Don’t hug me. I’m scared

A couple days ago, one of my friends introduced me to the youtube series “Don’t Hug me. I’m scared.” Before she played it, she told me it was gonna be pretty weird and messed up. I have to admit, she was definitely right about that.

It starts out looking like a children’s TV show. Strange puppets in bright colors in a room made of felt and fabric, all in a Sesame Street kind of style.

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Every episode follows the same pattern. It starts out somewhat normal, then a song begins to play. Each song addresses a subject that is important in today’s society. There is one about being creative, one about time and aging being unstoppable, about love, technology, health, and one about dreams.

Those don’t sound weird at all, do they? Well, just wait.

Because as the video goes on, the song becomes stranger and darker and more twisted, with loud noises and abrupt animations and a surprising amount of blood and death.

Honestly, I don’t even know why I started watching it in the first place. However, I was actually quite impressed by the deeper meaning of the show. Don’t get me wrong, it is creepy and messed up in so many ways. But I like the way it addresses things such as the brainwashing by mass media.

The way that all the “harmless” things and characters in the videos turn into literal nightmares- consuming your entire life, the way the characters get trapped inside a computer- and killed when they try to escape, or how you can only be accepted by people around you by joining the cult of love perfectly captures certain things that are wrong with our world and society, in an extremely twisted but ironic manner.

I don’t necessarily recommend anyone to watch this show, since I’m not really sure if it was or wasn’t a complete waste of time, or if the producers actually meant to be that deep. But in case you are looking for a great way to waste time, just watch it! It is definitely unique.

On our hill

Like so many students at this school, I don’t live at home. I don’t even live in my home country, not even on the same continent. So many people at this school took the risk of moving across the globe, to learn english and live a life on this beautiful hill with rosy sunsets and a breathtaking night sky. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

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When I first came here I was 13, and to be honest, my English was pretty miserable. I still recall the moment I got on the plane to LAX, and a flight attendant tried talking to me in English. I remember how I barely understood her and froze, and thought to myself, “Holy hell, I can’t do this!”.

As the days passed, I became more and more anxious about going to school where everything is in a language I hardly know. But the second the first OVS student talked to me, it was all gone. Well, most of it. I realized that I, by far, was not the only international student, and that everyone here was willing to help me feel as much at home as possible.

I remember  always looking over to my brother, seeing him talk to other students already. And then there was me, sitting in the corner with my beloved social anxiety. I imagined the next year to be like one of these movies, where the awkward new kid doesn’t find any friends. Oh, how wrong I was!

I can’t express how thankful I am for everyone here. For my roommate, who helped me with literally anything, no matter if it was about a word I didn’t understand, or where to find my classrooms, and who supplied me with snacks and BuzzFeed quizzes and “Mean Girls.” For all my friends and classmates who would never let me feel left out. And for all the teachers and faculty who do their best every single day to make this community work.

OVS, as cliché as this might sound, has helped me grow so much over the past years. I learned that change can be good, I learned how to socialize in an environment where I barely know anyone, I learned how to express myself without feeling judged by every human being around me. One of the things I learned, however, that I consider one of the most important ones, is that I learned how to write. I’m not a very good writer, don’t get me wrong. But before I came here the thought of me writing in a somewhat nice manner has never even occurred to me, let alone in a different language.

OVS has taught me so much. I know it is just a school, and it surely isn’t perfect. But it was this intimidating change that was needed for me, and so many other people here, to make high school a better memory than what it would have been without this place.

 

One careless step

I’ve always been careful. All my life. I always lock my door. I never drive when I’m tired. I don’t leave the house  by myself when it’s dark out. It’s things like that, that show how paranoid I am. I’ve always been careful.

Until I wasn’t.

One. Single. Time. Who would’ve thought that I would end up like this. I will end like this. My life will end like this. Because of one careless step.

I look up to the sky, watching the pink of the sunset slowly fade into a purple-grey. Soon it will be black. And no one will find me.

I’m laying in a crevice, between the cold unforgiving rocks, where I fell about an hour ago. Underneath me are old leafs and dirt. But I can’t feel them. I really can’t feel anything, not even the crack in my spine I heard earlier.

Holy hell, this is it.

Suddenly I start panicking. I will never get out of here again. I will starve or get eaten by a mountain lion or freeze to death. I will die.

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I can’t get up. I can’t run away. I can’t even move my hands to wipe away the tears that are blurring  out the branches rocking above me. I try to scream for help, but my voice is drowned in fear. The more I try to make a sound, the more my hope gets swallowed by the silence around me that is only anticipating my end.

Maybe I can fall asleep. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be awake any longer, only to wait for that light tunnel and the blackout.

I close my eyes. But the dead silence is literally killing me. I try to sing to myself, a lullaby from when I was a kid. One that my mom would always sing to me. “Fall asleep, covered in roses. Tomorrow morn, if God wills, you’ll wake once again.” Seems like God doesn’t want me to wake up tomorrow, huh?

I keep singing it to myself, hours pass, and now all the song consists of are voice cracks choked on tears.

A piece of my hair fell in my face. I can’t even move my hands to get it off. I don’t really care. I feel my body getting tired now. My eyelids get heavier, until I just keep them closed.

I think I give up.

Is it even giving up, when there’s nothing else you can do? It doesn’t matter. I feel myself drifting off to sleep. I know that I probably won’t ever wake up again. I will never see the sun again. I will never see my family again. I will never live again. And all just because of one careless step.

 

The home we love

There have been earthquakes and avalanches tearing down my old trees. Pushing them over like they’re nothing but toothpicks. There have been tsunamis flooding what used to be my home. Now it is just a house that I live in, with rotten walls and moldy water dripping from the ceilings.

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But you came to help me fix the dams and fences that once kept me safe. You handed me your broken bricks and cracked windows and we built ourselves a new house, with dirty floors and clean beds. We planted flowers in our garden without a lawn, and fed the singing birds that never ended up coming.

Our house kept falling apart, but we would fix it with the clay that we still keep in our drawers. In our neighborhood without neighbors, we’ve had parties without guests. But we turned up our music and managed to dance without tripping over broken lamps.

One day we will have to move out. Not because we will run out of music and clean sheets, but we know that there will be another earthquake and a tsunami and a hurricane. There are no black clouds yet. The earth is not shaking yet. But in the distance we see the birds flying close to the ground, ready to bring the storm that will destroy the home we love.

 

Quiet is violent

“I am not as fine as I seem, pardon.” – Twenty One Pilots

Damn right you’re not perfect! Why else would you make us wait for your new album for THREE YEARS! You have this huge fanbase that follows you on every social media platform there is, analyzes every single one of your interviews, trying to find hints and clues as to what your ingenious minds are working on. And that’s the thanks we get! You let us sit in the dark, staring at your blank Twitter profiles hoping for a new blurried face post or even a like on someone else’s but no! You’ve been quiet for over three months now and your dear skeleton clique is slowly but surely going insane!

Three months ago, you last posted on Twitter. THREE MONTHS AGO! You posted a picture of an eye, with lyrics in it, written backwards, and every day you’d post another one, every day the eye would close a little further. Seriously, you guys are so extra. And all the last picture said was “and now I just sit in silence “.

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Uhm… no you don’t, we do! Because we don’t have any new god damn music to listen to. And remember when you promised us a new album in 2017? Well it’s October now, you better hurry the hell up!

 

Okay, but to be honest, even though I hate you guys for torturing us like that, you two are amazing. You’re just these two boys from Columbus, Ohio, without a plan B, who set everything they had on their music career, working as hard as they possibly could, to play another set at another festival, drive another seven hours to perform in front of another seven people. And now, six years and three albums later, here you are, touring together as best friends, in sold out venues like the famous Madison Square Garden. You even won a Grammy. And just like you said in the speech you gave when you received it, “anyone from anywhere can do anything.” So with that said, even you guys should be able to drop your god damn album.

What a punderful world!

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Many people hate me for it, or get annoyed in the bang-their-head-on-the-table kinda way. But I just can’t help it. I really, really love puns!

I think they are punny, puntastic, and it’s straight up a lot of pun to make them!

I’m about to get some serious hate for this, but here are some of my favorite puns:

“If you are in a restaurant, waiting for your waiter, aren’t YOU the waiter?” Hah. Ha. Or how about, “If you are cleaning the vacuum cleaner, aren’t YOU the vacuum cleaner?”

Okay. Those are some pretty good ones. But, there are only few things I appreciate more than a really well made, thought through pun. Take as an example, “A steak pun is a rare medium well done.” It’s so good! I’m really glad that @ahuj9 on twitter took the time to make up this beautiful joke, because it just made my day! Just like one that goes like, “I, for one, like roman numerals.” That is pure magic! It is so well made and I don’t care how ridiculous most people find puns like that, I am so fascinated by them!

There are so many puns in this word, but the sad thing is that there are so many that just don’t make sense in english! I realized that when I first tried to tell a joke to one of my American friends. But I totally forgot that it was a German joke. I tried to translate and explain it, but it didn’t work, because it was a pun! Damned be those fantastically awful little pieces of potential disappointment!

Anyways, if you are like me and are completely infatuated with puns, check out these 33 Bad Puns on Buzzfeed, because for some reason bad puns are the best puns!

Snowflakes

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I’m not a very good writer. I don’t have a lot of fancy words to use, I don’t have perfect grammar, not even my handwriting is very nice. Yet, I can put my heart into my writing. I can spend hours and hours with a pen and some paper, writing about memories and fears and moments of joy and sadness and nightmares and daydreams. Whether on long flights, dull car rides, lonesome nights spent sitting against my wall in a room that is barely illuminated with string lights and desk lamps (for the aesthetic, I guess), I will fill pages with ink and soul. Again, that doesn’t mean that it is good writing. Usually, I get carried away, in a manner that reminds me of snowflakes jumping around in the wind, eventually finding their way to the ground after a dance one could almost find to appear indecisive and childish.

My point is, I don’t really have a point. I usually never do, to be honest. I can’t put pretty words in a pretty book to make a pretty story. I wish I could. I can only write to give my emotions a shape, as clumpy and ugly as it may be. Oh well, this is good enough. This is going to be posts of clumpy and ugly memories and nightmares and daydreams.