Sunday, December 29, 2019

glitter and saffron

A Christmas of glitter, hugs, saffron and chocolates. A thick candle flickering its light towards a distant horizon. Books. Chattering people and a feeling of future.

I wore something glittery red and chattered almost as much as the others.

Now I take walks in silent, dark woods where all life is asleep. I look at lit windows and let snow and rain fall on my face. I long for light and find a sleepy peace in the darkness.

I'm not sure I did this year right but I think I did my best.

Saturday, December 21, 2019

on this very Christmas night

It is a deep dark night that swirls around our northern lands.

It tastes of cold, gingerbread and woodsmoke. It smells of snow travelling towards us. It has hyacinths, lights that twinkle and people who just want to sleep.

I'm tired in body and soul, and yet every song makes me dance. My God is on his way to save me.

This night
we pray
our lives
will show
this dream
he had
each child
still knows 
we are waiting
we have not forgotten
on this night
on this night
on this very Christmas night

(words from The United Orchestra's "Christmas Canon")

Thursday, November 28, 2019

pale face to a pale sky

Spur your little Citroën onwards through thick, slushy snow. Lead your elderly mother by the hand. Don't think of all the work you should be doing.

Instead, lift your pale face to a pale sky. Warm your hands in the pockets of a winter jacket and rejoice in your heavy boots. See how people smile at you, willing to help.

The day is cold, snow is still falling, life is good.

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

brave, efficient, bitter

I have changed. I'm no longer afraid of conflict and not too preoccupied with what other people think. I don't need to fix other people's relationships. I don't say yes to everything. I'm not worried that I don't feel loving enough. The world doesn't have to be black and white. I accept.

I don't have to experience everything. I am aware of the need to make plans and be efficient. I am happier even when life isn't going according to plan. I state my opinions when I want. I am braver, much more confident.

I am also more bitter and grumpy.

Monday, November 25, 2019

aimlessness with coffee

Green smoothies next to a book. A tuna salad underneath an exotic wallpaper with jungle flowers and pigs.  A laptop in a library, surrounded by whispering students. Buckets of black coffee with melancholia and a will to live.

Streets in a grey mist that reaches from here to February. Long sleeves over hands with silver nailpolish. A whole day of aimlessly roaming the city. Weariness with excitement, boots and woollen scarves.

Friday, November 22, 2019

dress code: business bohemian

During office hours I sit at a beautiful teak desk. The staff room has a fancy espresso maker and exotic fruits in the snack bowl.

My colleagues arrive in expensive cars, dressed in ripped jeans and hoodies - it's the kind of office that is too cool for a business dress code.

I sometimes arrive in a sharp pencil skirt, sometimes in a hoodie. Sometimes both. I put rings on my fingers, hoops in my ears, thick mascara on my lashes. I stomp around in boots. I sometimes arrive in a very uncool, noisy car that looks out of place among the Audis. Mostly I take the bus - where I'm sometimes the only woman not in a hijab.

I feel a need to be extra bohemian in this environment.

Thursday, November 21, 2019

house of candles and cherries

A dark cottage lit by fig and mango candles, a tiled kitchen with a hot scent of cinnamon and honey. A garden of pear and lemon trees, birdsong and the sweetest of cherries. A small creek with a canoe in it, ready for adventures.

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

the most heated scenes of my life, a list

40 degrees Celsius in a small Californian town. We try to cool down by dipping ourselves into a very shallow river.

A sauna by the lakeside, with two old women. It's not far off a hundred degrees Celsius, and very humid. Dipping into the cool lake afterwards is heavenly.

The sauna by the public swimming pool. A woman pours several buckets of water onto the stove, creating great clouds of lethally hot steam, then leaves. The rest of us are left gasping for air.

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

savour the rain-soaked fields

To be able to enjoy almost everything.

Slow, sad, utterly Finnish music in a dark room on the outskirts of town. A breath-taking requiem by Mozart echoing under the vaults of an imposing church, moving yet another generation to tears.

Exploring an old ruin in the rain, in a muddy field. Zipping up coats, feeling cold rain seep through jeans, and just laughing all the more.

Seeing grey fields, silvery lakes, dark and rolling hills, farmhouses with lights in the windows. Marvelling at something so grey and rain-soaked and sprinkled with beauty.

Enjoying ourselves among the riches and temptations of a large mall, learning history in a medieval castle. Loving our food and wine, sitting quietly lost in thoughts for hours in the car.

One of the most valuable lessons I'm learning: Find the beauty in everything. Savour it.

Monday, November 18, 2019

weekend in a Jaguar

Road trip in a Jaguar with friends, Bruce Springsteen and the prettiest parts of Finland.

Cold rain will be soaking a monochrome landscape as we explore medieval ruins but we will stop at a mall where everything is warm, colourful and enticing.

Mozart's most beautiful music will be resounding through a cathedral and at the party afterwards, the synopsis of a thriller will be scribbled down on wine-stained paper.

Cold air, ancient castles, sad music. Wine, laughing friends and lots of history. And a long, lazy drive home through the darkest of forests.

Sunday, October 27, 2019

hello to the howling wind

Say goodbye to the sun for about half a year.

Say hello to the howling wind, the darkness advancing a mile every day, the icy rain. The fairground colours of golden birches and red apples in dewy gardens. The greyness that is the extreme form of grey (if there can be such a thing). Welcome the coldness and the snow that can kill you.

Only the strong of heart survive Finland. The welfare system will probably shelter you from the physical dangers - but the darkness will play tricks on your mind. You are in a film noir, a horror flick, but it's real.

Finland will stun you with its extreme nature, its merciless beauty, its harsh and ugly loveliness that demands to be loved.

This is an adventure. If you survive the winter, you are a hero. Take a deep look at all the beauty around you and enjoy the ride.

Saturday, October 26, 2019

with a mother's voice in my ear

I was walking through dark October streets, dry leaves rustling under my feet. An ice-cold rain started to fall. It quickly turn to hail that peppered my cheeks so hard it hurt.

I was talking to my mother on the phone, so I turned up the hood on my padded jacket - a big hood, warm and wide. I kept walking, feeling warm and sheltered and in the company of my mother. It was an extraordinary feeling. I could have walked for hours - and I did.

Tuesday, October 22, 2019

God and the July sun

It's on the loveliest days of summer that I plan my life.

When my bare skin is heated by a July sun and chilled by blue waters, when the vista around me is sky and sea and forest, when I'm deeply immersed in nature, when I feel safely at home and excited about new adventures at the same time. Then I dream and plan for the year ahead.

This year, my plans were modest and extravagant: I would learn what it is to be loved by God. To really feel it. How free and fearless I would be when that love was literal truth to me!

But in the icy winds of October, I go looking for that love and it's as far away as the July sun.

In theory, I know it's there. Sometimes I feel it - when I allow myself to feel it instead of try to earn it.

But I need to have it deep inside my body, immerse myself in sky and sea and forest.

The world is too cold for that.

I read and I pray, and maybe I'm inching closer, but my skin is still cold to the touch.

Monday, October 21, 2019

ice, darkness, apples

October is colour, ice, darkness, apples, candles, boots, sweaters, jackdaws, rain and the first snow, light boxes, trying to find the right temperature, blankets, heat packs, weariness, sneezing, and a harvest celebration around a chocolate fondue pot.

Sunday, October 20, 2019

a metaphor made me write this


Birches are dripping gold, maples are weeping blood.

The forest is silence and the air is ice.

October is a tiger, red-gold and beautiful and silent, stalking at a distance, waiting for its prey to slow down.

Thursday, October 03, 2019

myths unfold in the city tonight

There is strangeness in the city.

A prime minister holding court in a tiny café, a tree full of messages, an apartment building on fire, a mysterious man climbing the tallest chimney and refusing to come down. And there was a New Yorker on my bus. Whatever next?

Tuesday, October 01, 2019

lingonberry jam and death

Lingonberry jam is cooking on my mother's stove. It has a rich, spicy scent and the colour of blood.

Meanwhile, the radio is analysing the latest school shooting.

Today I have discussed kneepads in three languages, googled Hyderabad, watched a steeplechase, dressed in white lace and tea-green lamb's wool and had an odd urge to watch one of those slide shows of old.

I have also wondered how long my mother will live.

Saturday, September 28, 2019

our city is spreading its wings

Wings are leaving the city, all the time.

That's what we call them, the 30 to 50 meters long wind turbine rotor blades. They arrive by ship, make a strange addition to the landscape for a while as they are stored in a field near the harbour, and then leave the city while stopping traffic with their special transports and flickering orange lights.

I've been seeing these giant hulks for years, patiently pulling my car over to make room when they come. I still catch my breath when I see them. Beautiful, eerie and impossibly large, they are going away to harness the wind. It moves me.

Friday, September 27, 2019

fridge poetry

chant: all you and delirious!
play with a sun, still as a storm

bitter goddess with shadow hair
diamond skin, bare feet, cool blood

dream of frantic symphony above
dress like a scream, misty red fashion
run on moon juice
hot tiny light in luscious language garden

blue peach girl
drunk on sky, mad rose in bed
elaborate ache whispers over fiddle boy
sad beauty said no here

live rain woman:
go watch water
love like a thousand lazy summers
and sing about a ship of honey

Sunday, September 22, 2019

always a stranger

In the world I am
Always a stranger
I do not understand its language
It does not understand my silence

(Bei Dao)

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

discontent with a vanilla scent

I'm in a cosy corner of the balcony, high above the sea. So why is it so hard to feel content? When I have a pink sunset, a vanilla candle and a gorgeous gypsy skirt? When I'm loved by God?

Saturday, August 24, 2019

whiskey and silver nails

I come armed with whiskey and silver nails.

Autumn has nothing on me as I turn my world into silver and get ready for change. I will go on a quest for love. I will tell shivering secrets and diamond truths to my friends. Let the weak say "I am strong" because grace is sufficient for me.

I will live from day to month and love the chilling skies. There will be music, libraries and the whispering of French words. I will let my voice be heard and laugh without fear of the future. I was born for this and I know how to dress the part.

God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. I will drink lots of water and grow in strength and wisdom.

I will walk down the street like a rock star, but with love.

Friday, August 23, 2019

raspberries, moths and the north wind

It was a summer of the north wind, of raspberries and moths. Of cool and empty offices, white paint and espresso. Hot sun and blue waters. Snacking on lentil crisps and getting out of the chilly wind. Stacking firewood, eating blueberries in the woods and making eye contact with birds. A summer of difficult emotions and the sweetest of sleeps.

And I saw a grey curtain of heavy rain advance against me after weeks of drought. I longed for it, smelled it, heard its muted whisper - then it came to me across the sea.

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

summer's end, always untimely

In my candle-lit cabin in the woods I prepare for the year ahead.

I rage against the dying of the light. I want to stay in the candle-light, silence, summer. In warm wind, laughter, salt water. In boat trips with sugar pig pastries. In being so close to nature that I feel it breathing. In the company of birds, poodles, people. In being so safe, so far from everything heavy and oppressing.

But the birds, poodles and people are moving on. Winter is coming. How fast and how unfairly!

It breaks my heart. But because I must, I make plans for the war ahead. I will conquer winter with music, spicy casseroles, wool, dancing myself tired, old and new wisdom. Above all, with love. This year, I will learn what it is to be loved by God.

It's a silent night in the woods. Tomorrow, I get into my Citroën and go to battle.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 
(Robert Frost)

Monday, August 12, 2019

this place loves me back

Raspberries, lots of coffee, the calm breathing of sea and forest.

The peace of a place where nothing happens all day and nobody is expected to accomplish anything. The sea breathes in, the forest breathes out.

I am all alone. I read, eat, watch DVDs, drink coffee, read and eat some more, take a slow walk, do some small tasks that I happen upon, stick my bare feet in the sea, have a glass of wine, pick some raspberries and eat them, doze in front of the laptop. There is nothing to be accomplished. The only thing I need to do right now is live.

I put music on and dance on the grass, wildly.

The clouds pass by, slowly. The light changes as the sun moves. The colours change. The evening is long, darkness won't arrive until close to midnight. The silence amplifies the small sounds - a bird landing on the roof, a twig breaking as the wind picks up. I won't see a human being for days. But I make eye contact with a bird and listen to my feelings and maybe God has a chance to say something.

My dreams stretch out toward the open horizon and beyond. I sing a song I just learned to the sea.

The air smells of pine trees and salt. This place loves me back.

In the cool of the evening, a fire crackles in the fireplace. I will soon sleep and only hear the fire and the wind and my own dreams.

Friday, August 02, 2019

gathering fuel

A fire near me, a cold night outside.

I'm missing some people and at least one dog, but I have an old lady next door who will go on a trip with me tomorrow. The birds are going quiet and I'm lonely.

Two weeks, a cosy cottage and all the books I need. The north wind is blowing. I'm sad.

Every accomplishment in my life was fuelled by a negative emotion. I will fly to the stars propelled by loneliness and sadness.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

just the essentials, please

I crave velvety loose-fit trousers, cocktails, beachvolley weather, adventure and love.

Monday, July 29, 2019

barefoot in my dreamscape

"If you see a rock, tell me on which side."
"What do I say about a rock that is right underneath the boat?"
"What? You had one job!"

I'm in a tiny boat, singing "Row row row your boat" but the others say it's too cheerful: "Do the one from Titanic!"

On a desert island we have a picnic on the smooth rocks - coffee, crisps, "sugar pig" pastries. I could sit there forever, staring out at the summer sea. The heat, the smell of sun-warmed stone and pine trees. The wilderness. The cool, pure water where I immerse myself. Drops of salty water on tanned skin. My dreams, stretching out to the horizon and beyond. Everything is possible, everything is good.

I didn't bring any shoes on this trip. A barefoot life is part of my dreams.

Thursday, July 25, 2019

when we were penpals

In ancient times, when there was such a thing as penpals, I had these:

* Fethanegest, an Ethiopian boy who wanted to study biology to become a doctor and who sent me a postcard depicting a Coptic saint coming back from a trip to hell.
* Sameer, a Druze boy who lived in a village in the Golan Heights, built his own house with his father as his bank and was excited about his cool car.
* Vania, a German church-going girl who became a friend.
* A Moroccan guy who just couldn't take a hint.
* An assortment of boring teenage airheads just like me.

Bonus pick from my correspondence box: My grandmother's postcard from a trip to Sweden where she got to meet "the Lapland doctor". Probably the only postcard she ever sent.

Wednesday, July 24, 2019

stuff I found along the road

Beachvolley with friends on a hot summer day. Evenings over a pint in a dark pub. Fixing my computer. Sunday brunch with cocktails. Hotels. Writing. Music and dance floors. Boho clothes. Being in a completely foreign environment.

These are things that make me feel good. Because they are completely my own, not inherited from family.

Friday, July 19, 2019

business and forest fires - so Swedish

I have breakfast, sandwich and yogurt, at Sweden's largest airport while I text with a friend I'm very upset with.

It's barely seven o'clock in the morning and too early for this sort of thing. But the energy of the large airport is inspiring. I watch the 7-Eleven staff restock shelves and the security guards mutter to each other. Swedes are different from Finns. They have a directness in looking at and approaching people.

I've always been jealous of people who get to live in Sweden. I have a very romantic view of the country. To me, Sweden is idyllic country roads lined with blooming fields and red cottages. It has lakes, horses, cute cafés around every corner. It has friendly people. It has an ancient history of kings and castles. It has traditions that still echo that ancient history. It has style. And my own language is spoken everywhere, unlike the country I live in.

After just a day in Sweden, I'm seeing my life differently.

Not just because I have been in Sweden on a whirlwind visit. I have also lunched in the botanical garden in Linnaeus' own city, attended a business meeting and barely escaped a forest fire. All of these experiences seem very Swedish.

Friday, July 12, 2019

forget about ships and skirts

The queen of denim is dreaming in 98 percent cotton, 2 percent elastane and waiting for shipping approval.

It is Friday afternoon in summer. The blinds are down, the office is empty. The overhead lights keep switching themselves off, not detecting any motion.

A courier should bring me a denim skirt but he seems to be lost in Helsinki. A man should love me but he seems to be lost in space.

I should go home and forget about ships and skirts.

Monday, July 01, 2019

happy among mosquitoes

Alone between the sea and the forest.

Alone, that is, except for the Canada geese I chase away from the beach, the seagull babies I'm trying not to chase away, a rare bird I'm trying to identify, and too many mosquitoes.

There is deep silence here in the middle of nowhere. But not a complete silence. There are the sounds of the sea, the birds, the rain on the roof. There are also faraway sounds of other people further down the coast, and the hum of my laptop. Maybe the silence is inside me.

I have a bad back and a cynical mind. I am less flexible than before, in body and spirit. But I may be happier.

Sunday, June 30, 2019

this blog's biggest secret

My blog is secret and anonymous.

Not because I want to keep it from those who know me in person. But because I wouldn't be able to write if I knew that they were reading it.

I am the opposite of an attention seeker. It's definitely not good for my writing.

Saturday, June 29, 2019

when dealing with betrayal and geese, wear Armani

Today was the kind of day when I ...

... sat in the corner of a restaurant and said to a friend, "Do you understand that what you did was a betrayal and completely unacceptable? That you stabbed your friend in the back?"

... went to collect firewood from a shed at the edge of the forest, dressed in Armani

... ran across a lawn, laughing like a madwoman, with six wild geese trotting lazily in front of me


(Note: My one and only piece of Armani clothing was bought for six euros at a flea market. I'm an anti-consumerist.)

Monday, June 10, 2019

lilacs and heatwaves

Writing, lilacs, a poodle, work, a good book, a fish market, angry birds, heatwave, brunch with friends, long walks in fragrant parks, back ache. This is the way a summer starts.

Sunday, May 19, 2019

birdsong and deception

May, and the world races towards summer. Colour bursts and evenings in the sun, millions of birds, the smell of earth and life, the first sensation of bare feet in cold grass - and then it's over.

A warm May is like first love. A cold May is like being deceived by your first love.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

zombies and nuns in the capital of Bohemia

A zombie appeared and disappeared at irregular intervals as we strolled lazily across the famous Charles Bridge in Prague.

You know the type: white face, wild hair, weird eyes, threatening air. We avoided eye contact and nervously hurried onwards and lost it among the tourist crowds. A minute later, there it was again. Blocking our path, staring hungrily. We decided we had had enough of Charles Bridge and escaped into the narrow streets of Mala Strana.

Apart from this, Prague was all good. Well, except for the pouring rain as we explored the castle. It put a damper on our mood as we ran shivering between the cathedral, the White Tower and Golden Lane. But the lazy hour we spent in a warm, cozy café afterwards was worth it. We felt that we had earned our lemon tarte and excellent coffee.

Memorable moments included:

* drinking Staropramen on the roof terrace of a dancing house
* asking a stranger in the street for directions and discovering that he was able to sing our own national anthem to us - in Finnish
* discussing whether a horse can be painted, in the Old Town square
* gawking at all the impossibly beautiful buildings all over town
* having serious trouble finding dark beer in the capital of beer
* realising that the Astronomical Clock isn't a good meeting place at the strike of the hour
* listening to a sermon in Czech, only understanding the words for "truth" and "love" - but what else do you need from a sermon?
* pretending to be Czech as we travelled back and forth on trams and subway trains
* taking the wrong tram and deciding to stay on it and see what happened, in the company of a crowd of nuns
* being struck dumb with horror and awe in the Jewish Quarter, where Hitler had intended to create "a museum of an extinct race"
* being struck dumb with delight and awe at a Mozart dinner opera, where we drank Czech pinot noir and fell in love with classical music (and the baritone)
* getting a private guided tour which included a tame duck, many insults, political debate and shouting of the word "absinthe!"
* finding a lunch place far from the tourist streets, complete with surly waiters, incomprehensible menus and excellent bramboracky that cost next to nothing
* giggling over sweet American cocktails after an exhausting day

Sometimes I long to travel in luxury - being whisked from my grandiose hotel in an expensive car to an exclusive restaurant. Not having to do all the hard work of budget travelling.

But I have now decided that I much prefer travelling like I always do - walking for hours on aching feet, eating strange meals in local pubs, staying in tiny back street hotels, squeezing into trams filled to bursting with tired commuters, their dogs and their dripping umbrellas.

How else would you discover the hidden treasures of a city in the real world?

Saturday, May 11, 2019

cloud lake found

Walking in the forest - tiny emeralds on every branch, birdsong, the soothing whisper of ancient trees. I'm breathing in silver air.

The lake, pale and smooth, has clouds in it and above it. I have found it, after half a lifetime. I sit down, hug my knees and stare into the past and the future. The haunting call of a loon echoes between tree-lined shores. A boy is fishing and a man has lit a fire on the shore. Woodsmoke, a hint of summer parties to come. Dogs are playing, people are smiling at strangers. But I could walk in this forest for hours and be all alone, all at peace.

Paths are promises of adventures. I will return to breathe more silver air.

Thursday, May 02, 2019

Prague and the long-lost friends

I went to Prague for the first time in my life.

The sun shone bleakly on the famous astronomical clock, where a crowd of chattering tourists waited for the hourly chime. The cool April air shimmered with spring promise. I stood underneath the fifteenth-century clock and waited for a friend I had not seen for twelve years, the girl who taught me to play chess in Cambridge. I was nervous. Seeing a close friend for the first time in twelve years is scary. Would I even recognize her?

She suddenly stood before me. I recognized her immediately and hugged her tight as the clock chimed the hour and all the apostles looked down on us. We went to an obscure pub where nobody spoke a word of English but where they set cheap, delicious potato cakes and dark beer in front of us with typical Czech matter-of-factnesss. We discussed life for hours. Then we parted ways again. Not knowing if the next time we see each other is in twelve years or never.

The following evening, I crammed myself into an overcrowded tram in lashing rain and tried to interpret the tram map while not falling into a stranger's arms. In a dark restaurant by the river I was greeted by a man with wild, greying hair and beard. Another friend not seen for fifteen years, the last time in an Irish pub where he mocked me relentlessly and forced me to grow intellectually in order to keep up with him.

He told me his dark secrets and then showed me the secrets of Prague. As he kissed me goodbye, he looked as sad as I felt. Fifteen years or how long? Or never again?

April shimmers with promise of new adventures and is a good time to travel. To find long-lost friends. To lose them again.

Wednesday, May 01, 2019

burned sugar day

A red balloon drifted by my window.

Exhausted by my latest foreign adventure I decided that the world could celebrate May Day without me.

Someone pulled me out into the cold wind anyway. We had Mexican food and traditional Finnish mead, and admired vintage cars. The town smelled of exhaust fumes and burned sugar.

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

first fiction, then mämmi

I'm sitting here with a red sun, white birds and brownish-black traditional mämmi with cream.

I'm celebrating spring and the red sun, the eve of my birthday, a new router that I managed to install, an upcoming Czech adventure and the fact that I have written seven pages of fiction.

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

you need to wander

You need to wander the streets when they are warmed by the sun.

Because in a garden somewhere a robin is singing. You might meet a dog that looks at you and smiles. There is a strange house that you have walked past many times and never seen before.

An idea that will change your life will unexpectedly land at your feet. You will feel God walk beside you and say, "Look what I made for you".

The wind will tickle your face with a spicy scent and a knowing. You will turn around on a whim and meet the eyes of the one you have been longing for.

Monday, April 15, 2019

when birds and people sing

April is the month when birds and people start to sing.

The month when I don't have time for the million things that have to be done at this time of the year. Because I have to travel abroad, sit on the balcony, eat cake, smell of sunscreen, have a dizzy feeling, listen to birds and people singing.

Friday, March 29, 2019

true colors shining through

One summer's day, many years ago, I threw the first draft of my Master's thesis out through the open window from the seventh floor - a crumpled sheet of paper. It fell on the busiest street in the city and I never saw it again. Not that I missed it much.

That summer I suddenly transformed from a lazy, shy and somewhat lonely dreamer into a restless, confident life-lover. My days started with lunch at the student cafeteria with friends, then we drifted through a city that sparkled with life. We hade icecream on the river bank, listened to live music in the park. There were fizzy drinks in dark student pubs, hamburger meals, hot chocolate at outdoor cafés in the cool evening air. On rainy days we went through an impressive amount of films on video or in the cinema. There were choir rehearsals and Sunday services in the church where all the interesting people went. There was the occasional, dutiful visit to the university where I was supposed to be working on my thesis - usually just to look for fun stuff on the internet. There were excursions to the archipelago and to ancient cities, there were picnics beneath the old oak tree.

I suddenly found myself surrounded by interesting people who wanted to hang out with me. With me! I was enchanted.

My most faithful companion was the boy I was in love with. I had never met anyone who was willing to spend entire days with me before. When our friends went home, we had sandwiches and long talks in my flat. Too wired for sleep, we went for walks or bike rides in the white nights of summer,  along the slowly flowing river, all the way to the mysterious, brooding castle. We climbed the highest hill to watch the sunrise in a happy daze of sleep deprivation. We danced all night, wildly, on a ship in a storm where the dancefloor heaved beneath our feet and martini and love warmed our blood - waltz and foxtrot and tango. I teased him and tricked him into eating the bitter rowan berries as summer was turning into autumn and he tried, unsuccessfully, to throw me into the sea.

There was also jealousy, despair and many tears. It's just, ah, a little crush ... But when he left, I felt strong and brave. I sat down and wrote my thesis.

A man can't change you. Daring to finally be yourself can.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

dust, dirt and did you hear that?

March is intense brightness and sunglasses. Melting snow, dust clouds.

It is the first seagull shrieking somewhere high in the sky, people saying "Did you hear that?"

It is dirty windows, awakenings, people with surprised and hopeful looks on their winter-pale faces.

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

that dark roast feeling

Sometimes I like to sit with my laptop in a coffee house that has an international, trendy look to it. With hipsters, teenagers, young professionals that mutter into smartphones. Ambient house music from the loudspeakers, heavy but soft and seeping into my soul. Coppery yellow lighting. The smell of sugar and dark roast coffee and the feeling that I could be anywhere.

That coffee house has finally arrived in town.

Monday, March 18, 2019

life like melting snow

Urban wellies, grey corduroy, shiny padded jacket. Nerdy-cool librarian glasses, beanie. Confidence.

A walk through wet streets, chanterelle soup in the fragrance-coloured market hall, a dreaming browse in the second-hand shops. Fabrics, letters and glitter passing through my hands. Chocolate cake and life watching. Back-ache. Hope.

Air that looks and feels like melting snow. Sparrows chirping. The last month before the earth wakes up.

I'm thinking back to more exciting days when I laughed in foreign languages. But it is here, in my uneventful town of  melting snow, that I walk the streets in peace and confidence.

Tuesday, March 05, 2019

one of the many that got away

I showed my friends a picture of the guy I was desperately in love with when I was sixteen.

They said, "He doesn't look like he can deal with your madness."

I'm glad I didn't end up with that guy. I'm glad I have friends like that.

Monday, March 04, 2019

drop a hornet on my head

It was a day of bright sunshine on snow, a day when I donned my thickest coat and warmest mittens to survive the heart-stopping cold.

The whole city gathered cheerfully to watch a large military parade. Everyone was down at the seafront, many ventured out on the ice. Children were throwing snowballs. People stomped their feet to keep warm, smiled with frost-bitten faces.

Then, time for what everyone was waiting for: The air show performed by a daring pilot in an F/A-18 Hornet fighter jet. The aircraft thundered in. It danced above our heads for ten minutes or more, in and out of loops and dangerous-looking maneuvres. At times, it pointed its nose down and dived straight towards us with a threatening roar, then pulled up and showed us glowing jet exhausts, the noise increasing to a deafening thunder that had us covering our ears. Sometimes it blew past at an impossible speed, sometimes turned or rose so steeply that it seemed to almost come to a stop.

It was unbelievably impressive. And I was paralyzed with fear. This was exactly the nightmare that I often have. In that nightmare, I'm watching an aircraft circle above me, knowing that it will soon crash right where I'm standing, knowing that I have no chance of escape. And here I was, watching that very plane doing impossible maneuvres that surely would make it drop out of the sky. Watching an F/A-18 coming straight at me with terrifying speed. I remembered every video clip I had ever seen of fighter jets plowing straight into the ground, so fast the camera could barely keep up.

Time to face the fear, then. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But I wrapped my arms around myself, stood still and forced myself to watch. I can't say that I enjoyed it - but the adrenaline flooding my body surely spiced up the whole experience. I won't forget it.

I have not had the nightmare since then.

Thursday, February 21, 2019

recurring dream #6

I am back in my Magic Valley, setting out to explore its wondrous wilderness again. It is beckoning me with its irresistible siren call, this lush and marvellous fairytale forest with hidden brooks, weaving paths and sunlight playing in yet undiscovered glades.

This time, I'm aiming to go further than ever before, beyond the mountains at its far end. I simply must see what lies behind that horizon. I revel in every step of the journey, joyfully discovering new wonders at every turn.

I never get to the mountains. I get held up on the way every time, sometimes by enervating circumstances. Most often by the knowledge that I have to turn back and leave. Because I'm only visiting this, my former home, my paradise lost.

I have to leave, and it's breaking my heart.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

cream buns and candy showers

February is sharp days of ice and white, and soft days of water and grey.

It is a suddenly bright sun shining through dirty window. People slipping on wet ice and breaking wrists. Skiers, snowmobile races, kids with snot on their faces. Cream buns and candy showers, winter weariness and spring excitement.

It smells of ice and wet wool and expectation.

February means no longer rising before the sun.

Friday, February 15, 2019

two nights with the nuns

A desk, a chair, a narrow bed with a simple crucifix on the wall above it. It makes me want to kneel and pray for a long time. That is not something I do very often.

There is something in the air. A blessing, maybe, hovering almost within reach.

In the morning, I sigh with happiness over a simple breakfast while nuns are practicing songs in the next room.

Two nights in a monastery and I'm almost a convert.

Thursday, February 07, 2019

new worlds in the oldest city

I go to Finland's oldest city and sleep in a monastery.

I wander slowly through the cathedral that ranks among my favourite buildings in all the world, savour the silence beneath its lofty vaults, light a candle, study the ancient tombs for the hundredth time and never want to leave.

I seek shelter from a snowfall and huddle over coffee in a hot and crowded café on the university campus - a comforting place where I used to hide from the challenges of English linguistics and French literature.

I abandon outdoor exploring when the snowfall turns into freezing rain and instead study 700 year old ruins in detail at the archaeological museum and write over a glass of wine in the museum café.

I stroll along the river in cold morning light and get soaked because I cannot get enough of its beauty. I dry out over a pot of coffee and reindeer pie in a hidden pearl of a café.

I deal with the business part of my trip by getting together with other freelancing translators, laugh with strangers over mulled wine and discover yet another strange new world.

I take the train home, as I did a thousand times before.

Wednesday, February 06, 2019

my Viking blood, my Svea tribe

I am a Finn, and proud of it, but my genes and language spring from the ancient tribe knows as svear, that is, the Swedes.

I am proud of that too. I blame my Viking blood for my longing for adventure, my eyes that always seek out the horizon, the taste of salt on my tongue, my passionate and restless heart, my undaunted belief in the strength of women, my delight in a good party with wild friends.

Freeze the arrow in the air
Make your mark and leave it hanging there ( - Rasmussen: "Higher Ground")

Tuesday, February 05, 2019

recurring dream #5

I'm living in a house on a beautiful beach, not far from the waterline. It's heaven - but with a threatening undertone from the dangerous sea.

I think I'm scared of life itself - my beautiful dream life full of adventures.

Monday, February 04, 2019

earth stood hard as iron

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow
Snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter
Long ago ( - Christina Rossetti)

In Finland today, this was also true. Frosty winds, snow on snow on snow, earth hard and silent and iron. All living things hidden and sleeping or very, very far away.

I struggled through snow drifts with fogged-up glasses and a runny nose, to the shop to buy comfort food. Piles of woollen coats and scarves are now dripping melted snow on my bathroom floor. It's time to hide and sleep while more snow is falling on snow outside.

Sunday, February 03, 2019

it's uphill for oddities, the stranger crusaders

Mama said, fulfill the prophecy 
Be something greater, go make a legacy ( - Panic! at the Disco: "High Hopes")

I'm reading my teenage diaries and scaring myself a little. I was so passionate about spreading the love of God and yet so little seemed to be included in that love. I was told that everything would go my way, by a miracle if necessary, and I believed it - which inevitably lead to crushed dreams that would haunt me for decades to come. I was genuinely goodhearted and my dreams went beyond the stars and I was so very, very confused.

But then again, I was a teenager.

So here is one of life's most important lessons: Be compassionate, forgiving, open-minded. Especially towards yourself. Know that you don't know everything and that's OK.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

like a brightly-lit classroom

January is like a brightly-lit classroom, full of loud voices, thick books, demands and promises. Frost in my hair, muscles cramping in the severe cold, cracked lips. Two layers of outdoor clothes to shed every time I enter a building.

Dark evenings, desperately popping vitamin D-pills to survive a paralyzing weariness. Struggling onwards. Impatient waiting for that first afternoon when it will be time to say: "It is definitely brighter than yesterday!"

Exquisite light phenomena - pink sunrays low over the ice, smoke in swirling patterns, a fog bank hovering over a stretch of open water. Ice crystals glittering in the air, a halo of intense rainbow colours around a bleak sun. Snow swirling around me, crunching under my boots, chilling my skin. Low clouds painted mustard yellow by city lights. Starry skies at night, a wolf moon, maybe even northern lights.

Walks on ice, silence, the beauty of a thousand shades of white. The joyous thought of hot coffee waiting in a warm room.

Monday, January 14, 2019

pseudo-crocheting

Today's tea is wild appple-ginger-cinnamon and I have learned how to crochet. I think. My teacher wasn't really sure of herself so we may have invented an entirely new type of handicraft.

My first effort certainly looks unique.


  
 

Sunday, January 13, 2019

see God and live

Returned to The Shack, the book about a man who gets to confront God about all the pain he's suffered. I reread it when I'm angry, anxious or just looking for meaning.

The movie is actually very good too.