a tale of two cities

This winter has been strange in so many ways.

One of them is how slow the days have become, not in a bad way. I have time to feel the chilly wind against my skin, to enjoy the softness and warmth of wool mittens, to watch the shifting clouds. To sit quiet and peaceful, doing nothing except watch people around me instead of hurrying home to distract myself with entertainment.

Today I sat in the expensive Fazer Café, sipping a latte macchiato with beautiful foam art and discussing mental problems with a wise woman under the golden glow of trendy light bulbs.

Then I wandered, slowly, along cold and grey streets with a hulk of a man beside me. Each step felt balanced and peaceful, despite the troubled heart inside both of us, despite the wind slapping snow in our faces. Twilight fell as we meandered through an empty park and stopped to greet a pair of enthusiastic dogs.

We ended up outside a small church where a few quiet people already waited. Several more gathered as we stood there, all patiently waiting and chatting in low voices. This was the city's breadline. People with worn clothes and worn faces, unassuming and cautiously friendly. When the church opened its door, we were served hot soup with sandwiches, and food bags were distributed. I'm not poor enough for breadlines so I didn't take any food, except some soup which I paid for, but my friend eagerly accepted his share.

The contrast with the glamourous café was startling, but the atmosphere in the dark church was welcoming. We all sat there, huddling in our winter coats despite the warmth, eating tasty lentil soup and exchanging a few words with the strangers next to us. A new world to me, populated by brave people.

Another strange dimension to my strange winter.

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.

as the sun sets over 2016

New Year's Eve – golden sunset clouds, the bay like a mirror of ice and water, blustery winds. I have felt tired, walked to the duck pond, talked to my mother, eaten Pringles.

I want learning, strength and peace of mind.

Please hear me, Girl:

The world has enough women

who know how to do their hair.

It needs women who know how

to do hard and holy things.

(Ann Voskamp)

get to heaven and find out

"How disappointing would it be get to heaven and find out God created life to be enjoyed while all we did was worry? "

(Donald Miller)

the truth shall set you free

What people have said to me:

"Such a good girl, never any trouble - unlike your sister!"
"You're so tall - is it cold up there?"
"Everyone says you look silly when you blow your hair out of your face."
"God's little princess!"
"Your essays read like a textbook."
"You should study engineering - you are so good at tuning our TV."
"You should be a model."
"Why do you always wear a belt?"
"Those are real piano hands you have."
"You make me so nervous with your midnight walks - there are bad people out there."
"God admires your humility."
"You should be careful what you take in - you watch too much TV."

"I look at you and then I do a double-take: she is actually smiling!"
"You have an animal ministry."
"You were my helper in need - out there in the mountains!"
"So calm and yet full of pranks - it's irresistible!"
"Waiting to buy a copy of your book."
"Calm and cool."
"Let your beautiful voice continue to be heard."
"Destined to do great things! You are really cute and fun to be with!"
"Inner and outer beauty - your writing will enrich the world."

"If you lose any weight, I will come and get you."
"I never knew anyone before who actually howls at the moon."
"You look like the Queen of Sweden."
"If it wasn't for you, I would be mad by now."
"You are the only one allowed to write my diary for me."
"You smell like the forests and lakes of Finland."
"You look like Julia Roberts."
"You are such a talent."
"Nobody sings If You Catch Hell Don't Hold It like you do."
"Someone asked me if you are French."
"I got a tattoo with your initials in it! And a rose."
"Eyes that radiate love and mystery."
"You're completely nuts."
"A sunburn suits you, sister."
"A beautiful smile, a quiet charm and a servant heart."
"You are the belle of the ball. Such a lady, never any fuss."
"You could dress with a bit more style - like my wife."
"That's a soul voice."
"Nobody imitates a snake like you do!"
"Nobody does puppy eyes like you do."
"Black and silver - that is so you."
"Tenor, friend and one of God's wonderful creations!"
"Your father's manners and your mother's eyes."
"A contagious loveliness, she sees what people need and helps them by just spreading calm..."
"I miss your child-like, clean smile."
"P, notre rocher, une femme droite et juste! And a little savage on the volleyball court."
"Devil woman! Queen of fallen angels!"
"Bonny lass. Tall, leggy brunette... And then she does that thing with her eyebrow!"
"P, you munchkinkufftyhobbler!"

"You don't look Finnish!"
"Such a sweet nature."
"Too mellow."
"Une femme extraordinaire - pas de bruit, toujours calme, gentille..."
"She never panics."
"You single? Well, not for long - just wait til those sheepfarmers get to you."
"Finland must be a cold country."
"Gracious - always walking as if on the catwalk."
"You look like a witch - the hair, I mean."
"You look like Jamie Lee Curtis."
"We don't want foreigners like you here."
"I never knew a girl who shops less than I do."
"You truly are a saint and I just want to kill you."
"What a phone sex voice! It drives me mad!"
"Fucking bitch!"
"You come in here with those legs - please, it's hot enough in here already!"
"Will you marry me?"
"You always read, read, read - you will get sick in the head, it's unnatural."
"Fucking eejit!"
"Can you not eat without a book?"
"Are you sure you are not a lesbian?"
"You get that fighter look on the badminton court."
"Why you not drink? You never let loose!"
"You have the most popular leg in Ireland."
"You heathen, why do you wear a cross?"
"Are you Portuguese?"
"Are you Dutch?"
"That's a lovely South African accent you have."
"Nice to speak to a genuine Irishwoman."
"I always thought you were Canadian!"
"Beloved heathen!"
"So professional. So calm. I would have given her one. Lovely air about her."
"Deals with pressure with tremendous ease. Takes pride in her work. Great leader and well-liked by everyone."
"Your work is just not good enough."
"Don't keep all emotions pent up inside you."

"I thought you would only settle for an exciting foreign guy."
"I'm worried that you will lure that boy away from the straight and narrow."
"Mmm, gorgeous!"
"Breakfast on salmon and rocket leaves - you do have style."
"The woman who dumps millionaires and moviestars left and right."
"There is something regal over you, like a queen."
"I talk too much but I'm so nervous, I fell madly in love with you."
"A clear, analytical mind - you see all the craziness and you don't want to be crazy."
"Loveliness and social competence."
"You, princess of the empire!"
"You realise that if you come hiking with us your nail polish might wear off?"
"You are too choosy - you're going to grow old all alone."
"You of all people would never say no to going to the pub."
"Have you ever given a thought to your career?"
"If you are here, then it's not too weird to be here."
"I was counting on you to bring chocolate."
"You are the kind of woman who likes Destiny's Child, aren't you?"
"Faithful - you do a lot of hard work behind the scenes."
"Why do you sound like Pollyanna?"
"You look like the Queen of Sheba walking in here."
"You always have such cool necklaces."
"You can be an honorary member of our Be Nasty Club."
"You have lovely toes."

"You look like your father - especially the smile!"
"Somewhat shy, intelligent, considerate, cheerful and warm."
"Faithfulness and calmness..."
"I see a person who needs to blossom a little."
"She listens quietly to the discussion and when everybody else has spoken their mind, she opens her mouth and says something wise."
"I was wondering to myself, who is this who speaks so well? So eloquent..."
"Such a very fascinate you are...!"
"I had a vision of you in white fur."
"Beautiful and smart woman!"
"A good announcing voice."
"The most beautiful woman in the world."
"The best translator EVER."
"You are so sarcastic but I like you anyway."
"You rock!"
"You like dolphins, yes?"
"You are a like a buttercup in a meadow, like butter melting on newly baked bread."
"Stunning, a bit like Scheherazade."
"Your eyebrows are more protruding than mine."
"You look like Demi Moore."
"If you can look like that, there is hope for all of us."
"You must be a national treasure."

"My life coach!"
"Language genius."
"An eternal capability of normalizing life over a cup of coffee."
"You know how everyone has their own specific smell? Yours is party!"
"Listen to the woman of wisdom."
"Pillow fight seraph."
"Free from prejudice, accepting towards everyone."
"Your medusa hair gets stuck in everything."
"Our Great Mother of original nastiness and everything else."
"Fishnet peddler."
"Speaks up for and shows mercy to the voiceless, vulnerable outsiders. Possesses a hard-to-define wisdom that is quiet but obvious and a softness/sensitivity that she is  not entirely at ease with."
"Diamond Brains!"
"She is like an Irish road: spectacular, ancient, narrow and hard to navigate."

working with lava and beautiful corpses

Work topics in the linguistic business:


* cardigans with sleeves of different length
* spherical lava
* macros and how to record them
* Lemminkäinen's temple
* Chinese snake liquor
* Putin and a penis sheath
* a movie-making prince of Jerusalem
* speech karaoke
* atonal symphonies and how to subtitle them for the deaf
* virtual reality pornography
* Finnish swear words and their translation
* high-visibility vests
* Haheoikanalonakeikimaikaponokakainolanai and her sister Pualani
* how to be a beautiful corpse
* oyster opening
* gourmet cooking in a coffee maker
* garment care symbols
* reformed neo-Nazis
* the procreation of woodpeckers
* tomato farmers on epic road trips
* translating Swedish, Finnish, Danish, French, German, Russian and Tamil for TV (even if you don't speak all of these)

As a result, I have a very interesting search history on Google.

where to have dinner in your pyjamas

I stopped by a street kitchen today as I was walking my borrowed poodle.

I rarely eat burgers but options were limited because I had a dog with me. I wouldn't dream of leaving him tied up outside a restaurant or store.

Darkness had already fallen as I ordered a juustokas - a local specialty burger - through a window on a corner of the wintry street. An outdoor candle flickered cheerily on the ground near my feet and the smell of meat sizzling on a grill drifted out.

The lady who made my burger gave me a few pieces of sausage for the poodle, as a bonus. I fit right in among the other clientele waiting on the sidewalk, dressed in a bulky winter coat hastily thrown on over my pyjamas - lazy Boxing Day attire.

The juustokas, which I've never tried before, turned out to be a sausage burger with lots of melted cheese. Just right for a lazy Boxing Day. Tomorrow, I'll go back to salads.

Christmas, 2016 edition

* my White Witch coat, a car full of presents and a poodle, dread and hope
* close family members who are only close once a year
* a day holed up with mother, books and chocolate
* traditional walks along seafront and through the weird place called Purola
* more Christmas music than usual (Spotify, nostalgic radio stations, a shaky vinyl from my childhood)
* coming home, pouring a desperately needed glass of wine, singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" at the top of my voice

God has arrived to save us.

food levels in December

In the month before Christmas, there is an inexpensive meal of rice pudding and bacon rolls in a crowded church basement where I discuss gospel music with friends.

There is a meal of burgers and beer in a colourful, mock-Australian restaurant with equally colourful volleyball ladies.

There is a loud family party with birthday cake and teenagers who roll their eyes.

And there is a festive business lunch with men in suits and women in heels, with mentions of turnovers and quality control and expensive boats.

There are so many levels in my December life.

the problem with problems

That feeling when you struggle for hours with a problem, dejected and exhausted, and just want to go home and sleep ...

... and then you solve the problem and could go home and sleep, but instead you want to take on the world and solve every problem therein.

ugh and ow for Christmas

Christmastime means that life is different for a while.

I get a break from my usual work and instead spend my days subtitling TV programs of a different kind.

Children's programs, which means typing words like 'splat!' and 'ugh!' and 'ow!', sometimes in a foreign language.

Music programs, with hauntingly beautiful and desperately depressing songs.

Films about tomato farmers that go on epic road trips.

Nature documentaries, with birdsong filling my room.

It also means waking up to grey darkness and taking my evening walk in the middle of the afternoon while there is still daylight. Weariness, coloured lights and mood swings.

kiss me in every language

"I’m a writer.
Don’t buy me roses
or fancy things.
Kiss me in every language
and envelop me in
the soft hug of a sentence.
Teach me how to
write without words,
and I will love you
for the rest of my
undocumented existence."

(unknown)

close to wholeness

“Practically speaking, a life that is vowed to simplicity, appropriate boldness, good humor, gratitude, unstinting work and play, and lots of walking brings us close to the actual existing world and its wholeness.”

(Gary Snyder: The Practice of the Wild)

make merry

The pub with the worn wooden tables and vintage "Guinness is good for you" posters is where I come to

drink beer with friends
order a cider alone and read the paper
talk to people I haven't seen for decades
stare out at rain-washed streets
elbow my way through a crowd to find a free table
play pool
watch games on the TV screen
scream with laughter over the air hockey table
spend hours on the dance floor
jive around the tables outside the dance floor
listen to my friend's band play covers
get offered elaborate cocktails by secret admirers
discuss God and history and ex-boyfriends

The odd thing is that I actually come here very seldom.

afterlife in the library, over coffee

"You would think that in a group like this, somebody would have had an out-of-body experience," the elderly lady says in a disappointed voice.

The rest of us shake our heads, slightly ashamed. This is a book club, after all. Most of us ladies have plenty to say. One tells us about her newly diagnosed heart problems, another of her reluctance to experience afterlife if it means lots of effort. A younger lady, one of the librarians, mentions time travel. Another has brought a stack of books for reference, a strange combination of The Divine Comedy, Kafka and something by Ursula K. Le Guin.

I sit back and sip my coffee while somebody misquotes Dante and the ladies argue about the shocking amount of violence in today's fiction. In the library, with books and elderly ladies and coffee, is how I would like to spend the afterlife.

burden down

“The transition from tenseness, self-responsibility, and worry, to equanimity, receptivity, and peace, is the most wonderful of all those shiftings of inner equilibrium, those changes of personal centre of energy, which I have analyzed so often; and the chief wonder of it is that it so often comes about, not by doing, but by simply relaxing and throwing the burden down.”

(William James)

brown eyes that look away

Somber, brown eyes,
a long back not always up to carrying the weight of life,
strong legs that jump a bit too often,

this is me.

Icy reserve,
eager warmth,
uncertain wisdom.

And yet I cannot love myself.

history as it should be

I minored in history, back at university. Probably because of the house.


It was ancient and everything seemed to be made of wood: wood panelling on the walls, wood floors that squeaked, wooden window frames so bent with age that it was difficult to open the window.

It just seemed so right to be discussing ancient kings in this setting.

And it was a refuge from the modern languages department where I spent most of my time. Here, no-one made me write long essays or discuss themes I didn't understand in languages I didn't speak. I just sat there, among all that creaking wood, and listened to stories. Read a few books, sat a few exams, went on a fascinating field trip in a fragrant forest to see bronze age forts and iron age settlements.

It was university studies as I had thought they would be.

lover without a lover

“I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.”

(Warsan Shire)

the year I stepped through the looking glass

From my diaries: the year 2000 ...

* The eve of the new millennium: a cold, cold, winter's evening in my home town. Dinner with friends and a church youth event. I wore my first short skirt and was bored. Just before midnight, I was given a candle and told to think deep thoughts for ten minutes. Couldn't. But when the countdown clock to the new millennium hit 00:00:00 I was struck with unexpected euphoria. There was dancing, then I went home and wrote a lousy poem.
* The year took off on a wave of inspiration. I finished my master's thesis on Englishness, fought against Jules Verne in French and hid in a basement at the university. In love with the internet, fanfic and solitude.
* Braved great adversity to get my thesis to the printer's - cycled on icy streets in lashing rain. Who says a university degree is all about mental exertion?
* Played a lot of volleyball, assisted in an Alpha course, had a houseguest for two weeks (wild hippie with blond braids, just returned from Africa).
* Planned my Irish adventure and tried to convince my father that I was NOT going to end up chained to a bed in a brothel.
* Birthday spent planning an international move, attending bible study and having a café night with friends.
* Hectic spring weeks bubbling with university students celebrating spring. Sushi and dancing, the theatre, picnics with beautiful men, country drives and a flight in a small plane.

* Moved all my furniture 400 kilometres, then said goodbye to everyone I knew and moved to Ireland. On arrival, I was greeted with sunshine and a clementine.
* Began my working life in a hotel reception at world's end. My arrival coincided with that of the digital revolution and the big, old hotel ledger was thrown out.
* Fell in love on the first evening, with the red-haired Irish chef who made me a spaghetti dinner.
* Spent the rest of the year intoxicated, wild and in love - with a reserved chef, a cool businessman, a bohemian soulmate and life itself.
* Worked and partied with an international bunch who at first seemed shallow and negative but brought out the wildness and strength in me.
* Learned to drive on the wrong side of the road and collected counties. Kissed the Blarney stone and saw the twelve mountains of Connemara.
* Dated a jockey who stood me up three times out of four, partied in a cemetery, threw stones at a man's window and modelled for a mad Belarussian artist.
* Learned how to be a hotel receptionist and do everything else as well - from babysitting newborns to waitressing, carrying suitcases and handling irate managers.
* Took long walks in a magic valley to get away from fights, drama and burning cars.
* Had a sheepdog that disappeared into thin air.
* What else I learned: how to be loved, how to let loose, how to not take it personally when people scream insults at you, how not to date, how to drink, how to deal with an unfair world, how to be me.
* Went home for Christmas.

non-mother

Went to church and sat with my back to the wall, as I like best. Beside me was a mother with a circa-three-year-old. The girl, dressed in a cute, lacy dress, sat straight up in her seat, head thrown back and mouth open. Fast asleep.

The mother gathered the child in her lap after a while and held her while she slept on. It must have been uncomfortable for the woman after a while, to sit through a long sermon with a not-so-small child heavy in her arms.The love on her face was evident and I was envious.

I have never really longed for children and life is not giving me any. And yet, being without makes me an alien on this planet. I will never be one of the human race, and it hurts.

slow jazz month

We live our lives in this darkness of the North. The man in the furniture store, where I go looking for a new mattress to take me through the many hours of winter sleep, smiles at me under strip lighting. The girl giving me my hamburger in the Burger King drive-through, where I go because the November cold makes me crave meat, quickly closes the window against the chilly rain. A single mother in a hot flat in the slums shudders at the thought of going out.

Between meeting these people, I drive around in the dark. November is a thick, dark mist and we are waiting for winter to arrive with blistering cold and a sky full of stars. The studded tyres under my car make a rasping noise against wet asphalt. Last week's snow has melted away and a persistent rain falls. There are artificial lights everywhere but my body craves the daylight that it never sees and I know I will sleep badly and have strange dreams. I turn up the heat in the car, turn on the windscreen wipers, listen to slow jazz because my mind can't handle anything uptempo. I buy my burger in the drive-through because I can't stand being around too many people. My body is sluggish and aching, my mind is bordering on hysteria.

Strange, that life continues everywhere during these months of near-constant darkness. People sell mattresses, hand out burgers, hum absent-mindedly to the Christmas music in the supermarket, find common ground in complaining about the rain.

My soft bed in a dark room is exerting a pull on me. I can't see the stars but many dreams are born during winter, while a candle flickers on the window sill.

the way I run my business

I have been an entrepreneur for half a year.

During this time, which foolishly started with four weeks of holiday, I have walked around in turquoise sweatpants, worried about how I will die, kept up a never-ending Messenger chat with nasty friends, lived on fruit and bread and wine, witnessed a rainy summer and a sunny autumn, repeated German phrases out loud, tried to fend off customers, felt anxious and weary, played volleyball, bought and sold old clothes, eaten kale, watched TV, felt superiour for no apparent reason, felt lonely, worked hard, worn a Nepalese hoodie.

Not necessarily in that order.

alone feels so good

“My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.”

(Warsan Shire)

walking white

Soft, powdery snow. I walked out of my house on an impulse, pulling on a coat, boots and a beanie over my nearly-pyjamas outfit.

A child is sitting on a toboggan, singing "björnen sover, björnen sover i sitt lugna bo..." and I remember playing that game in a backyard a long time ago. The song calms me. The brilliant sunshine calms me.

The marina is empty of boats and already frozen over. The mist is playing with the bleak midday sun and shadows are long.

Everyone is a photographer when winter is posing.

internationalization

Watching immigrants take pictures of each other standing on a frozen sea.

love and Facebook

The hot, humid brightness of a Thai restaurant on a cold day. Spicy spring rolls. An old friend and a newer one, discussing love and Facebook.

days of cold sunshine

The sun curves around the southern horizon in a last-ditch attempt to reach the North. From my balcony, I have the eerie feeling of looking down on it, brilliant but cool, casting long shadows.

The ice is everywhere. Blinding my eyes, hurting my lungs, stinging my cheeks. Like glass, broken and reassembled and beautiful, stretching further across the bay for every freezing day.

It's been years since I saw the sun on a November day. The homeland of winter has surprised me again.

current issues on a west coast

Maple leaves
Selling used clothes
Pouring cheap wine into an empty Bordeaux bottle
Back ache
Desperate need for keyboard space
Sleeping on the floor
Exile from a concrete desk

Study French or Arabic next?
Who filled the freezer with raw kale?
Can I be truer than I already am?

the pain and the new perspective

Persistent and debilitating back ache has its upsides. Last night, in a desperate attempt to find out whether my bed is the cause of the problem, I dug out an old mattress, threw it on the floor and made my bed there.

I didn't actually sleep any better. But I had a lovely evening watching TV in bed (usually not possible) with a candle at my feet. And I woke up to an immense sky looking down on me through the window. It felt different. It felt like a holiday. With back ache, but worth it.

an atlas in my lap

“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”

(Warsan Shire)

snuffboxes and secret societies

The office in the clothing business is filling up with people.

Now there is the man with the snuffbox, the girl who wants to buy a drawing board, the woman who asked me to join a secret society, the man who swears so much and the woman who knows absolutely everything.

It never fails to amaze me how I spend so much more time with strangers in the office than with my "loved ones". And how competent they are. I thought I was the only one.

indifference shut me out

“I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams.”

The Seventh Seal (1957)

mute

This autumn, I'm mute and scared.

But I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

green, blue and glitter

The definition of grace: A day in the sun in October, in the middle of nowhere. When you thought summer was already lost. With mother, meringue pie and colours: green, blue and glitter.

what surviving looks like, my dear

"And it has been
one hell
of a year.
I have worn
the seasons
under my sleeves,
on my thighs,
running down my cheeks.
This is what
surviving
looks like, my dear."

(Michelle K.: "It Has Been One Hell of a Year")

sunset to five hundred songs

Last days outdoors. With blankets and a sun that glitters from across the sea, so low on the horizon that I'm squinting down on it from my fourth-floor balcony.

The cold is creeping up on me through my thick socks. But I can't stop watching the boats streak across the golden mirror of the sunset bay, talk to the last of the birds and listen to my five hundred songs. Because this is as close to me as I can get.

walk tall, kick ass

WALK TALL

kick ass

learn to speak Arabic

LOVE MUSIC

and never forget

you come from

a long line of

TRUTH SEEKERS
LOVERS and WARRIORS

(Hunter S. Thompson)

a year of cheese and heartbreak

From my diaries: the year 2001 ...

* New Year's Eve - a rare visit in my old university town with an Aussie boyfriend. Church, art and kissing under the fireworks, feeling tense and too nostalgic.
* Beautiful Finnish winter days, showing the Aussie snowy forests, sauna and sledding, onion-domed cathedrals and reindeer kebab.
* Return to a damp and cold Irish valley and learned to sleep with five blankets and a woollen beanie as well as work on my social skills.
* My social life that winter: a roommate issuing death threats and a boyfriend with a broken heart.
* Midnight mountain hike that showed me that deer really freeze when caught in the lights.
* Foot-and-mouth outbreak that closed down most of Ireland and had me watering welcome mats with disinfectant.
* Meltdown with surprising results.
* Birthday with cheesecake, stolen daffodils and dancing to the jukebox.
* Game of pool with a movie star.
* Weekly Dublin days for half of the year, stay-at-home life for the other half.
* Hotel receptionist life: The War of the Boots, invisible weddings, scaring Spaniards shitless, white-hot truths, and the occasional cheese-and-wine picnic by the river with the boyfriend.
* Whispers from God through dreams, mountains and ancient oaks.
* Late summer holiday in Finland with all that's best of summer by the sea, family and friends, exes and future exes.
* Watching 9/11 in an Irish pub, crying.
* World's oldest building and the world's strangest rocks on a tour of Northern Ireland with family.
* Heartbreak autumn with lots of cheese and weddings.
* Accidental live performance by the Chieftains in a back room of the hotel.
* Running away to Kilkenny and finding comfort among strangers.
* Halloween ghost wrapped in toilet paper.
* Badminton and a bike.
* Losing my love on a frosty night.
* Finland Christmas tour of all significant places and people.
* Quiet winter reading Proust.

on a lonely night in Ireland long ago

Absent friends? All my friends are absent.
I will drink to them anyway.
Each one a drop and I try not to waste them
Filling one glass that saves my life.

run with the wolves

"Girls who run with the wolves aren’t here for boys to love."

(unknown)

city of laser harps and dead presidents

I went to Helsinki for a few days to talk to strangers, rediscover real coffee shops, look for dead presidents, decide this will be the last time I climb to the upper bunk of a hostel bed,

Helsinki view

find a flea market with designer clothes, enjoy the last of the summer, go exploring and love it, fight to the death with a wasp over a hot bowl of sweet potato soup, ride the tram through the oldest part of the city, be less than impressed at a design fair, play a laser harp,

Design fair must-have?

have my morning croissant with an exciting story about a bat, step over a defeated burglar, rest in peace in a beautiful cemetery, send pictures to friends, walk too much, get laughed at because my driver's licence is so old school,

Dead president

buy a Nepalese hoodie, overhear a conversation on how to survive a meeting with a bear, feel lonely, read a book about bread, climb to a lovely lookout point and fall in love with the sea (again), wear white, wander into a church on a misty evening and sit through a sermon,

discover how much shorter the train ride home has become.

left unsaid

I met an ex-boyfriend today.

I noticed his cool sunglasses, his stained trousers, his daughter's shyness as she sat on his lap. I knew how to make him laugh, what would light up his eyes, which words were coming out before he opened his mouth. I accepted that he fed his child before turning to me, that he was leaving soon to do what was expected of him, that there was no time.

Words were left unsaid. I knew him well, once.

those who pause to listen

I love the get-togethers with friends where I am not at the centre of attention. Where I can stay in the background and listen - not having to entertain, keep the conversation going, be the good host or icebreaker or the glue between everyone.

I love friends who only hear occasional comments from me over the course of a long evening of chatter or heated discussions, and still pause to listen. Who look at me as if I'm important and note-worthy, laugh at my jokes, seem fascinated when I offer a rare look into my unknown past. Who take charge of the practical stuff so I can drift around and look at everything. Who see me as beautiful, funny and smart, lovely.

I love friends who get in touch when I disappear. And I am so, so blessed - because my friends do.

unexplored - could it be any better?

All the summers of my life, I've been staring out at the uninhabited little islets strewn around the bay. Unknown lands that represent all my dreams.

Sometimes, very rarely, someone takes me out in a little boat, braving the waves to get to one of them on a summer day. They are strange pieces of nature – basically a pile of huge rocks with just enough soil between them to produce a thick forest of spruce, impossible to walk around in. Difficult to make landfall on too, but after having scraped our sturdy little boat painfully against the rocks we usually manage to find a large, smoother rock to climb up and spread our picnic on. Hot sun, a cooling breeze, pure sea water to swim in, strong coffee, the quiet of sea and sky.

I'm happy, maybe as happy as I ever get, whenever I get to see one of these islets up close. But I don't mind the fact that many of them are still unexplored. Looking at them from across the bay I feel the excited thrill of knowing that there are still adventures out there, dreams to discover. A world.

a future past

Those years in a west coast town where I

stared across the bay at a fairytale castle, dreamed of coffee shops with wooden tables, walked on quiet back streets, lit too many candles and drank a little too much wine,

worked in hotels, shops, offices, at my own kitchen table and on a balcony with sea view,

listened to birdsong and studied life from a distance,

listened to five hundred songs by a dark sea, with a candle at my elbow and a Dell in my lap,

partied with the girls and talked seriously to the boys,

looked for God and learned to love the loved ones,

craved unconditional love, unlimited freedom and a boho coat,

found a new gear, worried too much and treasured life,

lost a father and started a business.

burnt sugar equals joy

A crackling bonfire on a windblown beach. Chilly autumn sun, coarse grass under bare feet, a dog asleep nearby. Just me and a man I have no romantic feelings towards, a day of work, and a bonfire made only for the practical purpose of burning garden debris.

That's when we dig out an old packet of marshmallows from the back of a kitchen cupboard. They are sticky and too sweet and taste heavenly when toasted over an open fire. The wind chills my cheeks, I creep closer to the heat of burning spruce branches. We tell each other travel memories over the smell of burnt sugar.

A party is born.

my dream factory

 My dream factory and my peace of mind - in a tiny cottage between the forest and the sea. One little room with a narrow bed, a table, a wood-burning stove and an ancient radio.

I am happiest when there are family members occupying the other tiny cottages beside it. Right now there is an odd assortment of an old mother, a strong brother-in-law and an excited poodle.

September chill, darkness dispelled by candles, too much chocolate with not a care in the world. A little sand on the floor and stains on the window because a wild, happy summer was spent here. My father once built these walls, my mother knitted the Eighties-blue sweater I'm bundled up in. I chose the school-book illustrations decorating the walls. Everything whispers, "All will be well".

This is the safest place on earth, even when the September night is at its darkest. From here I launch myself into the world - to mystery islands, to streets filled with strangers, to dreams.

a sigh for the shaking

"A sigh for the shaking, another for the ache.
One for the time it’s taking, one for the love we will not make.
A sigh for the quiet snow, another for the lights.
One for all I hope you know, one for the sleepless nights."

(Tyler Knott Gregson)

a year of burning mountains

From my diaries: the year 2002 ...

* New Year's Eve – hotel reception work, a kiss in the staff room and a pan-European folk dance (the latter is what happens when a Czech and a Finn dance wildly to traditional Irish tunes).

* Europe's massive currency revolution – spent days juggling Irish pounds and euros.

* A very close encounter with a badger one dark night.

* Many cold nights with no heating. Resorted to illegal squatting.

* Cycled in pitch-black darkness to the village twice a week to play badminton with a very eclectic assortment of people.

* Crashlanded with the bike, went to a play in a Dublin theatre, enjoyed and sometimes endured traditional Irish music seisiúns.

* Saw burning mountains and set fire to myself while DJ'ing at a party.

* Jammed with a punk queen and a Grammy winner while sharing a spliff.

* Spent my birthday in a rainy fishing village and a Dublin suburb, drinking champagne with a Newfoundlander.

* Participated in a rare census of Ireland.

* Took trips to nearly every corner of the Emerald Isle. Saw Belfast murals and barbed wire, the Atlantic evening light over Donegal, a spa in the violent city of Limerick, the dramatic Ring of Kerry, the windblown flatness of the sunny Southeast, the quiet villages in the heart of the country and the ancient Hill of Tara.

* Hero worship and homesickness.

* Moved to a hotel attic where everything was yellow.

* Inhaled strawberry smoke through a hookah in a dreary Irish kitchen.

* Witnessed spectacular car crashes, deportations of illegal aliens, big fat gypsy weddings, and tanks rolling past my front door.

* Had a bathtub full of blood after participating in my first (and last) drinking game.

* Foolishly intervened in a fist fight.

* A September holiday in Finland – a visit to paradise and lazy days with the Helsinki gang (cheap sweet cider from a corner shop tasted much better than the famous Irish stuff).

* Suffered a cat attack and a tetanus shot – and a taxi driver who laughed until he cried at my misfortune.

* Tried to assist in a police investigation regarding drugs while surreptitiously chasing a rat in the hotel lobby.

* Participated in the no less than heroic feat of running a hotel with no electricity or heating for several days in an October storm. A positive side effect of the crisis was hanging out in a bar filled to bursting with candle light and excited people.

* A December holiday in Finland – skiing down a hill, my last nights in my childhood home and another few nights in a Mennonite library (situated upstairs from the hospital's ward for contagious diseases).

Memorable email to friend back home:

”I wanted to get away from Finland so I chose a country of drunks and fighters, emotionally and spiritually inhibited ”normal” people who have no depth – and if they have it they're afraid to show it. Finland number two. But with worse weather. Yes, I love this country, actually.”

a thought on the church

"What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.
We want an end to the culture wars. We want a truce between science and faith. We want to be known for what we stand for, not what we are against.
We want to ask questions that don’t have predetermined answers.
We want churches that emphasize an allegiance to the kingdom of God over an allegiance to a single political party or a single nation.
We want our LGBT friends to feel truly welcome in our faith communities.
We want to be challenged to live lives of holiness, not only when it comes to sex, but also when it comes to living simply, caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing reconciliation, engaging in creation care and becoming peacemakers.
You can’t hand us a latte and then go about business as usual and expect us to stick around. We’re not leaving the church because we don’t find the cool factor there; we’re leaving the church because we don’t find Jesus there."

(Rachel Held Evans: "Why millennials are leaving the church" )

good things and German

On the other hand, I have a balcony with a seaview, lots of candles, God, a Russian doll that looks like Gorbachev (on the outside), a mother that buys me chocolate, hugging friends, freedom and wine, and a new package of vanilla-flavoured coffee.

And I signed up for an evening class in German today. I wanted to study French but no suitable classes were available. This is unexpected - and exhilarating. This may alter the course of my life!

fretting tonight

I don't want to help people. I'm too tired.

I don't want to be a role model. Or maybe I do, but apparently you can't if you prefer a life with freedom and wine to having children.

I don't want to hear people tell me how important family is. It hurts when your own family is too far away, geographically or emotionally, and there isn't much you can do about it.

I don't want to be told I should stop being bitter, reserved or self-pitying. It's about as helpful as telling a cancer patient to stop being sick.

Above all, I don't want to fret about all of the above so much.

a bond between two

"I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other."

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

the wolf barely contained

"have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
a threat.

maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.

i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths."

(R.K.: "The Wolf Barely Contained")

be your cup of coffee

"She took a deep breath, tossed back her hair, and said:

'It’s strange. No amount of coffee will take away the tired. I think I’ll always feel tired. Maybe we will forever feel like that. Like the sun won’t get quite high enough to warm me the way I want, like the leaves will forever make too much noise under my boots, like the touch of someone else’s skin won’t make me feel less alone. I think we need to start waking up on our own. Books won’t shake the sleep from my eyes. Friends can’t tell me the meaning behind the stars and the dust. I guess I have to find it for myself, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But I like the way you stand next to me. A forever reminder that you are trying to wake up too. I’ll be your cup of coffee. I’ll be your hand to hold. Even if the stars don’t make sense, at least that does.'

In that moment, I decided I like when she breathes in deep." 

(Brother Stories, Tumblr)

a year of love/hate and whiskey under the stars

From my diaries: the year 2003 ...

* A year in the Irish valley -  love and hate. Life-flowing walks, tempesteous intrigues, exotic people. Working hard, flirting wildly, making a hotel bar my home. This was the year everyone wondered where Saddam was.

* Auld Lang Syne and Bailey's liqueur on New Year, on duty in a hotel reception. My employer gave me free alcohol at midnight but no food on New Year's Day. Cried of hunger.

* Risked jail by driving illegally to Newgrange, a mystery more ancient than Stonehenge and the Pyramids. Was stuffed into an underground tomb with 20 teenagers.

* Sci-fi-obsessed and stayed up every night to watch TV.

* Valentine's Day under siege: alone in my room with wine and chocolate to avoid an admirer who desperately wanted to give me flowers.

* Represented the village badminton team in a local game. This being Ireland, there were drinks afterwards.

* Discussed immigration with Irish embassies in Bratislava and Moscow.

* Gained entry into a cathedral through the sacristy wall.

* Almost killed myself working for a hateful boss who was never happy. Felt bullied and persecuted, felt very much loved by others. Lots of crying in the back office, public fits of rage, stolen desserts with my only allies and 3 a.m. drinking at the mysterious Table Twenty-Seven.

* Discussions about South American brothels and whether it is possible to worship a curtain.

* Was offered a thousand euros to marry a Chilean. He loved me for my European passport.

* Hated a Frenchwoman.

* Celebrated a big birthday in Dublin's Temple Bar with friends, vodka and no sleep for three nights.

* Holiday in the heart of Ireland: the town of Birr, stuck in a time-warp and impossible to leave.

* A night in a 13^th century castle with cocktails and canopy beds.

* Trip to Cork and the Kingdom of Kerry with Finnish strangers and friends. Almost crashed our car into a chainsaw and witnessed what we interpreted to be a secret IRA burial. Only with my own people can I laugh so hysterically. Drove across the mountains while a Gaelic lass sang us rebel songs, danced all night in Dingle.

* Romance with a sweet Irish lad who had no curiosity.

* A summer of laughs with two Aussies and a Frenchie. Picnics in castle gardens, games of pool, watching TV in bed, exploring a cave.

* Witnessed an Irish form of pub entertainment: pretend horse-racing but without pretend horses.

* A night in a thousand-year-old cemetery with candles, whisky and all the stars of the sky.

* Conquered a mountain.

* Gave an interview for the radio while leaning against a gravestone.

* Saw an Irish dance show at the theatre and studied albino hedgehogs at the museum of natural history.

* November weekend hidden away among rain-swept hills, sipping drinks by the fire with my best friend.

* Chased the police for a residence permit but they avoided me diligently.

* Adventures in the Dublin nightlife, Wexford and Waterford.

* A Christmas holiday in Finland with the flu, a new Thai niece, pancakes in a Helsinki hipster kitchen and a party in an old farmhouse on a starry, ice-cold night.

* Decided to leave Ireland, the land of my dreams.

Weirdest question asked of me this year (by man in medieval garb, long hair and desperate eyes): ”Do you have some oyster shells I can borrow?”

quiet in heart, and in eye, clear

"Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”

(Wendell Berry)

a year in Her Majesty's service

From my diaries: the year 2004 ...

* The year arrived for me in the Irish mountains, on a 12-hour shift in a busy little hotel. The night included a gigantic pavlova that took 45 minutes to eat, giggling on command into somebody's phone, hard work, frustration and happiness, and exchanging a handshake and a kiss (the Irish new year greeting) with an entire village. In the small hours, I withdrew to my drafty attic room to drink some illegal alcohol in peace.

* These were the last few weeks of a long Irish adventure – intrigues and sing-alongs, a Spanish best friend with blue hair, candle-lit dinners, pub nights with strange friends and strangers, roaring fires, and betting on horses with a rich man's money.

* Spent a night drinking champagne with celebrities in the VIP room of Dublin's hottest club.

* Impressed the Irish, but not the Romanian immigrants, with my ice-skating skills.

* Said farewell to Ireland with a week of parties, a dawn walk and a mountain tour. There was cake, slivovitsa and striptease, as well as a snowdrop brought down from a mountain just for me.

* Moved to England, without a clue, one February day. Within 24 hours I found a receptionist job in a quiet Cotswolds village, where I had a hidden room in a labyrinthic old inn. Fought boredom and loneliness, read novels in cosy tea rooms and 13^th century pubs, became the resident computer genius and performed whistling duets with a parrot.

* Had more than one incident at the hotel involving celebrities and dirty laundry (literally).

* Found a church where I cried every Sunday.

* Celebrated my birthday with a picnic in the Duke of Marlborough's own park, together with a pheasant and a black swan. Saw the not very feel-good movie The Passion of the Christ and ended the day at an alcohol-fueled party that my new friends threw in my honour. Very hung-over, I was tenderly awakened by the fire alarm the next morning.

* Moved to the city of Cambridge and explored everything from suburban cricket grounds to college courts. Stayed in a hell-hole of a house where the only comforts were blood-red sheets and a poster of a calla lily, then moved to share a tiny house and an apple tree with a male stranger.

* Found a job in a luxury hotel reception – with stress, arrogant celebrities and a psychotic boss, but also hilarious workmates and champagne celebrations.

* Tried to learn professional bed-making skills and slept in the hotel's junior suites.

* Had a nervous breakdown but recovered after three days in the healing embrace of London.

* Soaked up sun and life during endless summer days by the river, drinking iced frappuccinos and punting with beautiful people.

* Lived my Cambridge life with one friend only, my Czech mate. I helped her find a job, she taught me chess, we discussed lost love in many a pub and danced in the winter's only snowfall.

* Found a self-defence course, volleyball with a real coach, a lively church and a magical night at the circus. Explored every corner of the city, encountering man-eating horses as well as strangers wanting to discuss the meaning of life.

* Flirted on Guy Fawkes' Night with a boy in a mohawk, who later sent me a dozen roses.

* Experienced evensong in King's College Chapel and a date spent swigging African sugarcane liquor out of a Coke bottle.

* Celebrated Christmas in London, an out-of-the-world experience: Christmas dinner in a dirty Libanese falafel joint, pub life in Putney and sincere prayer in a chilly Hyde Park. And the absolute impossibility of finding a cup of coffee on Christmas Day.

* Partied with strangers who all loved me (but then most of them were on drugs).

* Had a New Year's Eve that I've completely forgotten.

Extracurricular trips taken:

* Bournemouth: lovely seabass dinner, beach-walking in the rain

* Bath: sitting by the steaming water where the ancient Roman used to bathe, architecture and a river trip

* Wales: great company, romantic castle ruins

* Ireland: old friends and a mountain tour

* Cornwall: beach holiday with exploring and lots of texting

* Various quirky towns in the Fens: medieval cathedrals, great pub lunches and train rides across the flattest country I've ever seen

* An afternoon in Grantchester's famous orchard: reading The Times and thinking big thoughts among oaks and apple trees, squirrels and a beautiful October light

* Several day trips to London: shows, vodka mudshakes and a magical atmosphere

Weirdest question asked of me this year: ”Where can I hang these two dead pheasants?”

fish and ancient orders

Today I was invited to join an ancient order and feasted on grilled fish by a wild sea.

And I sank into the dark of the cinema, into a story that has entertained me for almost as long as I can remember.

decaf

"There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash."

(unknown)

kissed in kitchens

Random facts about me:

I am a woman who gets kissed in kitchens, is too wise and makes younger people cry with laughter.

word freak

"I’m a word freak. I like words. I’ve always compared writing to music. That’s the way I feel about good paragraphs. When it really works, it’s like music."

(Hunter S. Thompson)

wet sneakers by the fire

I walk through wet grass in my father's wellingtons and remind myself of the names of flowers. I fetch wood from the shed. I watch My Blueberry Nights on a tiny laptop, the best film I've seen in months. I dry my wet sneakers in front of a roaring fire and read books. I eat cold pizza with instant coffee. I argue with my mother. I walk along a dirt road in the forest and kick pebbles for the dog to chase. I try to stay off social media. I read magazines in foreign languages and dream.

The sky is grey, night and day – no darkness at night, no sun at noon – and I often hear the whoosh of rain on the tin roof. A hooting owl lets me know that it's time to sleep. This is also a Finnish summer.

me with everything

Swimming with playful boys, sun with good books, meaningful looks with sister, volleyball with grass-stained knees, shared memories with those who know me, bedtime tea with laughter, summer day with all I want.

stumbling down the path

Hand in hand with my old mother, to prevent her from stumbling. To a hidden lake deep in the forest, on narrow bridges across rumbling rapids, into quiet cafés, on paths where memories are thick in the air. With gratefulness, with frustration, with longing.

There is something heartbreaking and deeply unfair in the frailty of old age. It was clearly not meant to exist.

summer Friday status

Sight: Water and meadowsweet

Sound: Seagulls

Flavour: Pear cream

Smell: Grass and wood smoke

Sensation: Muscles stiff from over-sleeping and under-exercising

State of mind: Peace/anxiety

my vacation: fragrant and silent

Blueberries ripening in the woods, poodles dancing for joy, summer heat, bitter granules of instant coffee, wrinkles on my mother's hands, golden rain showers and sun against storm clouds, glitter, cut grass, sea air, seagulls chasing owls, reading by the fire, the fragrance of absolutely everything, the silence of sea and forest.

These are a few things that could be said about a vacation in an isolated spot.

all said

A lot can be said for a vacation in a very isolated spot, but much to blog about there ain't.

the wilderness used to be quieter

In my summer paradise. This day between the sea and the forest I expected to be a quiet one, with nothing heard besides birds and my mother's voice.

Unexpected additions, however: A grey owl keeping me awake at night. Heavy rain. Messages from two friends, not yet aware of my voluntary and almost total isolation here, who requested a get-together. A poodle barking wildly and two unexpected visitors. My brother giving me instructions in his big brother voice. The (probably imagined) hum of electricity. And a radio talk show that had me transfixed.

Expected noises: The birds. And my mother's unsolicited list of all the maintenance work to be done around here.

a peculiar crossroads

"The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location."

(Flannery O'Connor)

not a blow-up

My balcony with a seaview and easy drinks, and my gentle smile, attract lonely men.

They come, they tell me their troubles, I tell them mine, we make jokes, they leave. Sometimes they fall in love with me and I push them mildly away, sometimes they fall in love with someone else and I lose a friend.

"Am I the mental equivalent of a blow-up doll?" I asked one of them teasingly. But I need the company, too. I need someone to stare at the sea with me, someone to direct my gentle smile at.

wisdom and EAN codes

The things on my mind today:

Three wise men with loud laughter and gentle eyes in the kitchen of a century-old farmhouse.

A wise woman out of my past who suddenly impacts my day.

The heartbreak of summer.

Strawberries with cream.

Electricity in my off-the-grid paradise.

The prison of a certain relationship.

EAN codes.

unworthy and inadequate

"There will be times when you feel unworthy and inadequate. Remember, God has not asked you to be worthy or adequate - He has asked you to trust Him."

(unknown)

meringue pie and exhaustion

That feeling when you return home on Sunday evening after a fabulous weekend, so tired that it's impossible to function and impossible to fall asleep. So tired that you make yourself even more tired hopelessly trying to unwind.

I tried TV, I tried sleep. On a too-hot balcony, with a laptop on my lap and a glass of rum at my side, I'm trying to decide whether a weekend like this is good or bad.

The bad: Mosquitoes, an exhausting relationship, a long drive.

The good: Swimming in a pure blue sea, lots of laughs, seldom-seen friends who still love you, a delicious meringue pie shared with family on the beach.

what june is

June is a garden of sun, flowers and baby birds, a month made for loving life. A mad rush of fragrance and beauty, as if God suddenly decided he needs to make it up to the Finns for the long winter.

June is sometimes hit with an icy wind, which stops me in my tracks for days.

June is wine on balconies and bare feet in grass. Mosquitoes. Icecream. Trying to wind down, and a panicked feeling that summer is too short and I'm not enjoying it enough. The unfairness of the icy wind. The absolute loveliness of warm mornings with sunlight on water, and slow, easy evenings around a barbecue. Beachvolley.

June is dreams and plans for the annual vacation later in the summer, joy and frustration in an impossible mix. Boats in clear water, vanilla icecream, exuberant smiles.

June is midnight sun and a party with my very own Midsummer people.

kiss my turku

Turku, Finland. Probably the best city in the world. One sure sign of its greatness is that it's built on seven hills.

It has a real castle, where a king was held captive in the dungeons, pining for the love of his life.

And a real cathedral (13th century) where on an ordinary weekday afternoon you can hear live organ music echo under the vaults and touch your very soul. Peace is found here - no wonder, since it's built on the Hill of Sleep.

There are lovely river walks. And bar boats!

There are unimaginably charming hidden parks, ancient buildings, lots of lovely cafés (order the blueberry/dark chocolate pastry Kiss My Turku) and the combined wisdom of two and a half venerated universities. And a huge daisy.

Not to forget, a giant spiderweb in a cave very near the city centre. What lives here?

Turku is the first capital of Finland, its first real city. Nine hundred years of history and a beach where you can experience the thrill of having your swim rudely interrupted by giant Stockholm ferries. What more could you possibly need?

I lived seven years in this city. Here I learned everything about life, love, friendship, the internet and how to write a French essay when you don't know any French.

god needed, apply within

I like myself on the days when I turn down full-time jobs to focus on the unsafe freedom of my own company, listen to rock classics just to educate myself, read books in foreign languages, buy coloured drinking glasses instead of the old boring ones, organize, minimize, smile at people, allow myself to live unfettered.

I don't like myself much on the nights when I twist my mind in unnecessary worry, escape into useless distractions, believe in my own lies.

I need a God to steer me right.

coloured drinking glasses

a European problem

I am torn between the urge to have dozens of little lamps for mood lighting and the necessity to preserve at least a few of the earth's resources for future needs.

As I wrote this, I was stabbed with guilt. To be thinking about mood lighting when people are drowning, starving and being beheaded.

just enough to inflame

"Foreign lands never yield their secrets to a traveller. The best they offer are tantalising snippets, just enough to inflame the imagination. The secrets they do reveal are your own - the ones you have kept from yourself. And this is reason enough to travel, to leave home."

(Graeme Sparks)

a silvery evening with pathology

Neither young nor old, I am here in this Northern country where a summer rain is showering silver. The door is wide open, to birdsong and the fragrance of water on sun-warm asphalt and lush gardens.

I light a golden candle in the silver light, sink into my sofa and have a little competition with my friends in a chat window: posting pictures of the weirdest books we have on our shelves. Surgical Pathology is winning hands-down.

go home and love yourself

"At the end of the day, you will go home to yourself and yourself only. Ensure you are proud of the person you have to fall asleep with, of who you are. Those who tell you that you aren’t good enough are not there with you at 3am when you’re crying in the dark because you’ve pretended to be someone you aren’t and you are no longer sure who you are anymore. Go home and love yourself."

(unknown)

so strong they can be gentle

"We need women who are so strong they can be gentle, so educated they can be humble, so fierce they can be compassionate, so passionate they can be rational, and so disciplined they can be free."

(Kavita Ramdas)

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)