Waiting for the supermarket queue to move,
Waiting for the bus,
Waiting for the lights to change,
Waiting for the spring to come,
Waiting for the summer,
Waiting for the sales,
Waiting for the right one to pass by,
Waiting for the bad things to diminish,
Waiting for someone at the airport,
Waiting for a file to upload,
Waiting for the weather to cool down,
Waiting for the commercials to end,
Waiting for the next available bathroom,
Waiting for the water to boil,
Waiting for a video to load,
Waiting for the drinks at the counter,
Waiting for the fire to start,
Waiting for the book to reach an ending,
Waiting for a friend to finish a cigarette,
Waiting for the apples to get ripe,
Waiting for the sun to come up,
Waiting for the sun to go down,
Waiting for the rain,
Waiting for the rain to end,
Waiting for the shift to end,
Waiting for the mail,
Waiting for the world to get better,
Waiting for the first snowfall,
Waiting for the candles to burn out,
Waiting for the nail polish to dry,
Waiting for the party to start,
Waiting for the wash machine to finish,
Waiting for the coffee to cool down,
Waiting for the clothes to dry,
Waiting for finally falling asleep,
Waiting for finally getting there,
Getting where?
What the hell am I waiting for?
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
On my way
When I started writing this late last night, I thought: "Seriously speaking, I think there should be a law against the amount of shit you can handle. I do realize that while saying this I am living in a modern civilized country with human rights and all but just fuck that shit now, okay?"
At first I thought about listing all of my awful experiences throughout this year here in horrid details but what the hell, what's the use, after all. It would make no difference in the end. Shit happens. Things change. People change. Hearts get broken. You lose a job. You lose your way. You lose a friend. You lose another. Electricity goes off. Internet stops working. Your house floods. Zombies attack. Wine is illegalized. Your cat is secretly plotting your murder. Boo-hoo.
Well, perhaps some of the above mentioned things were untrue in my case (at least so far), but nevertheless this year has been quite a chaos for me. And I really wanted to give up at some point, too. No - let me correct that - I wanted to give up a lot of times. My sister called me a guerrilla warrior for handling all this; I suppose most people would have just given up and gone back home already (whatever it is that one calls home).
These three and a half years I've spent in Lisbon have been challenging to say the least. Each year brings along more and more obstacles to overcome. Whenever something crappy happens, I tend to think "well, let this be a lesson, let me learn something from this" - but an excessive amount of misfortunes seems to want to drag me away from that learning path. Cynicism and pessimism are lurking behind the corner, ready to take hold of me, until I'm finally one of those sad figures who've had too much negative experiences and just think life is total shit and there are no good things left on this planet. I'm still fighting against that, though. Honestly I don't even know where I'm pulling out all that will and strength, but there's some left, anyway.
Last night I was having yet another incident, when my apartment suddenly started flooding after a heavy rainfall. The water was everywhere and it was quite plenty; I had to walk inside the house with my rubber boots. Both me and the cat ended up being soaking wet, cold and miserable. I had been on a sad mood the whole day before, and this little disaster was the final nail to the coffin. After desperately trying to clean up the mess and save whatever things that could be saved I sat down, smoked 5 cigarettes in 15 minutes and thought: THAT does it. That's enough. I've had enough.
I was assured that if this is karma getting back to me, I must had been Hitler, Stalin and the whole Ku Klux Klan in my previous lives. It all seemed excessive, just too much to handle. I was tired, suddenly more tired than I've felt in years. I was wallowing in self-pity and anxiety, unable to figure out what lesson this was supposed to teach me. But I had already understood it, actually, somewhere in my subconscious.
Earlier this year somebody told me that I was like a 14-year-old trapped in a body of a 27-year-old. Unable to take responsibility, to figure out what it is that I want in life; acting like a kid, being needy, behaving strange. I was offended to hear that, of course, but I couldn't really deny it either. Now I could though. That kid is finally gone. Or vanishing quickly, at least. Maybe some people need to have truly tough lessons to start growing up. I've always been a bit stubborn, and usually not in the good sense. But I guarantee - these lessons are finally starting to get through this headstrong skull of mine. I'm mutating into an adult.
Better later than never, eh? And yes, it has been slow and painful. But once you're ripped off of all other options, there's really nothing else to do. Get a grip, woman! was the only thought in my head when I woke up this morning to evaluate the damages of last night. Decisively, I swept the floors and threw away things that couldn't be used anymore; I washed the numerous towels I had to use to keep the water from entering the whole apartment. In the meanwhile I was just thinking, I'll show you. I'll show you what I'm made of. I'm not a weeping brat that runs back to mama after things don't go exactly how you planned. No, screw that. I'm not giving up on my life or myself; or the great things (surprisingly there have been those too) that I've discovered in Lisbon. And this is my home - where should I go to, where should I belong, if not here, regardless of all the misadventures?
It makes me wonder would I ever have reached this state if I had stayed in Finland. Living a pampered life in a pampered country, I doubt that I would ever had to challenge myself so much mentally and emotionally. Thus, I would have remained in my childlike condition. Strangely, now I feel like I'm finally becoming me. I'm on my way there at least. I'm ready to be me.
Let the zombies come.
At first I thought about listing all of my awful experiences throughout this year here in horrid details but what the hell, what's the use, after all. It would make no difference in the end. Shit happens. Things change. People change. Hearts get broken. You lose a job. You lose your way. You lose a friend. You lose another. Electricity goes off. Internet stops working. Your house floods. Zombies attack. Wine is illegalized. Your cat is secretly plotting your murder. Boo-hoo.
Well, perhaps some of the above mentioned things were untrue in my case (at least so far), but nevertheless this year has been quite a chaos for me. And I really wanted to give up at some point, too. No - let me correct that - I wanted to give up a lot of times. My sister called me a guerrilla warrior for handling all this; I suppose most people would have just given up and gone back home already (whatever it is that one calls home).
These three and a half years I've spent in Lisbon have been challenging to say the least. Each year brings along more and more obstacles to overcome. Whenever something crappy happens, I tend to think "well, let this be a lesson, let me learn something from this" - but an excessive amount of misfortunes seems to want to drag me away from that learning path. Cynicism and pessimism are lurking behind the corner, ready to take hold of me, until I'm finally one of those sad figures who've had too much negative experiences and just think life is total shit and there are no good things left on this planet. I'm still fighting against that, though. Honestly I don't even know where I'm pulling out all that will and strength, but there's some left, anyway.
Last night I was having yet another incident, when my apartment suddenly started flooding after a heavy rainfall. The water was everywhere and it was quite plenty; I had to walk inside the house with my rubber boots. Both me and the cat ended up being soaking wet, cold and miserable. I had been on a sad mood the whole day before, and this little disaster was the final nail to the coffin. After desperately trying to clean up the mess and save whatever things that could be saved I sat down, smoked 5 cigarettes in 15 minutes and thought: THAT does it. That's enough. I've had enough.
I was assured that if this is karma getting back to me, I must had been Hitler, Stalin and the whole Ku Klux Klan in my previous lives. It all seemed excessive, just too much to handle. I was tired, suddenly more tired than I've felt in years. I was wallowing in self-pity and anxiety, unable to figure out what lesson this was supposed to teach me. But I had already understood it, actually, somewhere in my subconscious.
Earlier this year somebody told me that I was like a 14-year-old trapped in a body of a 27-year-old. Unable to take responsibility, to figure out what it is that I want in life; acting like a kid, being needy, behaving strange. I was offended to hear that, of course, but I couldn't really deny it either. Now I could though. That kid is finally gone. Or vanishing quickly, at least. Maybe some people need to have truly tough lessons to start growing up. I've always been a bit stubborn, and usually not in the good sense. But I guarantee - these lessons are finally starting to get through this headstrong skull of mine. I'm mutating into an adult.
Better later than never, eh? And yes, it has been slow and painful. But once you're ripped off of all other options, there's really nothing else to do. Get a grip, woman! was the only thought in my head when I woke up this morning to evaluate the damages of last night. Decisively, I swept the floors and threw away things that couldn't be used anymore; I washed the numerous towels I had to use to keep the water from entering the whole apartment. In the meanwhile I was just thinking, I'll show you. I'll show you what I'm made of. I'm not a weeping brat that runs back to mama after things don't go exactly how you planned. No, screw that. I'm not giving up on my life or myself; or the great things (surprisingly there have been those too) that I've discovered in Lisbon. And this is my home - where should I go to, where should I belong, if not here, regardless of all the misadventures?
It makes me wonder would I ever have reached this state if I had stayed in Finland. Living a pampered life in a pampered country, I doubt that I would ever had to challenge myself so much mentally and emotionally. Thus, I would have remained in my childlike condition. Strangely, now I feel like I'm finally becoming me. I'm on my way there at least. I'm ready to be me.
Let the zombies come.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Hiding in plain sight
I've lately noticed a strange change in my general attitude towards people. It started out so slowly that I didn't even realize what was happening first, but as time passed I couldn't really deny it anymore. Wikipedia defines misanthropy as "...the general hatred, mistrust or disdain of the human species or human nature." I'd say hatred is a bit of a strong word to be used in my case, but disdain and mistrust seem quite fitting.
I think my brain just thought "enough of this shit already!" and decided to ignore people from now on. Don't take me wrong though; the friends I have now are even more important to me than before, but the rest - I simply couldn't care less. Meeting new people suddenly seems exhausting, useless and irritating. I've only recently started at a new job and I suppose I'm already considered the strange, cold Nordic girl who doesn't speak to anyone. Because I don't.
It's not exactly the nicest defense mechanism one can have against getting hurt but hey, at least it works. I don't think I can have bad experiences if I simply stay away from people, other than those I know won't (at least deliberately) cause me any harm. I walk around with a mild ignorance all day. It quickly mutates into aggression though, if someone tries to start a small talk, or God forbid, asks me on a date. For everyone's sake I should probably be wearing a sign around my neck - something like this:
I don't even know if it's something temporary or if I have managed to mutate into a (small) human monster. I really don't care if I'm being rude at people that I don't know anymore, even though before I was always super cautious about making a good impression and being polite. Well, fuck it, I say. If that attitude keeps people away from me, all the better. If they think I'm not a nice person, perfect.
Having said this, I must add that I'm not being rude or mean to people on purpose all the time. It's just disregard, I guess. I have no reason to insult or hurt others, and no wish to do that either. Just... Staying away. Somehow it feels offensive if some new person tries to make acquaintance - I instantly feel like someone is trying to pass through my property, my life, my thoughts, and I shut down completely and don't share anything that is essential about me.
I'd gladly be a shadow, not creating any interest or causing any attraction to anyone. Please, just keep your distance. Don't talk to me. Don't show interest towards me. Don't think we could be friends. Especially don't think we could be something more than friends. I don't want to.
Talk to you later in a few years or so.
I think my brain just thought "enough of this shit already!" and decided to ignore people from now on. Don't take me wrong though; the friends I have now are even more important to me than before, but the rest - I simply couldn't care less. Meeting new people suddenly seems exhausting, useless and irritating. I've only recently started at a new job and I suppose I'm already considered the strange, cold Nordic girl who doesn't speak to anyone. Because I don't.
It's not exactly the nicest defense mechanism one can have against getting hurt but hey, at least it works. I don't think I can have bad experiences if I simply stay away from people, other than those I know won't (at least deliberately) cause me any harm. I walk around with a mild ignorance all day. It quickly mutates into aggression though, if someone tries to start a small talk, or God forbid, asks me on a date. For everyone's sake I should probably be wearing a sign around my neck - something like this:
I don't even know if it's something temporary or if I have managed to mutate into a (small) human monster. I really don't care if I'm being rude at people that I don't know anymore, even though before I was always super cautious about making a good impression and being polite. Well, fuck it, I say. If that attitude keeps people away from me, all the better. If they think I'm not a nice person, perfect.
Having said this, I must add that I'm not being rude or mean to people on purpose all the time. It's just disregard, I guess. I have no reason to insult or hurt others, and no wish to do that either. Just... Staying away. Somehow it feels offensive if some new person tries to make acquaintance - I instantly feel like someone is trying to pass through my property, my life, my thoughts, and I shut down completely and don't share anything that is essential about me.
I'd gladly be a shadow, not creating any interest or causing any attraction to anyone. Please, just keep your distance. Don't talk to me. Don't show interest towards me. Don't think we could be friends. Especially don't think we could be something more than friends. I don't want to.
Talk to you later in a few years or so.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Status: Zen
I wrote this text originally by hand, sitting in my candle lit apartment a few days ago. It was a strange day but in the end I managed to find something very precious in it. Ironically, the only way for me to share this story is through internet - the one thing I felt so good without on this Wednesday night. Anyway, here goes. For once I'm not complaining about everything. Life has a funny way of getting better just when you think you're in the gutter.
-----
Due to certain unforeseen events, I've been living without electricity now for almost one full week. Surely I didn't spend all this time in my dark and suddenly medieval flat, but after sleeping in other people's homes for several days I decided that I needed my own space, lightless or not. Tomorrow I will supposedly get the lights back and will drop back to the internet addicted life of mine - but until that, I shall try to enjoy this peculiar situation.
Suddenly there are no distractions. Just me and the cat, who by the way doesn't seem to mind this position at all. And why would he? What does a thing like electricity mean to a cat anyway? It's totally secondary, useless. After all life is not at the other end of the plug, even though chords can be awfully fun to play with.
Candle light is strangely calming. Perhaps it's the quiet subtle movement it makes. It's not so horribly revealing and blunt; instead it dances around and shows something different to me with each flicker.
Something makes this moment extremely peaceful. The sounds, perhaps? I was even lucky enough to run out of battery on my iPod. Thus, not even music. First I thought it was unfortunate but now I don't anymore. The only sounds to be heard now are the silent rainfall outside and the pot of hot soup simmering on the stove. On occasion I give the cat some cuddles; he's curled up on my lap, resting after an insane hour of playing - and every time I pet him, he starts purring. I don't wish to distract his kitty dreams though. Just to hear a little bit of that completely benevolent murmur. I enjoy immensely each thing that I'm hearing right now.
The sense of self; small things, when everything unnecessary has been ripped off. Or rather, just softly peeled away. I hear the cars honking on the street and the aeroplanes landing and taking off. But the rushing and stress and concerns that these sounds usually transmit cannot reach me here. I'm protected in this involuntary retreat in the strangest of ways.
Drowsiness is taking over. Maybe the distress and sadness I've felt for the past week are finally catching up with me - and fading away, leaving me feeling like I've just stepped out of a refreshingly cool pool. Washed off, clean.
I feel calm, rested and totally stress-free. I guess I deserved this sensation after all that's happened during the past days, months even. Who knows, maybe without the agony I went through I couldn't have enjoyed this moment as much as I do now.
Suddenly the whole world seems to shrink. It gets smaller and smaller until it's finally proportional, finally comprehensible. There's no world outside anymore. Nowhere has everything you need. I'm home. I'm safe.
-----
Due to certain unforeseen events, I've been living without electricity now for almost one full week. Surely I didn't spend all this time in my dark and suddenly medieval flat, but after sleeping in other people's homes for several days I decided that I needed my own space, lightless or not. Tomorrow I will supposedly get the lights back and will drop back to the internet addicted life of mine - but until that, I shall try to enjoy this peculiar situation.
Suddenly there are no distractions. Just me and the cat, who by the way doesn't seem to mind this position at all. And why would he? What does a thing like electricity mean to a cat anyway? It's totally secondary, useless. After all life is not at the other end of the plug, even though chords can be awfully fun to play with.
Candle light is strangely calming. Perhaps it's the quiet subtle movement it makes. It's not so horribly revealing and blunt; instead it dances around and shows something different to me with each flicker.
Something makes this moment extremely peaceful. The sounds, perhaps? I was even lucky enough to run out of battery on my iPod. Thus, not even music. First I thought it was unfortunate but now I don't anymore. The only sounds to be heard now are the silent rainfall outside and the pot of hot soup simmering on the stove. On occasion I give the cat some cuddles; he's curled up on my lap, resting after an insane hour of playing - and every time I pet him, he starts purring. I don't wish to distract his kitty dreams though. Just to hear a little bit of that completely benevolent murmur. I enjoy immensely each thing that I'm hearing right now.
The sense of self; small things, when everything unnecessary has been ripped off. Or rather, just softly peeled away. I hear the cars honking on the street and the aeroplanes landing and taking off. But the rushing and stress and concerns that these sounds usually transmit cannot reach me here. I'm protected in this involuntary retreat in the strangest of ways.
Drowsiness is taking over. Maybe the distress and sadness I've felt for the past week are finally catching up with me - and fading away, leaving me feeling like I've just stepped out of a refreshingly cool pool. Washed off, clean.
I feel calm, rested and totally stress-free. I guess I deserved this sensation after all that's happened during the past days, months even. Who knows, maybe without the agony I went through I couldn't have enjoyed this moment as much as I do now.
Suddenly the whole world seems to shrink. It gets smaller and smaller until it's finally proportional, finally comprehensible. There's no world outside anymore. Nowhere has everything you need. I'm home. I'm safe.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
How to Sunday
Sleep late. As late as you possibly can.
Try not to stress out. Don't think about Monday. Make yourself a cup of tea. Pour it into that mug that has a polka dot pattern. Nothing can go wrong when you have tea from a mug with polka dots. Don't think of yesterday.
Ignore the fact that your ears are blocked and you can't really hear anything. Most of all, ignore the memory of what actually caused your ears to block.
Don't look in the mirror. Or if you accidentally do, don't be too harsh on yourself. Yes - you cried on the metro last night. People were staring. You were pathetic. It's okay, everyone has their embarrassing moments in public transportation.
Put on your biggest and most comfortable hoodie. Don't wear a bra. Remember low lighting. Sundays are not meant for bright lights or thoughts.
If you were smart yesterday, you will have some crappy series or movies already downloaded by now. If you were not smart you will have to do that now. If you're too distracted to watch anything, grab a book. Any book - it doesn't matter. You won't remember any of it later anyway.
Settle yourself on the sofa like a hen that's ready to hatch its eggs. Sit still. Don't think. Calm down.
Fall asleep.
Try not to stress out. Don't think about Monday. Make yourself a cup of tea. Pour it into that mug that has a polka dot pattern. Nothing can go wrong when you have tea from a mug with polka dots. Don't think of yesterday.
Ignore the fact that your ears are blocked and you can't really hear anything. Most of all, ignore the memory of what actually caused your ears to block.
Don't look in the mirror. Or if you accidentally do, don't be too harsh on yourself. Yes - you cried on the metro last night. People were staring. You were pathetic. It's okay, everyone has their embarrassing moments in public transportation.
Put on your biggest and most comfortable hoodie. Don't wear a bra. Remember low lighting. Sundays are not meant for bright lights or thoughts.
If you were smart yesterday, you will have some crappy series or movies already downloaded by now. If you were not smart you will have to do that now. If you're too distracted to watch anything, grab a book. Any book - it doesn't matter. You won't remember any of it later anyway.
Settle yourself on the sofa like a hen that's ready to hatch its eggs. Sit still. Don't think. Calm down.
Fall asleep.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Jolly good fellas
My life has been a bit of a struggle for the past few months. It's these times when you really realize who are your friends; and how much you truly appreciate them.
When I was still in school I used to be a loner, to say the least. I was horribly shy and socially incompetent, I got distressed over the smallest of things, and was unable to interact with people without becoming nervous. Thus, I had very few friends. I wanted to be something else - something like the popular kids were: talkative, super social, easily approachable. But something was stopping me from being myself, some strange inner force held me still and I was trapped in my introverted personality.
Around the age of 19 things finally started to change for me. I was crawling out of the trap of shyness, slowly, but still. It was amazing to realize people could actually like me. I started making friends, opening up bit by bit, and not feeling ashamed of myself so much anymore. People who knew me in high school probably wouldn't recognize me as the same person nowadays.
Making new friends is never easy. It's an odd ritual that takes weeks, sometimes months to get to that friend level with others. You're constantly - even if maybe subconsciously - testing the other person, validating them, even judging them over the smallest things. Some people you like instantly, but then they say one stupid thing and you think they're complete jerks. This, of course, is probably an overstatement most of the times, but you tend to be so critical that you lose interest immediately. It's a way longer process than starting dating with someone, which in a way is strange, as a relationship is considered to be a more serious thing than "just friendship." Even more, it seems that when we are making friends, we're really looking for those partners that stay with us throughout our whole lives. When you start dating someone it can happen in just a week - but when you're making friends, you have to have at least several months before you are allowed to call them friends. Funny, isn't it? You can easily tell others that you're seeing a person after just several days - but you'd be considered a dependent weirdo if you called someone your friend after just meeting them.
In just one year I've had the privilege of meeting a lot of new people, and many of them I can really call my friends now. Not all of them made it to the friend level - we just didn't work out so well. With some people it's hard to tell what defined the result. They can be totally nice, humorous and smart, and yet you just never befriended them. As for others, it can start as dislike and annoyance even, but it builds up to be a tight friendship. I know what things I appreciate in my friends, and even though my friends are all drastically different they all hold the same traits.
I couldn't be more glad about the people I have in my life right now. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve them at all - have I been such a good friend to them in return? I hope so. Even more than in a relationship you stick to your friends and seek for their help and guidance. You can show your most horrible sides without worrying whether they will dump you or think that you're a total moron. It's a steady love story - surely there can be ups and downs, but you don't start doubting that things will end one day. You got them, and they won't leave you, no matter what the distance is. "Friends forever" was a silly phrase used in elementary school, but I sure hope I can still use it today.
Thanks to my friends, I manage to keep my head between my shoulders and my feet on the ground even when things get tough. My only wish is that I can one day be such a good friend to you. I love you, peeps.
When I was still in school I used to be a loner, to say the least. I was horribly shy and socially incompetent, I got distressed over the smallest of things, and was unable to interact with people without becoming nervous. Thus, I had very few friends. I wanted to be something else - something like the popular kids were: talkative, super social, easily approachable. But something was stopping me from being myself, some strange inner force held me still and I was trapped in my introverted personality.
Around the age of 19 things finally started to change for me. I was crawling out of the trap of shyness, slowly, but still. It was amazing to realize people could actually like me. I started making friends, opening up bit by bit, and not feeling ashamed of myself so much anymore. People who knew me in high school probably wouldn't recognize me as the same person nowadays.
Making new friends is never easy. It's an odd ritual that takes weeks, sometimes months to get to that friend level with others. You're constantly - even if maybe subconsciously - testing the other person, validating them, even judging them over the smallest things. Some people you like instantly, but then they say one stupid thing and you think they're complete jerks. This, of course, is probably an overstatement most of the times, but you tend to be so critical that you lose interest immediately. It's a way longer process than starting dating with someone, which in a way is strange, as a relationship is considered to be a more serious thing than "just friendship." Even more, it seems that when we are making friends, we're really looking for those partners that stay with us throughout our whole lives. When you start dating someone it can happen in just a week - but when you're making friends, you have to have at least several months before you are allowed to call them friends. Funny, isn't it? You can easily tell others that you're seeing a person after just several days - but you'd be considered a dependent weirdo if you called someone your friend after just meeting them.
In just one year I've had the privilege of meeting a lot of new people, and many of them I can really call my friends now. Not all of them made it to the friend level - we just didn't work out so well. With some people it's hard to tell what defined the result. They can be totally nice, humorous and smart, and yet you just never befriended them. As for others, it can start as dislike and annoyance even, but it builds up to be a tight friendship. I know what things I appreciate in my friends, and even though my friends are all drastically different they all hold the same traits.
I couldn't be more glad about the people I have in my life right now. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve them at all - have I been such a good friend to them in return? I hope so. Even more than in a relationship you stick to your friends and seek for their help and guidance. You can show your most horrible sides without worrying whether they will dump you or think that you're a total moron. It's a steady love story - surely there can be ups and downs, but you don't start doubting that things will end one day. You got them, and they won't leave you, no matter what the distance is. "Friends forever" was a silly phrase used in elementary school, but I sure hope I can still use it today.
Thanks to my friends, I manage to keep my head between my shoulders and my feet on the ground even when things get tough. My only wish is that I can one day be such a good friend to you. I love you, peeps.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Case of the Mondays
I have it. Yes, I do. I goddamn hate them. This is what went through my head this morning as I woke up...
- It's too warm. I'm sweating all the time.
- I still haven't seen The Dark Knight rises.
- I'm flat broke.
- I don't like the color of my nail polish.
- ...But am too lazy to do anything about it.
- I feel guilty for doing nothing.
- I bought the wrong kind of coffee and it tastes bad.
- I have 7 itchy mosquito bites, all in my right foot.
- I fall in love with unavailable men.
- A pigeon took a shit on my newly washed clothes.
- I drink too much.
- I had a nosebleed the minute I got off bed.
- A fly just landed on my ice tea.
- It's mid August and I still don't have a tan.
- I need a new job but nobody is contacting me.
- I have very little self control.
- I'm hungry but I don't want to eat.
- I hate most songs on my iTunes.
- I smoke too much.
- I don't know how I will pay next month's rent.
- I should work out but I can't get myself to do it.
- I'm envious for my friends and I feel bad about it.
- Every time I think "it can't get any worse" it gets a LOT worse.
- I cut my hair recently and now I look like a football.
- I want to move away but I'm scared to try.
- I hate my phone.
- I hate flies.
- I hate my life.
- I hate myself for hating my life.
- I hate Mondays.
I think I'll go back to bed.
- It's too warm. I'm sweating all the time.
- I still haven't seen The Dark Knight rises.
- I'm flat broke.
- I don't like the color of my nail polish.
- ...But am too lazy to do anything about it.
- I feel guilty for doing nothing.
- I bought the wrong kind of coffee and it tastes bad.
- I have 7 itchy mosquito bites, all in my right foot.
- I fall in love with unavailable men.
- A pigeon took a shit on my newly washed clothes.
- I drink too much.
- I had a nosebleed the minute I got off bed.
- A fly just landed on my ice tea.
- It's mid August and I still don't have a tan.
- I need a new job but nobody is contacting me.
- I have very little self control.
- I'm hungry but I don't want to eat.
- I hate most songs on my iTunes.
- I smoke too much.
- I don't know how I will pay next month's rent.
- I should work out but I can't get myself to do it.
- I'm envious for my friends and I feel bad about it.
- Every time I think "it can't get any worse" it gets a LOT worse.
- I cut my hair recently and now I look like a football.
- I want to move away but I'm scared to try.
- I hate my phone.
- I hate flies.
- I hate my life.
- I hate myself for hating my life.
- I hate Mondays.
I think I'll go back to bed.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Harass me not
An eternal subject has been on my mind a lot lately. No; it's not connected to religion or politics, it's something everyone anywhere can relate to - some more than others, but it's widely universal nevertheless.
Wikipedia describes sexual harassment as "intimidation, bullying or coercion of a sexual nature, or the unwelcome or inappropriate promise of rewards in exchange for sexual favor." While it seems to be more commonly understood as something that takes places at a school, workplace or other organization, I've recently come to realize that you can easily become a subject of such actions while just walking down your home street.
The definition of sexual harassment can be a bit problematic. Ultimately it's in the victim's hands to decide whether or not a certain deed or comment can be seen as harassing; and surely there's a lot of variety in this depending on the person. Others are more prone to report even the slightest actions, and others don't even consider certain things, such as rude jokes or other such remarks, as harassment. I don't want to start a debate of the description though - in this case it's secondary. Instead, I just want to write about my own experiences and hopefully raise some thoughts regarding the matter.
Living in Portugal as a young blond female makes me (unfortunately) a bit more predisposed to sexual harassment in general. I'm not suggesting that Portuguese people are sexist perverts, but I have to admit that certain things I've experienced here I never imagined could happen in Finland. Examples? Yes, I have examples.
Walking to the supermarket or workplace, or more simply just walking down the street already exposes me to certain behavior. It's not uncommon to see pale blonds such as myself in Lisbon, but to be honest I am a bit of an oddball here because of my looks. Men (age, race or position makes no difference here) can make comments, strange sounds, facial expressions or other such things to me when I pass them by on the street. At first I found this highly inappropriate and appalling - now it doesn't really cause any reactions anymore. When I step out of the house I know I will face certain uncomfortable situations. While on the other hand I've grown a thicker skin towards this kind of behavior, I've also realized it has made me change certain things. For example, if I go somewhere by myself, I tend to choose clothes that don't draw any extra attention. Even when the weather is hot (and it can be scorching hot here) I prefer to put on jeans and a normal T-shirt, although I'd really like to put on shorts and a tanktop. If I know I will be in a group of people I might put on something "nicer", but only if I'm certain there's at least 2 other people (male of female) with me.
This is something that doesn't actively bother me so much anymore, but I do find it a bit irritating that I am actually reconsidering my way of dressing because of this.
My other examples are a bit more straight forward and cannot really be debated. The other day I was walking around my neighborhood with a friend of mine - also a young blond female - and sitting in a park close to my apartment. We managed to sit down for a good 5 minutes before this seemingly normal looking guy approached us with a cigarette in his other hand, and the other hand in his pocket. He asked for a lighter which I handed over to him, and that's when we realized he was "shaking hands with the president". He just stood there, doing his thing, speaking to us in English and asking for our names. I asked him to leave which he wouldn't; so we decided to take off instead. As we stood up to go he just moaned and let us know he was ejaculating.
There was another incident very recently that also strike me as sexual harassment, although this time it was virtual. Google e-mail has a chat option, similar to the one Facebook has. For some reason I had one of my ex-colleagues there as a contact, and he began to talk to me, first in a very general way. Unsuspecting, I of course replied and was being polite. Soon enough he told me that he had always found me an interesting and curious person (this I just took as a compliment), and then asked quite bluntly whether I am promiscuous. I tried to shove it off as a bad joke, but he insisted to know if I was "easy". I answered, saying that the question was inappropriate and that I indeed do not consider myself as a slut or such; to which he replied that he was really looking forward to "paying me a visit tonight." Luckily enough for this guy, my internet connection decided to die just as I was creating a ferocious answer to his questionable query. At the moment I didn't think about it much, but the whole incident stuck to my mind and really bothered me afterwards. This half-stranger kind of put me into a position where I suddenly represented just some hole to poke on (sorry for the choice of words, but that's how I felt).
The UN Women site suggests that "40 and 50 percent of women in European Union countries experience unwanted sexual advances, physical contact or other forms of sexual harassment at work." This number is just regarding work, and it's amazingly high. In other words, nearly every other woman is harassed at their workplace; I'd say the real number of sexual harassment must be a lot bigger, if you include incidents outside workplace also. The prevalence of harassment is, in this case, highly connected to the culture also; this link might answer some questions regarding this. I don't want to point a blaming finger here or say Portuguese men are pigs or anything like that though, but I must admit there seems to be vast difference between these two countries I have lived in. Or maybe I was just lucky in Finland; this article (unfortunately in Finnish) is basically saying that sexual harassment at a workplace is a lot more common in Finland than other European Union countries.
Regardless of differences between nations, something should be done. Some awareness about this should be raised. An interesting film by a young woman has been recently released and obviously caused quite a slide of debates and opinions. That wasn't really a surprise; quoting Wikipedia, if the victim of sexual harassment decides to speak up, she/he "...often becomes the accused, with their appearance, private life, and character likely to fall under intrusive scrutiny and attack." What do you think though? Why is it so? Why can't I share my experiences on the matter without being accused myself? What weird hatred towards women does this "modern society" of ours still hold, and why? Women themselves seem to work against each other in many cases, which is even more sad. More than once have I been in a conversation where other women are openly accusing their fellow female citizens for being raped or such, due to their "inappropriate clothing or behavior."
I realize this is a very long post so I will conclude it here. I have no proper answers to any questions I raised - moreover, I remain with a gigantic question mark hanging over my head. If you have any ideas or comments regarding this, I'd be pleased to hear. Fire away!
Wikipedia describes sexual harassment as "intimidation, bullying or coercion of a sexual nature, or the unwelcome or inappropriate promise of rewards in exchange for sexual favor." While it seems to be more commonly understood as something that takes places at a school, workplace or other organization, I've recently come to realize that you can easily become a subject of such actions while just walking down your home street.
The definition of sexual harassment can be a bit problematic. Ultimately it's in the victim's hands to decide whether or not a certain deed or comment can be seen as harassing; and surely there's a lot of variety in this depending on the person. Others are more prone to report even the slightest actions, and others don't even consider certain things, such as rude jokes or other such remarks, as harassment. I don't want to start a debate of the description though - in this case it's secondary. Instead, I just want to write about my own experiences and hopefully raise some thoughts regarding the matter.
Living in Portugal as a young blond female makes me (unfortunately) a bit more predisposed to sexual harassment in general. I'm not suggesting that Portuguese people are sexist perverts, but I have to admit that certain things I've experienced here I never imagined could happen in Finland. Examples? Yes, I have examples.
Walking to the supermarket or workplace, or more simply just walking down the street already exposes me to certain behavior. It's not uncommon to see pale blonds such as myself in Lisbon, but to be honest I am a bit of an oddball here because of my looks. Men (age, race or position makes no difference here) can make comments, strange sounds, facial expressions or other such things to me when I pass them by on the street. At first I found this highly inappropriate and appalling - now it doesn't really cause any reactions anymore. When I step out of the house I know I will face certain uncomfortable situations. While on the other hand I've grown a thicker skin towards this kind of behavior, I've also realized it has made me change certain things. For example, if I go somewhere by myself, I tend to choose clothes that don't draw any extra attention. Even when the weather is hot (and it can be scorching hot here) I prefer to put on jeans and a normal T-shirt, although I'd really like to put on shorts and a tanktop. If I know I will be in a group of people I might put on something "nicer", but only if I'm certain there's at least 2 other people (male of female) with me.
This is something that doesn't actively bother me so much anymore, but I do find it a bit irritating that I am actually reconsidering my way of dressing because of this.
My other examples are a bit more straight forward and cannot really be debated. The other day I was walking around my neighborhood with a friend of mine - also a young blond female - and sitting in a park close to my apartment. We managed to sit down for a good 5 minutes before this seemingly normal looking guy approached us with a cigarette in his other hand, and the other hand in his pocket. He asked for a lighter which I handed over to him, and that's when we realized he was "shaking hands with the president". He just stood there, doing his thing, speaking to us in English and asking for our names. I asked him to leave which he wouldn't; so we decided to take off instead. As we stood up to go he just moaned and let us know he was ejaculating.
There was another incident very recently that also strike me as sexual harassment, although this time it was virtual. Google e-mail has a chat option, similar to the one Facebook has. For some reason I had one of my ex-colleagues there as a contact, and he began to talk to me, first in a very general way. Unsuspecting, I of course replied and was being polite. Soon enough he told me that he had always found me an interesting and curious person (this I just took as a compliment), and then asked quite bluntly whether I am promiscuous. I tried to shove it off as a bad joke, but he insisted to know if I was "easy". I answered, saying that the question was inappropriate and that I indeed do not consider myself as a slut or such; to which he replied that he was really looking forward to "paying me a visit tonight." Luckily enough for this guy, my internet connection decided to die just as I was creating a ferocious answer to his questionable query. At the moment I didn't think about it much, but the whole incident stuck to my mind and really bothered me afterwards. This half-stranger kind of put me into a position where I suddenly represented just some hole to poke on (sorry for the choice of words, but that's how I felt).
The UN Women site suggests that "40 and 50 percent of women in European Union countries experience unwanted sexual advances, physical contact or other forms of sexual harassment at work." This number is just regarding work, and it's amazingly high. In other words, nearly every other woman is harassed at their workplace; I'd say the real number of sexual harassment must be a lot bigger, if you include incidents outside workplace also. The prevalence of harassment is, in this case, highly connected to the culture also; this link might answer some questions regarding this. I don't want to point a blaming finger here or say Portuguese men are pigs or anything like that though, but I must admit there seems to be vast difference between these two countries I have lived in. Or maybe I was just lucky in Finland; this article (unfortunately in Finnish) is basically saying that sexual harassment at a workplace is a lot more common in Finland than other European Union countries.
Regardless of differences between nations, something should be done. Some awareness about this should be raised. An interesting film by a young woman has been recently released and obviously caused quite a slide of debates and opinions. That wasn't really a surprise; quoting Wikipedia, if the victim of sexual harassment decides to speak up, she/he "...often becomes the accused, with their appearance, private life, and character likely to fall under intrusive scrutiny and attack." What do you think though? Why is it so? Why can't I share my experiences on the matter without being accused myself? What weird hatred towards women does this "modern society" of ours still hold, and why? Women themselves seem to work against each other in many cases, which is even more sad. More than once have I been in a conversation where other women are openly accusing their fellow female citizens for being raped or such, due to their "inappropriate clothing or behavior."
I realize this is a very long post so I will conclude it here. I have no proper answers to any questions I raised - moreover, I remain with a gigantic question mark hanging over my head. If you have any ideas or comments regarding this, I'd be pleased to hear. Fire away!
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Free falling
Even while still living in Finland I always felt that I was unable to attach myself to anything; the culture, the environment, and ultimately the people in my life. There was some crucial part of me missing that prevented me from feeling that I was part of the world around me. The inner feeling of detachment grew so big that I finally made the decision to get out, run away, try my luck in some other place.
It worked for a while. The sensation of being part of something was stronger when I first arrived in Portugal, but the only reason to it was because I knew I could never fully integrate to the cultrue. Thus it gave me a weird sensation of freedom and belonging at the same time. And now it has turned into floating in nothingness. There's nothing to connect to, no reality where I could truly attach myself, and it's eating me on the inside.
I have noticed I am unconsciously trying to detach myself even more, perhaps out of fear of losing something more; lately I have grown tired of losing so I try to make myself believe I don't care anymore. That's not true, of course, it's a sad defense mechanism which makes me feel even more afloat.
I never thought of myself as a person who needs to belong, but as I grow older I can't deny the fact that I need some stability in my life. I am not sure though if it's some state of mind I should try to reach, or something more practical. All I know is that I feel strangely hollow, just wandering through different experiences without any purpose.
I don't know if any of this makes any sense even, it's hard to try to explain what is really going on. I've spoken about this with some friends, and the suggestions so far have been either to return to Finland or to make some other drastic change in my life that would resolve things.
Unfortunately returning to my home country doesn't appear as an option to me anymore. Feeling so volatile there my entire life, I have no hopes that it would have magically changed over these 3 years I've spent away. On the contrary, I think it would be even more shocking and depressing to move back to this culture I never quite found to be my own. As for the other solution, it makes more sense - change something, or rather, change everything. But how to do that? What kind of change should it be? I have no idea. I feel like I'm trying to climb up a mountain but it keeps crumbling under my feet as I advance.
Most of the time the solution to things like these is something terribly simple. Something that's right in front of my eyes but I just can't see it. If I stop looking, will it appear then?
It worked for a while. The sensation of being part of something was stronger when I first arrived in Portugal, but the only reason to it was because I knew I could never fully integrate to the cultrue. Thus it gave me a weird sensation of freedom and belonging at the same time. And now it has turned into floating in nothingness. There's nothing to connect to, no reality where I could truly attach myself, and it's eating me on the inside.
I have noticed I am unconsciously trying to detach myself even more, perhaps out of fear of losing something more; lately I have grown tired of losing so I try to make myself believe I don't care anymore. That's not true, of course, it's a sad defense mechanism which makes me feel even more afloat.
I never thought of myself as a person who needs to belong, but as I grow older I can't deny the fact that I need some stability in my life. I am not sure though if it's some state of mind I should try to reach, or something more practical. All I know is that I feel strangely hollow, just wandering through different experiences without any purpose.
I don't know if any of this makes any sense even, it's hard to try to explain what is really going on. I've spoken about this with some friends, and the suggestions so far have been either to return to Finland or to make some other drastic change in my life that would resolve things.
Unfortunately returning to my home country doesn't appear as an option to me anymore. Feeling so volatile there my entire life, I have no hopes that it would have magically changed over these 3 years I've spent away. On the contrary, I think it would be even more shocking and depressing to move back to this culture I never quite found to be my own. As for the other solution, it makes more sense - change something, or rather, change everything. But how to do that? What kind of change should it be? I have no idea. I feel like I'm trying to climb up a mountain but it keeps crumbling under my feet as I advance.
Most of the time the solution to things like these is something terribly simple. Something that's right in front of my eyes but I just can't see it. If I stop looking, will it appear then?
Friday, July 27, 2012
Get up, stand up
Whenever I feel troubled, I try to write something. So I've been trying to do exactly that. So far with little success, though. Apparently feeling the need to do something doesn't mean it works.
I'm not sure if I feel any better than a few days ago when I posted the last time. Quite honestly I try hard not to feel anything, but somehow my douchebag brain keeps popping things up to the surface when I least expect them. Drowning your sorrows doesn't work if your sorrows learned how to swim.
Right now I think everything is a bit unfair. I'm like a sulking 5-year-old kid in the dinner table, refusing to eat her vegetables. I'm trying to make myself believe that things happen for a reason, but lately it has occurred to me that most things in life make no sense at all. The big question about life is "but why?!" - and the answer is "because FUCK YOU that's why."
But you know what? I'm alive. Still breathing. Some dark red liquid is still flowing through my veins - whether it's blood or red wine, I do not know, but it keeps me going nevertheless. Perhaps life is not about enjoying all the time, as I thought it should be. On occasion you just need to survive. Preferably without becoming a bitter old cow while doing it. So that's how I'm setting my mind now. Getting through and hoping there's something nice waiting for me. At least I'm ready to settle with very little now; having very few expectations makes you grateful for the smallest things.
Besides, bitter people are butt ugly. And I'm a cute girl.
I'm not sure if I feel any better than a few days ago when I posted the last time. Quite honestly I try hard not to feel anything, but somehow my douchebag brain keeps popping things up to the surface when I least expect them. Drowning your sorrows doesn't work if your sorrows learned how to swim.
Right now I think everything is a bit unfair. I'm like a sulking 5-year-old kid in the dinner table, refusing to eat her vegetables. I'm trying to make myself believe that things happen for a reason, but lately it has occurred to me that most things in life make no sense at all. The big question about life is "but why?!" - and the answer is "because FUCK YOU that's why."
But you know what? I'm alive. Still breathing. Some dark red liquid is still flowing through my veins - whether it's blood or red wine, I do not know, but it keeps me going nevertheless. Perhaps life is not about enjoying all the time, as I thought it should be. On occasion you just need to survive. Preferably without becoming a bitter old cow while doing it. So that's how I'm setting my mind now. Getting through and hoping there's something nice waiting for me. At least I'm ready to settle with very little now; having very few expectations makes you grateful for the smallest things.
Besides, bitter people are butt ugly. And I'm a cute girl.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Goodbyes, bad byes
I'm facing a lot of changes in my life all at once, so I thought I'd start writing my blog again. As ever, I'll use it as my personal psychiatrist, where I shall pour all my doubts and fears and concerns. Might I warn you: I am currently full of all of the above mentioned, so this might not always be a cheery reading experience. I will try not to mope too much though; bad attitude never suited anyone.
Right now I'm in the middle of packing my things up. It's time to move yet again. I've lived in my current apartment for 6 months now and it was apparently enough time for me to forget how much I absolutely HATE moving. To put it simply: it's shit. You never quite remember how much things you actually own until you start opening all the drawers. Hopefully my grumpy mood helps me out a bit. I can be very efficient when I feel troubled.
Oh but shouldn't I be happy though? Change is always good, they say. I will live in a new neighborhood, in a new flat, starting at a new job. Lots of new things to get used to, and yet I find it hard to put on a positive mood. I guess I'm growing tired of thinking that changes make life any better. In fact I am more and more assured that changes can make life a lot worse. I'm not sure when I became such a negative person though. Or is it just called growing up?
It doesn't make it any better that I'm losing two important people from my life at the same time. Well - losing is a strong word, nobody is dying (I sure hope not, at least). I admit living abroad has been an amazing experience so far, but there are a few aspects I don't really know how to handle. The biggest one is saying goodbye for sure. I've said it too many times, it seems. Not that I would change anything or wish I hadn't get to know these people; surely not. But it seems unfair that I have to let all of them go at some point. I don't like goodbyes. What does that word even mean? Goodbye? What's so good in it? It's the worst kind of bye in the world. Also, I've realized that "crying it out" is not helping at all. The more I cry, the more I cry. And I'm not one of those people who manage to cry and look pretty. I'll get swollen eyes and puffed up face - even my hair seems to get messier (don't know why that is, to be honest) and I end up looking like this - without the ugly shirt, though:
Well - what do you think? Is this a sufficient amount of negativity for a gorgeous Monday? I believe it is. Usually I get over my crappy moods quite quickly so I'll try to write something happier next time. Hopefully someone out there is having a splendid day though. Perhaps tomorrow is better.
Right now I'm in the middle of packing my things up. It's time to move yet again. I've lived in my current apartment for 6 months now and it was apparently enough time for me to forget how much I absolutely HATE moving. To put it simply: it's shit. You never quite remember how much things you actually own until you start opening all the drawers. Hopefully my grumpy mood helps me out a bit. I can be very efficient when I feel troubled.
Oh but shouldn't I be happy though? Change is always good, they say. I will live in a new neighborhood, in a new flat, starting at a new job. Lots of new things to get used to, and yet I find it hard to put on a positive mood. I guess I'm growing tired of thinking that changes make life any better. In fact I am more and more assured that changes can make life a lot worse. I'm not sure when I became such a negative person though. Or is it just called growing up?
It doesn't make it any better that I'm losing two important people from my life at the same time. Well - losing is a strong word, nobody is dying (I sure hope not, at least). I admit living abroad has been an amazing experience so far, but there are a few aspects I don't really know how to handle. The biggest one is saying goodbye for sure. I've said it too many times, it seems. Not that I would change anything or wish I hadn't get to know these people; surely not. But it seems unfair that I have to let all of them go at some point. I don't like goodbyes. What does that word even mean? Goodbye? What's so good in it? It's the worst kind of bye in the world. Also, I've realized that "crying it out" is not helping at all. The more I cry, the more I cry. And I'm not one of those people who manage to cry and look pretty. I'll get swollen eyes and puffed up face - even my hair seems to get messier (don't know why that is, to be honest) and I end up looking like this - without the ugly shirt, though:
Well - what do you think? Is this a sufficient amount of negativity for a gorgeous Monday? I believe it is. Usually I get over my crappy moods quite quickly so I'll try to write something happier next time. Hopefully someone out there is having a splendid day though. Perhaps tomorrow is better.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Address unknown
Dear Life,
It's been somewhat 28 years now that we've stuck together. So, I thought I'd write you a letter - I always seem to write about you, or complain about you, or just bare with you - but this time I'll finally write something just for you. I hope you don't mind.
I admit I don't remember much of you until I was around 6 or so. Obviously you were there but I didn't recognize you. And I'm afraid that back then we only managed to have a few good years until I started hating you. I said some awful things about you, and I'm sorry for that now. I wish you can forgive me. I was not right to say any of those things.
And do you remember when I was hoping, really hoping a few times, that you would simply go away? That I didn't want you anymore? Well I was desperate and out of my senses. I apologize. I simply didn't know how to handle you, how to manage you, how to get along with you. I thought that we were a bad match and that we didn't belong together. I was wrong. I'm glad now that I gave you another chance. You made me believe in yourself again, and somehow you managed to make me believe in myself at the same time.
Thinking back now, I didn't always value you as much as I truly should have. I've mistreated you, neglected you, said foul things about you and pretty much blamed you for everything. It's amazing to realize that regardless of all this you still stay with me. I am doing my very best to reassess you, and my views and opinions about you. And I believe that lately I've fallen back in love with you again - dear, please, I hope it's not too much to say but that's how I feel about you. You're truly remarkable, even with all the confusion and chaos you bring along sometimes. You've taught me a lot. When I think of it now, I wouldn't change a split of a second I've spent with you.
And finally I must admit that the reason I wanted to write this to you was because I heard a rumor that you might actually leave me any moment. You know I'm not a big fan of gossiping and hearsay but I confess that it all got me a bit concerned. We've had our past - some good moments, some bad moments, some transparent moments. But I'd like to believe that our journey together has but begun, and that we have lots of years ahead of us, full of adventure and passion and unexpected things. Hopefully you feel the same way. Every day with you is a small expedition.
If you ever decide to leave me though, I hope you do it in a calm way. Don't make me become afraid of losing you, you know it's a fear I couldn't handle. I don't want to say goodbye to you: I want to show my appreciation towards you by loving you every day like you deserve to be loved. So stick with me. I'll show you I'm worth it. I wouldn't be much of a person without you. Don't give up on me darling.
Ps. My heart tells me to say hi. She can't write but she fully agrees with me.
Forever yours,
Outi
It's been somewhat 28 years now that we've stuck together. So, I thought I'd write you a letter - I always seem to write about you, or complain about you, or just bare with you - but this time I'll finally write something just for you. I hope you don't mind.
I admit I don't remember much of you until I was around 6 or so. Obviously you were there but I didn't recognize you. And I'm afraid that back then we only managed to have a few good years until I started hating you. I said some awful things about you, and I'm sorry for that now. I wish you can forgive me. I was not right to say any of those things.
And do you remember when I was hoping, really hoping a few times, that you would simply go away? That I didn't want you anymore? Well I was desperate and out of my senses. I apologize. I simply didn't know how to handle you, how to manage you, how to get along with you. I thought that we were a bad match and that we didn't belong together. I was wrong. I'm glad now that I gave you another chance. You made me believe in yourself again, and somehow you managed to make me believe in myself at the same time.
Thinking back now, I didn't always value you as much as I truly should have. I've mistreated you, neglected you, said foul things about you and pretty much blamed you for everything. It's amazing to realize that regardless of all this you still stay with me. I am doing my very best to reassess you, and my views and opinions about you. And I believe that lately I've fallen back in love with you again - dear, please, I hope it's not too much to say but that's how I feel about you. You're truly remarkable, even with all the confusion and chaos you bring along sometimes. You've taught me a lot. When I think of it now, I wouldn't change a split of a second I've spent with you.
And finally I must admit that the reason I wanted to write this to you was because I heard a rumor that you might actually leave me any moment. You know I'm not a big fan of gossiping and hearsay but I confess that it all got me a bit concerned. We've had our past - some good moments, some bad moments, some transparent moments. But I'd like to believe that our journey together has but begun, and that we have lots of years ahead of us, full of adventure and passion and unexpected things. Hopefully you feel the same way. Every day with you is a small expedition.
If you ever decide to leave me though, I hope you do it in a calm way. Don't make me become afraid of losing you, you know it's a fear I couldn't handle. I don't want to say goodbye to you: I want to show my appreciation towards you by loving you every day like you deserve to be loved. So stick with me. I'll show you I'm worth it. I wouldn't be much of a person without you. Don't give up on me darling.
Ps. My heart tells me to say hi. She can't write but she fully agrees with me.
Forever yours,
Outi
Monday, March 5, 2012
Courageous cowards
What is that weird illusion we seem to have - that we actually have some control over this life? Do we really, any of us? Where does it come from?
As I ponder on it I realize that this control is often, if not mostly, perceived as concrete things, of course. If you have something, and if you're able to hang on to it, you're in control. Or do these things have control of us instead? It's so easy to be judgmental about people who don't have much; or they haven't achieved much. Everyone does it, myself included.
But then I have to think that perhaps some of us don't need things to prove their life is worth living. Who is anyone else to judge, after all? How could we ever tell what goes on in other people's heads, and how meaningful they see their own lives? A big part of me believes that the people who have no need to prove themselves to others, have truly figured out something valuable about life. Probably they have way more control over their lives than we would even like to admit. They don't seem to be obsessed about achieving or buying or consuming or... Whatever it is that shows our value in today's world.
They're losers, failures, aimless drifters. Nothing to hang on to, nothing to look forward to. No ambitions, thus no expectations. No hope. They are simply too inadequate to keep things, or hold on to one single purpose. Isn't that how we think, even if these are only private thoughts most of the time? Or maybe these people have found some long lost integrity. When did life become so much about what's on the outside anyway? When did the inside seize to matter? Or did it ever matter? Perhaps it's just our human nature - to constantly categorize, evaluate and grade others and put them into tiny little boxes, to make this life and the people in it slightly more comprehensible.
Achievements in today's world don't matter if you don't have a proof of it. Make sure you have something real and concrete to show to the rest of us. Achievements are pointless and cheap unless you have something to show around - don't you try to come and tell us that you've grown as a person, or found some inner peace, or figured out something about life. There are no diplomas for souls, no master's degrees for hearts. You can't take your motherhood for a ride in the neighborhood, nor can you invite people over to your mind to show them how good and forgiving it is. Those things are useless. Achievements without any proof are telling the rest of the world, silently, that you're not in control.
There needs to be a reason for everything. Every day you live should be going towards some clear destination (I'd say it's death for us all, but what do I know). As I agree with that statement I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that this destination is something achievable - or that it even should be. Maybe I'm starting to believe that life without any obvious purpose is the best one you could have. Isn't that how you'd be able to live as you're supposed to? Carpe diem, anyone? We say it all the time but only a handful of us is able to even try that. And then, I fear, we realize it all too late and find out our lives were utterly spent on secondary things and the real part of it has slipped away from our reach years ago.
I also believe that enhancement, improvement and some kind of personal evolution seems to be a very human trait, a normal way of living. I would think it's one of the most appreciated things life has; the fact that it constantly changes and mutates. But for me, and maybe for some other people as well, life has never shown itself as a race or a display. I'm not traveling through it to show others what I've got, and how much I've got, and how fast I got it all. Smells like naive idealism, but to be honest, I kind of like that smell. And in the end... who are the real cowards? The ones who close their eyes from now or the ones who live in the now? I'm not sure I know the answer, but I'm curious to try to find it.
As I ponder on it I realize that this control is often, if not mostly, perceived as concrete things, of course. If you have something, and if you're able to hang on to it, you're in control. Or do these things have control of us instead? It's so easy to be judgmental about people who don't have much; or they haven't achieved much. Everyone does it, myself included.
But then I have to think that perhaps some of us don't need things to prove their life is worth living. Who is anyone else to judge, after all? How could we ever tell what goes on in other people's heads, and how meaningful they see their own lives? A big part of me believes that the people who have no need to prove themselves to others, have truly figured out something valuable about life. Probably they have way more control over their lives than we would even like to admit. They don't seem to be obsessed about achieving or buying or consuming or... Whatever it is that shows our value in today's world.
They're losers, failures, aimless drifters. Nothing to hang on to, nothing to look forward to. No ambitions, thus no expectations. No hope. They are simply too inadequate to keep things, or hold on to one single purpose. Isn't that how we think, even if these are only private thoughts most of the time? Or maybe these people have found some long lost integrity. When did life become so much about what's on the outside anyway? When did the inside seize to matter? Or did it ever matter? Perhaps it's just our human nature - to constantly categorize, evaluate and grade others and put them into tiny little boxes, to make this life and the people in it slightly more comprehensible.
Achievements in today's world don't matter if you don't have a proof of it. Make sure you have something real and concrete to show to the rest of us. Achievements are pointless and cheap unless you have something to show around - don't you try to come and tell us that you've grown as a person, or found some inner peace, or figured out something about life. There are no diplomas for souls, no master's degrees for hearts. You can't take your motherhood for a ride in the neighborhood, nor can you invite people over to your mind to show them how good and forgiving it is. Those things are useless. Achievements without any proof are telling the rest of the world, silently, that you're not in control.
There needs to be a reason for everything. Every day you live should be going towards some clear destination (I'd say it's death for us all, but what do I know). As I agree with that statement I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that this destination is something achievable - or that it even should be. Maybe I'm starting to believe that life without any obvious purpose is the best one you could have. Isn't that how you'd be able to live as you're supposed to? Carpe diem, anyone? We say it all the time but only a handful of us is able to even try that. And then, I fear, we realize it all too late and find out our lives were utterly spent on secondary things and the real part of it has slipped away from our reach years ago.
I also believe that enhancement, improvement and some kind of personal evolution seems to be a very human trait, a normal way of living. I would think it's one of the most appreciated things life has; the fact that it constantly changes and mutates. But for me, and maybe for some other people as well, life has never shown itself as a race or a display. I'm not traveling through it to show others what I've got, and how much I've got, and how fast I got it all. Smells like naive idealism, but to be honest, I kind of like that smell. And in the end... who are the real cowards? The ones who close their eyes from now or the ones who live in the now? I'm not sure I know the answer, but I'm curious to try to find it.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Sem paixão
I have always envied people with passion - probably because I never found myself to be one. It seems to be a trait only some people truly possess, and the rest of us are just forcing ourselves to appear as passionate people. To clarify, in this case passion for me is simply feeling strongly about something concrete: a job, a hobby, anything similar. Anything that gives you a result in practice that you can actually see or touch.
I thought that really passionate people must have had this character ever since they were born. Not necessarily towards one specific thing right from the start - but they have the ability to set the rest of the world aside and become something more through the thing that they grow to love. And usually by doing this they bring along something for all the rest of us too. Some revelations maybe, new insights. These people, if they're willing, can make some kind of a difference. They live and breathe what they're doing. Maybe it's not a nice thing to have always: I guess it can also be a burden, if not an obsession. Nevertheless I envy them.
What for the rest of us then? I certainly belong to the group that feels strangely detached and uninterested about most things that go on in this world. It's not active passivity, if that word even exists, it's more like a careless interest towards everything a little bit. As for myself, I can be curious about many things at the same time, without any of them really attracting my interest long enough to make me feel passionate about them. Perhaps it's my restless nature, the same one that starts to read four books at the same time without finishing any of them, or watching a movie and literally walking away from it just when things get interesting. Maybe my confused head stops me from being one of these great minds - it just wanders around most of the time, like a bee that lands on all the pretty flowers but doesn't bother to really taste them.
Meeting passionate people is mostly a bit disturbing to me, also because these people are usually very talented at what they do too. And why wouldn't they be? Probably they've spent half of their lives practicing and studying this one area. Sadly, partly due to my flickering mind, I never came to possess any great talents either. People can be good at things, they can be great, but unless you have true passion to do something, you will never become extraordinary. I believe there's a certain level you can reach when it comes to talent without passion. There's some limit you will reach, and it doesn't matter how much you practice or study, there's no moving on to that next level if you're not passionate about it.
Of course, this world would be pretty damn boring if every one of us was passionate and talented. Where would you draw the line then? We'd all be the same grey haze. But there is something rather saddening about admitting to yourself that you're not that extraordinary prodigy of your age. No matter how ridiculous or childish the idea of that is to begin with, I think all of us want to feel special and out of the ordinary in some sense.
After pondering on passion and the lack of it, I eventually found one thing I truly feel passionate about. Indeed I have passion, in the end. It just needs to touch me in a very personal level, and after that I'd do anything for it. Perhaps I'm not quite so talented at my passion as I should be, and perhaps this one area you can never master anyway. But it's still real. The most simple sense of passion and devotion. It's of course that passion for the people I love.
I thought that really passionate people must have had this character ever since they were born. Not necessarily towards one specific thing right from the start - but they have the ability to set the rest of the world aside and become something more through the thing that they grow to love. And usually by doing this they bring along something for all the rest of us too. Some revelations maybe, new insights. These people, if they're willing, can make some kind of a difference. They live and breathe what they're doing. Maybe it's not a nice thing to have always: I guess it can also be a burden, if not an obsession. Nevertheless I envy them.
What for the rest of us then? I certainly belong to the group that feels strangely detached and uninterested about most things that go on in this world. It's not active passivity, if that word even exists, it's more like a careless interest towards everything a little bit. As for myself, I can be curious about many things at the same time, without any of them really attracting my interest long enough to make me feel passionate about them. Perhaps it's my restless nature, the same one that starts to read four books at the same time without finishing any of them, or watching a movie and literally walking away from it just when things get interesting. Maybe my confused head stops me from being one of these great minds - it just wanders around most of the time, like a bee that lands on all the pretty flowers but doesn't bother to really taste them.
Meeting passionate people is mostly a bit disturbing to me, also because these people are usually very talented at what they do too. And why wouldn't they be? Probably they've spent half of their lives practicing and studying this one area. Sadly, partly due to my flickering mind, I never came to possess any great talents either. People can be good at things, they can be great, but unless you have true passion to do something, you will never become extraordinary. I believe there's a certain level you can reach when it comes to talent without passion. There's some limit you will reach, and it doesn't matter how much you practice or study, there's no moving on to that next level if you're not passionate about it.
Of course, this world would be pretty damn boring if every one of us was passionate and talented. Where would you draw the line then? We'd all be the same grey haze. But there is something rather saddening about admitting to yourself that you're not that extraordinary prodigy of your age. No matter how ridiculous or childish the idea of that is to begin with, I think all of us want to feel special and out of the ordinary in some sense.
After pondering on passion and the lack of it, I eventually found one thing I truly feel passionate about. Indeed I have passion, in the end. It just needs to touch me in a very personal level, and after that I'd do anything for it. Perhaps I'm not quite so talented at my passion as I should be, and perhaps this one area you can never master anyway. But it's still real. The most simple sense of passion and devotion. It's of course that passion for the people I love.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
All that jazz!
For the past weeks, I've been more or less forced to listen to jazz. You know - not that lovely, smoky, sensual 20's jazz, but this modern we-all-lost-our-notes jazz. Well, as I said, I was more or less forced, which means I didn't really resist on listening to it. But I did question it a lot. In fact, this type of music has long been the ultimate no go-music for me, and I have wondered why that is. If my big brothers managed to make me endure - if not even remotely like - death metal, then why on earth do I have such antipathies towards jazz? After all, it is (as far as I'm concerned) one of the most prestigious genres and tastes of music.
First I thought jazz is like caviar. (I also hate caviar.) Why would any sensible person eat fish eggs and call it delicious? It's not delicious. It's unborn fish babies, and it certainly tastes like it too. Much like jazz. When a certain part of the population tells you something is good, even though you know deep inside your soul it's certainly not good, you start believing it has to be good. You just never got it. What a silly, uncivilized person you are.
Second, I thought: you need talent for that? Really? Seems to me they just play whatever the hell they want, each one individually, and don't give a shit about what the other members of the band are doing. It's like each one of them are trying to overcome the other one, and so it all equals a big chaos. Like ten very loud and opinionated people are having a heated conversation and they all end up shouting at each other. Nobody can make sense of that, I tell you. Much like jazz.
Thirdly, I thought that people who actually truly like jazz, must be a bit weird. Perhaps their minds are like the music. No idea where it's going, what will happen, who will have a saxophone solo next. Or maybe the pianist goes nuts and starts hitting his Yamaha with his fists. You never know about jazz; so how could you ever know about the people who listen to it? Were they traumatized as kids? Are they a bit ADD? Are they a lot ADD?
And the fourth time I thought about it, I think I found my answer. Why don't I like it? Why is it so hard for me to value it? The answer is really very simple.
Jazz is like life. You can't decide how it starts - and you can't decide where it's going. At times it makes some sense, but most times it doesn't. The best you can really do with it is to try to sit back and relax and appreciate whatever note it will give you next. Maybe it's dissonant; maybe it's harmonious. But if you refuse to listen to it, or if you try to shut your ears from it, it will just slowly slip away and in the end you will realize you just spent all your days in meaningless silence.
I'm not quite sure if I like jazz now, or if I ever really will. I've come to realize that life is all about dissonances, misunderstandings, improvisation, adaptation, confusion - and trying to be and communicate with other people even though you have no idea what's their next move. And that, for me, is also jazz. Thus so far I enjoy listening to my melodic music, something I can choose, where I know the rhythm and the melody, perhaps even lyrics. I can stop it, pause it, forward it or just skip it if I choose to. Not something you can do with life.
My small adventure towards acknowledging jazz is still going on - as is my adventure towards life also. Maybe at some point I'm ready to truly respect both of them in all senses, and stop paying attention to the little mistakes and flaws they both seem to have plenty. After all, these defects, whether they're small or big, are in the end the very things that make life slightly more meaningful.
Maybe jazz, too.
First I thought jazz is like caviar. (I also hate caviar.) Why would any sensible person eat fish eggs and call it delicious? It's not delicious. It's unborn fish babies, and it certainly tastes like it too. Much like jazz. When a certain part of the population tells you something is good, even though you know deep inside your soul it's certainly not good, you start believing it has to be good. You just never got it. What a silly, uncivilized person you are.
Second, I thought: you need talent for that? Really? Seems to me they just play whatever the hell they want, each one individually, and don't give a shit about what the other members of the band are doing. It's like each one of them are trying to overcome the other one, and so it all equals a big chaos. Like ten very loud and opinionated people are having a heated conversation and they all end up shouting at each other. Nobody can make sense of that, I tell you. Much like jazz.
Thirdly, I thought that people who actually truly like jazz, must be a bit weird. Perhaps their minds are like the music. No idea where it's going, what will happen, who will have a saxophone solo next. Or maybe the pianist goes nuts and starts hitting his Yamaha with his fists. You never know about jazz; so how could you ever know about the people who listen to it? Were they traumatized as kids? Are they a bit ADD? Are they a lot ADD?
And the fourth time I thought about it, I think I found my answer. Why don't I like it? Why is it so hard for me to value it? The answer is really very simple.
Jazz is like life. You can't decide how it starts - and you can't decide where it's going. At times it makes some sense, but most times it doesn't. The best you can really do with it is to try to sit back and relax and appreciate whatever note it will give you next. Maybe it's dissonant; maybe it's harmonious. But if you refuse to listen to it, or if you try to shut your ears from it, it will just slowly slip away and in the end you will realize you just spent all your days in meaningless silence.
I'm not quite sure if I like jazz now, or if I ever really will. I've come to realize that life is all about dissonances, misunderstandings, improvisation, adaptation, confusion - and trying to be and communicate with other people even though you have no idea what's their next move. And that, for me, is also jazz. Thus so far I enjoy listening to my melodic music, something I can choose, where I know the rhythm and the melody, perhaps even lyrics. I can stop it, pause it, forward it or just skip it if I choose to. Not something you can do with life.
My small adventure towards acknowledging jazz is still going on - as is my adventure towards life also. Maybe at some point I'm ready to truly respect both of them in all senses, and stop paying attention to the little mistakes and flaws they both seem to have plenty. After all, these defects, whether they're small or big, are in the end the very things that make life slightly more meaningful.
Maybe jazz, too.
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