I’m not going to pretend I didn’t find any paperclips in the past six weeks. I simply did not write about them. This is the moment in which I could pretend I was too busy – we had our final exams at Corvinus, we had our final moments among each other, we had our worries about the snow chaos and not getting home for Christmas. Perhaps I was just too lazy, or I lacked the words.
But among all this I found a paperclip at exactly the right moment. It was Monday, the 17th of December. As one of the last, that was the day I finished my exams – with a bang and an oral exam in Islamic Sciences. In the evening we met for dinner, like most days in the last weeks, no one was staying at home really. Some of our friends had already left, and Monday night was Lauren’s, Esther’s and Liza’s last night before returning to the Netherlands. With ten people or so we walked to Morisson’s Opera, “M1”, after eating at a restaurant with a forgettable name.
In Morisson’s at some point that night, I found two paperclips caught up in each other. Caught up in each other we all were that night. With our arms around our shoulders we sang sad songs on the karaoke machine, and we did not care that the operator turned up the music so our singing became inaudible. We sang “the time of my life”, “eternal flame”, “ironic”, and a few Backstreet Boys classics, and we waited impatiently when this one guy sang Bryan Adams and thought he was real good. And we cried. We cried for leaving our friends, and for our leaving friends. We cried for having finished the studies here, the exams, the coffee-place at Corvinus, the restaurants, the parties. We were done, and we didn’t want to. That night at M1, we were all that – still there, still together, still singing, dancing, laughing, crying. It was the time of our lives. That’s cheesy, but I don’t care.
But among all this I found a paperclip at exactly the right moment. It was Monday, the 17th of December. As one of the last, that was the day I finished my exams – with a bang and an oral exam in Islamic Sciences. In the evening we met for dinner, like most days in the last weeks, no one was staying at home really. Some of our friends had already left, and Monday night was Lauren’s, Esther’s and Liza’s last night before returning to the Netherlands. With ten people or so we walked to Morisson’s Opera, “M1”, after eating at a restaurant with a forgettable name.
In Morisson’s at some point that night, I found two paperclips caught up in each other. Caught up in each other we all were that night. With our arms around our shoulders we sang sad songs on the karaoke machine, and we did not care that the operator turned up the music so our singing became inaudible. We sang “the time of my life”, “eternal flame”, “ironic”, and a few Backstreet Boys classics, and we waited impatiently when this one guy sang Bryan Adams and thought he was real good. And we cried. We cried for leaving our friends, and for our leaving friends. We cried for having finished the studies here, the exams, the coffee-place at Corvinus, the restaurants, the parties. We were done, and we didn’t want to. That night at M1, we were all that – still there, still together, still singing, dancing, laughing, crying. It was the time of our lives. That’s cheesy, but I don’t care.
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