Friday, September 28, 2007

last days of key management

The autumn sun shining brilliantly and I can't decide whether I'm tired or impatient to start the day.

Only a few more days at Heartburn Hotel and I might be missing it later but not now. I seem to spend all my workdays cleaning the kitchen and I'm sick of the smell of disinfectant and the rumble of the dishwasher. The hotel magic is evaporating.

I'm sure I will miss some of the people. The ex-football star and our philosophical discussions on the meaning of suffering. The blind Jehovah's Witness who seemed to be lost, too far from home. The mystery man wandering around in the middle of the night. Santa Claus silently staring into the fireplace. The international backpackers with their aroma of adventure, who make me want to pack my toothbrush, passport and diary and head south, east or west.

This summer may have been tough, tiresome and sometimes depressing, but I learnt. And I saw. I got to handle keys again.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

resolve under a full moon

Full moon and I didn't sleep very well and wake up sneezing. Not the best of days.

I have decided to stop longing for someone to give me directions in life. I'm wise and mature enough to draw my own conclusions from what I have learned and seen with my own eyes. After a year or more of being too weary to try, I'm getting ready to stand up and take control again.

Maybe.

So I take time to think. I call my friends again. I kick my childish desire for attention in the face. I speak with my own voice. I snarl, threateningly: "Accept me, or else...."

Monday, September 17, 2007

eleven little things to come


I just want laughter, candles, unconditional love, chocolate, adventure, strong arms and a strong heart, whirlwind, a dog, wine, everyone I love, and the ability to experience all of this with fascinated wonder and maybe, sometimes, a little loss of control. That's not too much to ask, is it?

Sunday, September 16, 2007

two family affairs

Sunday lunch with my first family who had to chase me through town because I was angry and upset without even realising it. Once seated at the table and dealing with potatoes and ham with Thai sauce, a great Calm descended on my tortured soul. Family hugs, puppy love bites and a stroll in the woods probably helped.

Then get-together with that other family, the church. How ironic, I though bitterly at first, the Lonely of Lonelies. What am I trying to pretend, surrounded by strangers? I could have cried - actually, I think I did.

But my ancient angel hurried up to me afterwards and hugged me while she told me the latest adventures of her bold cat. I had a laugh with the pastor and he offered me help. An African student had an invitation for me. And one of the youngsters walked me home.

Even in the midst of misery, may I have love enough for a kind word to someone else.

And after all of this, I'm not sure I'm in misery anymore.

Monday, September 10, 2007

the Swedish edge

I am starting to realise that I was born on the edge of the world. Not in the centre.

Here is a big country (OK, everything is relative) and its people, a fairly homogeneous crowd who look alike and think alike, watch the same TV programmes and like the same mild coffee, get drunk on Saturday nights and doubt themselves, vow to beat the Swedes at ice hockey and speak a quirky, complex Finnish language that nobody else can understand.

On the very edge of this country the Swedish-speakers, as fiercely Finnish as the rest but forever different thanks to their mother tongue, a little more sociable and outgoing, struggling for their identity, always unsure of what the other Finns really think of them, tending to turn inwards and squabble among themselves regarding the best course for ethnic survival.

The majority Finns feel annoyed by their stubborn insistence to press the Swedish language on everybody else who does not want it, but forget about them the rest of the time - or ignore them just to annoy them back. On holiday trips to the coast they feel it is kind of cute, this chatty language which permeates every aspect of local society and which is as ancient as their own but with an international atmosphere. The world seems to be stretching outwards from the Swedish-speakers' seaside towns.

The trainee in the hotel reception is experiencing this for the first time, newly arrived from her inland Finnish city. More language skills are required of her here and more travellers from all over the world smile at her across the counter. There are traditions she has only heard about and she feels as if she is half-way to Sweden. The locals, as Finnish as herself, address her in that weird language which she has struggled to learn in theory for years.

I, her workmate and shift supervisor, speak to her in a broken Finnish, read a local newspaper in Swedish and seem too sure of my place in the world considering the fact that I struggle with the language of my own country.

And I smile way, way too much.