Going against my grain is not something that I usually advocate, but it is always wise to challenge our norms. Whether in behavior or though,  trying a different route can, obviously, lead to alternative results.  It is incredible in the midst of this madness to  find some relief.

Gentle pleasures. Physical peace.

Patience is perhaps a virtue, because good things do come to those who wait. But we must also take action to initiate. Otherwise we’re stuck in inactive state.  These good things do not land on the doorstep without us inviting them there. Taking risks, bearing our hearts.

When I look outside my window all is green. There are no longer the streaking points of headlight. The connection with E18 has been broken by a sea of fluttering leaves, stretching out their skin, unfurling in this endless rain.

Returning to Sweden was something like landing slap bang in the middle of Edward Scissorhands. This land is, truth be told, disturbingly clean! Pastel benches and picket fences. But the outer calm replaces the inner, and somehow I find myself more troubled than when a stranger in Tehran’s suicidal traffic. My body is still catching up with several weeks sleep deprivation and low lying stress. I am exhausted and unhealthy. Craving time to train, but caught in a cycle of school work and ‘other responsibilities’. Though these lead inevitably to procrastination and as such I now find myself typing this and with a fresh jar or rhubarb compote in the fridge.

Tehran’s traffic is a chaotic fruit salad, with significantly fewer strawberries than most people would like. There is a definite lack of red cars, but a trillion sour motorbike plumbs which creep around the traffic and find themselves in each and every mouthful. Lime green taxis punctuate dusty streets like  a gang of granny smiths and there is even the regular sliced banana. Someone foolishly decided to douse the whole dish in petrol however, which somewhat destroys the fruity effect.

I then began to think that the cars move like a poorly trained shoal of fish. There is something graceful in the way they swerve to avoid each other, flashing lights and sounding horns as the balletically traverse down two way streets. It seemed unreal that in a land where the government have, outwardly, so much control, there is such blatant irespect for the law. But then - if god is on your side, why bother driving safely? And there must always be a balance. We all need release. Perhaps if we are suppressed, in the way we dress, and speak, and eat and drink, then to drive recklessly (though certainly not carelessly) is a quick route to relief.

I believe it is unconscious. For most. That we are seeking relief.  We are not entirely sure where the pressure builds. Why it builds. Even that it exists. No, that we know, but that it is pressure perhaps we are not so sure about. It is just life. We are supposed to feel like this. That despite all, we live on the edge of something.

The edge is not a great place to be. I am tired. Outside my window there is green. The breathing lungs of eighty million green unfurling leaves hide the traffic.  It is not calm in here either.

Hours spent dreaming with Zorro are time out.

They dictate our actions. They decide our mood. The power of the outer. The here and now. Mine are changing.

We do of course make what we will of life. The coincidences and surprises we can explain away. Call it karma, call it fate.

On Monday night, I came home and in a moment of blind exhaustion left one of my bags in the bicycle basket. I didn’t realise until the next morning that it was missing - and with it, my wallet. The timing is classic. My passport is sitting in the post waiting to be collected, we are travelling to Iran tomorrow and I now have no bank cards. It is even impossible to transfer money to a friends account seeing as all Internet transactions require the use of that almost calculator known as a CARD reader!  And without ID it is equally  impossible to order a new card… my driving licence was in my wallet, my passport in the post.

In a case that would usually seem INCREDIBLY irritating and hard work, my passport had been re-sent from the Iranian embassy seeing as the first attempt failed. This time it was sent to Mahgol’s address but with the name of our friend who called the embassy on the top… the friend is now on a 4 week vacation in Mexico! We received yesterday however, a letter of permission from her… though yesterday was a public holiday. Today… today I have my passport in hand. We leave town in seven hours!

This overly complicated situation is not the main occupation of my thoughts though. It came to me earlier that there is perhaps a more pleasing explanation for the wallets disappearance. I received the said money holder as a gift from my ex many many moons ago. More than five years if fact. It had become a habit of daily life, and there seemed no need to do away with it. It was however, the last physical souvenir I have been carrying from our ill fated relationship. It really is time to move on!

I am glad to say that Sunday’s meeting with ‘the Swede of rather fine bild’ went rather well. It became a gallery visit on Monday, a chance meeting on Tuesday, a hello at work on Wednesday and dinner on Thursday. Sounds something like Craig David’s Seven days - though perhaps a little less alcoholic and with an Islamic shaped intteruption somwhere in the middle. We decided, slightly reluctantly that ‘good things come to those who wait’, and will return to the week just as soon as these feet are back on Swedish ground.

Now it is time to rest these sorry eyes!

Sweet dreams, good night!

It’s been a funny old week. As always, a lot to process, and the current survival strategy is not allowing much time to process it. My diary is filled from day to day with stretches of this and periods of that. Interspersed with the occasional lecture, shift at Kåren or social outing. All this is fine and well, but when I finally take five minutes to think about what it is I am trying to achieve, it seems quite possible that I am creating a mass of well intended diversions.

Today in it’s self has been an extraordinary day. Riding roller coasters in the rain, and becoming hourly more terrified of tomorrows eventualities. Not to mention the increasing confusion/despair that 99.5% of the girls aged 13 and over, were wearing enough make up to make me and Constance wonder whether they were trying to look like satsumas or toads. That in the parallel universe of an amusement park, teenage girls feel the need to so blatantly mask their own identities (mascara at least,  appeared to be mandatory!) is testament to the power of  media culture, and fear of rejection!

As we walked back through Stockholm’s sodden streets, Flo was full flow about the wonders of photochop size zero (or whatever the new addition is called) which can now render thighs to pin wheel size with just a click of a button. What the fuck happened to real human beings? The storefronts are alive with plastic. 49:50 for a bikinitop, 2 hours in make up and 8 of digital enhancement - priceless. Somewhere inside that little old tinge of ANGER started waving it’s sorry head.

Yet, even this outspoken voice is not invincible. Tomorrow it shall be meeting a young Swede of rather fine bild, and truth be told; physically, I still feel inadequate!  Too short, bad skin and far too lumpy! Not to mention the fact that no matter how much effort I wish to put into training, my lung capacity never seems to improve. Ok, there have been the occasional cigarettes - but compared to friends who smoke ‘full time’, cycling home still leaves me a little breathless! Although I feel equal on an intellectual level, it seems impossible to get my head round the idea that he might consider us equal physically. Utterly foolishness, but something amplified by the sights of today.

Though here I should really be fighting against one of my own self built stereotypes - that ’sportive types’ have less respect for ‘non sportive types’. This is built on teenage prejudice and the experiences of a very unhappy girl. The world looks different today - so why not the attitude?  Lack of experience I guess. Which is why I am now attempting to push my boundaries WAY beyond their regular lines, and making contact. In many respects ’sporty people’ are still just about aliens! Capoeira is more a retreat into the world of social and karate school dropouts (no offence meant! According to my rating system, you’re about the coolest people around!) and the armwrestling Ariean is far from ordinary!

So is it true that we look for the things that scare us? It seems that eventually we force ourselves to face our fears. Today I rode ‘Freefall’. We were winched 80m into the air, before free falling back to earth. This is the most terrifying experience. Roller coasters are a pleasure. I get off and start jumping for more. Falling is a million unwanted memories forced into mind. I wish to empty my stomach, let the tears start rolling, and escape my soul.  But I have to do it. To know how bad it feels. Now, I am not saying that I am making contact with the ’sportive type’ because I am expecting to discover how bad it feels! Rather, that the ‘reserach’ in this area stems firstly from the fear of such people, but also from the fact that I really, genuinely like this one!

But what now?!?! The same fear that drives me to try is attempting to sabotage all attempts by reminding me of everything that is so much easier. 8 months of therapy and what did I learn? A whole lot about how to make the same mistakes again and again and again.  We fall into the trap before we even realise it. Because repeated behaviour is the easiest to adapt to.

Not this time.

It is time to sleep. And put on a brave face!

I am terrified!

The more doors we open the further we have to retrace our steps to safety. No ifs, no buts. Some doors have to be opened. It can be done with caution. But right now it feels like I am going to trip on the threshhold.

The truth is: I am terrified!

Today is voting day in the UK, and a strong reminder of how far away I now am from that old life.  Although the outcome is, of course, consiquential, it does not feel so in many respect. Next years Swedish vote will hold much more importance. I wonder if I should feel sad about losing the connection with my ‘motherland’,  and discover that it is little more than relief.

I am also increasingly aware, that I, like everybody else, really has NO IDEA how the system works in this country.  We are now reaching “acute financial problems” in that, my savings are fast disappearing and the summerjob is still a distant dream. 2million cvs later and the reality of finding gainful employment in this country is becoming terribly apparent. Have contacts, or fail.

Strangely though, I am more preoccupied with rhetorical questions. How… is too…?

Back in the kitchen with Chet Baker.  There’s nothing in the oven but there could be bread rising…

Ideas are bouncing along the lines of jazz beats. Back and forth in a mismatched harmony. A day in the forest yesterday may have left my clothes a little stained, but it has cleared my head. The whole of life is a learning process and sometimes we have to play along with other people’s rules. Or perhaps bend them a little to suit our own. As long as both sides are bending rules then there should be no problem, right?

It seems like we have been hanging to hard to the Swedish stereotype. There are, of course, grounds for them. But it is easy to forget that each and every svensk is also an individual. And they are worth investing in. There is an exciting world of latent potential. It just struggles to show it’s face in a world, not so subconsciously, ruled by jantelagen.

But I wonder if it is foolish to wish that we could help them be a “little more like us”. After all, it sounds a little too much like we’re trying to westernise the Middle East! We have a lot to gain from learning to use their reserve. Not in terms of taking advantage, but in enabling peace with in ourselves. There is no need to push 24/7. However, for those of us who arrive here on a wing, and potentially will not be sitting here to see out our old age, then life’s little watchclock is always ticking and it is much harder to say ” why not do tomorrow what can be done today.”

Time to think is essential, and it would appear that patience is in constant need of practive. But as the box gets bigger, it’s much harder to climb over the edges!  We have talked about the Swedish stereotyeps. Now it is time to tackle my own.

closed box?