Monday, November 19, 2007

the November miracle

A good cry in somebody's arms, a diet of mostly salmon sandwiches, apples and Cookie Dough Icecream, a job offer, anguish, not enough daylight, wet slushy snow, shivering, an art exhibition, attention-craving, insight into my deepest wounds of the soul, more crying, flea-market clothes, sisterhood, forgiveness, increased understanding of the Nigerian accent.

That's my November so far, the condensed version.

But the most important thing I learned was the miracle of forgiveness. When I was sick of my own guilt, I could no longer be fooled by the humanist reassurance that my life is my own, hence right and wrong is defined by me, hence guilt is nothing but a lie forced on me by religious traditions. Then it arrived, the miracle. Forgiveness. And I was transferred from pain to peace in one single act.

Friday, November 09, 2007

someone more desperate than me

I have a cool, detached, neutral, non-upsettable attitude these days. Jaded. Not exactly by choice, probably just worn out my too many private emotions. Can't share the general shock caused by Finland's first real American-style school massacre. Why the disbelief that such a phenomenon should strike this safe little corner of the world?

Somehow, I can't feel surprised at all. Why not here? This is what the world is like.

But it proves my theory that there are so many lonely people out there whom nobody notices. Some of them would do anything, absolutely anything, to be seen and heard. The weird thing is that desperate acts and crazy tragedies don't happen more often than this.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

factory of wisdom and beauty

On a visit to my alma mater...

My old university has an entirely new campus. I stare in awe. Faithful to the city planning trend of later years, an old factory complex built in red brick has, with the help of the latest in glass and steel structures, been converted to something that manages to look brand new and ancient, airy and cosy at the same time. It looks like a place where the coveted knowledge and wisdom is readily available and just waiting to inspire you.

During my time there, only a few years ago, the classes were also held in an old factory. The only difference was that it smelled of mouldy old carpets and the faint light from the small, dirty windows had to have assistance from glaring strip lights in the ceiling. Old pipes were sticking out of the walls and the furniture was the most depressive seventies' style. No wonder I never really managed to be inspired by the wonders of literature, at least not before I had safely managed to escape from there.

But now, here, the students actually look happy. The menu in the spanking new lunch cafeteria has an English translation at last and the food even tastes good. I gorge myself on game stew. Game stew! I can only remember eating rubbery potatoes and deep-fried fish in places like this.

A sure sign I'm getting old. At least I'm not muttering about the "good old days".