Please use a pen

Are they insane?!


I'm checking my visa application Check List, which states all the necessary documents that need to be filled in and sent over. First of all, it's nine pages and it lists another 45 links to pages with documents that need to be checked.


So I open two of those, both of them consisting of twenty or so to-be-filled-in pages and the first line says please use a pen.

Seriously?!

Are they freaking' kidding me?! Am I supposed to print out 50+ pages, fill them in by hand and then scan all of them only to attach them to my e-application?!


Woooooot?!


Woooooot?!


Not to mention the questions involve some pretty weird stuff about my parents, my siblings and my personality...


Btw., those are two documents which are only to be attached as addition. So, they're not the mandatory documents.

No wonder the application takes 2-3 months. I'll probably spend them filling in fricken forms!

The procedure

The Contract is about to get signed.


The Sponsorship and the Nomination are paid for.


I'm waiting for further instructions.


And I don't know why, but I feel like I'm about to get a colonoscopy.


I'd write more, but I gotta run fix some paperwork.

So, here's what I dream about.

The paperwork

Don't worry, I won't bore you with the details. There's so many papers and forms and codes and lists and numbers that I can barely follow it myself. No wonder people hire professionals to do the dirty work.


Now that I come to think of it, I might as well use the experience and charge someone for my service, bwahaha! :evil:


In any case, my profession code is on the list for the temporary working visa, which means there's no sweating about whether I'm eligible or not. Of course, everything might change, but from what it looks like now, I should be OK.

I should be hearing from the legal officer at the company soon, being that she's supposed to send me the Contract to sign and send back. I'm really excited, since this is the first tangible paperwork and it makes me realize this is all happening.


Of course, there's a lot to be done in the meantime. I've booked my IELTS for May 10th, so I really should get on to it much more than I actually am. At least I have something to work towards to...


On other fronts, I'm holding a seminar at the university tomorrow (fancy, I know). My former mentor is out in the field and he's asked me to jump in. I said I gladly would, being that I get to grade and act all important. :evil again:


I had to clean out my Gmail account, since it's almost fully clogged up. I know no one else who's had to do it, but that's me. I make it all messy.


That's all for now. Here's a photo that doesn't really have to do anything with... well, anything.

Balloon in my garden

Family lunch

Since I went to spend the weekend with my mates in Slovenia, I had my birthday lunch with the family today. That means ten people, thee of those kids and all the rest feeling like kids.


If there was a competition about who is less serious in my family, I think the jury would have a hard time. My folks are naturally the serious ones, but there are moments when they flip out a bit as well.


Today before lunch, dad went to our neighbours' who celebrate the orthodox Easter. Even though he said they only had a drink, we all had the feeling it was more than just the one. He kept repeating some jokes and even stuff other said. Then he'd just start laughing and telling a joke, but he couldn't manage, so he'd finish the story with another word game or a worn out proverb or simply with something like wordgame, shmordgame.


Mum is a bit more subtle and only risks a potential situation like that on Christmas eve. Half a glass of red wine (or the blackberry wine we keep getting her) and she's off. Nevertheless, it's still funny to see them confused and surprised at how silly they all become.


The kids were the usual - wanting the same thing at the same time. When they're not doing anything together, they're great on their own, but as soon as someone sees someone else, all hell can break loose.


My mum made a nice cake I like and I even had the leftover candles (since there's three family birthdays before mine) and we successfully managed to take some photos, blow out the candles and even get a couple of birthday kisses from all three nieces...

Dinner at Sandra's

Sandra's one of my only friends in the neighbourhood.


I've never really liked it nor the people, probably because of being picked at a lot during my childhood. And when you're surrounded with a bunch of morons living in picket fences, it's not unnatural to keep being picked at even after your childhood. All in all, I don't really like the hood, I don't like the people, I don't like the mentality and I'm pretty much looking forward to leaving this place and coming back as a visitor only.


My best friend Ante moved abroad more than a year ago, so I've basically been stuck here on my own, especially on the not so rare occasions Sandra would spend her time working, away, with her boyfriend or whatever else. No wonder I've chosen the path of lonesome book reading, documentary watching and night jogging (which I'm too lazy for nowadays).


So, Sandra's my only friend in the neighbourhood.


Don't get me wrong. There's some people I hang out with, have coffee on the weekend or take late night walks with, but I've knows Sandra for years and Ante since we were four or so. There's not much one can do in order to make up for that. And now since I'm moving to Australia, I would like to use as much time as I can with my friends and I'm guessing Sandra had the same feeling, so she invited me for dinner.


Her sister is an awesome cook, so they'll try Jamie Oliver's spinach-cheese pie together. They also added a zucchini soup and lettuce, chicory and rucola salad. I, being that I caught a cold, started off with a mint-thyme tea and a home-made walnut schnapps. I have to admit it was a really nice mixture of flavours, pleasantly spicy (rosemary, pine and muscat nuts, chilli etc.) and surprising at times.


Being that it's my birthday on Friday - and there was another friend whose birthday is on the same day the girls made some muffins as well and put a candle on it. Sweet, my first birthday cake.


I have to say I had a lot of fun! The back of my head started hurting from all the laughing, we were listening to the radio station that kept popping up hits we joked around at and I can only hope I'll spend many more evening like this one.

Preparations

Three kinds of muffins (also for the doggy bag)

Don't mind the number - it's the only one they could find

Yummy!

Third time's the charm

[Copied and pasted from the meant-to-be-but-didn't-make-it Australian blog of mine.]

There's another email in the inbox starting with thank you for sending your application. The mouse pointer is readily situated above the mark as read button as I keep reading. I'm sure it'll say they would love to keep my information on the record and contact me in case any upcoming opportunities arise.

When you're sent out close to 300 applications, checking your emails becomes somewhat disappointing. If not immensely. You know what's coming next and you can almost predict the next set of neatly arranged phrases which should make you feel a bit more at ease.

Since I'm a bit nerdy, I keep on reading and alas!, am I surprised. This is where the patter breaks. They'd be interested in some more information regarding the visa and the requirements thereof and would be most grateful if I could get back to them with some additional information.

Having done all the research considering the paperwork, the requirements and the procedure itself, I forward all the information at once. Neither I nor them are eager to spend five weeks ping-ponging emails back and forth, trying to establish that it's all just a big mess. So I email them all the info (in fact it's a woman, but I keep saying them) and keep on with the usual.

The usual being checking my email, all the job pages as well as some additional ones, and hoping that something's changed. The next day there's a glowing line in my inbox once again. I click it to see a thank you for all the information and would I be willing to schedule an interview. We clarified some more details about acquiring the visa and what it involves and agreed on a meeting that would include them being in the office and me being awake - 3 PM their time, 9 AM their time.

Waiting almost a week for the Skype interview, I had plenty of time to read up on the company, re-read all the legal documents, do some research about the current situation and prepare myself for the interview. More mentally than preparation wise, since the interview nowadays don't really enable one to prepare fully.

The next Thursday I get online early, almost 20 minutes before the interview. I was a bit worried, since there were no notifications or anything, but my iPod started showing an incoming call. I press the green button and utter a half-excited and half-confident hello!

(Being that interviews are pretty much considered confident, I won't share the info itself, but the results.)

After the introduction to all the people that were on the other side of the conference call, I was given a brief introduction into the company and its goals, tasks, and responsibilities. I was then asked a couple of quite direct questions, since it was already known what I did from the résumé. I gave some practical information regarding my research, certain life situation and, generally, why I applied for the position.

This is the type of the interview one can't prepare for. Especially not being a native speaker, I didn't really have the time to think about the answers and thus answered honestly and directly. Maybe it was something that is appreciated and, surely, I got a positive feedback.

What I love about Australians is that they give you feedback after you finish your answer. Great, that is a good answer, with a defined opinion and an interesting solution. When you get asked what I call Google-questions, there's no time to ponder upon them. That's the point after all, isn't it?

From what I got in the feedback and from what I felt in my gut, the interview went quite well. Some of the committee were really satisfied with my answers and openly impressed. That's it as far as I'm concerned was heard, but I was informed that there is another interview scheduled in a week's time and I shall be informed about the income by the end of the next week at latest.

I thank everyone for the interview and say bye, at the same time thinking about how I'll survive the following 10080 minutes. As I'm pressing the red button, a notification pops up saying that (let's say her name was) Helen would like to add me as a contact, so that we can conduct the interview.

So, that's where it went...

I email Helen saying that I have to apologize for not adding her, but this and this happened and I thank her and the whole committee for the interview and their time.

Feeling a bit relieved, but really excited and immensely hungry, I go upstairs to make a snack. Since I'm not really able to eat in the morning, my stomach had been rebelling for a while now. I heat up some water and start making sauce to go with the pasta. I text my brother saying I had the interview and it went quite well, I think.

As I'm preparing the sauce, fixing up some cabbage salad and stirring the pasta from time to time, I hear the sound of receiving another email. I get a lot of spam, a lot of job notifications and a lot of crap mail all in all, so I didn't really check it straight away. I was busy in the kitchen and managing texting my brother anyway.

I see the email's from Helen. She's saying how it's no problem not adding her and that it all worked out in the end. But she doesn't stop there. She's pleased to say the committee is impressed and they'd like to offer me the permanent position and start dealing with the paperwork as soon as possible.

Holding my iPod in one hand and a big wooden spoon in the other, I start circling around the little coffee table in the living room as if I just the winning numbers on the TV. I re-read the email which says they'd pay all of my expenses and they'll come up with the contract and send it over after the Easter break.

The water's boiling and the sauce is burning, but I'm out of hands to stir with, being that they're both up, clutching my head, then the arch of the wall, then the window sill, then the iPod, then the wooden spoon and so on. I text my brother saying I got it, I got it! and he calls me straight away, so I tell him all the details. He's happy for me and tells me to get him a job too (even though he's older and a manager in a big firm), but he knows it's a big deal, so he's all yay on the news.

I call my mum after a while and I tell her the news, but she's not really sure what to say. At one point she's really glad and determined and at the other she's obviously calculating the miles inbetween Croatia and Australia.

So today I got an email saying they're working on finalizing the contract and that they're moving forward with the application process. And even though I'm all clogged up and have a super sore throat and can barely breathe and am sleepy and had nightmares and whatnot, I'm happy.

And I grin.

Resolution

Even though I don't really like all the posts here on Insanity Breaches, it's the blog closest to my personality. I tend to dislike all the rants in case I read them a year after, but that's who I am and there's not much to be done about it.


So, with apologies to all those who prefer me writing in Croatian, I apologize. Writing in English is more likeable to create a world-wide crowd, make me famous, turn me into a star, and award me an Oscar. But then it's you who'll be on the thank-you list during my I-would-like-to-thank-the-Academy® acceptance speech.


So from now on, this is the only blog I'll be updating. Maybe I'll add something in Croatian from time to time, just to spice it up a bit - for old times' sake.


I'll just stick the latest post from the prospective-yet-failed Australian blog and that's it.


So, until we read again...

Multiblogging

I have kind of mistreated this blog by writing more and more on my Croatian one, but that might change.


I initially started writing in English during my travels and then somehow kept it going that way. Probably because of a lot of my friends who live abroad and who I speak English with, but also because (truth be told) most of the people speak it anyway.


Some are too shy to leave comments or take the step of writing their own thoughts, but it's an exercise for me, especially now when I have to focus on my English skills even more.


The reason I started writing a bit more in Croatian is that barely visible line, so thin between the language and yet fiording (I just made that up) a giant gap between expressions.


Sometimes I just miss the little phrases I'm used to. Naturally, some phrases are just untranslatable. The swear words can't be respectively mirrored. Sometimes fuck just doesn't cut it.


And being that I'm supposed to move to Australia within the next couple of months, I started thinking that I should probably keep a thorough blog about it. Who knows, someone might even use the information.


On the other hand, I don't want to make a boring blog that deals with the immigration process and initial resident issues. I'd like to keep it simple and, as much as possible, fun to read. Well, at least not boring.


Then there's the problem of the readership - again. Who'll read the English blog? My family certainly won't. (Now that I think of it, I probably don't want them to read it either.)


As you can see, I can't really seem to make up my mind, but it'll probably end up being one blog I'll try to update as regularly as I can, but I'll add links to the other ones, just for the possibility that someone maybe wants to go back in time and read what I've been ranting about.


So, there you go - another pointless post. 1:0 for me.

I feel like a psychiatrist

You know how shrinks just listen and then when people are done talking and leave, they just end up kind of standing there and occupying the room?

(I don't since I've never been to one, but I'm imagining it's like that.

Besides, I'm thinking that I wouldn't mid going, just to see what he thinks...)

I come home after a long day and I listen to my dad retelling me his day. In detail.

I like my meals, since they kind of make the only peaceful part of my day. And here he is, retrograding through today hour by hour.

I’m unemployed, as thousands in this country and millions around the world and thus don’t have the right to grab the talking stick. One cannot talk without a talking stick.

So I listen. And I’m not even the type that can just shut off and pretend to be listening. No, I soak everything in.

How he met his friend, how he cut the trees, what he was planning to plant, how he’s planning to cut them.

And then I got home.

I’m almost done with my meal and he’s still describing. The lunch has been there all day. Two meals in fact. Plus soup. Now he wants to eat and I warm it up for him.

That’s dad.

Mum spends a lot of time at my brother’s cooking, babysitting, cleaning up and what not, so when she gets home, she’s completely wiped out. She doesn’t tell as many stories, but she’s all drained out and annoyed.

Whatever I say is wrong. Or at least not good.

Poor people who catch me in my talking time. I probably don’t stop ranting.

Poor you.

Goldfish, wishes and such

I don't know why, but it often happens that conversations usually end up with the same topic: religion, music, sex, private wishes, food. Bottle-of-truth style.

One time, during a 45-hour train ride along India's west coast, my friend and I realized that a worrying amount of our conversations end with food. If not food, then drinks. We were laying on our upper-berth beds and talking about what we'd eat now.

Of course, it doesn't make it easier, but one just can't stop talking about it...

All those question... If you won the lottery, what would you do?

I’d definitely go with a degree. That’s my first answer. I have a degree. I don’t really need one. But I’d buy one, just to prove that it can be done.

But if you’d ask me the question right now, I’d say this: a walk-in fridge.

I’m serious.

I can always eat. You wouldn’t say that if you saw me, because I’m 55 together with a chair and a fruit basket. But I always have munchies.

It’s 1.28 and I’m nibbling on the last piece of bread and eyeing the last apple on the table. It’s actually an old chest, but let’s go with table.

The kitchen is upstairs and there’s really nothing in it. Cheese and all the other stuff I’ve already dismissed during the day. But I could eat something now.

Cookies. Or muffins. Maybe cornflakes. Some crunchy ones, with a lot of fruit.

That makes me think of Indian home-made müsli. Dammit!

1.35.

No one knocking on the door with a trayful of nibbles.

Damn!

Bihevioral existence

Once again I'm thinking about something I often find myself thinking about. About the fact that everyone's been talking about some big changes. Twenty-twelve and all that stuff. It won't be an apocalypse, but it'll be an immense switch in the collective consciousness. Well, at least I think so.

I'm not so much into conspiracies and theories thereof, so I can't say for sure. I didn't even read that much about it. The most I've done is talked to some friends about it over tea. But that kept me thinking.

Maybe it will be a big change that will, during a longer course of time, change the world as we know it. The same way fire did. The same way industrialization has. Electricity, Internet, whatever.

But then I started thinking about what it will mean to individuals. How will I change?

I'm a quite bitter person, if you haven't noticed. I'm bothered with a lot of stuff and I'll rant about whatever I can. People, naturally, don't like that. Well, some don't, in any case. I reckon people want to let go and unwind for a bit. There's a nice Croatian phrase that pictures it as letting the brain out into the pasture.

I wish I could do that. I wish there was an on-off button. I've always wanted that. Either that or a third arm.

I digress.

People have told me often that I have to relax. Let it go. There's nothing to do. Chill out.

But what does that mean? Let go of what? Of myself and who I consider myself to be? Won't that make someone else then?

I bet if I was all peachy and grinning, people would think I'm on some experimental stuff. Would that be me? Can you tell someone who's utterly and disgustingly happy all the time to bring it down a notch, get serious and land down to Earth already? How would that make them feel?

So, I'm looking towards the end of the world. Well, my world at least. And what? Am I supposed to forget who I am and just act like I'm someone else, only to make some people feel better? Better about who? About myself or about themselves?

If I want to change the way I act, I must first change the way I think. If I change the way I think, would that be me? Cogito ergo sum comes to mind.

If I change myself for others' sake, am I working on myself or am I doing the exact opposite – working hard on losing myself?

All the advice I've been given

I was lying in my bed the other night and some random stuff kept popping in my head. I guess the stretch must've triggered it. I remember how I used to get cramps every time I'd stretch before going to bed.

Why did I stretch in the first place? Good question. My sister told me it's good to stretch out when hitting the sack. It supposedly relaxes all the muscles that take part in the stretch. And since I've had problems with sleeping for as long as I remember, I started practising it quite early.

But as I started to stretch on a nightly basis, I started cramping up. Then I got another advice from my sister. You have to keep your foot soles up, not stretch them out. So, no ballerina. Standing style. Hammer down.

So, naturally, I kept thinking about all the good advice I've gotten during my life. All the small ones that no one really remembers. Everyone keeps using the same ones, like Love yourself!, Don't let it bring you down... and stuff like that. Such diary material...

My dad told me to piss in a specific corner of the toilet in order not to be heard five rooms away, as well as not to get piss all around the bathroom. Everyone should have that framed. Or clean after themselves.

My brother told me not to break my bones. You know, knuckling your fingers to death. Doesn't do any good. Doesn't do any damage either, according to research. I was already paranoid my hands would start shaking by the time I was 25. That wasn't the reason.

Don't use too much vinegar. Stand up straight. Brush your teeth. All those advice I should've taken.

Carpe diem. Drink more water. Smile!

I'm trying to come up with more of those, but I'm finally starting to get sleepy. I might just stretch out and hope I'll doze off.

Try to call yours back and stay pretty. G'night...

Brain-sizzled uncle

I was at my niece's second birthday party yesterday. She went to fetch two zebra toys and showed them to me, to which I exclaimed: Giraffe!


She replied with a clear and short no and gave me a look you couldn't imagine.

Patience

I'm so patient you wouldn't believe it. There must be a halo above my head.


Sooo.


Paaatient.

Here's an ugly golden one, but at least it's a halo

the Talk

So, it's a bit scary.

Waiting for that talk which might change the course your life is going to take. Thinking about all the possible scenarios that could occur. The best and the worst. And all the possible ones in between.

You don't want to keep your hopes up, since you've been disappointed so many times. But then again, it would be about time you start thinking a bit more positive. Everyone says you're too dark anyway.

So you try to find equilibrium. Whatever that is.

And you try to be so confident. And ready. And you read up and you prepare and you try to sit up straight. And you fix your hair and check what the camera is showing in the background. You don't want your shit to sneak up on you and show up in the image.

And you ponder upon how you pronounce your Rs and whether they sound too non-native-speaker like. And then you start to over think and you start sounding like a second-generation [insert nationality] who can barely speak the language without a hard-core accent. Any you panic. You start choosing words, but you end up picking out the wrong ones. And you get caught up on your own phrasing.

Beh.

A day at work

Note: The story is a couple of years old, but I'll keep it in the present tense.


It's a regular day at the shop. 

Anyone who's ever worked in a shop knows how it goes. There are bad and there are less bad days. It all depends. Maybe some of your coworkers will come to work all bitchy, maybe it's gonna be a dumb-ass customer or maybe you just got up on the wrong foot. But for the sake of the story, let's say it's a regular day.

There's always something to do, whether it includes a customer or not. At those rare moments the shop is empty, you use the time to fix something up, deal with some unavoidable number crunching or, from time to time, just enjoy an eventual minute of peace.

So I'm walking around, fixing up incense sticks and some price tags when a lady comes in. Not one which would seem a regular customer, but we have those that everyone just hates. Everyone except our boss. Our dumb-ass-kissing boss. It's the kind that comes into the shop wearing a thousand bucks on each hand and three animals on her but is ready to haggle about a discount for half an hour. And she runs into me. That's my luck.

I'm not the pushy kind, so I ask her if she needs any help. She politely declines (maybe seeing I'm on the verge here), but I see her eyes going around all lizard-like. I see that in the tram, when we're going fast enough, but people are still trying to catch everything with their eyes. Kind of open-eyes-REM style...

I tell her she can feel free to look around and that she may ask me for any help she might need and then I go by my business. She's roaming the shop, all five thousand articles there must be, but she's not happy. So I take a deep breath and I go closer, asking if she may be looking for something special.

- 'I'm looking for Buddha', she says.

- 'Okay, a specific one perhaps?' (Since there's always some shit being advertised in some fancy magazines, so people want exactly that Buddha or whatever.)

- 'No, nothing really specific.'

- 'Alright, we have this wooden one, there is a bigger one in stone and there are some smaller ones over here', I present them as if I were a host at a car show. Or TeleShop.

She is frowning and I see she's not happy with any of them.

- 'Are there any more?'

- 'No, I'm sorry. I could check the storage for you, but only tomorrow.'

She frowns even more.

It probably doesn't sound like an exciting job, but you wouldn't imagine what kind of questions people are able to ask.

So she says thanks, but she'll go and look somewhere else.

Some of my coworkers get back from their break and the office and whatever and I start telling them the story. It's always the nicest part of the day, laughing at the stuff that's happened. And quite sad, now that I think of it.

As I'm finishing up the story and we're trying to catch our breath ('cause there's like a thousand Buddhas in the shop), the lady is back at the door, swinging it wide open with one hand and she walks inside like she's carrying the Olympic torch, while actually carrying a small paper bag in her other hand.

- 'I found the real Buddha!', she says and goes all Kathy Bates on me, flashing me with her glare from all across the shop.

Turning around vigorously on her heel, she starts closing the door, but she stops, swinging them in the other direction and keeping them that way, leaving the shop wide open. She looks at me again and, probably proud of the fact that she's made me have to go and close the door, she storms out.

My colleagues are still standing close to the door since I was telling the story. There's a short moment of disbelief, silence and wide-open eye-gazing and then it's all lost in an avalanche of laughter. They're mimicking her lifting up the paper bag, finding the real Buddha and all that. I'm not sure if I'd be better of crying or laughing, but I tag along and laugh at how silly some people are.

Now that I think of it, maybe she did find the real Buddha.

Photo from the Tibetan Museum in Hüttenberg, Austria

Dunno how many words there are, but it happened in a club in Augsburg

So, he's one of those guys who walk around showing off, bulldozing their way through the crowd and winking at every and any girl along the way. I really couldn't care less, but he's somehow always in front of me, pushing his way into the crowd or elbowing me and stepping on my feet all the time . Something I don't really appreciate.

And so he gets to talk to a girl and (as I'm guessing) they decide to sit on a bar and talk a bit. It's more of a big crate of some sort than a bar, but being that it's an underground club, it serves the purpose of a bar more and more.

He jumps on it in one go, probably showing off how athletic he is. She's a bit more on the shy side and it takes her some preparation and bottle-and-glass translocating, but she still manages somehow. Now there are full as well as empty glasses surrounding her in at least three directions. She's even leaning against an almost full glass of Erdinger, but she's giggling and smiling and enjoying herself and, ultimately, not noticing.

Being the freak that I am and seeing that glass as a potential threat (a wet floor, hectic frenzy, a stampede and a violent death), I move it after a couple of minutes of looking at and observing it as if it were the only thing in the room.

There, now it's in in the middle part of the table and more or less safe and posing no threat. Phew, right?

They roll up a couple of cigarettes and look around for a light. As if it's going to turn up from thin air. He turns around toward me and waves his hand in front of my face. Maybe he thinks I'm a magician or something. Or that I'm blind. I only know it's annoying.

He shows me an imaginary lighter in his hand and the cigarette in between his lips is jumping up and down like an eel. I gesture empty hands and no cigarette in them either, but he's still looking at me, probably hoping I'd be the one to go around the club and ask for fire.

He, of course, is not moving his ass and me, going all private-Ryan on another couple of glasses and bottles that keep clacking around as those two laugh and swing. And among all that glass I see a box of matches. Right behind the douche's back.

So I pick it up and open it to see a single match. Kind of Fifth Element, don't you think? Being that it's dark, I can't even see if it's burned out, but I poke him in the back and hand it to him. He glances at me as if I was asking for money or I'm his lackey or something.

He makes an okay-it’s-not-a-lighter-but-it-will-serve-the-purpose kind of face and lights his and his supposed girlfriend’s cigarette.

And it’s a non-smoking club.

Preparation, shmeparation

So, it's more and more interesting and exciting. Well, in my head at least.

Taking in account that the last interview went really good, I'm hoping the one with the boss will also go well. I've been preparing, reading up, reading on and gathering as much info as I can for the interview.

I got two letters of recommendation from my university professors, so that should help a bit. I also got a copy of the Journal that published my professional work. Weird to see one’s own name on the Contents page.

I still think it's quite exciting that we live in a world where job interviews, college lectures and group chats are taking place online, via Skype. I might as well be just a bit too nooby, but I still think it's awesome. To bring all those possibilities even closer and make them even more real. Isn't that great?

In any case, I'm eager to welcome the upcoming Monday and talk to the boss.

As I was telling Anna last night, I don't wanna end up disappointed, but on the other hand, I think this might be a good time to finally start thinking on a more positive side. I'm sure many of the people who know me would agree.

So, I can only hope for the best, hope that the boss likes me, as well as my résumé and that I get the job offer. If that happens, I'll start squeaking or wheezing or giggling or something.

But that'd only be a short embarrassing moment at the beginning of a new, lovely story.

A copy of the Journal that published my professional paper

Mad and excited

I'm both mad and excited.

Mad with what's been going on here and what we're going to be facing in the near future. It doesn't seem as bright as one would hope for. The global situation is as it is, worse in some parts and better in some parts. Naturally, we consider the areas which are closest to ours and we try to follow the events as much as possible.

But when the only thing being spoken about is the crisis, the lack of finances and opportunities, the dim future, prices going up and pay checks going down, working era prolonged to seventy-five and so on, what is one supposed to think? What should one hope for and aspire to?

I look at my parents, both retired and struggling and I know they're hating it all. I look at my brother, head of sales in a big firm here, with a decent pay check and his own house, a wife who's also working and three kids, and he's still struggling. So, what am I supposed to do? Almost living, living in a place owned by my parents, with no work or any potential openings in the near future...

Am I supposed to work in a store for the rest of my life? Did I struggle to get my Master's degrees for this? For staying at home, sending twenty job applications per day and hoping for the best?

Fuck that!

I'm going to swim across the sea if I have to, but I'm not staying here. I'm not giving another coin to these bastards here. Robbing their own people off their money, losing the elections and still robbing people. Until there's a situation like the one in Greece around here as well, we can only bend over and wait for another bump down the stairwell.

Taxes up to 25%, pay check going down, more and more retired people. Now that there's a lack of work force, even the employers who can afford to hire someone are going to expect a lot more money in the envelope that you bring to the interview. I mean, is this the world we're supposed to live in? Seriously?!

I'm not as brave as I'd like to be, but I'd stand up for a cause. If it's going to take these fuckers down, I'm up for it. But the thing is there's no guarantee that the ones after them won't be the same. It seems that this society is living by the get-what-you-can-while-you-can rule, filling their pockets while the power is on their side. It somehow reminds me of a scene in a movie.

And finally, I'm excited. Excited to new opportunities, as few as there are. I hope I'll be able to change my life, to get out of this misery, to budge and to make a difference. If nothing, at least for myself, in my head, for my family. After all, isn't that what we're all aiming for?

So, keep your fingers crossed...

No job, yes cry.

So, even after a couple of successful interviews (it's not only me who thought that, but the people I had the interviews with) I didn't get the job. Even after it was boiled down to one other guy and myself, I didn't get it. It must be the fact that I didn't go there all suited up and with my hair greased up like Mr Briefcase there.


The moron that I am, I was looking forward to it too much, hoping that it would finally click. Something that's a challenge, a job that I'd possibly like to work and in a company and an environment which seems OK, considering the circumstances.


But no, another slap in the face. Thanks.

101 Words: Life on needles

Waiting for a phone call.
Waiting for an e-mail.
Waiting at the bus stop.
Waiting for the third round of interviews.
Waiting for another one on the side.
Waiting for a confirmation.
Waiting for the big yes!
Waiting in a queue.
Waiting at the doctor's.
Waiting at the employment office.
Waiting at the tram stop.
Waiting for them to give me a break.
Waiting for the water to start boiling.
Waiting for something to finally happen.
Waiting for the phone call.
Waiting for myself to start living my life at last.
Waiting at another bus stop.
Waiting for yet more waiting.

Nothing is constant except change.

I've always liked that part of The Lord of the Rings where the Lady of the Woods (whose real name I can't recall at the moment - oh, it's Galadriel, as Google says) speaks:


The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.


Both scary and epic, it's made me hit the pause button and ponder upon it so many times. It's fiction (or maybe not), but it has so much in common with 'the real world'. How much of it is true, how much of it can be related to our own lives, history, civilization, future?


Will we remember yesterday the day after tomorrow? Will anyone? Is there a point to it? Many say it's important to remember where we came from and what we're part of. Sometimes I wonder why...


Do I really want to get stuck (both physically and mentally) in this environment I don't really like? Where I have to look for bright spots in order to get up every day. Where one has to cross the street to avoid potential conflict and choose the path one takes in order to save oneself some nerves. Is that life?


I'm not sure it's much better elsewhere, but I surely am up for a bit of change. Some get lulled into the feeling of coziness, safety and togetherness - those are the ones who will get  run over by the changing world. Or not touched by it at all. There are others who get run over by the feelings the others cherish. Sometimes even choked by them. By the society, by norms, rules and regulations, by the daily dullness, public transportation and queuing wherever you turn.


Who am I to say what or who is wrong? But who are the others to say I'm wrong?

Here the little, naïve me, ages ago...

Moving out, moving on...

So, I've been kicked out of my flat. By my father. Yes.


It's (obviously) been too long since we first started irritating the hell out of each other. It's only been this little game we play, about who would flip out the first and ruin all the fun for the other one.


Had the situation permitted sooner, I would've been out of this place ten years ago. The plan to live in separate flats in the same house obviously didn't have any positive future aspirations.


Not it's funny and I'm not sure whether to be laughing or bumming out.


It's been ages since I've been a bad son, but it's been way longer since he's been a lousy father. I won't start with the stories of my life and the words I've heard come out of his mouth during it either. But for the observer, we're a nice little cozy happy family. Picket fences and all. Everyone knows it's not like that, but everyone believes it.


Being a good boy since I was a kid didn't bring much happiness to me, it seems. Always grounded, always having to apologize, always missing out on all the fun. Never happy.


And now, instead of being awarded, I'm doomed to suffer the rest of my life, choking on this invisible leash I've been remote-controlled by my whole life.


Almost thirty, no flat, no proper job. And now I manage to break my father's heart. Well, he broke mine, but that doesn't count, it seems.


What I know is I'm glad it's finally started rolling - it was obviously bound to happen and if it needed to be done in a not-so-nice way, so be it.


My side of the story will be looking for a flat and a shit job to pay for the rent, struggling at these hard times and trying to make it work without bank loans and all the crap that's making or lives even more miserable. The other side of the story will show me as a horrible, ungrateful son who left his parents when it was the hardest.


Well, yeah, people. Not bitching about stuff doesn't mean it's all peachy and bushy tails.


And we'll see how it goes. I've always wondered how it was not talking to dad. Like that's new.

One hundred and eleven words: Affection with madness

I've found myself wondering what it feels like to lose one's mind.

Heaven knows I've been on the verge, but I might just not have been ready. Or brave. Or fed up. Or whatever it takes.

But I am wondering.

Is it a feeling of freedom? Relief? Letting go of fear, worries and responsibility, of consequences and boundaries, regimes, regulations and norms?

Does one finally give in to insomnia, restlessness, control freaks, the fucking system and all the unfairness that drives us mad?

As I lay in my bed, listening to the constant wreckage, banging, yelling, barking and the world and I wonder how far from the edge I actually am.

Skype unveiled

My mum skyped today! I can't describe how proud I am. Well, proud might be an overstatement, but I'm surely thrilled about it.


She's got a brother in Switzerland and whenever there's something to talk about, it always involves later hours, shorter phone calls and whatever it is that makes the information flow as economical as possible.


I was telling her about Skype and the possibility (and the advantage) of talking to her brother for free, but I'm not really sure if she got the grip at all. For her it's all internet. 


My uncle, on the other hand, is a fifty-something guy who recently started learning English, spends his vacation in New York, Madrid or Paris and is always open to new things. One's gotta appreciate as well as admire a person like that, who's always motivating, outgoing and totally up to anything.



That's why I was eager to get them to skype together, so he called me and I just planted my iPod in front of my mother.

My uncle has skyped lately, in order to catch up with all the family around the world, but mum was still a bit confused with her brother's image on this little device. I think she didn't really know what to do (I was expecting her to grab the iPod and use it as a phone), especially when she saw herself in the corner of the screen, waving to him and her at the same time.


So, my uncle's talking to mum and dad is peeking over her shoulder to see what's going on. He has been spotted by my uncle, who's saying hi to him, so he says it back, but they start talking again at the same time, so my mum hushes him but he's still talking, so they're all talking at the same time and I'm standing on the side, wishing I had an iPhone or something to take a photo.


Future, feel free to drop by anytime...

Job search

I seriously think that online job applications are basically only the first tests in the line of so many more.

There must me a tiny little camera hidden somewhere, peeking into our living room, recording what we're doing, how we're acting when we're applying and, finally, what sort of swear words we're coming up with.

Seriously, one would think that multi-million-whichever-currency companies would have a proper web site where nothing will fail to load, collapse or cause your whole computer to freeze. How hard is it?

These must be the retardedest sites there are and those who make it through the application get a plus in a little notebook. Check - we're keeping this one, says a committee, dressed in white and hidden behind the glass wall.

Why doesn't my network never fail when I'm paying bills or when I'm getting bothered by someone on the chat?! It only drops dead all of a sudden when I'm writing a paper, uploading some files or - like now - in the middle of a job application.

I lost my nerves three times, completely and utterly pissed off by the whole situation that's going on. No job pisses me off, but looking for one definitely doesn't make me feel any better.

Fuck you and your fricken web site!

And if I don't get a job because of this post, so be it!

Fuck you!

Kung fu

If I were to be reborn as someone else, in another time, in another world and in another reality, I would definitely be a kung fu master. I'd be a horrible student at first, I'd be lazy and I'd avoid all conflict, but in the end, I'd be doing some serious ass whooping. I wouldn't have a choice, since I'd have to defend my life, my family and, ultimately, my honour.


I just love dreaming kung fu stuff. I gotta say that I love dreaming isn't a sentence you'd often hear from me, probably because I've been having nightmares for years now and every time I lay my head I can only hope this one won't cause me a mild stroke in my sleep.


But dreaming kung fu style [which I obviously can't find another name for] is seriously enthralling. I have a feeling that I have a smile on my face, even if I'm in a deadly dangerous situation in my sleep.


It's interesting that I'm very keen in my dreams. Very poignant, agile and sly - none of which I am in my boring, real life. This time I'm a family guys and from as much as I can figure out (since there's usually more than one dream entwined in my head), I'm sort of a family guy, dealing with heritage stuff - armours on the wall and all. Or maybe it's just the time.


I'm in my house and there's a couple of people around me. Members of my family, but also some staff which obviously makes the house look the way it does. Cozy, but kind of dark, with green popping out of every corner, making my study look like a fostered little jungle.


There's someone at the door and I find myself in the hallway. I don't know why (since I have staff to do it), but I'm that nice and I just keep talking to the weird-looking guy standing in front of me. He's asking for something and I'm all super nice about it (just the way that I am...), but the others have this terrified look on their faces.


I seem not to be bothered by it and go for my study to pick up whatever this guy was looking for. As I'm turning my back towards the whole bunch in the hallway and leaving, there's a whole swap mission going on in there. As if it were a theatre and the whole stage had to be changed for the short period that the curtain is down. Or by the time I return.


The gut feeling that I posses in my real life is obviously left out in my dream because I'm quite nonchalant about the whole story and I'm not even bothered a bit that someone came to my home to assassin me and most probably everything I care for. Even the armours on the wall.


To my own surprise, I end up with some giant chop sticks (and a bunch of them) and squat behind a pretty bush palm tree. It's in the corner of my study, so I couldn't be seen from the outside, even though there's a whole glass wall opening up towards to (again, very green) garden.


Maybe it's the drama or maybe it's just me, but the uninvited guest didn't prefer the common way to enter my study (meaning the doors), but came in with a crash, breaking the whole glass construction which used to separate the inner from the outer jungle.


So there we are, two (obviously) übercool kung fu guys, starting a fight with giant chopsticks about something that no one really knows about. Probably something that we heard about from our grandparents' neighbours' herbalist or whatever, but it seems to be very important, because there's a bunch of chopsticks in my hands and I'm all up for a fight.


Having as much bad luck in my life as I do (I'm just an Oh, bollocks! kind of a guy), this is where I wake up. No Kill-Bill fights, no heads flying around, no revenge on a bad-ass yellow bike - nothing.


The last thing I remember is evicting the members of my household that were, surprisingly, still standing on the door and [more than obviously] enjoying the fight. Maybe it's the era, maybe it's the honour, maybe it's Japan. I don't know.


But it sure as hell would be cool to be a bad-ass kung fu master!

Here's a photo that has nothing to do with the story, but has chopsticks in it.