Long time no blog. I am so exhausted. Completely drained of the ability for creative thought.  Strange how some feelings spread like a viral infection. There are people who just suck positive energy and inspire agitation. Earlier this week I was almost compelled to bludgeon a blood relative with a teapot. The meanness of Christmas. The glory of Britain. I shall fight the desire to rant as I have so successfully fought the desire to speak my mind all week. Though I have come to the conclusion that no-one (including myself) is exempt from a lesson in common courtesy from time to time. Sorry, but even if you are my ’superior’ you loose all associated respect if you do not treat your fellow human beings with equal gratitude and generosity!

Enough said.

Aside from such innards chewing coming home has been like stepping out of time for a while. We are in the midst of Orkneys longest deep freeze (in my memory.) The temptation is to don a survival suit and walk on water. Two icy miles to the Ring of Brodgar with a bar of chocolate and tin of pemmican in my pocket as emergency supplies. Perhaps we will make a waterless boat trip on New Years Day… it is less likely to be frowned upon by the mollycoddling British system. It seems like we have to sign a health and safety waiver to take a piss in a public loo and climb stairs in a friends home. By golly, this Britt bashing isn’t improving!

In all honesty it is a joy to be home. Me and the parental units have laughed beyond the pain threshold. The food is fantastic, the hours are sociable and the sledging is outstanding (three-up on a home made polycarbonate contraption = terrifyingly fast and post adrenaline giggles.) Being here is like stepping aside from the real world for a while. More so than usual considering we’re watching cock pheasants saunter into the front yard and seals appearing through holes in the new Stenness Loch glacier. It is funny to look back on this year in Västerås and the people I have  met there. Some saunter in an out just like the pheasants, nice decoration but little more than something to look at.

Our families we are born with (and luckily mine is suitably… suitable) but the other people who cross our paths are little loose atoms, bouncing around waiting to make connection. It’s not often we collide and combine to make some other valuable element, but the past 364 days have been spectacularly productive.  There is a whole spectrum of glorious friendly atoms I have had the good fortune to bump into. Each offering something different. Something necessary. Excitement, flavour, colour, stability.

Mahgol, Tobias, Burak, Constance and Sam. The nutcases. The capoeiristas. Cihan, Cem and Batu. Mareike, Inta and Hubert. Killman, Erik and you. Here is my common courtesy. It is appreciated.

Tack så mycket. 2009 har varit ett gott år.

Earlier this evening I sat with a full belly,  red wine in one hand and a cigar in the other. Bitter smoke curled towards the ceiling as every hint of that emotion slipped away. Life had rarely been sweeter. But there is always trouble afoot. The cycle of disharmony moves from one to another in this family. There is little we can do about it. Glad as I am that this year is not my turn (and sad as I am to know it has to be somebodies!) it is an unusual comfort to know that my presence here is is just that - a comfort. It is not only this place that seems to get smaller, but also my parents. My arms encircle my mother as if she was my own child. For the first time I am aware of being stronger than her, physically and possibly mentally. It is my turn to offer support. There are rare times when I regret the fact that my flesh, my blood, is so widely spread.

If Mexico were closer than ten thousand miles, my arms might stretch that far. I yearn to take my sister into my arms. To smell her luxurious hair and feel her breath on my neck. To tell her that she is brave. Beautiful. That it will be ok.  If there were not a stretch of salt water between me and little bro, I would hug him too. A pint.  An old joke and an arm wrestling challenge I know I will loose. Last night I lay in stitches. I almost split my sides remembering the fun we used to have playing nonsensical-pingpong. Reading unfinished stories about a headless sausage that lived in a toaster, laughing uncontrollably at old birthday cards with cleverly arranged googly eyes and marveling at politely written requests for biscuits with a bed time drink.  Dais and Osc, you are the very metal of my being.

It is quite likely that I am a hopeless romantic. I believe in beauty. Contentment. Peace. I believe in the dream. Because those things exist here. This heart is swollen. My days are held together with huge painted flowers and the sounds of Craig Armstrong.

Music

the canvas... flowery pictures to come

This little bird has returned to the nest - even if only temporarily.

The  journey ended with a shaky landing (continuing snow showers plus diminishing fuel)  and the disappearance of my luggage (apparently it was still somewhere between London and Edinburgh) but it was fantastic all the same to see mum and dad in the airport! It’s a strange feeling coming home. Although I am not physically growing any longer, everything feels a little smaller. My world is expanding. That which my life used to revolve around has lost it’s scale, though it continues to burn as bright.

The weather is fantastically inhospitable. Driving sideways snow that melts on impact with the human form. It is like a sharp shower of ice cold rain. Combined with the Västerås style darkness I am glad to have plenty to occupy me inside the home… namely sleeping. After a week of shut eye deprivation it felt like heaven to throw my carcass down in that old familiar bed. A cold double that swallows a little girl like me as I sink into deep, black sleep. With blackout blinds on the Velux and snow instead of rain I slept undisturbed until half past 1 this afternoon.

After my ‘early afternoon wake-up call’ I was promptly fed with soup and home made bread. Tea and creativity. We spent a happy hour hanging masks in the freshly painted hall. My parents have decided (in their usual style) that More is More, and have now painted the house a confection of candy colours. Greens, purples, yellows, reds and pinks. The effect is one of great warmth, and if things were not so random, possibly even Elle Interiors.  It suits them (and me) in any case. It really feels like home. There is always something to look at. Always something to do. Although I do not have much in the way of social connections in the cold wet country there are some things I am intensely proud of and would love to share with you one day… this house being one of them!

Mince pies and tea.

Cabin fever strikes easily and on my suggestion we went for a march. Trudging to the main road and back is roughly the same as my walk to school and essential to maintain a positive mood. I definitely prefer Swedish snow though. This Scottish stuff is far too horizontal and much too wet! Frozen through.

This requires more tea.

On to Christmas decoration and we have filled the living room with Indian and Mexican cut paper decorations and a bunch of kräftorkalas balloons. It’s extremely festive, even if not quite the right festival. Everything has taken a very long time today though. I feel a little like I am swimming through gravy. Talking of which, mumsy made Toads in the hole for dinner and now I feel like accompanying vegetable.

I dug out a pair of old glasses and now I see (read look) like superman (in the journalist guise). I have found a hundred beloved t-shirts and my old journals. It is good to be home.

just add snow

These expansive airports are making me realise how much I appreciate my glasses! I now have to sit less that 8m away from the departures bord to read anything of use.

It was an amazing approach into London this morning. Flying low over a lego brick city sprinkled with snow. The gurka, the eye and the bridge all in plain view.  Sadly the enarly morning sunshine was a little worn by the rigmarole of Heathrow Terminal 5. Far too many shops and not enogh seats! Airports are very strange places. You are forced to strip, take of your shoes, encouraged to sample the perfume and expensive alcohol but absoloutly not allowed to bring your own sandwiches.

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

Once again, I find myself awake at an unearthly hour.

I am done for. Svenska är slut, eller, historian är i alla fall. Ingenting är konstant.

A  job, a job, a job. Yours, mine and the rest of it. It all comes down to work and none of us, nethier you, or I, or they, can escape.

We are running out of time.

Snow falls.

The beauty of idealism.

All things are multifaceted.

I love you, I miss you, goodnight.

There are a million wonderful people. They surround us. Those to fight endlessly for that which is right, that which is needed and that which makes the rest of us happy. There are people who have such influence without intention. Those who make us laugh, cry, feel secure. They may not be the smartest, richest or most sucessfull. As they continue to wander in and out of our lives I can not even say that they are exceptional. But they are as wonderful and as special as we allow them to be.

If we take the time to get to know each other it soon becomes apparent that we all have a story to tell. We all have something invaluable to offer. The only thing we are missing is the lust and the time to delv a little deeper. The greatest sorrow is that we slip into routine and in routine there is little need to extend our feelers and build a new network. The greatest tragedy is that when we sink into the routine regime it is easy to forget how simply wonderful the people around us make us feel.

As creative people, most of us are undeniably poor at producing something which express the positive spectrum of feelings we experience.  When I read through my diary it’s clear. I don’t write when I am happy. Life is good. I go to bed with a smile on my face. The sickness that lurks in the bottom of a stressed stomach, the knotted muscles of insomnia. They are what spur heartfelt output.

Knowing this to be the case I can only say how unexpectedly easy life has been. How unbelievably happy I have been these past few months.

Thank you!

Even considering the short coca-cola fuled interval where I cartwheeled down the corridor and started making chicken noises, my literature essay is fini! Wooooooo! Now here I sit here in a very dark, empty university lisetning to cheesy pop from my early teens and wondering what to do with myself. It is ten thirty in the pm on a friday night. I haven’t slept before midnight once this week, på grund av a plethora of lectures, exams and social obligations. Is it time to take my goodies and leave, or should I phone a friend. The million dollar question.

Today the bottom dropped out of my stomach. It was not an expected reaction, and it was not for the expected reason. “You are not ballanced.” Some people are so observant! The nutcases spent  several computer accompanied hours ploughing their way through work and personality tests. A combination of Swedish and psychology.

Wish it was so easy to draw the line between beauty and bullshit.

Should we act on the creations of our subconscious?

Lyckan är utan slut.

Lilla, Panda, jag, Annanas och Pussycat