Welcome to a new day. It follows in sequence, but another chapter is over. The thesis is finished. My first, but undoubtedly not my last. I have slept for fourteen hours and find myself at home, with nothing more pressing that some housework and a dinner party at Sundinska this evening. It is now an unfamiliar state of affairs, and I am finding I rather miss my Turkish brothers.

My head is bouncing with unprocessed thoughts. It just needs some time. My dear Pussycat said my blog sounds like I am depressive… I thought it was not so low these days. There is a plan. I am just tired. It is not possible to smile on every side of my face.

After another night on the sofa, Cem woke me at 10 and we sat and talked in the kitchen for a couple of hours. I do not know where my loyalties lie. Or rather, I know, but I am not sure I can subscribe to some specific theory. It is hard to agree with may things in their totality. And cultural migration makes it all the harder - because what is right here is not right there, and should we even assume that we must think of morality and sexuality and education on global scales? Technology has globalised us faster than the heart can assimilate.

Earlier this week me and Mahgol talked for a while - chance and this little city called Västerås brought us together. We come from different worlds. From a house in a field, to Tehran. And we are different people because of it. But we also have so many point of connection.  Overlapping layers of agreement. In philosophy. We sat and talked of our friends. Those people who dance in and out of our lives without realising their influence. We talked of people we have loved, and still love. And we decided that something has gone too far. As animals we humans have gone past a point of no return. We love so platonically.

Should it be that I can deeply love a male friend, but never consider him as a possible father? Though perhaps it is just a sign of becoming more aware of what I should look for in a prospective mate. To accept that someone can make me happy, ambitious or secure without having some sexual undercurrent. This is not animal behaviour but there is no sign of a reprise.

However, sometimes our primitive side is much more evident that we would like to think. After the pleasant (and reasonably intellectual) morning in the kitchen me and my Turkish brothers parted ways. Cihan and Kata finally had some free time to spend together. Cem celebrated his birthday by researching his Thesis options and I made my way down to the cinema. We sat and watched ‘Hunger’, possibly one of the most brutal and upsetting films I have ever seen. Although not particularly gory it was raw and much too close to home. Telling the story of Bobby Sands, an IRA hunger striker who dies in prison in the early 80s it’s violence is undisguised. There is little political or religious ‘justification’ , rather it examines the reactions of individuals when faced with a barbaric situation.

The most disturbing shot was of a young riot police officer. He stood, crying, behind a wall, while his comrades, fully clothed and armed, beat the naked prisoners. Black batons on screaming, bruised skin.  This man, ruled by some kind of empathy instead of the pack agressional instinct, was one of the brave. And I wondered about his fate. In the testosterone fueled atmosphere such ‘failures’ were likely to be seen as paramount to treachery.

The film left me with just more questions about the human situation, and the idiocy we still harbour within us. Neither side was right. We walked silently from the cinema through the cold empty streets towards the welcome light of a cafe. Where, in some twisted trance we compartmentalised the horror and ordered rich coffees, cakes and baguettes.

I came home and disappeared in a hot candle lit bath. Soft red light and soothing water around my aching limbs. It is such a luxury to be able to regress, have these few womb like minutes. Protection. It seems so hypocritical when my soul is consumed with the pain of others. I can not face to read the news. I dried off and dressed, sat blankly on the side of my bed and allowed myself to cry.

Then I slept. Fourteen black hours. It is time for recovery.

The Music - Charile Darwin by The Low Anthem