this frightening winter

A big, green tweed coat and woollen sweaters whose sleeves cover my hands, a beanie pulled low over messy hair, thick mittens, muddy boots.

This is how I look, this frightening winter. There may or may not be a slightly crazed gleam in my dark eyes - eyes that keep looking for the dawn.

colourful bottles

I think I might be getting my breath back. Slowly.

I dream of sitting down in front of a fridge filled with colourful bottles - illuminated, sparkling with beauty - waiting for something to catch up with me.

I ask people for help and I get it. This I will not forget.

in the valley of the shadow of death

I take walks along the seafront where a cold sun is reflected in ice. Grateful for the light, I pull my scarf tighter against the January wind and listen for birds among the pines.

I huddle in my Nepalese hoodie under a single lamp in my flat, the winter darkness outside vast and eternal. There is comfort in the way my phone sometimes chimes to announce a Messenger message and I scroll down my Facebook news feed way too often. I listen to my neighbours argue, their screaming child, the lift coming and going. I memorize words in foreign languages and play WordFeud.

I try not to worry about the night.

My body feels lethargic and odd, my mind leaps to sudden panic. But when there is not terror, there is gratefulness and deep love.

I fall asleep to midnight TV shows where people talk about sharks and business plans, broken trucks and Chinese factories.

And I think of you, your steady hands and your mild voice.

lesson plan with gold diggers

Things I have learned recently:

That crows bathe in icy water and that there is a whole family of squirrels in the woods along the footpath. That late-night TV is often about truckers in Alaska or gold diggers in Ghana. That I don't hate hospitals as much as I thought. That I feel safer in my bathroom than in my bed. That woollen sweaters with too-long sleeves are a great comfort. That people who want to help can be found absolutely everywhere. That my heart is strong. That I love old ladies. That you should trust more and think less when you're sick. That you can eat bananas when you can't eat anything else.

I have learned to be humble and generous. I have also learned that people love me.

Not bad, for one sickness.

born out of ocean breath

"All she wanted
was find a place to stretch her bones
A place to lengthen her smiles
and spread her hair
A place where her legs could walk
without cutting and bruising
A place unchained
She was born out of ocean breath.
I reminded her;
‘Stop pouring so much of yourself
into hearts that have no room for themselves
Do not thin yourself
Be vast
You do not bring the ocean to a river'"

(Tapiwa Mugabe: "You Are Oceanic")

a week of good and evil

This week has been an other-worldly one.

There has been blueberry soup, midnight phone calls by nurses and suicidal friends, driving cars nearly unconscious, music from my youth, early morning walks in snow, panic and vomit, the glorious feeling of being helplessly in love with a stranger, falling asleep on the bathroom floor to the sound of a scientific podcast on lichen, normal workdays, praying, sending pictures of my cardiogram to people to prove that I have a heart, little sleep and even less food.

I have prepared myself for another desperate trip to the emergency room by picking out clothes warm enough to suppress my uncontrolled shivers but also flattering enough to make me look enchanting to the hot doctor on duty as I expire at his feet.

I have wished for physical pain instead of mental one, while being profoundly grateful for the strength still left in me. I have once again decided not to hide from my friends.

I have cowered in corners and fearlessly plowed straight on. I have driven to the hospital, just to sit in the car outside it for a while before going home again.

I have battled horrifying anxiety by turning it into physical nausea and by falling in love.

love and other panic attacks

Hair dye put me in the emergency room again. I stagger in, not allergic, just hysterical, in a Nepalese hoodie, muddy boots and (beautifully espresso brown) hair on end. It is a dark and stormy night, but not as dark and stormy as my soul.

I don't know what to tell them, the people who ask what is wrong. That I woke up in a panic? That I've eaten too much iron, that I nearly bled dry a week ago, that my back is in a twist, that I'm shaking, that it's not really the psych ward I need, that hair dye nearly made me faint once before, that maybe it's exactly the psych ward I need? That there is a full moon behind the snow clouds and praying didn't help this time? That the hospital has my dead father listed as my next of kin?

I'm scared and alone and maybe that is precisely my problem. But it is my body that tries to bring me to my knees, demanding a ransom that it refuses to specify. Demons are dancing. And the emergency room is staffed by 25-year-olds and I'm not sure I can trust 25-year-olds with exorcism.

But someone strong opens the door, speaks to me with kindness as I stagger in, takes my hand and calms me down. Someone to lean on, at last. I put my shaking life in his hands without a second thought. He carefully checks that I'm not dying, tells me that I'm in fact healthy and strong, then gently asks me if I have ever had a panic attack.

I think that is the moment I fall in love. The cardiogram printout shows my heart beating slowly and surely for him.

optimism is a strategy

“Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so.”

(Noam Chomsky)

"Noam Chomsky is our household deity here in the modern languages building," said one of my professors at university. I'm still not entirely clear on why. But I feel that I should quote him at least once.

Well said, dear household deity.

negativity ahoy

Darkness and an aching back. Anemia. No purpose and too much TV. Family trouble.

Thank God I get to go to work tomorrow.

toe thrill

For a delightful winter experience, step out with bare feet on fresh snow. The feeling is thrilling and the footprints are pretty.

Don't stay out too long if you want to keep all your toes.

may you stay

Happened to hear a Bob Dylan song and suddenly recognized the words my sister wrote on my birthday card about thirty years ago - words that struck me deep then, but I probably haven't thought about them for twenty-five years or so.

May your wishes all come true ...
and may you stay forever young.

a minus fifteen moment

Favourite moment today:

Walking through town in extreme cold (-15 C), wrapped in wool. The snow under my boots made that noise it only does when it's really cold. The people I met were covered in so much clothing that the only thing I saw of them was their eyes. Eyes made alert by the life-threatening temperature.

The sun set at 4 p.m. and stars appeared in the clear skies. In winter, night-time is my favourite - which is fortunate, since there is so much of it.

2016: the year of business and an electric summer

* New Year celebration with friends, Czech beer, fireworks and the glorious feeling of having turned down two safe job offers in favour of freelancing.
* First Christmas celebration of the year (out of three) held in early January.
* Leap Day: decided to start a business.
* Learned Arabic in one day (in theory, at least).

* As Orthodox church bells rang in Easter at midnight, I ordered certificates of tax debt online.
* Complained about racist writings on Facebook and was called coward, scum, rat, dog, traitor, (unprintable) and "leftie who doesn't wash".
* Emergency coffee picnic outside the hospital on a sunny day, with sister and small Kenyan boy.
* Took green-lipped mussel pills to improve volleyball skills but lost the year's tournaments anyway. Possibly because the team captain's pep talk was: "I've fallen for Justin Bieber!"
* Birthday: woke up to a spring blizzard, gave an eight-year-old life advice on how to handle rejection, pushed a priest out of my flat at midnight after a lecture on the dry valleys of Antarctica.
* A week in London with exploration, sisterhood and a Colour Conference with 12,000 women.

* Watched the annual icehockey championship disappointment in a hospital common room, surrounded by nurses and sleeping babies.
* Had a physical altercation with a pissed-off crow and retreated in defeat.
* Typical Finnish yard sale race with friend and toddler. Best find: great coffee and Kalevala.
* Became a business owner and linguistic consultant. Started off with a month's vacation and a negative result of -3.75 euro.
* Quail eggs, ice-skating, watching relay runs, three new fun colleagues, invitation to join secret order.
* Succeeded in match-making for the first time ever.
* Road trip to Turku to see my favourite cathedral, wave at ferries, try kangaroo meat and give my friends a nostalgic guided tour of the Nineties.

* First summer in summer paradise with electricity and running water. Work and play felt equally good. A hundred years of rest together with books, DVDs, curious owls, family and a little too much rain. Most adrenaline-filled moment: finding an ant behind my ear.
* Traditional Midsummer Eve with the Midsummer People around a white table on the Island. Almost-midnight sun, lots of food, laughing at serious matters.
* Visit to the national Housing Fair: jacuzzis, artificial lakes and annoyed artists.
* Road trip with mother to a tiny village that I once represented at sporting events (but have never seen before). Found a mighty river and a distant cousin.
* Sea-faring adventure to the Isle of Shadows, risking our lives in heavy seas.

* As I arrived at home after a month between sea and forest, my gang was already waiting on my balcony with bottles of wine and a beautiful sunset.
* Weekend in a weird little town near the Russian border: beachvolley in rain, pillow fights, a fateful devil's jam and a board meeting in the back seat of a Toyota.
* Trip to Helsinki: another fair, famous dead people and summery sea views, too much walking in golden shoes.

* Playing pranks and interrupting an intimate moment on a dark autumn night.
* Back-ache, massage and camping on the floor.
* Selling second-hand stuff without much success. Made twelve euros.
* German phrases played on repeat in my car.
* Saturday nights with friends and too many family worries.
* Financial donations to tooth extractions and tuberculosis treatments.
* Melted chocolate evenings and gingerbread cookie baking with family.
* A quiet but delicious office Christmas party, Christmas walks, a borrowed Christmas poodle and reunion with the Christmas people.

  

* Joined a gym.

* Celebrated New Year's Eve over a quiet cup of tea with friends, then suffered an invasion of party-hungry people at midnight.

 * Summary of the year:

Scared and mute and super-efficient business owner.

a beginning of ice and moodiness

The year begins with ice and moodiness. A whodunnit and Chicago P.D. A kitchen full of dirty dishes after an impromptu midnight party and a desire for great things.