The ultimate curse of being an ‘utländska student’ is that friends appear on our doorsetps, help to change our outlook and then disappear again in a puff of magical blue and yellow smoke. But this is also blessing beyond belief, because instead of being locked to the same old faces, opinions and routines, we are constantly challenged, and learning something new. As in any walk of life, there is no way to guarantee friendship. And it is foolish to try and be friends with everybody. If you don’t click then you don’t click. But sometimes there are people who fit so comfortably into the miljö att det bara känns rätt.

This morning I waved goodbye to Narae and Minwook. Our parting words were that it had been a pleasure (which it most certainly has) and that ve ses. And I really hope for it. The strange thing is, they were never my closest friends. Language and culture kept us at a distance, but they are some of those that I feel most comfortable around.  I do not know their complexes, their fears, their hopes or greatest joys. Not even their favourite music, book or food. But they have been most welcoming, and in exchange, most welcomed. It has been the simplest of friendships.  And they have made me laugh until I cried, possibly the most precious gift of all!

Today is also the day that Tunca finally leaves Europe proper, and crosses the line back into the self-proclaimed macho paradise, Turkey.  Perhaps I give my friends too much credit, but I doubt it. In his loud, irritating, company things changed.  That clumping walk, those boney shoulders and his solid stomach were like security blanket, and exactly what I was looking for.  This idiot, who got so excited when a girl bakes bread, made me happy. And his legacy lives on.

After these busy couple of weeks it is time to settle into life with direction again. I do not need to distract myself from these losses any more. Because the losses are far smaller than the gains. To have had a good time and realised it is much more satisfying that to think you are having a good time and hang on to it for all it’s might, in fear of what the alternative might be.

So with this in mind me and Mahgol tried something new yesterday - and put it out of our minds in the process. For some reason meditation (per se) has never come knocking on my door, so it seemed like time to knock on it’s. After the thesis I felt drained in body and soul. It was quite clear that the workload was acting as another mask for emotions. Mahgol also needs to concentrate. There is always her thesis at the back of my mind. Without becoming pushy this seemed like a good way to get involved. We both needed to focus.

The experience was quite extra ordinary. We found in the university another sanctuary. One of those places that we never see, because most of the time we are ignoring both surroundings and body. The university chaplain explained the process and we kneeled in this pale gray room, one red candle and a light cotton curtain swaying in the chilled breeze. I took off my glasses, my bracelet, my cardigan, and we breathed.

Within a minute or two I was transported into a swaying  world, where the red light moved in synchronisation with my pulse. The realisation that this body is alive, and always in this tidal sway. My mind is a cruise ship floating on the surface, so buoyant, that the rising swells are easy to counterbalance. It still feels like there is a straight jacket containing my chest. When I breath to full capacity it hurts. There is a pressure on my rib cage, like the weight of bad memories and collected responsibilities. It anchors me to the ground and prevents me from truly exposing my heart.

I walked a dusty path between fields of swaying meadow grass. Dorothy in her red shoes, transported to another land, where the metal arms of cranes nitpicked on the horizon. Beside me were two un-named friends. The scarecrow and the tinman. Each contained in their own battles, stronger in our company. In my hand I held the paw of Totto. A small black and white dog, or my inner child, who walked on his hind legs. We desperately searched for home. There was a long red ribbon trailing from the scarecrow’s hat, it billowed out in the wind as small clouds of dust lifted from the ground. The air was cool and dry but a weak sun left warmth on our skin. And suddenly we realised that there was no way home. Because it is only something we can create, not something someone else can create for us. Home was already in our hearts, with these imperfect people and their untold woes.

I spend the rest of the day with my dear classmates and two of my Turkish boys. Every job was scrubbed off the to-do list. The snow came down and the friends came round.

I feel like a plant that is just starting to thrive.

Some new music on rotation.