Touchdown and this chosen land proffers a welcoming kiss. It is not stifling, ill tasting, like that of home. Rather I am enveloped in a cool, clean embrace. The air is dry. A factor which has been missing during the extended arctic experience of Orkney’s deepest freeze for 20 years. Despite the significant temperature plummet (20 or so degrees below) it feels more comfortable in the superchilled outdoors.

Going home is something that has changed beyond recognition. Because instead of the heart wrenching farewell to Scotland there were instead a few tears of relief as darling Sweden came back into sight. Time warp over, now to feel again. The announcements are in Swedish och det blir lugnt och längtan igen. Jag saknar husdjuret mer än jag trodde på.

Trotts att jag kommer tillbaka med ett tungt hjärta är jag glad i alla fall. Livet börjar igen. Det finns tid att umgås med de som har stannat och att prata om tillkommande året. Som alltid, ska jag och Mahgol reda upp världen. Mitt själ är tre gånger förstor för den här kröppen. Det finns mycket att göra. Många ska flytta, flera ska resa bort. Till och med jag planera ett bytt av miljön. Snart blir det en mindre lägenhet, och närmare till vänner och stan. Jobbet kommer att äta min tid, tillsammans med plugg och VSS… för det är jag tacksam.

Men det finns även adventure på gång. Jag måste lära mig att samla pengarna i stället av grejar och kolla på tåg tidtabellen igen. Det finns en rut mellan nord och södra, västre och öster, vikingar och den exotisk land. Det är inte landet utan resan som jag längtar efter. Okända människa, enkla, billiga mat och att undrar på allt som kör förbi mitt fönster.

På slutet av augusti är det södra Polen, bröllopet och gamla vänner. Men hur jag kommer dit är frågan. Nu börjar nästa delen av historian.

last night in Russia

I have a friend. A dear friend. Who had to leave. The evening I discovered that our days together were numbered I found a four-leaved clover. Luck? Fate? Coincidence?  I gave that bit of botany to my friend, and they refused the gift. Where does that leave us?

This evening my cheeks are stained with tears.

I am missing more than one of you.

These pristine snow filled days are a fitting end. They stretch out from my window, a blank white sea. A turned page. Starting afresh. Full of possibility. There is always another path to plough. When I return here in January the pussycat will have slunk away, on his way home. But it is impossible not to leave footprints in the snow. Those who leave can no do so secretly.

This term, (over used phrase, as is the repetitions praise to come) has been extraordinary. I know there are those among us who think I am foolish, for being so emotionally open and for considering the social situation of Skandinavistisk Två something special. It will not last. This I know. We are international students. For many these friendships have been a gloss on the surface. Not something to invest in. Not something to bryr sig om.

I beg to differ. We were thrown together by the Swedish education system. Another conflicting area of Swedish grammar. We are exceptions to the numerous rules. Because there is no order. There is no 1+2=3 without fail. We equal something intangible. There have been moments of simple wonder. Pure joy. Uncomplicated laughter. There is nothing more precious. There has been no need for sophisticated jokes, cliques and prejudice. In this, we have all been children. We are learning to communicate again, where words fail we resort to other means. There is something strange, unknown and exciting in all of us.

To snooze in a room full of warm, well-fed people is a luxury not to be sniffed at. Sitting round the table, swirling red wine and drifting away into sweet reverie. It is good to embrace the moment. They may be few and far between. Korean drinking games, awkward questions and the unending relationship debate. I have never felt so connected with a group – without shame, paranoia or the sickening pressure - feeling like I am wasting time.

These people arrived on the pages of my book a few short days after I painted that horrible plywood creation. A plane of jealous, accusing faces, claiming ”you don’t know who we are.” I have rarely felt so isolated and alone. The fear was consuming. I was on the defensive. I looked offensive. I did not want to know who you were. Pre-school panic compounded with post-partnership pain. This has been a period of trial and error. Testing boundaries and borders. Thankfully eight months of therapy can not be ignored.

Who knows what the catalyst was. A burn, a painting, a tattoo, a trip to the UK or a furry new friend. I dare say they complimented each other. But none of it would have been possible without a change in attitude. I know how to be happy; I just needed to teach myself. I know how to stay happy; I just need to remind myself.

One of the simplest ways to experience well being is to write someone a letter of gratitude. It is not gratuitous. The effects may only be short term, but learning to say something good about another person, helps us to see the good in ourselves. It helps us to appreciate that which we have, not begrudge that which we are always striving to achieve.

Life is as simply beautiful as we dare to make it. If we appreciate the existence of our friends, teachers and even fiends, smile because the sun shines, wonder at glittering snow as it falls through white street lighting, laugh at the slips, mistakes and the bruises, savor the meals cooked by friends, breath deep and give as much as we take. Life is already beautiful. We do not need the car, the position and the clothes from some trashy high-street fashion.

It is more than enough just to be here and love it.

Thank you all.

photo by AhReum, Västerås snow 09

According to the ancient law of Aries, the leader of the flock. “You are an initiator and your impulse is to meet life’s challenges head-on, without thought for the consequences.

‘I AM’ is the motto for Aries. You are the first sign of the zodiac and you put yourself and your desires first. However you do it with a childlike innocence that is very disarming. You stand for brave new beginnings and are frequently the one to get something off the ground.

You are fearless and courageous and will fight passionately for what you want. Your energy and enthusiasm are contagious and you are a keen competitor. You are ardent in love and won’t hesitate to make the first move.

You can also be impatient and outspoken. Your eagerness can seem pushy and your assertiveness can easily become aggression.”

Never before have I held with the stereotypical zodiac mumbo jumbo supersticious stuff, but re-reading this blog text from last night, I am beginning to accept that perhaps these are promenant aspects of my personality!  As a kid, my parents most most commonly directed the proverb “look before you leap” in my direction. Foresight is NOT my forté… and neither is maintaining my confidence when it comes to matters of the heart. I thought long and hard about whether to copy and paste, but I began this blog writing about how I feel and it seems stupid to start hiding things now. If I had had internet at home it would already have been published. At least now I have 24 hours consideration and and introduction!

Yes, my behaviour is far from perfect. I take responsibility… but not all of it!

When I begin to care the age old routine kicks in again and I forget to protect this little one inside. Alround stupidity dictates protection of the object not the self. Who wants this tired body? It hauls arround imperfections, imbalance, insecurities and fat. My insides tighten. It’s a knot. Self-disgust and jealousy. I want to reach out and touch. To feel comfort in physical presence. But I am tied into habit and act out only that which remains.

It has been ten years since I went under the first knife.

I still feel the scars.

There is something missing from my past and it is called exerience. A void. Three thousand days. Isolation. Can not relate. ”You do not belong here” and neither anywhere else. Sometimes I wonder if something was destroyed. Internal turmoil. I am terrified. I may never be able to maintain the balance. I am lost. I am swimming.

…Who swims? Fish swim. Fish meat!?! Fuck that! Double sided hypocracy. You know it! Call culture your cucoon and let the rest of us mutate. I’m tired of the ’say what you mean’ and do something different bullshit. This little lamb (read ram) is pigeon holed. In the corner. Not least because it jumped in and tried to swim upstream again. Must remember to take lessons next time… There is too much at stake.

Did I force an unwilling hand? If so, then talk straight! How bad can a sheep bite? This one is young and still needs nurture. Is it insecurity that breeds this jealousy? Or vice versa? All I know is that they co-exist and the compound sum is greater that it’s two parts. Perhaps on the back of their prickly green wings I have been carried to a misjudged conclusion. I am not altogether convinced that my addition is accountable. Perhaps I have been equally involved in creating unease.

Somewhere in these books, there is a dictation that says; when Clover cares for someone else she forgets to care for herself. Experience had taught her that she is unwantable. She must either alter or admit defeat.

Alteration is dangerous. It destroys the soul. Yes, I believe in that! (And who knows, maybe even the zodiac mumbo jumbo has some right!) I can not suppress (in other words - regress.) I was there before and the memory is excruciating. I hold my arms down tight. Locked by my side. I don’t reach out for fear of your flinching. Repulsion at my physical touch.

^^you eat too loud, you smell too bad, you look too strange, you sound too dumb, you are too fat, your hair is ugly and you ideals mean crap^^

Echoes.

You may feel my confusion. Frustration. Anger. I am still too scared. I would rather admit defeat.

It is much too late for this. I should be asleep, but somehow having no internet does not make going to be early any easier. Without internet I find myself engaged in activities which dissolve time. In other words, those thoughtful and artistic, both of which have been somewhat lacking of late. I am in two minds as to whether I should shell out the 200 kroner a month to reinstate my link with the virtual world. On the one hand, it is wonderful, this facebook free bliss where productivity becomes second nature… on the other, the removal of communicative links may prove to be crippling.

But enough of this information technology pondering. Back to real life, and disregarding a short blip in physical health (cough sneeze cough) things still appear to be going swimmingly. Has there always been war between Europe and the Middle East? I am considering the possibility that now is the time to start reading another rule book. Fools rush in, but a complimentary personality is helping to maintain stability. It’s been a while since I turned myself upside down, and I guess every time it feels different. There is still a lot to learn. Vad är det som har mest inverkan på en människa? Personality or upbringing? Is it actually possible to separate the two? Are we not the products of our environment? Of course… to some degree. But where do we choose to be ourselves and where do we unconsciously follow the path of our culture?

It is hard to blog when surrounded buy these people. I guess habit has more influence that I’d like to think.

Tomorrow we have our first exam. Swedish grammar. Time to study.

More scribbling next week. The last two meeting have been unaccountably popular. The hard work pays off!

It’s not often I am stumped these days and so to be stumped twice in one week is an interesting feeling.  Requires some consideration.  What is this? And where does it come from? It is something unfamiliar… or maybe not. It is something so familiar, just wrapped in paper and left in the back of a dusty cupboard for a while. There was a time when I had no answers. None that I could articulate in any case. They ricocheted off the inside of my skull and lodged themselves, unheard, in the back of my throat.  Their extended echos ringing in my ears 24 hours later. There was no purge. The unsaid would torment me for weeks. Somewhere along this journey I met with courage, and eventually invited it into my home. Now the answers are part of my repertoire.

But then I found myself stumped. There was no answer. Neither a question. Tvärtom. There was silence. I was sat with a friend. A friend of a friend. Acquaintance, kompis, vad som helst. And I forgot how to talk.  But a moment of peace is a welcome pause sometimes. It allows time for reflection. Recollection. It was not so long ago that I required others to carry the conversation. Hiding behind a notebook and scrupulously observing. Where do these people come from?  How do they feel? What is there relation to one another? Are they really as relaxed as they look? How would I feel if it was me? Silence broke but the conversation is different. Somewhere between art and science there is passion for research.

My second stumping was wordal, not verbal. Beskriv din dröm resa. A simple homework task. My dream journey. The holiday of a lifetime. The ultimate adventure. Jag kunde inte. När man säger ‘dröm’ betyder det något som har inte redan hant. But it is done. Jag längter inte efter något mer. Jag kommer inte att vara snipig om jag aldrig resa igen.  There are journeys I would like to take. That saturation of culture, sights, tastes, sounds and smells is as heady as any other drug. To feel these breeze of another ocean, eat the fruits of another land. It is to live and grow. But I have survived my growing pains and now it is time for some kind of stability.

In six month I will fill first quarter century. The first has been nothing to sniff at.  Circumstances have made my life worth it’s weight in literature. But I do not wish to fill the next period with the same feeling of disattachment. I do not hanker after the dream journey because I no longer have a  great need for it. I have seen enough of the exotic, the foreign, the wondrous, the dangerous and the heart breaking to know what I am among the luckiest to walk the plains of this great green earth. I have found my place without religion, addiction or conformity. I dug out my bunker, started living underground, then it became a hut above the ground. It is becoming a way-side in. People come and go. They share their stories, their experience, the advice. Eventually it will become a library full of unknown authors. Those who made their impact. Ready to share with anyone who cares to take an interest. You are allowed to talk. Take a cup of coffee, try the cookies and the comfy chairs. They have memory.  There is wisdom in walls. Magic in the air. It is called a home.

I don’t think there is ever an end to the journey. But it is possible to travel on the spot.  The places we can be transported in good company are as remarkable as those we can attain by car, bus or train. The aeroplane has made it ordinary. The extraordinary. Thousands of kilometers become a small cloth package with free socks, a blockbuster film and a selection from three warm meals. Where is the adventure?  For the near future I am prepared to forgo that luxury in favour of mining local gold.

Unleashing some monsters and Västerås Scribbling Society

I begin to wonder if I miss this. I no longer have the time to write every day, or every other day, as I did in the summer. Sometimes I long for the lonely hours during which I play my heart on a keyboard, but truth be told, there is little to miss. Life is full. Not to capacity, but it is full in alla fall. Before I sleep I still rewind my day, playing over conversations, but I don’t re-write them any more. I make mistakes, they are not important. I could have said this, done that, made a better impression, but who cares.  Not me, and not the people around me.

Life is still a yo yoing roller coaster ride, but it is built on steadier ground. Last weeks drama was washed away in a weekend of social and alcohol. I consumed more than intended, and felt the worse for it on Sunday, but without any tinge of regret.  I had fun, I trust these people. Earlier this month I wondered if I was taking on too much, am I stressed? Is the occasional sleepless night a sign of something to come? But the passing of another lunar and menstrual cycle with the usual tormenting aches and pains confirms with my conscience that things are going ok.

Yesterday we had our second scribble meeting. Unleash your Monster was a roaring sucess! At least we had an attendace of 17, all of whom left happy and with suggestions, compliments and satisfaction apleanty. Hard work pays off. It is good to follow an idea through. Maybe snowball theory is worth it’s weight in associated papers.

Talking of which we have had our first snowfall today. I dressed up for school - one of the advantages of not being able to cycle is that I can wear a skirt and fancy hat! Oh what wonder to stand in the bus stop with biting wind chewing my ankles and that crisp dry snow smell in the air. This is my high time. Class with the pussycat, Javier and Bell. Everything is relaxed, there is something that flow through our classroom door - and we missed it last term. Debate på lunch, what constitutes a suitable sacrifice. Who should when it comes to affairs of the heart? Grammar spilling out of my ears, but even the teacher smiles more. Then lunch. Hugs and faces. Faces and hugs. To many to name one by one.

I talk too much.

These people are the ones I have been missing. 

Hang on to something good, but don’t be afraid to let it change.

Keep thinking.

I should really be in bed, but the urge to sleep escapes me and my mind is still in overdrive. As always, life chez Clover is never dull. What with the occasional fancy dress party, farewell dinner, kompendium av gammaldags svensk litteratur och the odd near death experience how could it be?

On Monday I got my wake-up call. Cycling home from uni in my beloved darkness, I got knocked off my bike by the car shaped monster. Vilken tur! What luck, for one can only call it that, that I walked away with but a bruise and a healthy dose of shock. The bike is rather more banana shaped. The bil is unharmed. Me and the driver are counting our stars for it could have been so so so much worse.  I have since formed a theory about why I continued to speak in Swedish during the aftermath of the event. It was the only way I could delay the shock. As I lack expressions for fear and shock in Swedish, and I have begun to think in Swedish when I speak it, I therefore lack the capability to feel fear and shock while in svensk mode. As soon as the lady drove off  there was no distraction and I reverted to engelska, followed shortly by hyperventilating and bawling my eyes out!

As it was, I had no money in my mobile phone and had to complete the 15 minute walk home before I could call anyone. Tobias was the first to answer and had the joyous task of calming me down a little. Constance was next and promptly left home to arrive on my doorstep within a half hour. Burak succeeded in making me laugh and by the time Mahgol was in touch I had control of my breathing and a pizza in the oven. People, I can’t thank you enough. I loved life before, but now it seems a little more precious!

Tuesday drove by in a grey dream. I sat through a literature lecture without a spark, borrowed a cigarette after coffee and walked home. The bike still lay on the grass where I left it, the basket astray and the wheels bowed like a blood cells. Tungsten, tvungen tunga tungan , haha, heavy stone, forced heavy tongue, oh dear. I need to go to bed. Sleep evades me until I succumb to exhaustion. It falls like blackness. My brother is unhappy, he has spent his money, his bicycle had been stolen. My grandfather has cancer, he was in surgery. My sister under stress from the mother next door. Dad stops drinking and ups his nicotine intake while mum attempts to find her feet again at work. Thankfully there are no dreams.

Today I screwed up with times. Satt och pluggade hemma hos mig. Prepositioner. I under över, bland inom genom längs. Utan att. Dismantled the bike and wheeled it home. Bought crickets for the frog and OD’d on goodis. Nico called and bjod mig på en öl. A distraction, a drink, is what I need. Easy Swedish company with bad taste bajs humor and cheap beer. Sweet respite and I call it homework. Missed the bus. Walked to town in my ‘överklass’ boots, overcoat and green velvet. It is cold, crisp, clear. Feels good to breath.

Burak called. There are no lectures tomorrow. I shall go to school anyway. I like the people.

At some point during the summer I watched ‘The Hours’, a film in which I saw so much of so many lives all of which could have been my own. Meryl Streep’s character, Clarissa, explains in a reverie of youthful memory a moment which she believed was “where happiness begins”, not realising that it was in fact, happiness itself.  A sweet simple truth, and one better to learn now that waiting another quarter decade.  The penny dropped and I landed like a cat on a thick velvet cushion. Claws withdrawn, padded feet protect me  while offering a gentle reminder of the cold. I am re-growing my whiskers, sensory perception defined. Licking the remnants of rich sauce, like an echo of recent conversation, from my empty plate.  There is a moment to savour. It is today.

There is not time for it all, so we can not continue to worry whether this was the right decision. Enjoy the best of this situation. Throught the course of this month I will loose proximity with two people who have had a profound influence on me this summer - whether they realise it or not. Their actions were thoughtless, or rather, in no way intended to influence. Merely people being the people they are. Inta and Sam, thank you for your short friendships - and for the introduction of others! There is a crowd out there and it scares me. Their faces judge and scorn, unified voices repeat sentiments of distrust. The crowd is made up of you and me and you and me and you and me. Each of us is alone. Each of us has a crowd, and it continues to terrify until we are ready to let it become a friend.

Drawing lines is becoming second nature. Each line has graduated pencil shades between. The shadow of information. The line can change. There is not more than one of me, just different levels. There is no need to hide. It is better to disclose a little, bit by bit, build up the shadow into a form, some pictures always remain unfinished. That is ok. We do not have to complete every task we take upon ourselves. Not all of them are necessary. Many of them serve little more purpose than practice. Precious few are the route to a masterwork. Lets not try to allow hope and expectation cloud the genuine result. There is always the eraser, start again. But clean paper is better. That we we save the mistakes.

The penny dropped and I landed like a cat.

I’m beginning to remember what homework feels like. Otherwise my adult experience of education couldn’t be more different to that of my teenage years. Well, I tell a lie. On both occasions I have been involved in the production of posters to promote cultural events. However, last time I was whiling away lunch hours in the art department making advertisements for other people’s bands, glad not to suffer the painfully awkward company of my classmates. This time I have to pull myself away from my new-found comrades and make time to advertise my own happenings. The Scribbling Society is my baby, no doubt. It eats time while handing me both worry and excitement!

Back to school though, and what a wonder. I had always hated the dict quoting that ’school is the best time of your life’. School, in my previous experience had been little short of a waking walking hell. There are no words for the discomfort of an outsider, a weirdo, in a clique ridden, sports driven, local highschool. In all truth I have unending pitty for those who claimed that their teens were their peak of enjoyment… to look back with such fondness implies that their lives have become nothing more than, well, d.i.y., telephone bills and laundry days. Of course, life includes these things, but is it really necessary to revolve around them? And did they REALLY know what they wanted? Or have any inkling about how to get it when essentially their brain had turned to a pupate mush in the process of reconnection? I can’t pass comment, because I currently find myself in a situation where I can say that being at school is honestly the best time of my life. Of course, what constitutes as ‘best’ varies from day to day and lest we forget, I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown but a few short months ago. I can safely say however that this year of Sweden and schooling (summer’s emotional diversion included) has been the most productive and satisfying I have yet to mark up. Still learning vital life skills on the brink of my quarter century. God forbid my teens were the best years of my life!

So, people and homework and Scribbling have somehow snuck most of my now  precious hours into their pockets and out of my day - meaning that I am currently sitting in front of the computer with tired eyes, a frazzled brain and an hour to spare for the first time in a while. I’m still flirting with the end of last weeks Great British cold, and Friday’s finger affliction is leading me to wonder when exactly I started having such a striking reaction to my own blood! I examined and redressed the wound this evening. I’m glad to say it’s really not as bad as first suspected. There is chicken soup in the fridge, scones for tea and thirty two pages of “Fanny Hill” to go.  Oh, to unwind!

My singular sadness is that I have no remaining stamina to paint.

I miss the sensation of liquid colour.

multitasking