things I should tell him

That I'm a minimalist and a moderate anti-consumerist who can't cook.
That I am one of those annoying linguists who sigh dramatically whenever they see a misspelled sign and exclaim: "Everywhere needs a proofreader!"
That I need lots and lots of time alone.
That I get creative late at night.
That I read sixty books a year and don't remember them afterwards.
That I sing while I walk.
That I love rooms dimly lit rooms with candles, sitting with my back against the wall, watching everyone else.
That I mistake wine for creativity.
That a part of me is always in Ireland.

in-love-fallings, part five

* Mexican restaurants: the first time my big sister took me to dinner in one (Finnish, fake-Mexican, probably terribly unauthentic and cheesy). I love the poorly lit booths, narrow passageways, cheerily colourful decor, the sangria and fried icecream. (I may be in for a horrible surprise if I ever make it to Mexico.)

* Irish pubs: my first, dizzying evening in Ireland. Dark nooks, rough wooden tables with spilled beer, smell of tobacco, red-faced men saying incomprehensible things, raucous laughter, Guinness ads claiming it is good for you, pipe music (and U2 music), radiators on full blast to ward off the chilly dampness outside, and a feeling that all is well with the world.

* second-hand shops: in a treasure chamber in a basement, where I got accidentally locked in.

* laptops: some cold evening in a wintry Finland when I first lost myself in the world out there, available on my own lap. (Tablet computers are too clumsy to type on. Smartphones annoy me.)

* peppermint tea: on holiday, tiny cabin at boring camp site, parents and sister. I was about 16. The weather was chilly, I can't remember doing much fun and the only tea we had in the cabin was peppermint. But the atmosphere: family, cozy evenings, peppermint. So, peppermint = coziness, comfort. Reinforced during that summer in France when I spent the evenings watching TV in the attic with two wonderful boys who always brought me peppermint tea because I had once mentioned that I liked it.

the three desires of a woman

"I think you’ll find that every woman in her heart of hearts longs for three things: to be romanced, to play an irreplaceable role in a great adventure, and to unveil beauty. That’s what makes a woman come alive."

(John and Staci Eldredge)

yes. go. now.

"Great people do things before they’re ready. They do things before they know they can do it. And by doing it, they’re proven right. Because, I think there’s something inside of you—and inside of all of us—when we see something and we think, “I think I can do it, I think I can do it. But I’m afraid to.” Bridging that gap, doing what you’re afraid of, getting out of your comfort zone, taking risks like that—THAT is what life is. And I think you might be really good. You might find out something about yourself that’s special. And if you’re not good, who cares? You tried something. Now you know something about yourself. Now you know. A mystery is solved. So, I think you should just give it a try. Just inch yourself out of that back line. Step into life. Courage. Risks. Yes. Go. Now."

(Amy Poehler)

enter the businesswoman

The last year or more I've been ...

worrying, procrastinating, making feasibility plans, making appointments I didn't want to keep, talking about things I didn't understand, filling out forms, waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, trying to forget about everything, being pushed forward by sheer despair, reading boring material, trying to remember figures, wondering why nobody can help me, forcing myself onward ...

while trying to remember that this is what forging my freedom looks like.

minimum stay three weeks

I have lived at least three weeks in these places:

A small house in the suburbs. Long winters buried in snow, lovely summers embedded in a lush garden.

A room in an old school with a beautiful Swede as roommate. The walls smelled like old stone, the attic was a treasure chamber of books and God was everywhere.

A motel room near a Thai beach - shared with history makers, world shakers and the occasional cockroach.

A tiny room filled to bursting with sleeping bags and friends with diarrhoea.

A large flat overlooking grey city streets and rooftops with flags. Full of  file folders, languages and new friends.

A cold room in a Scottish attic and a bed with two eiderdown duvets.

A wooden Swiss chalet where I could hear wolves howl at night (maybe in my imagination).

A Hawaiian house with a slow-moving ceiling fan, shutters instead of windows and sometimes a friendly gecko.

A small flat high above the busy streets, where boys came to woo.

A house in France among endless open fields - with an orchard and boys who brought me tea and taught me ping pong.

A tiny flat hidden behind an elm tree in a quiet street. I slept alone and prepared for the world.

A worn-down attic in a worn-down Irish house, with plenty of people. Buzzed with illegal parties on boozy nights, while deer and sheep grazed outside on misty mornings.

Another attic room, above a bar and beside a mountain. A deep window, creaky floors, a yellow blanket, a beloved bathtub, a Canadian and a Frenchwoman.

The Window Sill room, hardly bigger than the window sill, where I contentedly contemplated my loneliness and my adventures and read English novels.

A terrible room in a suburb, where the only good things were red sheets, a poster of a calla lily and a view over barley fields.

The tiniest bedsit of all in a row house shared with a lawyer. The comfort of a tree outside the window and TV in bed during the small hours.

The House of the Thirteen Clocks. Disastrous, disastrous and dreary. I barely escaped with my sanity intact.

The flat of the eternal moonlight. Fairy lights and a kitchen table as protection against a cold winter. And it had a dance floor.


The Beach Hut - an ordinary flat with an extraordinary sea view. Beauty and weird neighbours.

An idyllic cottage in an idyllic village with idyllic people. Shared with an idyllic sheepdog.

And lastly, the paradise which has been there for me all through the years and which words cannot describe.

crowbeaten

Got hit in the head with a crow today. Twice. Intentionally. By the crow itself. Then it shrieked at me to eff off.

I effed off and took the long way around.

It was that kind of day.

a continent to explore

"Someone once told me a story about long term relationships. To think of them as a continent to explore. I could spend a lifetime backpacking through Africa, and I would still never know all there is to know about that continent. To stay the course, to stay intentional, to stay curious and connected – that’s the heart of it. But it’s so easy to lose track of the trail, to get tired, to want to give up, or to want a new adventure. It can be so easy to lose sight of the goodness and mystery within the person sitting right in front of you."

(Joy Williams)

on my study list

Finnish words, classic jazz songs, everything in history, how to be joyful.

a secret to happiness

Today's sugary but noteworthy thought:

"A secret to happiness is letting every situation be what it is instead of what you think it should be, and then making the best of it."

Today's situation: bank business, icecream, headache, summer, cider, girl talk.

a kingdom heart

"When a woman has a kingdom heart, she has an active understanding of what matters most to the heart of God. She lives in the balance of passion and contentment. She learns to love well, give without regard to self, and forgive without hesitation. The woman with a kingdom heart may have a duffel bag full of possessions or enough treasures to fill a mansion, but she has learned to hold them with an open hand. Hold everything with open hands. I don’t think we are ever allowed to grab hold of anything or anyone as though they matter more than the kingdom of heaven. When you hold relationships with open hands, then people come in and out of your life as gifts of grace to be cherished and enjoyed, not objects to be owned and manipulated. And then when you hold your dreams with open hands, you get to watch God resurrect what seemed dead and multiply what seemed small."

(Angela Thomas)

gonna be some sweet sounds

A memory:

Struggling through the second of three night shifts.

Coming to work near midnight, I'm tired. The night darkens while I catch up on everything that has happened since this morning (was I really here this morning too, wearily updating the morning shift girl before heading home to sleep?). I also make sure to fetch the biggest knife in the kitchen and hide it within arm's reach. Although the skies outside stay bright, the shadows in the deserted restaurant are deep and I turn up MTV to drown out all the little noises that make me nervous (Rihanna with "Umbrella" is a constant this summer).

While I am busy counting tills and doing the night audit, I am alert and kind of enjoying the quiet. A late customer checks in. A bit later, one of the regulars staying in the hotel wanders in and asks for a sandwich, which he makes with his own two hands in the kitchen while we chat about weekend plans.

Within an hour or two, the sun rises again and I can hear the birds singing madly outside. Two more customers arrive, these two dodgy-looking and without a reservation. I hesitate, but decide to give them a room after making sure they pay in advance.

In the middle of the night I venture out on one of the required "security rounds", meaning a nervous walk along the long, deserted corridors and through a part of the overgrown, wild garden where anything and everything might be lurking. Fortunately, nothing attacks a young receptionist this night either - in fact, the only creature awake is a frog sitting on the front steps.

For a couple of hours there is nothing to do except drink more coffee and plant myself at the reception computer to get some translation work done - might as well earn two wages at the same time, plus night differential. Around 5 a.m. the hotel is quiet and I struggle to muster some energy as I head to the kitchen to start the endless breakfast preparations - including the evil porridge that always sticks to the pot.

When the "evening" papers are delivered at 7 a.m. it's finally time to go home.

impressed by kindness

"I can get my head turned by a good-looking guy as much as the next girl. But sexy doesn’t impress me. Smart impresses me, strength of character impresses me. But most of all, I am impressed by kindness. Kindness, I think, comes from learning hard lessons well, from falling and picking yourself up. It comes from surviving failure and loss. It implies an understanding of the human condition, forgives its many flaws and quirks. When I see that in someone, it fills me with admiration."

(Lisa Unger)

fire-hair, daddy issues and unwashed lefties

A few things I started to blog about recently but (fortunately) never finished:

"Accidentally set fire to my hair (three times)."
"Should seek therapy for: daddy issues."
"There are traits in my lifestyle that disappoint her but I can't change them because they are part of what is me."
"... the beautifully named sydäntalvi - heart winter ..."
"Today, I am so unbelievably scared of growing old."
"I held lava rock from Indonesia in my hands."
"Was called coward, scum and "a leftie who don't wash" when I reacted on social media."
"I arrived reluctantly, crying and exhausted."
"... putting down electricity cables and water pipes in the name of the future ..."

may you live all the days of your life

May is

birdsong, the most beautiful music on earth

explosive life and a little anguish
seagulls
the thawing of my heart
the smell of earth
balcony hours
red evening sun as I get ready for bed
expectation and beauty

trying to find God everywhere

"I dream too much, and I don’t write enough, and I’m trying to find God everywhere."

(Anis Mojgai)

cast thy bread upon the waters

Other things I've been sharing lately:

Cadbury's chocolate in a foreign land
Comforting words
Money with people who will never pay me back
Flu germs

glitter and easy promises

Today I bought golden shoes and promised to stop smoking even though I have never started. Sometimes you have to spread the glitter and make easy promises.

aliens, upside-down ties and Marx's head

I spent five days in London, the wonderful city, and don't know what to write about it.

Cadbury's chocolate eggs spring to mind. Reading the Sunday Times in a hostel lounge. The underground trains, thundering out of ancient tunnels like prehistoric worms (or like Jeff in Men in Black II). The abomination of Karl Marx's huge head in the romantic cemetery of Highgate.

Highgate cemetery

The thunder and lightning that surrounded Big Ben that day (and hail, and sun, and pissing rain, and some snow in the mix). The tame squirrels in the parks. The tourists. All the normal people on the Tube. The schoolboys, the suits, the dogs, the guy with his upside-down tie. The floating aliens in Trafalgar Square. The thief being chased through the back streets of Soho. The politeness and the offers of help. The sunny streets of Notting Hill where we couldn't agree on a lunch place. Brent Cross, the suburb made for entertainment but not for the crossing of streets. My hostel room-mate who brushed her teeth for half an hour at midnight.

Floating alien

The bus taking its sweet time winding through the streets towards Hampstead. The flowers. The red Lamborghini almost running me over on its way to the Gumball 3000. The flat white. Our hysterical giggling on the double-decker buses. The breakfast fry-up with an old friend not seen for twelve years. The barbed wire fence at the back of Buckingham Palace. The black-headed gull eggs sold in Harrods (why would anybody want them?). The Buddhist monk who wanted my donation in exchange for the chance to write "peace" in his little notebook. The fish and chips in Soho. The heated debate about customer service and minimum wage in the bustle of a bank holiday on Oxford Street. The lonely wine picnic outside Kensington Palace. The conference with twelve thousand women. The laughing bus driver.

Buckingham P. and the threatening skies

Every time I come home from London, I'm a little bit more polite and accommodating to others. And a little more amazed.

wordle addled in a bundle

Wordle had something to say also about my year 2010, the year the world ended and I bought a car:

Home on my mind, night things, and wise and good (like someone I lost).

The year 2011 was affliction, obsession and new insights:

Coffee and dreams, time to walk, the day is now.

And 2012 consisted of minimalism and music:

Wordle wanted me to find a dog and see the country - but first, coffee in the city.

too vast

"The world’s too vast
to live in a single place,
or three or four."

(Ko Un)

survival spiced with cinnamon

Gone are the days of hanging out in second-hand shops or watching tv all day on the weekend - my weekend, which takes place on other days than normal people's.

Nowadays, I do the extra jobs that I haven't had time for, clean out my closets - which gives me peace of mind when I don't have much - and plan. It's not ambitious or successful, merely a not-so-healthy survival technique in a stressful life.

I long to get back to my lazy days. Especially when I realise I have just poured cinnamon all over my lunch.

pyjamas and anxiety

How I achieve my dreams:

I wake up too early, stomach sick with stress over unpleasant tasks I have been procrastinating. I crawl out of bed, go straight to the computer and write a difficult email, compose my business plan, go over figures, plow through the heavy research of some new job opportunity.

A couple of hours later I breathe out, hit the shower and eat my breakfast while humming a cheerful tune.

Being happy has never got me far. My bouts of unhappiness - my mornings in pyjamas and anxiety - take me into a better future.

wild raspberry water

I will go on a quest for wild raspberry water, the elusive liquid that gives life to bones.

time and season

Evenings in spring.
Mornings in summer.
Days in autumn.
Nights in winter.

having to perform: the introvert

"Socializing is as exhausting as giving blood. People assume we loners are misanthropes just sitting thinking, ‘Oh, people are such a bunch of assholes,’ but it’s really not like that. We just have a smaller tolerance for what it takes to be with others. It means having to perform. I get so tired of communicating."

(Anneli Rufus)

year mash-up

Played with Wordle and my last few years. Here is 2007, the year of Heartburn hotel, alcohol legislation and a deep dive into the heart of Finland:

Hotel world, always see good, and go make something ...

2008 was the year of book boxes, African weddings and family travel:

A really new world, belive little things, always bad friends ...?

And 2009, the year of earthquake, Swedish roads and getting rid of the braces:

Look with new eyes, dream walk, beautiful winter ...

no Soviet bones

I was digging through my old papers and found, among other treasures,

a cinema ticket from Thailand in the 90s (Death becomes Her),

a yellowed poster I stared at as a child so long that it still fills me with a deep silence inside,

and a traveller entry form for a brief visit in Moscow, where I state that I own no "Soviet government bones or loterry tickets", only 30 dollars and 250 baht. Moscow let me in.

stories of my life

I began to study English as my third language - but it is now my second - as an eleven-year-old.

I was born a story-writer and had not learned many words of this exciting new language before I tried to put them into sentences and sometimes include them in my cartoons. Here is some of my early work:

 A nine-word story with a sense of doom:
"I will never see you again."
"Why me?"
"Because."

"Look at this star, Mummy!" Pissed-off-looking star sitting on a hill.

And my favourite, very philosophical one: "I am not at all of course BAD."

drawing up kingdoms

I remember that a lot of my childhood was spent reading. I had almost forgotten that so much of it was spent drawing.

I drew wildly, in a frenzy. Rushed caricatures and calligraphy of made-up names, cartoons and elaborate maps of hidden lairs and fantasy kingdoms.

And wrote. A thousand stories begun and abandoned, sometimes in the middle of a word.

This is apparently what the Summer Olympics of 1988 looked like.

can't be silenced

The peace and quiet of the neighbourhood (see previous post) was shattered by shouting so loud that it echoed between buildings and could be heard in my flat. The inmates of the prison next door were apparently locked in their cells and someone was feeling talkative.

Inmate #1 (shouting through the barred, opened window): Juuso! Juuso!
Inmate #2 (a.k.a. Juuso): Shut up!
Inmate #1: I can shout if I want to! It's a free world!
Inmate #2: Shut the f**k up! I'm on the can!

on earthquake street

On the footpath leading down to the waterfront sits an empty fridge.

This abnormal feature is normal here on my street. This is a cobblestone street which is so quiet that every movement seems endowed with a certain meaning.

The few cars that venture down this street go either very slow or very fast. If a lorry shows up, it's lost, gets stuck and mangles cars in its way, or make the buildings vibrate. This is a street where a man can stop his car to get out and shout at another driver, like they do in France. It's a place for the Ghostbusters' car (painted pitch black) to pull up for a recreational break.

The people who walk past are also strange. Youngsters of nationalities not normally seen here. Romani women in skirts too heavy for them, waiting outside closed doors. People walking dogs that seem to belong to somebody else - like the cool dude with a dorky chihuahua, the guy who gets pulled into the hedge by a small spaniel, the man too old to walk at all who shuffles around with a rollator and a patient terrier. People who shout at prisoners, people who rent rooms in prisons, prisoners out on work release.

For this is a quiet, lovely back street in a small city, with a seaview, and a prison. Some of the passers-by are girls in impossibly high heels and low cleavages, going to visiting hours on Sunday afternoons. Odd assortments of other visitors pretending not to see each other as they wait for the gate to open. Lawyers adjusting their ties as they park outside the gate. Conservatively dressed outreach teams carrying guitars. Police vans. And on the other side of the wall, men in grey looking bored and not looking up at us who are looking down at them from apartment buildings next door.

This is a street where you get to know the crows in the lime tree. Where hares come into the front yard in the evenings. Where you can watch large birds of prey and feel the full force of the west wind. Where the Pizza King lived and an earthquake once struck.

Once a year this slow back street fills to bursting with people for approximately half an hour, around midnight on New Year's Eve. The street is gridlocked and people are moving in cheerful crowds to find the best place to watch the fireworks. Around the bay are thousands of lights, thousands of laughs. People get drunk, eat hot dogs, set off their own fireworks in the crowd, kiss, shout, hope.

I watch this with a sense of wonder. Half an hour later, the cobblestones are deserted once again for another year. The stars shine over this street.

the girl that gets away

"I’m not the girl your mother warns you about.
I won’t kiss your best friend or break your heart.
I won’t make you choose between what you love to do & me.
I’m not cold. I’m not reckless.
I’m the girl your father mentions when your mom’s not around.
I’m the girl that gets away.
I will love you more than anything.
I will kiss you when you cry.
I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise.
And you’re just like your father, so you will.
You’ll let me go & I won’t look back,
But you will.
I promise you, you will.
I’m that girl."

(caramelcoatedxxxtacy, Tumblr)

not the moon kissing the black sky

"And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someone's crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over-thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself."

(irynka, Tumblr)

the refugees made me do it

Fell in love today.

Have you ever seen anything more beautiful than this?

It says "Finland" in Arabic. A forest underneath a starry sky, yes? Or a city skyline, if you prefer.

I had promised myself, after forages into six foreign languages, that I wouldn't try to learn any more new ones (simply out of the fear that my brain will explode). But to everyone's bewilderment, a lot of Arabic is suddenly heard even in the icy streets of this backward Northern European town. I don't really know how to deal with this influx of strangers. Learning a few linguistic basics suddenly seems like a survival strategy.

So, headfirst into madness it is. A nine-hour intensive crash course into a language that wouldn't really be that difficult if not for a rule-loving teacher who refused to let us learn any useful phrases until we mastered the written letters (surely conceived in the brain of a lunatic).

I gave up after one hour or so and let the teacher fill the blackbord with pretty script. I would love to learn it but I had no time or brain capacity at the moment. I tuned back in when we finally got to the useful stuff, like saying hello and asking for food. At that point, the only real challenge was a few sounds that weren't made to be produced by stiff Finnish vocal cords. At the end of the course, a young refugee was assigned to endure my attempts at speaking a few phrases. As if he hadn't suffered enough by almost drowning on his desperate journey to Europe. He patiently listened, corrected and encouraged.

I went home elated. Tomorrow, 99 % of my newly acquired skills will be forgotten. But I have now in my possession the key to not just another language but an entire culture. I have opened a door, and through it I glimpse a marvellous world of Sufis, blue mosaic, dangerous men and hot desert winds.

the extraordinary will take care of itself

"Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself."

(William Martin: “Make the Ordinary Come Alive”)

tulips on every kitchen table

March is

the vague smell of melting snow and awakening soil. Birds chirping madly. Weariness and weak hope. Rain and snow and awful, everlasting mud, a sun that is blinding in brightness but with no heat at all. Tulips on every kitchen table, dirty windows, plans for spring holidays. My mother's birthday: coffee and cake, laughing siblings and in-laws, teenagers rolling their eyes. And then, the feeling when the first sunray with some actual warmth hits your pale cheeks and the wildness starts burning in your blood.

That in-between, dangerous month.

China dust

At the office, I sign for yet another parcel sent from a Chinese factory.

These parcels that have travelled to wintry Finland all the way from southeast China are always covered with thin dust that sticks to my fingers. Road dust from the Silk Road? Smog particles from the marvellous city of Beijing? Atomic dust from North Korea's nuclear tests? Sand that once blew along the silent steppes of Central Asia?

The poetic possibilities are endless. I wash my hands and sigh happily.

weak week

It's winter holiday week. While Facebook is filling up with pictures of sunny ski slopes and hot beaches, I spill coffee in the empty office, lie awake at night, eat salad alone.

Someone is digging ugly ditches all over my summer paradise, family members are falling ill and I need to find the energy to get a company off the ground.

There is always someone to worry about and something to fear.

for your soul to shake

"I will be waiting here. For your silence to break. For your soul to shake. For your love to wake."

Rumi