none (or was not expected to be any additional meaning), or focusing on terminology only. Sometimes I also let myself be guided by associations only. 

When I came to a new working environment, I was overwhelmed, surprised, curious and wrote "office poetry". I experimented with the new terminology I learned and tried to find my place in it (yes, through writing poems).

Now when I am working a this office for 10 months, and am finding my way and my role and my (expanded) knowledge, I focused less on myself (through writing) and more on the work (which includes customer service responsibilities). Now my throat got back at me and I feel weak and sick and I may stay at home for one week. I thought of myself as someone who recovered quite quickly, but I also realised that this sickness is more than just a cough and lack of sleep (because of coughing and nose blowing). It came from a lack of attention and respect for myself. Always putting others (work) first had taken its toll. 

I believe that I also started to feel sick because I did not "check in" with myself as I did before (what surprised me? What annoyed me today? I would write about it to better understand how it affected me that day). 
Now I am at home and try not to think about work, but about myself.
And that is where I find myself writing poetry again.
As a way to cure myself from the inside out. 

Happy reading, and keep on writing, all of you!

To write my Master thesis, I have to and love read a lot about linguistics, terminology, discourse- and gender studies.. in at least three different languages. 

I love writing and I love reading. I love reflecting and over-thinking, but when I have to focus on the structure of my thesis and come up with a coherent way of writing (as if I know what story I am going to tell) I tend to be distracted by my train of thought and realize that every story has its own perspective and its own discourse and writers with good reputations that back up every theory and perspective. Who am I to decide where this story leads to? I have time, interest, data and the urge to share what I have learned in two years of being a Master student in Luxembourg. But in what form?

What choices do I have to make, to make this collection of memories and associations in multiple languages look modernistically coherent? My post-modernistic mind leaves the academic structures behind when I return back to my readings and table of contents. 

I cannot structure my thoughts if academic literature distracts me with new word choices and I cannot structure my thesis into into a coherent story, if I am lost in perspectives. Because each theoretical framework has its own frame of reference that mirrors meta-linguistic ideologies of folk-linguistic communities and their experts in the field of queer studies. 

And I am just a Master student who tends to mix academic writing and the creative writing. What language community will accept, value and enjoy that as much as I do?

Onderzoek naar buitenaards leven gestaakt

Door onze redactie buitenland

(.......)

This year, I'm on my way to graduate secondary school. For six years I have studied there. Pre-university education. Great. That means, after I am graduated, I should be ready to go to university. For six years, my future was in that building, safe and sound. There were rules, there was homework, teachers to love, teachers to hate, things to learn, things to forget. But I always knew that the next day, the next week, the next year, I would be there to experience the life of a pupil at secondary school again. For six years, ''the next day, the next week and the next year'' was my future.

I knew the time would come to decide from free will what my personal future would be. Of course I had been thinking about my future, but it was always far away and there were always other things that were more important, like school.
Those six years was the time of freedom, because my future was not yet determined. This year, the time as come to make my decision for a future study and enlist for the study of my choice. Making the choice was not a problem : Fin-Ugric language and culture. Enlisting wasn't the problem either : it was simple and I knew what I wanted.  
It was when I had enlisted myself that I realized how scary it was, that I had done : my future was now determined again.
The thing is, I am afraid to take this step to the future. I was just used to silly rules and kind teachers and now I have to get myself a room in another city, far away, have to get used to a new educational system and make new friends. It will all be new and scary, but that's normal.

I am afraid of these new things. And the frustrating fact with time is, that it comes closer, whether you do something or not. I can't stop it, can't find a way or a moment to rethink the possibilities and comfort myself for what is coming.

Time comes your way, to haunt you with the speed it prefers. When you meet the crucial moment of change, it will all be fine, you hope. And after that, times passes you by and you stare at your memory.
And that was it.

...en veel fantasie hebt, hoor je een hoop leuke dingen!

Vanavond keek ik naar de samenvatting van de voetbalwedstrijden van dit weekend.
Na twee wedstrijden was ik al zeker vier keer in de lach geschoten vanwege de onbedoelde taalgrapjes die ik hoorde. 't Is flauwe voetbalcommentator-kritiek.

Ik zal een paar voorbeelden geven.
- Groningen heeft de wedstrijd gewonnen. De trainer (met een typische, noordelijke achternaam) was om te beginnen al heel lang. ''Nee, er gaat inderdaad niks boven Groningen, als ik dit zo zie.''     (heel flauw, maar het was wel wat ik dacht)

- De trainer vertelt wat hij doet om het team te verbeteren. Hij zei:  ''we proberen de lat elke week weer een beetje hoger te leggen.''   Jaahaa, dacht ik, dan gaat er al helemaal nooit meer iets boven Groningen!

- Er was opschudding bij een vrije trap. Ik zag niet precies wat er aan de hand was, of wat er gebeurde, maar er was een beetje chaos. De commentator zei: ''Er is een confrontatie met de muur...''        Au, dacht ik, arme jongen.

- Ten slotte had iemand die Van Hoek heette een doelpunt gescoord. De commentator zei dat ''Van Hoek het mooi heeft kunnen afronden!''