Sometimes I think I act like some kind of pseudo-psychologist- know -it -all deeper than the ocean -star crossed lover -big picture thinker -creative soul- kitchen sink astrologer -with daddy issues -who over stays her welcome.
I'm insecure, and I'm naive, and I give it all away up front. I talk during movies and know endless amounts of useless trivia. In short, I am annoying. I am that sappy eyed puppy child that follows all the cool kids around.
I am the best friend who falls in love with you, but keeps quiet as I help you pick out something nice for your girlfriend on valentines day. I am the kind of girl who actually thinks a letter like this one could really change someone's mind. I wonder how many of my memories of you are just my own fantasies mulled over a million ways
and projected onto every surface, reflected and refracted off your eyeballs into mine, so that I think they're reality.
you were the foreman of my heart but your burnt the blue prints and quit the project ("I can't work in these kind of conditions") But I kept working overtime, doing your job, I'm breaking my own heart now so that you don' have to get stressed out over that too. you are the proverbial charming trouble maker loved by school girls and teachers and mothers alike. it's like Tyler Durden taking Peter Pan's Wendy out for a milkshake. one glass, two straws.
but I didn't feel stupid around you. I didn't feel the girl in the "before" picture. I didn't feel like a square -wet blanket -sissy tattle- tale -brace-face -cry-baby. I know you don't kiss all the girls like that. or maybe you do. maybe I don't give a shit either way (she tried to say with conviction but the stupid little heart on her sleeve gave her away) I know when you dream, you dream of yourself but better, and not an asshole.
I wonder if you lay around naked eating cereal and laughing hysterically with all the girls. I wonder if you hand select the records you are going to play for them, or is it only for the girls that have record players? I wonder if a bottle of whiskey and chinese takeaway is just your "go-to" date when you can't think of anything creative to do. I wonder if you always inch your hand towards theirs under the covers after a fight as your silent way of saying sorry. I wonder if you tell all the girls that "right now you just wanted to hold them as tightly as you could."
I wonder if they all have nicknames. I wonder if all of them let you fuck them in their kitchens and bathrooms and in cars parked next to that apartment complex, and on trampolines or beach towels in the garden. I wonder if they all know how wonderful you really are.
I wonder if I was special, but for the first time in my life not because my daddy ran away and boys wouldn't look at me that way and I never got asked to dance and my ipod didn't have cool music on it and I laughed too loud and didn't wear thong underwear and I was scared we would get in trouble and I gave it all away up front and I talked during the movie and I was always embarrassed or hurt or worried and I need you to tell me that I'm pretty and funny and witty and smart and great in bed and a fantastic dancer and that I "get" you and it's me and you against the world and we talk like were in a woody allen film and the soundtrack sounds like garden state and that you run through the airport and say "oh my god, I love you like no one has ever loved you or will love you and whatever you do please don't get on that plane because I can't sleep can't eat can't breathe without you I think you're the one let's get fucking married."
I want to know if I was special so that I can get a good nights sleep and say yes when other men ask me out to dinner. I want to know because the unknown hurts more than the truth. I wonder if I'll ever sleep.
ph: Shannon Crosby
Things are different now. No other eyes are as captivating. No other smile is as contagious.
No one else’s words are as reassuring. No other arms are as comforting. I don’t long to hear any other voice on the other side of the phone. I don’t get butterflies at the thought of anyone else. Things are different now. When another walks by, I no longer give a second look. It’s like no one else exists; no one but you. They say that “love is blind;” and if anything, I’m only blind to everyone else. No one can measure up to you. They always fall short. Things are different now. Seeing through the eyes of love is like seeing under a microscope. I see things in you that I could never see in others, with my old eyes naked of love. Each little quirk, story, and moment with you are like the cells that make you who you are to me. The more I know you, discover things about you, the deeper I fall, captivated by the simplistic nature of who you are. It’s as though I’ve discovered something for the very first time, and now that I know of its existence I can’t imagine a world without. Things are different now. As I learn about you, I am also learning about myself. I’ve never felt like I quite belonged in this world until now. Until I had someone to walk beside me, encourage me, dream with me. Things are different now. I smile at the thought of you. I cry at the thought of being away from you. I fear, always have and always will, but with you it’s a different fear. It isn’t so much a fear of you causing harm, but a fear of losing you to the unknown. Things are different now. I let my guard down. Give you a straight shot to my heart and all that I am. I trust you. Something that is not easy for me to do. Things are different now. I love this difference: the joy, the anxiousness, and the longing. I hate this difference: the unknown, the risks, and the doubt. Things are different now. Please, be careful. I never thought this would happen. I had given up hope. But here you are…my hope in love, in true happiness, in the future. Things are different now. Thank you.
ponyskin clutch: courtesy of shampalove
The only thing this dress doesn´t have in common with a shark is a fin on the back. The streamlined shape, the lightblue greyish color and the cutouts on the side of the body that look like gills make me feel so sharkish. I´m so happy that the weather is finally alloweing me to wear it, I´ve been in love with it ever since the COS lookbook was out.
The Dutch label Avelon recently came up with a new description of their brand; 'Beautiful. Different.' (They replaced their previous 'Ductape. Cocktaildress.' which I think is also pretty cool) Avelon asked me to do an interpretation of these two new words in the form of a blogpost, so I came up with this graphic make up tutorial which also doesn't leave out their old ducttape mantra.
A smudge proof, super quick, square liner. Makeup artist Sam Bryant came up with this look for Richard Nicoll's spring summer'12 collection. I loved the simplicity and the final result of it so much that I had to try it too. I cut little rectangular pieces of black duct tape and carefully placed them on the outer corner of my eyes to create this instant linear liner.
ph: Makayla Rogers
For 5 years, I have wondered when I would be a priority. When I would be important enough for you to say, "I'm here," and mean it. For 5 years, I waited for your empty promises of marriage proposals, international adventures, the words "I love you...unconditionally," that you actually meant. With your initiative, we we shopped for rings. We discovered the perfect one, together. I bought yours that day. Even customized it to symbolize our uniqueness and commitment.
We created a world meant for us. Your poems defined the ground we walked on, and my lofty dreams consistently created unpredictable weather. Yet, we continued to walk even when the terrain became unstable, we went on. We pretended that the road was not rough and that we could handle anything, even though the distance seemed exhausting with no end in sight.
For 5 years I grew, and you regressed.
We envisioned little ones, even named them. Always insisting that their lives would involve the team that defined us, and the NFL Play 60. Instead, accidentally and unplanned, ended up with two of the most amazing pups on the planet. We discussed for days, as they remained without named, what we would call them. Our names fit. Same first initials are "meant to be." And we created theirs, same first initials - yet this time they defined unconditional love. We lived separately in the same space. Even when we included one another, we were removed from what actually existed. I remember when your touch was anything but comforting, and looking at you as though the piece that I once clung to had evaporated into a close circle of what became your social world, where the word "cunt" became casual, when referring to your partner. The names you began to call me in our ruthless arguments were so devastating, that even my responses couldn't be formed out of the breaths I had left. After, when I said "I love you," I really meant that I was terrified to be without you, and that my love was something I mistook for co-dependence, and that when you told me I was damaged, and would never find anyone else, I believed you. I believed everything you said from the beginning until the end.
Our drawn-out goodbye was complicated as we counted down the days until you actually left. Your last week here, not an exchange passed, where we both weren't in tears. Never once saying, "we can do this," "whatever needs to be done, we'll do it." Instead our common space filled with questions of "why" and "how." Never finding an actual answer, just realizing that the concept of "we" was too far gone to ever retrieve, if it ever even existed, and the questions of "why," were inconsequential. We ended up where we did, because that is what we created. I have said for the past year that we control our own destiny. Never realizing that our destiny meant what we would never work.
We collectively planned our goodbye. You were to give me my key in exchange for your remaining elements you conveniently left behind. Instead you cancelled, even though I had already gone. Asking if there was any other day that we could do "this," Precisely meaning, it's $2.00 Coors cans, and the ending game for the Mavericks and Thunder, and that is more important than our world of 5 years. I simply replied, "no." Fully knowing that if I held on any longer, my soul was going to die while pleading for validation and importance. Instead, I remained. Your last typed words of, "OK. I guess just throw it away," meant more than you had intended. It was the last time that I would listen and believe the words you were giving me. I threw it away. All of it. Defined with the realization and intent that never again would I beg nor plead with anyone for the reasons why I should matter.
ph: Laura Makabresku
It’s so hard for me to comprehend what I’m feeling. I’m just the type of person who has to know what’s going on. But I don’t. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out went on with him, let alone what is going on with me.
Maybe it was my excitement. It had been so long since someone had shown such genuine, respectable, interest in me that it caught me off guard. Every time he paid me a compliment, I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know whether to say ‘thank you’ or make a sarcastic, albeit funny, remark. Every time he laid out suave line, I didn’t know whether to call him out or play along. I didn’t know what I was doing. But it made me happy. He made me happy.
Despite all my inexperience in handling his mannerisms and style, he was still there. He still talked to me. He still wanted to see me. I could not figure out why, but I loved it. I loved that he wanted to see me for the sake of seeing me. I loved that he wanted to talk to me, for the sake of talking to me.
After years and years of being a ‘soloist’, six to be exact, I had forgotten what it was like to be wanted. I had forgotten that feeling of content and euphoria of knowing that someone was thinking of you and you were thinking of that someone too. That electricity you feel when he holds your hand, or put his arms around you. It’s addictive. It’s dangerous.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I allowed myself to become deluded by this infatuation. I’d like to say that I grew to like him just because he showed interest in me, but I’d be lying.
Things took an unexpected turn for the worst and for the first time in my twenty years on this earth, I had my heart broken. It’s kind of stupid of me to say this on a blog like this, but if you haven’t had your heart broken, then there is no way I can even begin to explain how this feels. I can’t even understand it myself.
He led me on, left me in doubt and made me question my worth.
He made me question everything. Was it me? Was it him? Was it someone else? Every time I find myself alone, I can’t help but think. I can’t help but think of him. I NEED TO KNOW. Why the fuck do I need to know? For some reason I just can’t let it go.
There are so many things I want to know, so many things I want to say to him, but my insecurities hold me back. What if he doesn’t feel the same pain that I do? What if it was just nothing to him? Why must I look like a fool in front of him?
Somehow I just want to know that he’s also putting up a front. That he’s just pretending to be okay. That deep down inside, he regrets it.
I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish I hated him. But I don’t. I really, really don’t hate him. I can’t hate him.
I’ve been told that maybe I’m more into the idea of being with someone that it is actually being with HIM. Fine, that makes perfect sense, but how I can I get over him, if he’s that SOMEONE attached to that idea?
All I can say is:
You’re a coward. Not because you couldn’t tell me you didn’t want to be with me with me for whatever reason. I’ll admit, if the roles were reversed, I would have had a hard time too. But you’re a coward because you were too scared to try. You were too scared to try to see that we would have been good. We would have been great.
The scent of perfumes can sometimes be quite abstract. You know it smells good but can't really tell what it is you like as the combination of scents create a new smell that you can't place in your everyday. Not with the perfume I've been using for the last couple of years. Vanilla Vanille from The Bodyshop smells like nothing more and nothing less than.. -here it comes- vanilla. It's so simple and obvious. Everyone has different associations with it. I've heard people around me say everything from I smell cake to I smell Icecream to I smell my mother's cookies. And how beautiful are the bottles? They look like old fashioned medicine containers.
images: London Fashion Week
J. JS Lee (Jackie Lee) is one of those designer that make garments that look pretty basic at first sight. But when looking a bit closer, you'll find details that make them everything but plain. Like the slightly assymetric blazer-dress or the use of laqué fabric in a suit. I first discovered her when visiting London Fashion Week earlier this year, as I arrived at the exhibition area her team was just unpacking the fw12 collection that came fresh from the runway. (Will share those snapshots as soon as I'm ready to talk about winter ;) )
Naked words. No lies, no covering up wishes and hopes. Naked words. That cut deep into my heart as you speak them. You wish me no more and now what? Now what can I do? Pretend as if I don't care? Pretend I am fine. It is what you do. But I am not such a great liar. Naked words pour out of that perfect mouth of yours. That mouth that I have kissed and caressed. But you say, you're done, we're done. And what can I do? I must accept that, I know I must. But here I am, here I lay, every single night thinking "what did I do wrong"? Maybe I didn't love you enough. Maybe I should have fought for you, harder, stronger. But I am not strong, I am a mere child. A mere child, that fell in love with you, all of you. And I can't sleep; I can't breathe without you here. You have infiltrated all that is me, to the point where without you, I am nothing. I am scared, frightened, terrified, that those letters I have written to you, will end up in ash. I am afraid that the next time I see you; you will give me that same dead look you have given me for the past five days. Because those letters were the last shot I had at getting you back. And I've got this dreadful feeling inside, that they weren't enough. And remember what I told you: I'm afraid of not being good enough. And I know that I'm not, I'm not good enough, for anyone. But it's just that, I had convinced myself that I would be good for you, and that you'd be good for me. And now I'm left empty-handed. And hurt, oh, so hurt. I can't imagine my life without you, it seems preposterous. You're all I think about, at all times. I can't help but wonder if this is all the same for you. If you think about me before you go to bed at night. If your heart sinks every time you see me walk by, every time you see me smile. But it's all just wishful thinking, because I know that it's not the same anymore. I messed up, hundreds of times with you. And I can't take any of that back. I'm all alone now. I pushed you away. And now you're gone.
and a plastic bag
As you can see my new sandals look slightly different from the ones in store. I thought a big chunky reflective heel was enough metal for one shoe. So I tore off the the big shiny clasps on the ankle straps and replaced them with a pair of press studs on the inside of the straps. Now the fastenings are invisible and the sandals look much more subtle and minimalistic don't you think?
ph: Erica Lea
dear future lover,
you will be the first one to wake up beside me. you will be the first one to feel my foot rub against yours in the middle of the night. you will be the first one around whom I will feel completely vulnerable, and probably a little awkward. you will be the first one with whom I share all my feelings – that's what I'll say. I'll say that you know me better than anyone else, but I'm sure that I'm going to keep some stuff inside. that's what I do. and you'll probably be frustrated with me because of that. I will act different and strange, and you'll want to know what's going on, but I won't tell you. and it's not your fault – I want you to know that right now.
I want you to know that I love you. I wouldn't be writing this letter if I didn't love you. I love you more than anything and anyone, and no one will ever change that.
you should know, though, that you are not the only person I have loved. you will not be the first one to hold my hand, and you will not be the first one to kiss me. you will not be the first one whom I have stayed up nights thinking about. you will not be the first one whose calls I have waited for, and whose silence I have lamented. you will not be the first one I have cried about, nor will you be the first one to bring an instant smile to my face.
and, believe it or not, this will not be the first love letter I have written. this will not be as special for me as it is for you. but what makes it different is that, even though you will not be the first person I have loved, you will be the first person who will love me back. I have had friends, best friends, crushes, and a number of other relationships with equally vague names, but you will be my first lover. I think that's special. and even though you will not be the first person I have loved, I love you.
more than anyone and anything else, I love you. I love you so much, more than you will ever believe, and I can't wait to meet you.
-your future lover
Every week I write a feature on the fashion website of newspaper Metro. It is called Detail Donderdag (Detail Thursday) and as you may have already guessed, it's about the details and finishing touches. The shoes, the socks, the bag, the jewelry, the nailpolish. Today's post was my third and it was all about black;
White is the new black, Neon is the new black, [fill in trend] is the new black but the most ridiculous one I've ever come accross was; leopard print is the new black. Dear fashion editors, what are you talking about?! Black is Black.
“Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy – but mysterious. But above all black says this: “I don’t bother you – don’t bother me”. -Yohji Yamamoto
These geometrical clothing racks are designed by the talented interior blogger and stylist Annaleena. She opened her own online shop where she sells her designs only a few days ago. Congratulations to her! Can you see yourself come home and toss your jacket through the black iron ring hanging from the ceiling?
ph: Amanda Mabel
I've always been told that I deserve better. But I never took that advice to heart because I am an extremely passionate person. Whatever I want, no matter how painful, difficult, or tiring it is, I will put my utmost heart and efforts into attaining it. But lately, I've been drained of the energy to hold on.
I've always wondered what I was to him. We were friends, but not really. Friends, after all, would make some sort of effort to catch up with each other. I was more like his secretary. He only came to me when he needed help, and of course, I was always willing to fix him whenever he was broken. If he missed class or had any difficulty with assignments, I was there. I never even thought about making him reciprocate my obvious feelings for him. Instead, I just continued to help him. I even listened to him pour his emotions out on the phone. I gave him words of advice and told him that everything was going to be okay. I never hinted that I liked him. I didn't make an effort into asking him out. I didn't openly flirt with him. I didn't want to appear pushy and I wanted him to feel like I'm the girl he could count on. The one that would completely understand everything he was going through.. and maybe, just maybe, he'll somehow feel the same way.. if I was lucky enough.
Then something happened. I woke up one day and realized that he only saw me as a friend. It was obvious. He only talked to me when he needed me. Otherwise, I didn't really mean that much to him. I was always on the side, while he flirted with other girls. Every time this happened, I'd remind myself that if I was patient enough, I'd start to mean something. But after months and months of waiting, nothing happened. Nothing has changed. He still continued to talk to me on the phone for hours at hand, but he didn't ask me to spend time with him out of school. Most of our conversations were school-related, and I could feel myself slowly fall into the friend zone, if I had not already been there in the first place. So I gave up. I stopped looking at him the way I always did. I stopped initiating conversations. I skipped the classes I had with him. I was weak. I didn't have the strength to be friends. I had too much pride to admit that I could not be friends with him because I'm always going to want more. It is the most selfish thing I have ever done to anyone. I am the type of person who cannot and will not turn down a cry for help, and leaving him was incredibly difficult. We were never anything to begin with, but the hardest part of my decision is that I miss him. And honestly, I am pretty sure that he doesn't miss me. He has not contacted me. Perhaps he's afraid of doing so, but if he had any feelings for me, he would eventually. I was afraid to do this sooner because I could not accept the fact that he didn't feel the same way. Although I knew it was a huge possibility, I did not want to believe it. But sometimes, we need the truth. I couldn't wait on him hand and foot selflessly.
It hurts to know that he'd forget me. But maybe this is the way it's supposed to end. Maybe I had to learn that being friends with someone you have irrevocable feelings for is self-harming and unnecessary. At least with him out of the picture, I didn't lose much. Actually, he never offered me anything, and even his friendship is replaceable. But for now, the only person who has my utmost attention and care for, is me. And I'm the only one I really need.
synthetic reflective shirt: thrifted
These rectangular earrings were a gift from my boyfriend who brought them from his trip to Indonesia. He actually came up with the design himself, made a drawing and had them made by a local goldsmith, which makes them even more special. He was right on spot about what I like; no fuss metal rectangles! Thank you Romeo!(yes, that's his actual name)
ph: weepy hollow
Can’t breathe. What’s wrong? I open my eyes. My chest is tight. There’s a lump in my throat. My breath is caught. My eyelids are heavy. What’s wrong?
Sucking hole in my chest. It’s tiny. But it hurts.
I wish I could speak French. I would board a plane to Paris, and see the world. As a free man, I can now do what free men do. Maybe I could then write in French. Maybe they’ll have the words to describe how this feels.
I am scared. My breath is caught again with fear and anticipation, excitement and trepidation. Thoughts of new loves or maybe even old loves renewed.
No. I will not think of her today. I will not.
But she is fading away. Should I not savour the last embers of her that remain- before she, and all her beauty and beautiful flaws, and her giggles and cuteness, before they are lost forever to the passing of time? Because of her, things will never be the same again.
And I am now so acutely aware that I am only me, singular, and I need to get to know me again. I haven’t really been me for 2 years now.
Time to get up, me, whoever you are.
ankle cuffs courtesy of Backstage
Remember having these as a kid? And how you always wanted the ones that came with glitter in the plastic? They bring back so many childhood memories of summer. But these clear jelly shoes are probably also the most adaptive footwear that exists, that go with every outfit and every color as it almost looks like you are bare footed.
Update: I got mine at the Albert Cuyp market in Amsterdam. But online you can find a pair of similar ones here.
You’ll get over it…” It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The uniqueness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made undone by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
jacket: borrowed from Avelon
scuba pants: Monki(last season)
sunglasses: Alexander Wang
The shirt is made out of two boys' longsleeves(nice and straight fit) cut through the middle and sewn back together. I left a long part of the seem on the bottom open so that one color can be tucked into ones pants.
ph: unknown illustrator
Band aids are not meant to be a healer. They simply cover up your wound. Aids never do what really needs to be done, they just kind of help. They’re magical when you’re little because you think they heal you. They “stop” the hurt. Not really though; they just distract you. You don’t know any better because you’re young, confused, and fall to the illusion. They’re fun and pretty and you can pick ones that you really like. When you’re older, you usually resort to flesh colored band aids. While they’re not exactly invisible or perfectly camouflaged, they’re not as obvious and people don’t always know you’re really hurt. It’s kind of like the same thing when you get out of a relationship. Underneath you’re still hurt. But you go out and find a fun, pretty person to spend time with, the band aid. They distract you. The reason why you’re hurting is still there. This person can occupy your time a lot, but every few days you pull back the band aid because you’re still hurt and contact the one you still love. You use and abuse that band aid to cover up whats wrong. You can use all the ointment- movies, music, parties, outings- and band aids-dates, new “lovers”- over the wound, but the body doesn’t heal from the outside in. You can choose from all types of rebounds and band aids. The cheap ones only give you one-night, temporary satisfaction. The waterproof ones may let you cry to them and try to block out the sting of your pain. There are even some really quality band aids that have a lot going for them, but underneath, you’re still not whole. No band aid can ever compare or have all the qualities to the person before. Some people choose to keep that band aid on for a really long time, but when they take it off there will be a yucky scar because they neglected the wound. They will have wished they took off the band aid and given it attention and care. I would hate to be a band aid.
baseball jacket: American Apparel
sweater: vintage Calvin Klein
leather skirt: thrifted
The sun decided to show itself today. Reason enough to pull out a skirt and go bare legged. I've always been perplexed by British girls going out mini skirts in the middle of winter, but they are completely right; you don't feel that much cold on your legs. In the end I decided to also add a pair of sheer 20den tights to this ensemble, not for warmth but to at least look like I don't think it's summer yet.
ph: impure hair(raisat shaa)
We met in Paris. So many looks before you finally invited me for a drink. We laughed while listening to music, surround by the city light, red wine and the moon and the stars. I was so nervous, so happy…
Somehow we made it to the Seine we were lining forehead to forehead, you made fun of me because I couldn’t stop sighing, and then you held my hand. We kissed on the riverbank, the moon was shining, Paris was shining, and I was flying.
It was the best year of my life, the Eiffel tower watched us, as we walked through the street hand in hand, endless walks… If we weren’t walking we were tangled between white sheets. The Eiffel tower could still watch us through your window, endless kisses, and movies, and bubble baths…
I always knew it was bound to end, we came from different parts of the world, and at the end of the year we had to take our different ways… But fate got in the way. You had to leave before expected, your father was sick. After our last night together in Paris, I said goodbye to you on the balcony, covered with sheets and tears. You only looked back once.
I followed you to your country, even if I was in a different state. We did the whole long distance relationship thing, and then your Dad died… He died and you changed, and I tried to be there for you, I would have been there for you no matter what. Until we had that stupid fight, and you didn’t call me back. For a day, and then a week. Two month passed. I chose to cry instead of loosing my pride, so I didn’t call you once. Until I couldn’t be strong any longer, I had to know why you left me, I had to now why you disappeared. I called you in tears, and you said you were sorry, you lost someone so important and you couldn’t handle anything else. You said sorry again for months. We talked many times. But I knew, I had lost you, actually, I think you were never mine. Maybe I ‘never had you.
It’s been 5 years. Our entire relationship only lasted two. We are not in touch anymore. Now you are engaged. I found someone that is nothing like you. I’ve been trying to forget you, but I still remember you every day, every sad song, every romantic movie, I remember Paris every day. And I hate you. I hate you because you never came back for me, you never gave me a last kiss. You never fought for me.
Every month I make a DIY post for Nsmbl.nl, a relatively new independant online magazine from The Netherlands who has grown to become one of the biggest of the country in under a year. If you ask me it´s becasue of their great eye for content and the dedication of their founder Anna Nooshin. For April I made this leather purse/ groceries net bag/ clutch when folded. The images are pretty self explanatory, but if you want to read the full tutorial(with a little help of google translator) click here.