My teeth (Photo credit: LShave)
I should definitely apologize to my almost nonexistent number of readers for not posting anything in such a long time, but to be honest, I was quite busy these days. And for good reason!
For example, I’ve joined a metal band! Some old friends of mine got together and decided to have another gig back home. Their bass player has some issues, I’m having too much spare time, so… why not? Trash metal isn’t quite my style, but what the heck, I’m doing this for some friends. As the rehearsals were going on, I’ve actually come to appreciate their songs, their technique, and so on, and to be honest, it was quite the challenge to learn around 10 never-tried-before, picking-till-your-hand-drops-dead kind of songs in 3 weeks (this also gives me a nice excuse for not writing; I had to practice a lot). All in all, it was a great experience, both for me as a new member, as well as for them. I am glad they were patient with me as I was struggling to keep up, and I would like to use this opportunity to thank them for the lovely moments, both in and outside the rehearsal room.
I really feel I should write about something. I really do. Just to get a sense of purpose as I drag my carcass along the summer days. So far, my bucket list is far from over, but my batteries are almost fully charged.
Heat. That’s what cities mean to me. The heat in this town is very dusty. It is as if the earth sweats dust as the cars recklessly roll by in the Sun. The inevitable gathering of dark clouds, the disgusting smell of rain as it washes the heat, and dust, and rash, leaving giant holes in the tarmac, just like the post-acne scars. To cope with this everlasting issue, the authorities built roundabouts and created new intersections in order to make the traffic smoother.
As I am desperately trying to keep up with my new-found blog, and as I am having so much time to just sit and do nothing, it’s becoming more and more difficult to write even the shortest of sentences. I almost feel bad about not doing anything (talking about panopticism here) therefore, I have to do something.
And what better way than writing some lame posts? Read on.
About a week ago or so, I have decided to visit Anne Frank’s house. For those of you who are not yet acquainted with Anne Frank, she was a small Jewish girl who went into hiding for two years along with her family and some other family friends/relatives. If memory serves, there were 8 people in total.
And so, while hiding from the Germans in World War II, Anne Frank, a girl of only 13 years old, started a journal depicting her daily experience. Ranging from themes such as social and cultural identity to sexuality, Anne Frank’s journal is a strong piece of writing, especially for a girl her age. Months before the war ended, she and her family were captured during a morning raid, and sent to the concentration camps. Only her father, Otto Frank, survived.
It is easily understandable that her diary is a remarkable piece because, like many others, it offers a more hands-on, often romanticized image of what it meant to live in such horrific conditions. And if, like me, you believe that reading a book is not enough to fully understand its dimensions, being able to visit and experience a small part of Anne Frank’s biography is nothing short of spectacular.