#the swedes seem to love rome

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, bestfriends to lovers (one bed trope)

~ “Don’t turn this into one of those crappy films I hate.”

summary : After a cozy dinner at Dino's, Paul and her head upstairs to their room, only to find out they've been set up for a surprise. A playful banter ensues as they navigate their unexpected situation, settling in for the night with a quiet, comfortable vibe.

“I’m full to the brim,” Dino said, sitting on the couch of the house he had rented in Italy after eating the carbonara that Paul had decided to prepare with the girl sitting next to him.

“You’re always so dramatic, it was just a plate of pasta!” she scolded him, sitting on a stool and sipping from her glass.

“He lives off chicken and zucchini, so I’m not surprised,” Elvira laughed, clearing the table and tidying up from dinner with the Estonian, who was whistling a popular tune while loading the dishwasher.

That evening, the two Swedes had invited them over for dinner before they left the next day to visit their families, while Paul planned to go see his sister in Rome.

Paul and the other girl loved visiting Dino, even though she wasn’t a big fan of sleeping away from home and hated being an inconvenience. Somehow, every time they stayed over, they’d find themselves awake at two in the morning, revealing parts of themselves that never seemed to surface during the day when their brains were alert and logic prevailed.

“Just admit you love her cooking,” teased the blond as he washed his hands, wearing the slippers Dino had lent him.

“You can’t talk while wearing those,” retorted the DAMS driver, running his hands through his hair.

Paul scoffed, walking over to the two girls and noticing how late it had gotten. Since they had to wake up relatively early the next morning, he suggested they get ready for bed, stretching his arms to loosen his shoulders.

“You’re no fun,” his friend said, pouting playfully as he grabbed his backpack and asked her if she needed hers.

“The bathroom upstairs is yours,” Elvira said, addressing the two of them as she sprawled out on the couch next to Dino, who was idly fiddling with the TV remote.

So the Estonian and the girl climbed the spiral staircase leading to the loft where they’d be spending the night, walking past the hallway to reach the bathroom.

“You won’t freak out if I change in front of you, right?” he asked.

“I’ve seen your chest more often than my books,” she joked, setting her makeup bag on a small cabinet and standing in front of the large mirror.

The driver laughed, pulling off the black shirt he was wearing, leaving himself in just his sweatpants. He managed to get stuck in the neck of his t-shirt, flailing his arms as he freed himself, messing up his curls in the process. She shook her head slightly, amused, while she brushed her hair and tied it into a soft braid to protect it overnight.

“I love them,” she said, referring to Dino and Elvira.

“They’re a bit too ‘oh, she’s the love of my life’ if you ask me,” the blond said, imitating his former teammate’s voice from their Prema days.

“But they’re still cute.”

“Am I wrong, or are you softening up?” the Estonian asked, leaning against the wall behind her, crossing one arm over his chest while running some oil through his curls, which looked so soft they seemed to beg for her to run her hands through them.

“You can say it if you want a boyfriend; I can get to work.”

Paul always joked about that, threatening to use his connections and friends all over the world to find her someone who could make her feel loved. But she always maintained she was fine without it, didn’t want anyone, and was perfectly content with her life as it was.

“Stop it. I don’t want some stupid guy chasing after me,” she said, crossing her hands at the hem of her shirt, about to pull it off.

Paul turned around, giving her space, shoving his hands into his pockets as he thought.

“If anyone would, obviously,” she added, taking off her shirt and carefully folding it into her backpack.

“Even my brother would,” the driver joked, using the moment to swap out his sweatpants for a clean pair to sleep in.

“Was the pasta good?”

“Promise you’ll kill me if I ever say no,” the Estonian laughed, turning back only when he was sure she was dressed and comfortable. He looked at her reflection in the mirror, noticing how different she seemed without her glasses, her hair tied back softly, and her tired eyes revealing the end of a long day. She wore a faded, oversized pajama set that seemed to be the most comfortable thing Paul had ever seen, even though she was practically drowning in it.

“You should cook it for Karl sometime.”

“Estonia’s not exactly practical to get to,” she smiled, picking up Paul’s shirt that he’d abandoned on a chair.

“Do they allow dishes on planes?”

“I’ve never tried sneaking my grandma’s lasagna onto a Ryanair flight.”

He smiled at her, grabbing his toothbrush from the glass where he’d left it the night before when he arrived alone, hours before she joined them that afternoon.

In doing so, he leaned against the sink, brushing past her back slightly before sitting on the closed toilet lid to brush his teeth.

“What?” she asked, turning toward him, her voice muffled by toothpaste foam.

“Nothing,” he replied, looking at her through his blond curls. “You look like a gnome.”

“Screw you!”

But then she looked down, noticing the heap of fabric pooling around her ankles, covering part of the slippers she had hastily grabbed from home before catching the train.

“Shut up,” she said, turning back to rinse her mouth while Paul laughed like an idiot.

“Are you ready?” The Estonian dressed and headed for the bathroom door, watching her as she organized her things and hummed the tune he’d been whistling earlier.

“Let’s go,” she smiled, feeling refreshed.

But when they reached the loft bedroom, a surprise awaited them.

“Do you seriously want us to sleep in a double bed?” they both asked in unison, leaning on the railing and looking down at the couple watching a TV show on the couch below.

“I figured you’d be comfortable,” Dino replied, hands clasped behind his head.

“Maybe if you’d asked first,” Paul said, worried that she wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with him.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, putting her makeup bag and other belongings into her backpack, which she left in a corner of the room.

Paul turned, pleasantly surprised, offering a sweet smile. His short sleeves covered part of his toned biceps.

“Are you sure? I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t turn this into one of those crappy films I hate.”

“We’ve got a higher budget,” the driver joked, staying beside the bed.

“Can I sleep by the window?” she asked, biting the inside of her cheek as she looked into his striking blue eyes.

“Are doors scary for you?” he teased, climbing onto the side of the bed she didn’t want.

“None of your damn business, Barbie,” she shot back.

They settled in, plugging in their phones and arranging the pillows to get comfortable, noticing how much the bed felt like a cozy den.

“Don’t snore,” Paul said, turning onto his side, thinking she might want to sleep back-to-back to maintain a bit of distance.

She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I could talk, but I don’t usually snore,” she smiled, brushing short strands of hair away from her face as she turned toward the driver and touched his arm to make him roll over.

“Talk?”

"Forget I said anything"

“I wanted to play cards, but this bed is making me sleepy,” the Estonian whispered, watching her pinch her arm beneath the pillow while propping her head up with the other hand.

“Right?” she agreed, finding the warmth, the fabric softener’s scent, and the idea of waking up to breakfast with her friends lulling her eyelids shut.

“If you’re a good sleep buddy, I might bring you to Abu Dhabi,” Paul said as if he didn’t already have the tickets and passes ready on his computer.

“I can’t,” she chuckled.

“After a night of sleeping next to me, you will,” he replied, sweetly closing his eyes as he reached out to turn off the light. A few cookies dipped in milk, an avocado toast. Her body near his, carrying that unmistakable scent her skin took on from the perfume her mother had gifted her.

“Good night,” she said, adjusting herself one last time.

“Sleep well,” he smiled, his mind already clouded by sleep.

“And you were the one who wanted to play. God, you’re like a baby,” she teased.

“Shut up and sleep,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his chest so she could feel the soft fabric of his pajamas and tangle her legs with his athletic ones.

A croissant, a nice cup of honey tea.

Paul’s hands on her back, covering entire portions, and his arm holding her shoulder and face as if to protect her.

Dino and Elvira had planned it perfectly.

Because between one caress and the next, that night would not be easily forgotten.

~ not proofread or anything, but it's just out of my need of having a Paul, and I wanted you to read it as well :)

(I'm so so happy for his first win I'm becoming annoying)

[alexbkrieger13]

Transfer rumour: according to Fotbollskanalen Alva Selerud won't extend her contract with Linköping. She's heading to Roma on a 2,5 year contract. Selerud is called up for Sweden's camp in january.

Well, she is leaving Linköping

In other Damallsvenskan transfer news there were five club moves last week

interesting

[noplanwithavan]

ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME…AND ETNA.

Most parents avoid putting their children in harm’s way.  If there was a “Parenting for Dummies” handbook, surely the first piece of sage advice would be:

1. ”Children have a limited sense of danger, and are reliant on parents for protection. Failure to do so may result in premature expiration of said offspring.”

With that guiding principle in mind, I wonder how we came to find ourselves heading straight for Europe’s most active volcano, right after it had just erupted..Oh, maybe because point number 2 of that handbook should read, “Life is there to be lived. Always choose adventure over fear.”

And so it came to pass. We found ourselves making a bee-line for the football just off the boot of Italy, otherwise known as Sicily. When we read an account of a BBC journalist fleeing for her life under attack from projectile lava last week, it was a done deal. “How do you feel about going to see Mount Etna girls?” asked Marcus, eyes glistening before images of dramatic fireworks and oozing red rivers. I could sense a mission coming on, a plan forming. There was a split second when we pondered if this was such a great idea. And then it passed. After all, what’s a volcano without an element of risk? Surely that’s part of the appeal.

It’s been a whirlwind month so far, veering from extreme sports to ancient history all within a few weeks. We started March in Andorra - meeting up with Marcus’s family for a ski holiday. We are so grateful to Ros Beck for her generosity and patience in spearheading a frenetic but fun-filled week! Six grandchildren in one place, all vying for the title of extreme fearlessness is not anyone’s idea of a relaxing break. But we were all bowled over at how well the kids adapted to the slopes, lapping up the kind of intuitive instructions which makes it so much easier to acquire a new skill than an adult learner. Legs in “pizza” meant snowplough, whereas “chips” was parallel. And with those two ideas in mind, they got it. Lulu earned the nickname “ski bomber” after trailing along in a caterpillar behind Caspar, Willem, Delphi and Sam. Too small for ski poles, she couldn’t shoost herself along so well as the others, but quickly worked out that by crouching as low to the ground as possible she could really turn on the gas. It was a pose reminiscent of “Eddie the Eagle” - short on finesse, but blessed with a low centre of gravity.

When the Becks left en masse we were somewhat bereft. Since Morocco, Andorra had been our last significant landmark - something to head for, dare I say it, a plan. Now what we were supposed to do? Well the first thing was to take advantage of Andorra’s tax-free status to buy a new iPhone. We had scared family half to death with our prolonged periods of silence. After a month of more tragic than comic attempts to replace the one I lost, buying every gadget under the sun to bolster a secondhand Gibraltan rip off, with as much life in it’s battery as a dead parrot, enough was enough. And with that accomplished, we found a new urgency to take things under control, to be masters of our fate. “Let’s go to Italy,” I ventured. “There’s a ferry from Barcelona to Civitavechia, just north of Rome.” It’s moments like these I love about the life we’re leading. The pure beauty of the fact you CAN. No need to fill your time with anything you don’t want to do. To wait or put off today what you hope for tomorrow. And after nearly 7 months on the road it’s still thrilling, the realisation that you can pose the question, “Where do we want to go?” And then…just go.

Our battles with batteries were not over yet however. With just a few hours to spare before we boarded the overnight ferry, we returned to the van to discover the headlights had been left on. I had that prickling-sweat-on-the-back-of-the-neck feeling at the sound of a lifeless ignition. We asked around for jump leads but without success, so Marcus decided to try and use the spare leisure battery to kick start it. He didn’t look confident, and kept muttering under his breath about how this could be “really bad.” After all, up until now the principle role of the leisure battery had been purely in keeping the freezer cold enough to make ice for our Gin and Tonics. The girls and I knew better though - with blind faith we stepped back and let him get on with it. Within minutes, the engine roared. We were going to make our sailing. “I knew you could do it Daddy!” they cried. “ He’s REALLY GOOD at fixing things isn’t he?” I heard them gossiping to each other.

Emerging from our cabins the next morning, we meet a Swedish couple during breakfast, and later a father and son from Argentina. We are clueless about free camping options in Italy, whereas the Argentinians seem to know something, or at least they said they did. Marcus returns triumphant just before we’re about to disembark. “We’re going to team up and travel in convoy,” he beams. “This should be fun!” Before long a welshman, an Argentinian and a Swede snake their way out of port, and I chuckle at how we make an eclectic international mix, full of camaraderie and a willingness to help complete strangers. The bonhomie fades somewhat when the duo from Buenos Aires lead us on a merry dance - and the Swede starts to question their navigational abilities. But after a few dead ends and detours, they deliver the goods, pulling up alongside Castle San Salver by the sea.

It never fails to amaze me how happy the girls are in whatever environment they find come the morning. At one point there was a lot of sibling rivalry going on, but they seem to be getting on a lot better now. And with no toys, and no-one but each other to play with, their creativity really shines. While I sit there worrying that we need more direction and a new focus, they play happily - making dens, building sculptures, mixing potions, setting up shops, even at one time creating their own imaginary city and offering guided tours. I’m invited into this game and it’s fascinating to hear the jumble of ideas and influences come spilling out. Elsie’s verbal diarrhoea really flourishes under such circumstances. At one point she explains we’ve arrived at the town square, “That’s where the government is,” she says. “He’s very corrupt, but the good news is he’s not actually a dictator.”

Maybe its the impetus from the signs of Spring we see all around us. Purple wisteria decking the walls, beech nut trees in early bud. Or perhaps its the invigorating sight of bountiful produce in the supermarkets. (Italy has much more variety than Spain, and we’re now spoilt for choice in the cheese, fresh pasta and salad department). Whatever it is, a new phase is beginning, and it’s time to make our next move. We hold a family meeting about what we want. Top of the list comes Romans, followed by danger (in the form of volcano hunting), and finally working again on a farm. After a few enquiries we receive a reply from a family with an 8 year old daughter in Southern Italy, near Bari. It’s a tense moment opening their message. I’ve discovered the following paradox: potential rejection feels most absolute precisely when what you are offering is free of charge. Yet success! We’ve been vetted as volunteer workers and deemed desirable. They would love for us to come and stay. Now we can afford to bargain..yeah sure we reply, we’ll be there, right after we’ve hit the historical and geographical highlights this great country has to offer.

We skirt the nearby Lago Bracciano, and from here, of course, all roads lead to Rome. It’s time to crack open the heavyweight research material, a voluminous tome that will tell us all we need to know about this ancient civilisation. “Here we are girls,” I say, brushing off one of the few essential textbooks we’ve brought along on this trip. “Finally, it’s time….for the “ROTTEN ROMANS!” It whets their appetites and sets in motion a series of stories and gruesome tales which leaves them spellbound for the next few weeks. The route towards the capital is our first real taste of Italian driving. It’s predictably awful - a terrifying cocktail of aggressive drivers, crazy spaghetti junctions, and jarring pot holes. “They may have given us roads,” remarks Marcus, “But they’re not great at repairing them - some of these don’t look like they’ve been filled in since Roman times.”

We leave our van in a secure parking garage, and its location puts me in mind of another Roman story. We’re on the Via Appia, where early Christians were crucified, and where Spartacus met his death along with his band of rebel slaves. For the next two days of sightseeing, his story sets the tone. The girls walk for hours, listening to me narrating, fuelled by Gelato, Pizza, and the cliff-hangers I leave each chapter dangling upon. Spartacus helps bring alive the gruesome, gory details of the Colosseum, which they love. They’ve always had a penchant for the macabre. And the part about the trapdoors underneath the arena spewing out terrible creatures to maul defenceless victims appears to really fire their imaginations. For a slightly more accurate historical perspective we found a great alternative to the pricey tour guide touts. Rather than pay astronomical fees of over 100 Euros per site, we dowloaded a free app by Rick Steves, with an audio commentary the kids could easily follow. I can’t get over the fact we’re actually in Rome, it is everything and more than I hoped. At the heart of the old city, each direction you look is truly awesome, and there can be nowhere on Earth which holds a candle to such imperial grandeur.

We visited the Vatican and missed the Pope. It was a Sunday and he was addressing the masses at the beginning of Lent. Arriving at St Peter’s Square and going against the flow of incoming crowds, we thought there was enough time to nip in for a quick sandwich before we caught a glimpse. There wasn’t. As we emerged, the scarlet flag hanging from a window up high (which apparently indicates  his presence) was just being rolled in. Stomach before Religion. My poor Irish Catholic Grandmother would not have been impressed.

Next stop is Pompei. The long drive is a seemingly endless urban sprawl, but the monotony is broken up when we pass a place called “Angri”, then spot another sign saying “Foof”. The girls find this particularly amusing given it’s the name they use to refer to their vagina. Never one to miss out on toilet-based humour, Elsie pipes up, “There was a town called ‘Poo’ in Spain too!” The story of Mount Vesuvius erupting in 79 AD and destroying Pompei is one of the girls favourites. It’s long been a source of fascination, hearing about whatever fictional characters I can summon managing to escape the deadly pyroclastic flow that fateful day. They’re excited to finally see it all with their own eyes. We only do a portion, picking the best bits, and they love many of the small details. The wide streets with the stepping stones for pedestrians, the holes they can spot in the pavements for fixing rings to harness a horse, the cats eyes in the flooring made from white marble to help people see at night, and the fantastically preserved mosaic of a dog by a front door which reads “Cane Canum (Beware of the Dog). Less cultured is their preference for pointing out big willies whenever they see one - and there are quite a few - on the many exquisite frescos. Towards the end we visit a brothel, complete with stone beds and even pillows. I have a go at explaining what they are, “Good luck with that,” says Marcus, drifting away. In the end I settle on a description as a brothel is a place where lady slaves have to work, lying down next to smelly sailors who want to look and kiss them. This seems to suffice, and they don’t push me on why its necessary to do this lying down.  

Ten years ago Marcus and I spent a few days in Naples, and loved it. Our only regret was that we failed to get a seat at “Pizzeria da Michele” - one of the top pizza joints in town. It filled up early, but this time we’re prepared, catching an early train in. By 11.45am there’s still a queue, but we’re soon seated, and presented with only two choices, Pizza Margherita (tomato, mozzarella and basil) or Pizza Marinara (tomato, garlic, oregano). The girls loyally proclaim their dad’s pizza tastes better cooked in our pizza oven at home. But I have to disagree, even Marcus can’t compete with Napoli’s tomatoes. We’re keen to show the girls the city’s gritty, scruffy charm. We’ve noticed on this trip how much they love to watch people making things, any form of artistic endeavour draws them like moths to a flame. They love the street dedicated to model makers, edging closer to peer at the mechanised scenes and study tiny ceramic legs being carefully painted. Marcus buys some small body parts to replace ones he bought here a decade ago which got smashed when he turned the music up too loud. There’s plenty of life to feast our eyes upon as we wander down the narrow intersecting streets rising upwards, layered washing hanging above us like flags.

All that remains is a volcano, and after taking a vote we decide to pass on Vesuvius and head instead for Europe’s most active volcano, Mount Etna. It’s going to cost a lot more money - driving all the way down to Italy’s toe, catching the ferry across to Sicily, and paying for the compulsory guide - but if you’ve got the chance to choose, why not make it into a real adventure? Spirits are running high, we camp by the beach across the water from Siciliy. That night to shake off the long drive there’s a disco in the van, playing the tracks loud and flashing patterns all around with a green laser we bought in Rome. Next morning Marcus spearfishes a bass and the girls collect bottles to put messages inside, casting them overboard on the short crossing, now our fifth ferry ride . We’re over in 20 minutes, and make straight towards Mount Etna, the landscape turning black and craggy as we approach. Climbing up into the wilderness we camp on the South East side, at the foot of the Valley de Bove. It’s one of the best wild spots yet, and you can lie in bed watching the crater pumping out smoke overhead.

Higher up, it becomes other-worldy. Snow, ash and black rock combine to create a kind of lunar scene. At it’s summit, 3,350 metres high, there are numerous craters. Pockmarking the flanks we spot several nest-like sink holes, reminders of previous activity. There are warning signs informing visitors its forbidden to go beyond 2,500 m without a guide (due to a series of eruptions this month). After some investigation we calculate it’s going to cost us 250 euros to get as near to the central craters as the authorities will allow - 100 euros for us to go up on a cable car, and a further 150 to be taken higher up in a specialist piste basher snow mobile with a guide. In a move to save money the girls agree to hike as far as they can. Fuelled by more chapters of Spartacus and a spin-off series by Marcus called “Fartacus”, 2 hours later we make it to the top of the cable car. From here its a typically Italian ramshackle affair, and people appear to be ignoring the instructions not to wander off alone. Sighting tourists crunching their way over hardened snow wearing only slip-on shoes, we ask if the girls can make it a bit father. The promise of extra Easter Eggs provides the incentive they need, and we creep ever higher, ignoring the warning signs, past the piste bashers and within sight of sulphurous rock at the peak. To our side are long roads of humped black lava flow, and a metallic sound alerts Marcus to peer closer. A heat shimmer is coming off of one, and on closer inspection nestled within is the glow of red lava, rocks tossing and tumbling over each other as they prepare to settle into a solid mass. I’m not sure what I’m more amazed by - this sight, or the fact the girls managed a 5 hour trek without one single meltdown. The next week is filled with volcano-wonder, trekking into the Valle de Bove to see the ancient swirling lava fields, gazing across up high at Etna from the Greek temple of Taormina, and visiting the Etna Museum. Despite keeping a watch we don’t see any fresh eruptions, but it doesn’t matter - we’ve made it our mission to have one big adventure in Italy, and so far it hasn’t disappointed.

[appelrin-blog]

[NL, NO] Day 1: Return to Duolingo

Goedemorgen,

Before I begin this post, I’ll write a little about myself and where my languages are at. - - Basics - -  Name: Rin (I also go by Luna) - This is a name a Japanese friend chose for me many years ago, I’ve never really used it so I thought I would start using it now. It’s fitting! Age: 24 Location: North East England - - Languages - - Japanese: 13 years of self-study. I’d put my understanding at C1, and my out-put level at B2. I’m trying to break through to C1, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. My plan to do this is to just consume more and more native media, and try to express myself as much as possible. Goals for Japanese: C1 in everything. Dutch: A1, teetering on A2. I started studying this because due to a interesting turn of events, I met a wonderful Dutch man about a year ago. We’ve been dating since (and now live together!). I’ve been to the Netherlands countless times, and it seemed only natural to study it. Over time, I’ve come to love the language, it gives me a nice gezellig feeling. Goals for Dutch: B2 by the end of this year. Korean: Just recently started. I’m very fortunate to work in a very international office, with exposure to a variety of languages daily. I’ve recently been tasked with doing the Korean work, and I felt this is as good a time as any to actually study it. It’s similarities to Japanese make me think I’ll be able to pick it up quite easily. At least until the intermediate level. Goals for Korean: B1 for work reasons. Norwegian: My hobby language. When I want a break from the others, I run to Norwegian, the language of vikings, fjords and green hills. I have been torn between Swedish and Norwegian for a while, but with learning one, you somewhat get the other, so I decided to go with Norwegian as it has interesting orthography. My love for ABBA (They’re all Swedes!) almost made me stick with Swedish, but after some thought, I decided on Norwegian to also appease my nerdy needs (norse mythology!). Goals for Norwegian: Have fun with it, get A2 maybe.

- - Main post - - 

It’s 10:07AM. I woke up at around 7:45AM, and once I had gathered my bearings, decided to get back to the Dutch Duolingo course. I’m about 60-70% through the tree, however I got incredibly burnt out and decided to pursue other resources. I don’t want to go straight back to hardcore-ing it, so I decided to strengthen some skills. I found that it was a lot easier, and I was able to understand the audio the first time. Grammar points that were tricky before, suddenly made more sense. I was able to write from memory, and take educated guesses. It was very refreshing, and definitely helped get me motivated to finish the Dutch tree. Duolingo by itself is not very useful, it’s definitely a great tool when used in conjunction with something else. In my case, it’s a textbook. It works as a great review, and I find is excellent for strengthening vocabulary. I strengtrend a few skills, and completed one skill: Relative Pronouns which was relatively (pardon the pun!) easy. I plan to do some more strengthening tonight, as to not burn out. I started the Norwegian course on Duolingo after much debate with myself. As explained above, I was torn between the two, but eventually went with Norwegian for the previously stated reasons. I did the first two skills, and found myself still in Dutch mode, which ended up coming in handy. I couldn’t remember the word for “milk”, and I took a wild guess and wrote “melk” (milk in Dutch)... and it was right! I know this isn’t going to be helpful in the long-run, but I found it quite amusing. I love the sound of Norwegian, and I’ll be using Duolingo to casually get accustomed to Norwegian, until I find a textbook I wish to use alongside it. Another fun thing I noticed, the word et barn (child) is similar to the word bairn in my (English) dialect.  Another similarity that makes me feel I made the right choice with Norwegian! I haven’t done any Korean today, but that’s because I wanted to focus on my European languages today, plus I’m headed out for the day so I have limited time. I’m planning to do some Korean tomorrow, though. 

That’s all for today! Een fijne dag, iedereen!