...scored in the last minute.

As I type this, Tiger sits to my left at another terminal. He had planned to watch the Korea/Uzbekistan World Cup qualifying soccer match that is currently playing, however the Mickey Mouse computers at this cafe can't handle the memory needed for streaming. As a result he's spending the entire 90 minutes glued to a site that refreshes every minute with a written commentary, in Korean, of what's happening. Unfortunately, half the characters in the Korean alphabet won't display properly on his terminal. Every so often he lets out a cry of triumph or a scream of anguish, but never more than twice in 60 seconds.

At time of typing, it's 2-1 to Korea. They think it's all over. Back in a minute? Chopsticks as goalposts? Marvellous.

Proverbs 16:3 (NIV)

Today, one of my Asian 'pupils' (nah) friends was reading Proverbs to me, in English, when she said that she felt the following verse applied to me:

Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.

Currant Music

Conversation with Japanese girl today:

Her: "I leally like Blitish musi."
Me: "Yes, so do I. What bands do you like?"
Her: "Oh, I like all brand."
Me: "Really?"
Her: "Oh yes. All brand, Alpen, Kerroggs..."

Solitary Communion

At tonight's cell-group meeting we were trying to come up with new ways of taking communion. In the end, we tried stripping everything away, even talking, and just taking it individually in silence for 20 minutes.

We were all in the same room together, but we all had a different experience.

CSI: Jerusalem

So I was presenting my local radio show, 'That Good Friday Feeling' last night, when I found myself plugging a local church's special Easter play, and decided to go see it for myself. 'CSI: Jerusalem' promised to examine evidence of the easter story, and sounded like it would be a heap of fun TV parody to boot.

So tonight, one of the Korean families that I've been teaching English to dropped me off at Green Lane Christian Centre, where I immediately ran into Rob from another radio station I've been involved with recently. As we caught up, I learnt that he was actually in tonight's performance, so I wished him all the best, before heading into the lobby to get my ticket.

It only hit me now, that I had forgotten to bring any entrance money with me. Letting God provide everything has just become a bit of a habit lately.

Straight away this woman walks up to me and says "There's this lady who's husband couldn't make it, and she wants to give you his ticket."

So with this complete stranger's free ticket pressed into my hand, I enter the auditorium beaming with pleasure, sort myself out with a good seat, and look forward to an evening of daft comedy. Then I read the title on the front of the programme: "SURELY HE WAS THE SON: Christ's Passion - A Modern Cantata for Easter."

Yep, I'm at the wrong play.

So I spent a lovely 2 hours at the opera instead...


Hey - and they actually SHOWED the RESURRECTION! 9 out of 10.

40-Hour Famine

After Yves and I had gone out and stuffed ourselves on Friday night, it was time for World Vision's annual kiwi fundraiser the 40-Hour famine. It means...well you can figure it out.


I began at 10pm as I presented this week's edition of That Friday Feeling on Hope City FM. I highlighted on the show how using this stunt to empathise with real famine victims was really alot of nonsense, for at least 2 reasons.

i. We were still allowed to consume barley sugar, fruit juice (sponsored by Just Juice!) and water, and
ii. I knew I would be eating again in 40 hours time.

Fortunately I had found some barley sugar a while back.

Despite the large bowl of rice, 6" Subway sandwich, biscuit and smoothie that I'd earlier enjoyed with Yves, by the time I got back after my show, I was already hungry again. No hot chocolate that night.

Saturday would be tougher. 5 hours' sleep gave way to a breakfast of no Weet-Bix, Skippy's or fruit, and the prospect of a long day puppeteering for Triangle TV. On the way there, I came by 3 sweets that looked like barley sugar, but I never had them.

Upon arriving (in the brilliantly named "Pigeon Mountain Road"), as is so often the way on film-sets, there was nothing to do but stand around forever. Electing to manage my time effectively, I efficiently lay-down on the grass outside and turned my 5-hour night into an 8-hour one. Upon awaking at lunchtime, I watched everyone else enjoying their buns, but at least found some orange juice to enjoy. Maybe I broke the rules here. There were bits in it.

After a stint playing a monkey called Rascal, we struck the set and all went home, ultimately shooting the rest 3 weeks' later at Te Tuhi Arts Centre in Pakuranga. Incredibly, they tried to pay me for being a Rascal and sleeping, but as always I refused it. World Vision were in the right place at the right time though.

After praying in Albert Park, I realised the absence of a meal that evening was leaving me with a huge vat of spare time. I went into Borders and read the final 10 chapters of Tony Hawks' book "Playing the Moldovans at Tennis."Aside from the first chapter (which was previewed at the end of Tony's previous book) I've read the entire thing at this shop, to the point where I've actually been leaving a bookmark in it.

The bet Tony takes on in this book, is to beat the entire Moldovan football team...at tennis. The language barrier makes for far less dialogue than in Tony's previous betting travelogue Round Ireland With A Fridge. I'm not knocking it though. This bet was clearly a much tougher challenge for him, not least because his success depended upon the willing agreement of eleven specific people who he'd never met. Apathy from any one of these eleven total strangers could lose him the whole thing. In the end, it's the careless arrogance of those around the players that threatens his innocent enterprise. If only the players' unaffected managers would just stop interfering and leave well alone, then everyone would be happy. The book also reminded me of my own time in Romania. Yep, I'd recommend it, but not at the price Borders are charging! 8 out of 10.

More on Tony Hawks' books at http://www.tony-hawks.com/books.php

Come late evening, I was getting a bit headachey, but it was no big deal. And I did lose my balance a bit in the lift.

During the night, the clocks went back, quite inconsiderately turning my enterprise into a 41-Hour Famine. In fact, if I stop rounding minutes up, it was really a 42-Hour one.

I knew Sunday morning would be interesting - I had to finish things with a 3-hour housekeeping shift. In the kitchen at 10am I quickly downed 2 pints of water, and immediately regretted it. Working for the next 3 hours was no big deal, but paradoxically I did sweat an awful lot. And my throat was dry. But I still didn't really feel very hungry.

Went to the Salavation Army's Korean church service (or the end of it at least) as usual, and afterwards I was rescued from my famine as we all (about 40 of us) sat down together to enjoy a Korean meal. My room-mate Alex, who's a chef, had advised me that my stomach would have shrunk, and that a load of rice might not be the best thing for it to suddenly deal with. Too bad!

Afterwards I had intended to walk the half-hour across to Edge City Church in Ponsonby, but got distracted by the S.A.'s prayer room, in which I spent about 4 hours instead, mainly reading The Prayer Of Jabez, by Bruce Wilkinson.


http://www.thebreakthroughseries.com

Great. Liked it. 9 out of 10. (I re-read it a week later out loud)

Returning to the hostel, I had a bag of left-over rice from the church on me, Michelle gave me 2 slices of Pizza, a complete stranger came up to me with a chicken, rice and veg meal and I welcomed a whole weekend of hot chocolate.

In conclusion, spending 40 hours eating nothing, and carrying on with life as normal, was really no big deal. But it did raise $20.75 for World Vision. But as I always maintain about these fund-raising drives, if people can afford it, why don't they just give it?

"Steve Goble? Steve Goble? 15 seconds to curtain, Mr Goble!"

Today and yesterday I helped Joy Puppet Theatre with taking a short show around some local Auckland schools, teaching kids about Easter and the ressurection. The entire soundtrack was prerecorded, requiring us to lip-sync. Every audience responded differently, but all seemed to like it when the puppets bobbed their heads up and down to the music. Taking a leaf out of Jim Henson's book, I made sure that, at the end of each number, my two hung their mouths open and nodded enthusiastically at everyone around them...

Anything Can Happen In The Next 5 Minutes

Last Saturday morning my presence was required at a TV puppet show rehearsal. I'd duly set my alarm clock early, only to sleep right through due to it no longer displaying the time as either AM or PM. I was about 5 hours late, but at least it got my attention at a quarter past 7 seven that evening.

This morning I was supposed to be helping Joy Puppet Theatre with some performances at 3 local schools, starting at Rutherford Primary School in Te Atatu North, at 8:30am. Last night I therefore set my alarm clock for 7am, in good time to catch my bus at 7:45.

This morning I awoke to find my alarm clock silently chuckling that it was "8:01."

Yup, I'd let the puppets down twice.

In the toilet I checked the time again, and discovered that it was still 8:01. I was either breaking records in there, or taking about 12 hours. Then I realised - 8:01 was the time the alarm was set to go off at. I must have knocked the switch onto SET ALARM TIME in my sleep, and then leant on both the HOUR and MINUTE buttons once, accelerating each of them by one, from 7:00 to 8:01. Which meant that the actual time now could be anything.

Flicking the switch back, I was mightily relieved to learn that it was in fact only 5am-ish.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, but still not entirely trusting my clock, I headed back to my room and double-checked this miracle of time-travel against Alex's clock - it was 10am. Suddenly all the stress was back again. In a few minutes I'd gone from being unforgivably late, to heroically early, only to be condemned all the way back to even more unforgivably late again. A window in my room would really have come in handy here.

In the end I went all the way down to reception in my pyjamas, where Mark told me it was just gone 5am. All my relief was back. After all that drama, I could now get up early, shower, eat and arrive at the school fresh, fed, and ready to regale the kids with a puppet experience they'd never forget.

Well, you know what I did.

New Bible Cell Group!

Why do they call these things 'cell groups'? It sounds as though either:

a. We've been kidnapped by extremists, and had to resort to secretly studying the Bible in a cell, or

b. We've been kidnapped by extremists, and forced at gunpoint to study the Bible in a cell.

Anyway, in this case the extremist doing the kidnapping was Neville from my regular Sunday haunt Edge City Church. Neville felt that the high number of creatively-minded people attending Edge warranted a home group all of their own, so tonight we all sat around getting to know each other.

I'm not sure, but going around saying our names and talking about ourselves reminded me of how I understand Alcoholics Anonymous meetings begin. "Hello everyone. My name's Steve." ("Hiii, Steve!" they all reply.) "I first began reading the Bible when I was 11. Just a little each day at first. Then I stopped for a while, but now I'm back on it again. Every Sunday I sneak out to church, but my family all think that I'm safely down the pub."

Presumably in 10 weeks' time Neville will have weaned us off the Bible, and will have us all reading nice harmless travelogues by Tony Hawks.

Well that's my "creatively-minded" take on the evening anyway. My "accurately-minded" self recalls that we all had a great time, and I for one am thoroughly look forward to the weeks ahead.

Thanks for setting this running, Nev.

OI! Need A Lift?

Today all 3 of the hostel's lifts went down (pun non-existent), and I found myself in the highly unusual situation of telling my supervisor to stop doing nothing and use the stairs.

The Passion Recut

Following the Korean language service at the Salvation Army, I elected to miss heading over to my English church (Edge City Church in Ponsonby) in order to stay behind and rewatch Mel Gibson's film The Passion Of the Christ on their video-projector.

I first saw the most exhausting movie ever made a year ago in Rotorua, when I gave it 10 out of 10, even despite the trying circumstances that I'd watched it in. (I'd been up for 20 hours straight, and the previous day I'd been up for 40 hours, 26 of which had been spent sitting on an aeroplane!)

This time I hoped that my eyes would not be sliding closed during the opening credits. They didn't, but to my surprise there was an intermission in the middle, (I guess they had to turn the DVD over or something) so I did stretch out on the pew and miss the start of part 2.


I don't know if this was the recut version I saw today or not, but it's just come out, and the flogging scene seemed shorter.

Make no mistake, this is a great film because it is so uncompromising, but there are 3 things that I don't like about it. I list these points here, not to attack the film (I do give it 10 out of 10 after all!), but purely because, as a film-maker, I have never met anyone who agreed with me on these:

1.

We are never introduced to the main players. It seems assumed that we already know them.

2.

It is very cinematic, and therefore unreal.

Despite this, I have spoken to many people who, overwhelmed by its colourful lighting, music and slow-motion, felt as though they were watching something real. The truth is, when these events actually took place, Gethsemane was almost certainly not bathed in a lonely blue. There was no constant music accompanying events. Things did not happen in slow-motion.

Look around you. Is everything bathed in just one colour? Can you hear music? If so, does it match the feelings you should have at this moment? Is everyone moving slowly enough for you to take in how they are feeling?

No? That's because they're real. You only get the lighting, music, slow-motion etc. in the emotionally-charged movieworld.

Satan and his demons, whilst disturbing, subtract credibility from the film, as they look, quite understandably, like characters in a horror movie. I'd just hate for viewers of this film to, thinking that Satan is not real, place it in the same genre as Nightmare On Elm Street. Its genre is historical.

A factual historical portrayal of these events should not need to employ such manipulative cinematic techniques. The Gospels are more concerned with providing factual accounts of what happened, than with using loads of adjectives to control the reader's feelings.

The facts themselves are strong enough on their own to illicit an emotional response, without opening ourselves up to accusations of invention and manipulation.

3.

The ending is ambiguous. Jesus' suffering and crucifixion are quite uncompromising, whilst his ressurection is covered in a single closing shot. I'm sure there are sound creative reasons for this decision, but, like Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell, we really REALLY need to show this.

I know, I know, "Everyone knows what happened next", "It's up to the audience to decide what they believe", "If they're not sure, they can ask someone at church or read the Bible." I hear all those arguments, but don't understand why they should apply to His ressurection, but not His suffering.

No-one seems brave enough to film the resurrection with the same fearless attitude of "this actually happened." Maybe they're afraid it will look silly. Well all right, the film is only about His passion. But the ending is still ambiguous. The light entering the cave - is that Heaven outside?

The Passion Of The Christ is a truly great film. A classic that will still be a giant classic in 50 years time, and rightfully so. It takes Christ's suffering and puts it into an extremely strong, and entirely right, emotional context.

But it does seem to be about conveying the huge emotion of these events, rather than the events themselves. And if that was director Mel Gibson's intention, then he has admirably succeeded.

But it is a movie. Not a doco.

Rosebud

Whilst standing around doing nothing on duty this morning, I discovered a Yabba phone-card that someone had mistakenly jammed into a Telecom phone-card slot and given up on.

Gently, I managed to coax the poor crumpled thing out, before ringing the freephone number to find out if there was still any credit on it. Got asked for a Pin Number. Clearly the automated system didn't know who it was dealing with, so I duly guessed it in one. (Well actually I guessed it in "1234.")

"You have, twenty, six, dollars, sixty, two, cents."

Think Big

Went with Neil and Jenny to the Pacifika festival at Western Springs, an annual celebration of the Pacific Islands. While we were there, listening to a band, youth hostel colleague Coco Windmill spotted me, and later asked if they were my parents!

I ask you, just what is it with New Zealanders and giant models of things? I mean, they have...

... the giant dog at Tirau...

... (with the giant sheep keeping it company next to it)...


... The Big Cow at Matamata...


... and of course our old friend the giant Santa above Whitcoulls here on Queen Street.

New Zealand is the new Las Vegas.

Vote Early and Vote Often

Had a letter from the election office, telling me that I haven't registered to vote, and forcibly pointing out that not registering if eligible to is a criminal offence!

Tomorrow I'm running for election to change that crazy law...

Sail Now On!

Today Andy, Tony, Amy, Goose and myself all went on a free famile trip on a Team NZ Cup winning yacht!



I got to have a go at 'grinding' (whatever that did - I turned a handle) and steering (whatever that did - we crashed and sank). Then we had a go at 'swimming for our lives', 'resucitating' and 'making up a story about today for Steve's blog.'

This sentence is only here to fill up space.

Awesome Cupboard, Bro (ACB)

Yes, this is my room too.

Still Just A Number

Stepped in the lift and bumped into my old colleague 610. He and I shared a desk for 12 months in 1999, in an office in Kingston. He seemed a tad surprised at bumping into me 10,000 miles away from home, but I always knew we'd run into each other again one day.


So, percussionist that he is, we went out to see these Japanese tau drummers performing in Aotea Square, as part of the funkily-named AK05 festival. Afterwards we returned to the hostel and sat in the canteen with nothing to do for over an hour. Ahhh, it was exactly like old times.

yada yada

yada

Who would have guessed?

So it's been so long since I lasted posted to this site, that I'd completely forgotten both my password and username. However, we've all seen those movies in which some bright young computer-hacker successfully breaks-into a top-security computer-system by just guessing his enemy's password (usually 'rosebud'), so I thought I'd give it a go. And I guessed it in one, which means I'm either rather good with passwords or rather bad.

Reach For The Stairs

Decided to skip the hostel's lift and climb the stairs instead. Upon reaching laundry, my supervisor Sue, unaware that I had just come from the basement, decided I looked so tired that she insisted I take the rest of my shift off! I tried to protest, but she wouldn't hear it. I acquiesced - they owed me the time anyway!

My Storeroom Already Isn't Big Enough

Sorry. I have become one of those exasperating Christians who keeps telling stories about money showing up out of the blue.

Well, not so much money, more the things that I would spend the money on. Food, phonecards, internet vouchers, it all just shows up whenever I need it. Usually people leave it behind at the hostel when they travel onward, but I've lost count of the number of hot meals that have shown up wherever I am when I've been away travelling too.

When I first arrived I prayed for a tape-to-tape machine to copy my radio demo tapes on. A few days later I met a guy at church who had one in his car that he didn't want.

Then I lost the mains lead. Yesterday I found another one in a rubbish bin I was emptying.

I prayed about whether or not to go to the Parachute Festival, and within 3 hours had a tent, groundsheet and mattress.

Today the fridge in my room is so tightly packed with food that some of it is taking its chances at room-temperature.

Last night I read-up on tithing.

Give A Blog A Phone

Nadia gave me a free SIM card, the first of three that I would receive this week. She stipulated that when I'm finished with it, I have to give it to someone else who needs it. I like her attitude!

My number is (+64) 021 201 4334. Now all I need is a phone to go with it...

Marie

I really messed up over this girl.

Her name wasn't Marie, but then neither is mine.

She was French Caledonian, and forever asking questions. "Whut arl you doingk?" That was her catchphrase. She was slightly annoying, but not very much. But it was enough.

"Whut arl you doingk?"
"Arl you going owt?"
"Where arl you goingk to?"
"'Oo arl you meetingk?"
"Arl you goingk down to zee Globe bar?"

I had to avoid giving her too many open answers. I had to avoid conversation. I had to avoid spending all my time giving a constant running commentary on everything I did, so instead I spent my time updating this blog.

Avoid conversation with Marie.

Later on, the hostel's other French resident, came up to me.

"Marie was asking after you today. Asking lots of questions."
"Questions? Marie? Are you sure?"
"Yes. She kept asking me why you are so wierd."
(you can insert your own comical reply for me here)
He continued "Yes, she wanted to know why you are so quiet. I said I don't know why Steve is so quiet. If you want to know why Steve is so quiet, then why don't you ask him?"

Thanks. Thanks for telling her to do that.

Marie: "Whut arl you doingk?"
Me: "I'm geting something out of this bag."
Marie: "Eez eet yourls?"
Me: "No."
Long silence - I'd told her the truth and succeeded in confusing her. Now she thought I was stealing, and didn't know what to say. Yes!

So I was downstairs with Al, and the subject of this invasively questioning French girl cropped up. I mimicked, entirely good-naturedly "Whut arl you doingk?" and I think we both laughed. Actually I think we chuckled. Actually I don't think it was even acknowledged. No matter. I had made the mistake of beginning the avalanche. Soon even the pebbles would no longer have a vote.

A couple of days later, I realised that others were talking about her. "She's a strange one." "She's wierd." "Scary."

What? What? What? She was just slightly irritating. She asked a few too many questions, but that was it. Now everyone was talking derogatively about her behind her back? I had to defend her. "No no no, she's very nice. She's very interested in people. That's good."

Ahh, it was nothing, but for Marie, life was about to get worse.

Marie charged people for massages, which sometimes brought them out in a rash. She also apparently offered them favours. And she'd change with her door wide open. None of these things endeared her to anyone.

Then she tried to set me up with her friend.

"Would you like to come down to zee Globe Bar and meet my friend?"
"No."
"Do you 'ave a girlfriend?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I am not looking for anyone."
"Are you gay?"
"No."

At a later date this became:

Marie: "'Ow long az eet been zince you larzt 'ad zecks?"
Me: "Forever."
Marie: "Whut deed you zay?"
Me: "Forever."
Marie: "Why deedn't you unswer my quezteeon?"
Me: "I did. (BEAT. SPELLING IT OUT) I-have-never-had-sex."
(LONG PAUSE)
Random comatose guy: "Cool man. It's overrated."

I have no idea why random comatose guy said this, as a few nights later it had him lying on the floor of a public toilet to get it.

Anyhew, the public disquiet over this girl began to grow. I started to overhear "Arghhh, that girl is SO annoying! She just NEVER shuts up!"

She even got given a nickname behind her back - "Sideshow."

Although it was claimed that this was a comment on her hairstyle, the added implication was surely that they thought she was some sort of freak. I had two reactions to this. Firstly, I decided that I would never, ever refer to her by this name, under any circumstances. Second, I thought this was the most brilliant nickname that I had ever heard of anyone being given, and simply wished that I could use it. If only she'd been given such a great name in love.

The temptation to use it purely for its inherant comedy value was huge. But there was simply no way that I would. In fact, I even managed to avoid clearly hearing other people use it.

Jay: "Where's slide-show?"
Me: "I'm sorry?"
Jay: "I said 'Where's Fido?'"
Me: "I'm sorry, I just couldn't hear you clearly either time. What did you say?"
Jay: "I said, 'WHERE'S SIDESHOW?'"
Me: (running from the stigma of deafness) "Ohhhhh, Sideshow! I think she's upstairs in her room."

So I'd done it. I'd called her 'Sideshow.' I was no better than anyone else. And to think that I knew her nickname was Sideshow because I'd actually read it on the internet.

I cracked during a conversation at the start of February about her boyfriend. Al had successfully gone on the offensive by, quite brilliantly, asking HER questions instead of answering them.

Al: "So your boyfriend's back home in French Caledonia then?"
Marie: "Yez. 'Ee eez zere, and I am 'eeyre."
Al: "Why don't you go home and see him?"
Marie: "Becoz 'ee eez waiting fore mee zere."
Al: "So when are you going home?"
Marie: "I yam staying 'eeyre until zee zecont of Maarch, whan I yam going to fly 'ome and zee eem."
Al: "But why are you staying here though? Why don't you go home and see him tomorrow?" (nice one Al - she won't suspect any subtext to that question)
Marie: "Becoz 'ee eez waiting fore mee."
Al: "But I don't get it. You have no job here. You have no reason to stay here. Your boyfriend is back home. Why don't you go home and see him tomorrow?"
Marie: "Becoz 'ee eez waiting for mee."
Al: "But if you stay here, he may find someone else."
Marie: "No 'ee won't."
Al: "Why not?"
Marie: "Becoz 'ee eez waiting for mee."

Then I said it.

Me: "Can I just say that I think that is quite the STUPIDEST thing that I have ever heard?"

I'd burst the bubble. After all the stress I'd been under lately, I was quite deliberately insulting someone for the first time since...since ever, I think. Usually people have to figure out if I'm in a bad mood with them, but coming straight out with calling someone stupid to their face was a completely new experience for me. I always like to look for the good in everyone.

I continued: "Why? Why are you staying here when he is back there?"
Marie: "Becoz 'ee eez waiting for mee."
Me: "But the longer you stay here, the greater the chance that he will not wait for you. Go! Go now while you still can!"
Marie: "But 'ee eez waiting."
Me: "Well I hope for your sake he is. I really really hope that he is waiting for you, and that he is still waiting for you when you get back next month."
Marie: "'Ee eez. 'Eee eez waiting for me."
Me: "Well I really hope so, because I think that what you are doing is the most absolutely stupid thing that I have ever heard of."

This wasn't technically true. I was actually hoping he would leave her, instead of gullibly waiting for someone who was apparently offering favours to travellers.

She left the room. I cooled down a bit with Al. After that she didn't really talk to me again, but I had initiated the hostel's landslide.

A few night's later a full-blown screaming match erupted between her and Al. It was a bit one-sided. He and I had been chatting amicably, when she showed-up and said the most trivial of things. Inevitably it meant that all the ill-feeling came out between them.

The F word started getting yelled at her and I said nothing. Said guy started yelling that she was interrupting me too, and again I remained silent, instead of protesting that I didn't mind, and being mistaken for falling on her 'side.' Once again I failed in my Christian duty by just staying silent.

I just hung around as a discouragement from any blows being thrown. Things died down. There was silence for a few minutes. Figuring the argument had peaked, I made my excuses and left. How very British of me.

Of course, it started again after I'd gone. Tears flowed. Yada yada.

She never really talked to me again, lumping me in with Mr Shouty, since he'd drawn on my presence as evidence against her.

It had all started when I'd mimicked her. Then I'd used her nickname. Then I hadn't defended her properly against all the anti-Marie talk that there had been. Then I'd called her stupid to her face. Twice. Finally, I'd just let this guy shout and shout and swear at her, and use me as part of his excuse to do so. I could have nipped all of this in the bud.

She left today. I failed to even say goodbye to her.

Just why has God put me in this hostel? I really messed up over that girl.