loop duplicate my heart

And it's bigger than everything i have ever done before / I've found a reason for staying home tonight / Just by myself tonight - all by myself / I'm gonna loop duplicate my heart into a million songs / AND IT'S BIGGER THAN EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER DONE BEFOREEEEE.

On a whim, we went crossed the bridge to Malmö, to catch Swedish twee pop band, Suburban Kids with Biblical Names! The day was perfect — we spent it trying on 342063 pairs of jeans at Weekday, sitting in Wayne's Cafe sipping giant mugs of coffee and giant pieces of chocolate-coated meringue, and ending the night talking to Swedish boys who asked us, "Why did you come to Sweden to party with Ugly Swedish People?" (:

Oh, but that was not the end of the night. The end of the night came only after a fire alarm went off in Egmont, and the whole kollegium evacuated. So the night ended, at 0545h, in the yard where everyone gathered to watch the firemen arrive in record time. Some in various states of undress after being rudely awakened, others in fancy dress after having their Ibiza-themed party abruptly interrupted... And I, in typical Singaporean fashion, and most stupidly, in just FBTs and a pullover, shivering in the relentless wind. Thank god there was no raging fire, it was probably some drunk Danish dude smoking weed in his room (who's probably going to be slapped with a €400 fine for the false alarm). But anyway, the real end of the night came when the sky was turning light and we finally went to bed (:

the light reflects your hair beautifully.

Friday afternoon was spent at the Black Diamond, next to the canals. We attempted to study, but ended up sneaking off for numerous breaks — to see photography exhibitions in the basement, to eat oranges in the sun by the waterfront... We devised plans to go study at all the other libraries around Copenhagen just for the heck of it, saw groups of canoeists along the canal and got the ridiculous idea to go canoeing in the canals when it gets warmer, laughed at people who are fixated on the idea that Asian girls are exotic... Friday ended with us drinking Tuborg's special edition beer for Easter and coming up with the best idea ever — next Friday, we'll have a Gyoza Party (:

This City Belongs to Us

This City, where the weekend starts on Wednesdays.

Wednesday, when I drag myself to the Studenterhuset and drink too much Danish pilsner, where three (otherwise) cute Danish blokes tell us that they're too lazy to think in English, where tattooed Spanish boys tell me that there are six ways to say "my darling" in Spanish and none in German (although Beeks say that there is — "mein lieber schatz"?), where French girls take too many photos while dancing, while chain-smoking Korean girl and I stand outside in the freezing cold having a conversation about boys not acting their age, and us catching the 94N night bus that leaves at 0233h from Nørreport.

Thursday, though we're tired out from dragging ourselves out of bed to get to our Conflicts class early in the morning, we still get our asses to Vesterbro, where all the clubs are. We go to the SkatePark, where (almost) everyone is clad in checks, chilling on the ramps listening to a Reggae band (which is apparently popular in Denmark, but I have no idea, because I've never heard Reggae nor Dancehall before tonight). Then we move to Stengade30, which is supposedly an underground music venue, and when I see it I understand why. It’s in the middle of a rather shady neighbourhood, Nørrebro, and there's graffiti all over the place, (love/hate messages scribbled by regulars, none of those huge murals), and the gigs are either mind-blowing or just downright bad. But it’s Confetti night tonight, so everything and everyone is covered with silver confetti. Everyone is bright and shiny and happy because someone is handing out flutes of free champagne. The night ends at one of Nørrebro’s 237402 Kebab shops, us laughing at how Swedish boys cannot speak Korean no matter how hard they try.

Friday, we are at the Law FridayBar, which someone marvels, is happening right below the Law Library. Beers are going for nothing more than spare change, and as we lean over the bar we spot a crate of Christmas beer, and of course someone orders that after he’s told that the alcohol content is higher, for the same next-to-nothing price. In between cheek-kissing every other person and dancing to Kun For Mig (#1 on the Danish charts on iTunes), every 10 mins, we sneak out for smokes and audible conversations. We’re downing cheap Turborgs as we continue the conversation about younger boys, and the girls conclude that (1) a preoccupation with age isn’t an Asian thing and more importantly, (2) it doesn’t matter if a boy is younger, as long as he's cute. The night ends with us listening to The Killers, our backs against floor-to-ceiling posters of James Dean and Bob Dylan, arguing over which is the best film Wong Kar Wai has ever made.

This City belongs to Us.

The Primer / Christina Davis

She said, I love you.

He said, Nothing.

(As if there were just one
of each word and the one
who used it, used it up).

In the history of language
the first obscenity was silence.

The scene has to stop replaying in my mind. It strikes me at the most random of moments.

When I’m sitting next to cute Danish bloke on the 150S, passing by the Statens Museum for Kunst. When I’m on my earphones listening to Cut Copy, brisk walking towards Nørreport because I’m late to meet Amos. When I’m sitting in the back row at Alexander Hall listening to the beautiful girl from the University of Cape Town flesh out her proposal for combating climate change. When I’m on a bar stool in the Egmont Kitchen, stirring a huge pot of Thai Green Curry on a cloudy Monday afternoon. When I’m picking at my chocolate muffin during break in Energy Law class, chatting with Australian girl who moved to Copenhagen to be with her Danish boyfriend. When we ate our first scoop of chocolate ice-cream of 2009, to celebrate the first signs of spring — spring showers.

But not when I met J, the heartbroken German girl sharing my train compartment back from Amsterdam, when I told her the entire story about Us (because strangers are the best people to tell stories to). Pity she didn’t get to hear the end.

// This was first written during energy law class today, although I must say that perhaps things have taken a turn for the better since then, due to certain coincidences. So perhaps, the end is not here, yet.

you do not belong here anymore.

TONIGHT WAS MEANT TO BE LEGENDARY.
BUT FUCK, IT'S JUST LOVE, SO JUST GIVE IT ALL AWAY.
After all, this was meant to be Nothing. It shall go back to being Nothing.