the love war: Twitter and a prayer

A guitar player is loved by all and I can't seem to hold on to him.

I'm a self-pity maestro. But I do not go gentle into that good night anymore. A dream of New York, impossible or not, is the only fuel I need to power my rage.

Against meaninglessness, I employ studying. Against self-accusations, practical plans to improve myself. Against apathy, exercise. Against depressive introspection, decisive action to help the lonely. And against all the darkness of world and soul, I deploy my entire arsenal of music, candles, writing, chocolate and wine, DVDs, fantasy novels, gypsy necklaces, vintage clothes, text messaging, Twitter and a little prayer.

I force myself to stare intensely at the beautiful and weird things around me and love them, for f's sake.

high heels in the clouds

I don't want children. I don't want to buy things (apart from the occasional piece of vintage clothing, a nice latte, and books of course). I'm closer to 40 than 30 and shun the thought of settling down. So what DO I want?

I want to dress in short skirts and high heels, hang out in glitzy cocktail bars or smoky pubs with cool people and I want to see horizons I have never seen before. But I also want the people I love. And the thing I absolutely cannot do without: a stunning view from the window and an inspiring soundtrack, so I can dramatically toss my hair back and look like I'm having an epic life.

 

In the middle of it all, I want peace of mind.

I know what I did last May

Couldn't believe my luck in having a prison view and a royal neighbour (2006)
Hung out in a deserted hotel kitchen, hoping for a chef and strawberries (2007)
Rested after limping around the island of Crete looking for the Minotaur (2008)
Contemplated sour milk and Jehova's Witnesses (2009)
Pretended to be foreign and compiled my own dictionary (2010)
Walked to the end of the world, again, in the company of eagles and snakes (2011)
Analyzed the call to prayer while lounging by a pool (2012)

this magic this drunken semaphore

Sangria and Snow Patrol make an excellent combination. I'm just saying.

tried, tested, didn't fall off

The annual Vehicle Inspection.

The inspector attaches a hose to the exhaust pipe of my car, carefully checks every light - he even finds the switch for those extra lights I never figured out how to turn on! - and notes down numbers on the performance of the brakes and the suspension and a hundred other things. He raises my car on a ramp and somehow makes the ramp shake violently. He seems satisfied when the car doesn't fall off. He manually turns the front wheels, looks under the bonnet, checks underneath the chassis. He even tries the horn.

I stand in a corner of the hall where five cars are being inspected at the same time. It takes a while. Finnish inspections are probably the most rigid in the world, we Finns are always obsessed with safety rules and regulations. The Porsche next to my humble Citroën seems to attract some admiration from the inspectors. A beat-up old Nissan in the back sits abandoned while its owner is waiting forlornly next to it. A Chrysler causes some confusion when the inspector can't find a switch he is looking for and has to call for help from the others.

In the parking lot outside, teenagers are trying to pass a motorcycle manouvering exam. In a sudden flash, I remember coming here many years ago with my driving instructor in the hopes of getting my driving license. I was so nervous I almost threw up. I failed the first driving exam but eventually passed. Thank God I learned to drive when I was seventeen! Now, approaching middle age, I would never dare. Would probably never pass the exam either.

But my car passes the test today and I drive off happily. The inspector manages to remove the hose from the exhaust pipe just in time.

three languages and one Volkswagen

"There's a traffic camera up ahead. And my phone says you're driving too fast."

I'm  in the back seat, playing with the navigator on my phone. My friend lifts an eyebrown but eases up on the accelerator. Rain is smattering on the windshield. My three friends are chatting in Finnish, Swedish and English. One of them is telling us about an autopsy she will have to perform tomorrow, one she is not looking forward to as the body is four weeks old and decomposing fast. The other is unemployed but will volunteer at a alcohol rehabilitation centre this weekend. The third one is being quiet, worn out after a trying day at the nursing school and from taking the language tests she needs to pass as a foreign student.

The heater in the old car is on full blast despite the temperate spring weather outside. I look out at the grey, wet streets. The automated voice in the navigator is reminding us, unnecessarily, of the turn coming up. She sounds a bit annoyed; probably hasn't got over the fact that we ignored her instructions a while back in order to take a detour.

This is today, this is May rain and four friends in an old Volkswagen, and an invaluable stretch of time.

"You give me miles and miles of mountains and I'll ask for the sea" *

* Damien Rice: "Volcano"

security breach in the ivory tower

Me half-dressed, barely out of bed. An unpacked suitcase lying open on the floor. Potted plants, unwatered for the week I was away, withering and snowing yellow leaves all over the dusty floor. Bed unmade and clothes lying in untidy heaps.

He doesn't call before he comes to visit, I hate it when people don't call first. Sends me a text message in the lift on his way up to the fourth floor. I barely have time to throw on a pair of jeans, run a hand through my hair and frown at my un-made-up face in the mirror. It's his first visit in my flat - okay, that's my own fault, as I should have asked him over ages ago instead of just arranging coffee dates all over the city.

Clearly, he's taking matters into his own hands and deciding it's about time I let him further into my life. Grudgingly, I have to admit this: A real man, annoying and admirable. So, I let him see the basic version of me, with no make-up, and of my home, not tidied up for visitors. If he can take it, he's passed another test.

over-rated, overdressed and overstated

This week's musical obsession: Rob Thomas: Wonderful. 

Look at me, I'm made of wonderful, wonderful
I'm all easy breath and steady walk, steady walking
But underneath I'm barely moving on, it's like I'm nothing
All the ways they have to make me 
smile and then they go and break me

Wait, I think I feel like hell
No, I can't be myself
And I can't be nobody else
But if I could
Would you love me then?

go life!

On this blog, in 2011, these were the words mostly used (click picture to enlarge)...

It amuses me to note that Wordle completely by random seems to pair words very accurately to describe my life or preferences. Examples:  Finland watching, night better, next dance, city first, now live, without man, want always, TV never used, boring feeling, make believe, beach date.

between the Mediterranean and a quiz show

In Turkey, you can also...

...get tired...

...smile back at the Mediterranean...

...study various forms of agriculture...

...and when you get even more tired, you can watch incomprehensible television.

the sun smiles in Asia Minor

In Turkey...

...you can walk along ancient walls and feel delicious in being alone and in the sun...

...crawl around impressive dripstone caves with sundry tourists and old Turkish women looking to relieve their asthma...

...feast on pastries and coffee by the pool...

...and walk where Cleopatra once strolled by Mark Anthony's side.

in the bazaar

"FIVE EURO!" the shopkeeper bellows, almost into my ear. Well, my own fault as I stopped right by his shop while he is trying to attract attention from the people milling about the street market.

Other vendors are yelling about their products as well, mostly in Turkish. It's the Friday market in the bazaar quarters and the narrow streets are crowded with stalls selling fruit, vegetables, spices and knick-knacks. The spring sun is warm but not too hot, and most of the stallkeepers look exactly like you imagine a Turkish grandma coming in from her farm to sell her aubergines and oranges. I almost step on a live chicken lying tied up on the ground and quickly avert my eyes.

I stand on a corner, next to the loud shopkeeper, and discreetly change the battery in my camera. Trying to not look like a tourist, failing abysmally.

 

writing my way to God

"The gospels and all the sacred texts of all religions were written in exile, in search of God's understanding, of the faith that moves whole peoples, of the pilgrimage of souls wandering the face of the Earth. Our ancestors did not know, as we do not know, what the Divinity expects from our lives - and it is out of that doubt that books are written, pictures painted, because we don't want to forget who we are - nor can we."

Paulo Coelho: Eleven Minutes

a large coffee and some fascinating company, please

Most beautiful thing seen today: calla lilies, deep purple ones and sunny yellow ones. Or the man sitting at the café table opposite me, laughing.

The café we frequent has never been my favourite. It is too bright, too open, too bland. But it does have nice pastries, ordinary but interesting people to analyze in giggling whispers, and, most importantly, the coffee is not too expensive. It's not the kind of coffee shop I used to go to alone, back when I had money - flavoured lattes, boho chic students, ambiance, lifestyle magazines to peruse.

But this one is OK. It has him in it.

incredibly close and decades away

It's 4 o'clock in the morning. Everyone is in their pajamas and looking bleary-eyed. Nobody can remember whose stupid idea it was to throw a surprise party for Jonas on his birthday, the surprise element being the part where we dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night, stuck him under a cold shower and then presented him with cake and presents in the common room.

A good time was, however, had by all. Including Jonas (at least after the shower was over). Nobody worried about the fact that we had to be up early in the morning for bible study class. After all, we were young, history-makers in the making, and loved each other to bits.

This is one of the weirdest things in my life. To have people in your life that you have had no contact with for almost 20 years (most of them) but who were so close then that you still remember the sound of their voice. That particular look on their face when they were upset or excited. Their dreams, shared in an almost frightened but hopeful whisper, and sometimes their most shameful secrets. The comfort of their presence when you were puking your guts out in a stinking third-world toilet, and they were puking right next to you. The weak laughter you shared in your lowest moments. The fierce hugs they gave you when you asked their forgiveness for letting them down when times were rough. Their unconditional love and help when you were at the end of your rope.

This common room, in the middle of the night - and in that stinking third-world toilet - is where I learned about friendship.

at least I'm not in handcuffs

Bought a washing machine of my very own for the first time ever. So now I feel old and settled in my ways and tied down my mundane possessions (washing machines are not easy to pack up and move when inspiration hits).

The machine's drain hose was too short so I bought an extension but could not figure out how to attach it. So now I have to cry a little and feel useless.

Had to have a tetanus shot since it's apparently been ten years since my last one (after that unfortunate incident with the feral cat). So now my arm is paralyzed by pain (am I actually having a localized case of tetanus? Interesting. I never heard of anyone who's ever had tetanus) and I am hardly capable of even dressing myself.

So, being old, weepy and crippled, it's time to settle down with a box of chocolates and watch White Collar. Finally, an excuse.

foolproof insomnia remedy

Sometimes, when I can't sleep... I set the alarm that I normally use for my wake-up call in the morning to sound right away. It never fails to trigger one thought, and one thought only, in my head: Lovely, lovely sleep. And off I go into dreamland.

friends who like pasta

One friend gives instructions on what to do with the onions. The other measures pasta and sings a song we once made up, many years ago. Suddenly it's like we are back in that student flat and nothing has changed.

And nobody whines about vegetarian diet or LCHF. Thank God for true friends.

defrost moment

Sometime in April, my body and mind wake up. It's a surprise every year.

The human being isn't meant to live in temperatures below 10 degrees Celsius (50 F). Any colder than that, you can't relate to nature. Smells disappear, sounds are oddly muted, and the air itself becomes an enemy to be fought off with many layers of clothing.

The first time of the year that I feel the air against bare skin and it doesn't make me shiver, something inside me lets go and I feel like crying from relief. The world is friendly again.

the slow-down balcony

I stand on the balcony, a glass of water in my hand, listening idly to my neighbour chattering about her grandchildren... thinking vaguely about all the other things I could be doing with my precious day... The winter seemed endlessly grey and sunless, but when the spring sun finally arrives it blinds everything with its merciless brightness... I seem to spend half of the year longing for light and the remaining half squinting and fumbling for my sunglasses...

I feel, to my surprise, a languid contentment that shouldn't logically be there, as I look out over an empty back street, an eerily deserted prison yard, a quiet seafront promenade and the vast expanse of the bay...

Two ladies, out for a stroll along the street below, look up as the sound of my neighbour's voice carries down from the fourth floor balcony. The woman with the four chihuahuas walks by, expertly juggling her dog leashes. Someone drives his expensive Mercedes very slowly to avoid being rattled by the cobblestones. A pair of crows are constructing a nest in the still winter-bare linden tree. A couple take their bicycles out for the first time on newly ice-free streets. A thrush is searching the wet grass for last year's berries. Far away, there is the clanging noise from bridge construction work.

I should be in a hurry to make an excuse to my neighbour and go back inside to do something useful or at least fun. But, for someone who dreams of the electrifying chaos of New York avenues, I'm oddly bewitched by the quiet peace in deserted, small-town back streets. My heartrate slows down and I can't move...