Dutch Ball

One of the weirdest and most enjoyable experiences that i’ve experienced lately is the Dutch ball. Last saturday at 5:45, i arrived at the Hyatt chaperoned by the rest of my friends who were helping out that night. The room was so beautiful, the theme was bicyles, there were bells on each table and pictures all over the walls. The band were setting up when we walked in. We were sent to a small room in the back to be briefed before beginning. The ten of us: Me, Fien, Benji, Jana, Megan, Midas, Kevin, Augustine, Carlee and Ronja, were introduced to Joost, our leading man for the evening. Joost talked us through the schedule and what we would be doing; selling raffle tickets mostly. Then everyone started to arrive. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a room full of dutch people but its an interesting experience, especially when the drinks start to make their rounds. 

By the end of the evening, we had all given up selling and begun dancing instead, showing the older generations that gently swaying, or doing “dad dancing” as i say it, is not the way to move to songs like “Lady Marmalade”. The looks from the other women were funny, none of the guys could dance, they just stuck to jumping. We collectively managed to make 12 million won in a few hours which is good, although i may have had to resort to blackmail to get it, “you’re killing orphans and bunnies if you don’t buy raffle tickets”. 

I have to say it was a fab night, the Dutch ball is definitely an event to remember. 

 

Brawling Brit

I don’t know if any of you have ever experienced living in a completely foreign country like me, but if you have, you might know what i’m talking about. I live in South Korea. Yet its not the Korean-ness or American-ness (for lack of a better word) of the country that makes me feel foreign, its not the fact that i am one of the only white faces in the corridor, no. It is the fact that i am the only true Brit. Once you have explained the meaning of “bugger” for the upteenth time, you start to realise that these people will never really understand you.

Although its handy occasionally to have this difference, you never get in trouble at school when you use a british swear word because no one knows what the hell you’re talking about, it’s still annoying to have to repeat yourself a million times a day because you call it an optician not an optometrist or you ask to go to the loo not the bathroom. The biggest difficulty i had was when i tripped on the stairs and said loudly, “Bollocks!” The session of explination that had to go on after that was uncomfortable.

It’s frustrating to see, the red marks accross your page after you hand in your english essay. The teacher has kindly marked out your “spelling mistakes” which aren’t really spelling mistakes. The times when you write a “u” in colour, or in neighbour. The music is different, the sense of humour is different. My use if sarcasm was definitly odd to the others at first.

Even our tempers are different. The very basis of our personality is different to the American personality. I’m not going to lie, i can’t wait to get back to England. I miss it so much, the people, the places, the food, the accent, even the bloody Queen, but it has been nice to be a minority. And i know that as soon as i go back, i won’t be able to get away with saying “bloody hell” or “bollocks” without a teacher being annoyed.