In the midst of it all

I used to love the way that the rain could make me feel. I would put on a dress, scurry down to the little countryside path by my old house in California, and just close my eyes as I walked and felt the little drops sprinkle on my nose, my temporary transparent freckles. I would let my hair get wet and then ring it out, reveling in how the sound of the water hit the floor with the drops from the sky. I never realized that I was such a romantic until I got older, it just seemed commonplace to enjoy the general splendor that the rain brought. How could one not love the way that the grass smells or the way it sounds when your shoes squish in to little puddles of this shimmering substance from the sky? As confusing and be riddled with change as youth can be, it also gives quite a whimsical facade to the world around us. Nowadays, I try to enjoy the beauty of such things as the rain, but I find myself getting caught up in the reality and inconvenience of the situation. The rain means it is most likely cold, will I have to carry an umbrella all day long? Will my socks get wet and stick to my feet? Will it be windy and therefore impossible to look where I am going when I am walking? Will my makeup end up running down my face causing me to look like an abandoned raccoon? It was much simpler when everything in the world was magical and it is not only that it was magical, but it was also that it was magically made for you. Everyday was a day to be in the midst of it all. I try to remember this as my day of birth is tomorrow and the years seem to be going by a lot faster than once prescribed. It is hard to remember such things when the world seems to be such a stressful and unkind place, but it is important to realize the present beauty and comedy of situations.

During my trip to Amsterdam, a couple of days ago, there were plenty of moments that were not life changing by any means, but they were comical and so very human. The restaurants my friend Lauren and I would go to would always seat us and then ask us to move, it was normal the first time, but after it happened a couple of more times we couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. The waiters never understood why we found so much hilarity in the moving of chairs, but for us it was a peculiar and memorable part of our trip. Or how one day we decided to bike in to town, but only had one bicycle. Lauren rode the bike and I was on the back, we were doing very well until we got to the crowd at central station and she tried to dodge another bicycle and ended up hitting a man’s suitcase. We then skidded out and gracefully fell in the middle of a crowd. It was such a perfectly executed fall I just sat there and then eventually got up unscathed. Lauren and I looked at each other, laughed, then started the walk in to town. It was wonderful to be in a new place having these little moments of embarassment and comedy, they are what we remember, if we choose to remember at all.

My 22nd year of life is gone. During this year I graduated from college and then swiftly moved to Sweden where I have been since August. During this year, I have found love in many different people and kept the love of those that have showed me time and time again that they are fantastical beings. I have cried over things that I cannot change, I have laughed about things that truly make no sense, and I have felt riddled by fear of losing myself in the midst of it all. All this being said, I know that we all just trying to find the beauty in the rain again. And as I look outside as the drops fall on the wooden planks, I know that somewhere in the puddles that they are creating are little pieces of the future that are waiting for me, that are waiting for all of us.

Let us hope that there is enough space for all of our dreams.

To being in the midst of it all,

Pascale Engla Serp

 

I’m a collector

I glanced at the bottles that line my windowsill and thought how empty the space would feel without them. I watched the light gleam through the countless bottles of wine in green and red shades eclipse over my irises and wondered. I wondered how it would feel if that light disappeared. Would I too feel as empty as the space would be barren without them? They are much more then just glass to me, they are nights, conversations, flurries of laughter and tears lining the days of a venture that is now coming to a close. The light that shines through them reminds me that they were once full, but as most things are full they are ultimately just as easily empty. I am a collector, I carry memories in little manifestations of happiness and sadness wherever I go. I find new ways to tangibly hold the past, present, and future in a piece of paper, the petal of a rose, or the smell of lavender that reminds me of home. My mind is led astray as I touch the feathers of my dream catcher hanging from an orchid plant that was once in bloom, but now only shows remnants of its forlorn beauty. It reminds of how winter made me feel, the coldness in my hands, the roughness of my skin. The pictures stuck on my wall by sticky paste, which were so thoughtfully constructed, take seconds to tear down. The faces that once looked at me daily, caught in the dreamy hue of my twinkly lights, now little ghosts inside the walls. I am surrounded by pieces of my life, but I don’t fully understand how any of them connect to each other. It is so easy to destroy them, they are so fragile. I could break the bottles on the windowsill, tear the photos with my hands, rip out the pages of the books that line my bedside table. But, still, I would remember the way it sounded when the glass broke or how the paper ripped leaving a sliver of words that were once a story. I guess you could say that these little pieces, these things that I collect, are all a part of my story. They remind me of how I have grown, why I am here, and that it is okay to not be as strong as I am often expected to be. It is okay to feel as fragile as the bottles on the windowsill.

I am a collector, but today I took the bottles full of empty space off of the windowsill. I took them outside, looked one last time at how the light reflected through them, then placed them in a bin where the nights full of memories slivered into a collection of chaotic noise and then slowly, as I turned my head away, my little pieces disintegrated in to the breeze.

I am a collector, but I am still trying to find a place that best fits the fragility of my collection.

 

Honey badger summer

A little brush here and there of the coldness from winter past still lingers in the air. The strangeness in the change of season leaves me questioning if I am actually here or perhaps I am still there, away I mean to say, from this life that has me in its thrall. The candelabra sits on the window sill, but the candles have all burned and now only tiny remnants of picked wax remain, little memories of December. The daffodils spring up from once desolate icy groves, places where my feet would often slip after a night of frozen rain or snow. I no longer tread lightly with each step taken upon leaving the house and even though the sun wakes me too early in the morning, I never pull down my curtain to block its rays. Back home, I would hardly ever sun bathe in 60 degree weather, but it is as if living here has given the presence of the sun a whole new meaning. When it is out, I feel spoiled with its warmth, almost as if I am a thief of light, so often away I call to it like a mistress in need of her wrongful pick me up. When darkness is away, I come out to play, embracing every moment that I can feel, even just for a second, a little bit of lights warmth. Everything is different now that the light has returned. I stood in my kitchen staring out the window at 4:30 this morning, thinking of how the same light would shine hours from now back in home in California, but not until about 6:30. I know what you are thinking at this point of my post, that I have spent this entire time basically talking about the weather. But, if you had been living in Gothenburg, Sweden as I have for the last 10 months it would be one of the main things you thought about as well. I have never lived in a place where the weather has affected people more than it does here. But, now that we have all come out of our dungeons and have begun to relish in the sun, the realm of possibility for adventure is exceedingly greater.

A couple of weeks ago I went to Northern Ireland and visited some family friends. It was one of the most majestically beautifully places I have ever been. 

For the past couple of months I have been in hibernation. I will not lie and tell you that I haven’t felt down and completely worthless, but as I have been often told, it is quite a normal symptom of being in your 20’s. It is so easy to fool people nowadays with elaborate posts of how luxurious everything is and who would think to question your happiness when you take such beautiful pictures of what you just had for lunch? But sadness, I’m pushing in to the very far past and looking forward to these last two months living in Sweden before I relocate to Italy. I struggled for months on what the hell to do with myself. Contemplating returning home and working my self in to a miserable pulp to lessen the pain my student loans have so lovingly brought me, but with a little guidance I knew that it just wasn’t quite time for that yet. By now, Sweden does feel like home, but I tend to do this thing where when I get too comfortable somewhere, it’s all of a sudden time for me to leave again. I think that Sweden taught me how to be better at doing things by myself. For some of us, it is easy to be independent, but not easy to do things on our own. I’m not sure if that really makes sense, but it became exceedingly clear to me, during my time here, that my constant need to communicate and be around others just did not work for everyone in my life. I now take solace in my moments alone, knowing that liking my own company is actually quite important, especially as someone who is constantly leaving people behind.

A couple of shots from a vintage store called Ground Floor Vintage in Göteborg that I have been working with. We have another shoot on Monday, so more to come! 

There are a lot of things that I will miss about living here, but it is hard to talk about missing them when they are still right in front of me. I guess I prefer to not miss them until they are actually missed. My decision to leave Sweden was just as spontaneous as my decision to come here in the first place, but I know that it is the right thing to do. I’m sure I could learn to love it here, become comfortable with the people and infinite darkness, but in the long run, it’s just not where I need to be right now. So, I’m going back to the place where my love affair with Europe began. A place where I know the language and have a support system if I need it. My voice teacher in Gothenburg brought up to me one day ,while we were discussing her crazy Italian ex-boyfriend, an amazing voice teacher she knows that lives in Florence. Then later that day while researching possibilities I found a course to get certified to teach english (because I do have to actually make some money at some point) in Florence and it all just kind of fell in to place. I mean, Florence is a dream. I remember the first time I went when I was 16 while studying in Calabria. I made a promise to myself that someday, when I was a bit older and hopefully wiser, that I would find a way to not just be a tourist there. I know, I have a lot of romantic notions about life in general, but in my disillusionment at least I find myself to be a contented fool. I’m not ready to settle, even though I do feel more pressure then I should at 22 to do so, which honestly really puts me off. My friend Katie and I have dubbed this summer the “honey badger summer”. It is our declaration of not giving a shit, which is of course inspired by the famous video of a man narrating the every day life of the fierce honey badger.

I guess I’m still figuring it all out and I hope that it stays that way for sometime. It’s great to see what your capable of when you throw yourselves in to things. I’m not sure what these next couple of chapters are going to look like, but I sure am excited to sing Italian opera, eat lots of pasta, and drink way too much espresso, while trying to figure them out!

When a performer goes on stage in Italy to say good luck you say “in bocca al lupo!”, which literally means “in the wolf’s mouth!”, which the performer usually responds “crepi il lupo!” meaning “may the wolf die!”. I always loved that image before going on stage and often think of it when I am doing anything a little crazy or just simply something new and challenging. I will enjoy these next couple of months, but after they pass I must go in to the mouth of the wolf again. Challenge myself to be fearful and then again overcome that fear.

Here’s to the wonderful array of obstacles ahead….ci sentiamo presto.

Always,

Pascale Engla Serp

 

Dazzling disillusionment

Reality has never seemed like a constant thing to me. I have always known that it was there and that somehow I resided in it, but that has still never convinced me that it was constant. I am often reminded of its presence, like a small child tugging at the edge of my dress wailing for attention. I look down at the child, can feel the hand disrupting the placement of my dress on my body, but can’t seem to find the words to answer the call for attention. Maybe I am not there yet, maybe I don’t know what to say, or perhaps that kid is just really fucking annoying and I would rather like to ignore that they exist. Unfortunately, ignoring reality seems likely to always end in somewhat of a catastrophe. The kid may wonder off in to the street get hit by a car or find themselves corrupted years later by your lack of attention when they needed you most. However the hell you think about it, that tug on your dress needs to be recognized at some point in your life, we can’t all live in dazzling disillusionment for the rest of our days (this, of course, does not mean that I will not try to hold on to it for as long as I can). I am somewhere in the middle of hearing the call, but still finding myself hypnotized by the stars. I feel as if when I look away the clouds will come and the only glimmer I will see will be that of an airplane making its way past. It may provide a similar luminescence, but it will never replace the unworldly glow of the stars. I only wish I could live within that glow much longer than I know time will allow me.

The holidays have come and gone and the little stars that line the street are darkened by the impending months of winter. Snowflakes try to fall to the ground, but they find themselves turning to rain before they hit the concrete. When the sun shines it is warm and cool at the same time, but I still try to sit in front of it, trying to remember that it is a gift that will only last a couple of hours or maybe even just a couple of minutes. Sometimes when the cold makes my cheeks rosy and the outline of my fingers chilled I think it’s romantic and other times I am just really freezing and trying to remember that at some point of the day I will be warm again. My family came and brought me warmth for a little while as well as my friend David, which is kind of ironic because they were freezing the entire time they were here (that’s what you get with 4 Californians and one Mexican). I found myself falling in love with Copenhagen while wondering simultaneously if I was really hip enough to ever live there and if they would allow me in to the city without owning a bicycle. I guess I could fix both of those problems, but I’m still not sure my fragile California raised body could take riding a bike in the winter in Denmark. On a more serious note, my friend and I visited the Danish-Jewish museum that is a fairly new addition to Copenhagen’s colorful array of attractions (that are probably ten times better in the spring or summer). The entire building is really quite mesmerizing as the architect made the museum in the shape of the torah in Hebrew. The walls were slanted and you felt as if you were in some sort of trippy futuristic world, which is ironic considering this was obviously about the past. The Jewish people in Denmark during WWII have a rather hopeful story having 99% survive thanks to the help of their neighbor, Sweden. The museum was small, but captivating and important all the same. The other museum that I really enjoyed was the museum of broken relationships. People leave remnants of their failed relationships to this museum with a little story of what it meant and why it failed. Not all relationships are good, not all relationships are meant to last, and some relationships make you laugh at yourself for how stupid you were to even think they were a good idea. But, you (sometimes) learn something from them. The museum was about the process of letting go while also giving us fragile humans a platform to vent about an artifact that could not just be thrown away. In this way, the museum provided these broken hearts a way to not have to look at something that brought them pain, but instead  brought new life to things that were otherwise broken. It was rebirth and death at the same time, sadness and hope at the same time. There are a couple things that I have laying around at home that I really wish I could relinquish to this museum. I’m sure we all do.

Although, winter seems relentless, I am constantly reassured that everyday it is getting a little brighter. So, I am trying my very hardest to keep optimistic about the fact that I am becoming more pale than I ever thought I would be. I literally think that when there are moments of sunlight my skin becomes bashful as it has forgotten what it feels like. I’m being over dramatic of course, but if you were from California and then moved to Sweden, you would perhaps feel the same way. I really would like time to move slower so it could let me figure out what I am doing with the rest of my life so I’m trying to be okay with winter and not look at too many photos of times when I was able to be in a bikini, on a beach, in the sun, feeling happy. IT’S ALL GOING TO BE JUST FINE. I think I will leave you all on this note, which seems to be a little bit of aggressive optimism (is that a thing?), but the sentiment (at the very least) is clear. Or is it? Oh well!

To the future, where perhaps my feet won’t always feel as cold…

“Mais qu’importe l’éternité de la damnation à qui trouvé dans une seconde l’infini de la jouissance!” 

“What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?”

Charles Baudelaire, Le spleen de Paris

 

Mysterious communication

 

I’ve got this feeling that everything around me is constant. It whirls and trickles down, swirling with this sort of fiery that relentlessly haunts the thick and humid air around me. Present in a reality that is far from what I knew, not knowing whether it will stick or if someday I will forget about it. The lights reflected in my eyes, the candles bringing warmth to my eyelashes and my otherwise very cold nose. These sensations seem effortless in the moment, but I worry about their significance in the future. The stars that line the streets and shake with the wind and reflect in shadows of the frost that lay on the earth below, a joining of two different worlds, you may even say they are shadows of what there is to come. The constant murmur of voices even in the quietest of spaces and the clanging of my shoes upon the pavement, thick with residue that keeps us safe from falling. Falling in to darkness or perhaps it is light, depending on what your spirituality tells you. Familiar faces, the same commute, words never spoken, but nods of recognition make this place feel more like home. The woman at the cafe who doesn’t speak english, but is patient and kind when I fumble for the right words to say. She sits down with me while I drink a cappuccino that she drew a heart on just seconds before. We talk of home and how we ended up here, both foreigners we laugh about how adapting to this new place comes with a lot of acceptance. Acceptance of others, acceptance of yourself and how a part of you will never really adapt fully because a part of you, a part of us, knows what it is like to call somewhere else home. Then again, five months ago I would have never been able to have this conversation with the woman from Iran that works at the little cafe on the corner because five months ago I couldn’t speak a word of Swedish.

Learning a language brings the most comical and beautiful moments and it is everything. Anywhere you go speaking the language makes people look at you differently. It is almost as if a constant bond is formed and personalities click. I think this may be why so many people fall in love with those that are from the same place that they are. It is easy to love someone who knows what you love and loves what you know, grew up with it, spoke in it, and will always feel a strong connection to it. Everywhere I have lived so far in my life changed when I began to speak the language. It is still one of my biggest achievements that I have been lucky enough to make friends in languages that I have had to learn and did not just know. Fumbling for words to say, one can find many ways to say them. It is my experience that in the describing you begin to find new ways of loving, learning, and accepting. I’m still not sure if I have come to terms with all of this within myself and all that has trespassed these last couple of years in the longing and loss, but I’m hoping that if I keep describing it all, someday I may find some sort of solace.

Sonnet 20, A woman’s face 

A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted 
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; 
A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted 
With shifting change, as is false women’s fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; 
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
Much steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created; 
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated, 
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure. 

William Shakespeare 

 

My darkest light

So, there is really no excuse for my absence from writing other than the overall madness of life and I suppose a bit of procrastination and lacking of motivation, but I am here now…that is what matters. I am at this point here in my life in Sweden where everything seems to be moving at this sort of tireless pace. Sometimes I wish that it would slow down a bit and let me breathe and just feel, but you see, the thing about time is that it has hardly ever allowed me to stop it. This may be something that is not solely my own, actually, it is pretty much one of the biggest problems that most people face as they get older. I have always been a little obsessed with the idea of time. Even when I was a little girl and time was all I had, I would stare at Dali’s paintings and sketch melting clocks with dates and peoples faces devoid of expression replaced with clocks in my school journals. I guess that I always wanted more of it, but I also never knew exactly what I would want to do if I had more of it. But, then again, I wonder if my obsession with time is not really about time itself, but rather it is rooted in a fear of missing out, a fear of not being everything people expect me to be. I’m not really sure what that is and I’m honestly not sure what I would even think without thinking of others, but I guess that is the grand mystery of it all and quite possibly the reason why I can’t seem to stay put somewhere for very long. It takes its toll when I think I have to leave people to go somewhere else where I know no one, but once those people who I fear missing were all unknown to me and all of a sudden now they are a part of my life in ways that I never expected. This is how I feel living in Gothenburg. My experience here so far has been incredibly full of luck. I found a great group of friends pretty much right away and feel like whatever I do I have someone who is physically near me to talk to. There are days when I miss home, and that is many places now, but it never takes me long to stop feeling sad. It comes in waves, but I would say that most of the time my current is pretty positive.

I find pleasure in noticing. Noticing the old Swedish woman on the bus with the little pink hat and long trench coat. She’s confused about where to get off and starts to walk off the bus when the driver tells her that she should get off at the next stop. He remembered where she wanted to go and made sure that she didn’t get lost. Her confused smile along with the pink sequins on her very bright hat were a simple reason to laugh a sort of sweet innocent laugh to myself quietly today. People are so very interesting when you take the time to remember they are around you. I also feel like in Sweden some people are a lot nicer now that it is closer to Christmas. Okay, so it does get dark at 3:30pm and it is really depressing sometimes, but the amount of twinkly lights the city of Gothenburg has put up could be enough to light up an otherwise devoid of light village somewhere deep in the mountains. I wonder what their electricity bill is! We all secretly enjoy it though, I mean there has to be some way that we all get some light. It is also astounding to me that it is already December and that my dad, stepmom, and stepsister are going to be here in a couple of weeks for Christmas. This world feels so different from my reality at home. There are parts of me that remain in my life back in California and new parts of me that I have discovered in Sweden. Four months has felt like both the longest and shortest period of my life. Long because I feel like I have been here forever and short because there is still so much left to do. There is a part of me that still feels like I am starting here, still trying to get my footing in a new culture and new awkwardnesses that can only be explained by the differences in sociableness between Scandinavians and Americans. I have become so much more aware of how loud I am while living in Sweden. Also, this need for me to fill silences comes way too naturally here. It is also sad to see friends who you have really come to enjoy move away. It’s hard to say when I will see some of them again, but for a brief period they were a really wonderful part of it all. That’s the game we play though, people have to come and go.

Since I last wrote (which I know was really way too long ago) so much has happened (well two of the major things are that I went to Thailand and London, which is where most of the photos in this post are from) that I fear writing it all down would be too much, but all you really need to know is that there are many stories to come and I can’t wait to share every awkward, enlightening, and raw moment with you. I am constantly impressed with the beauty of this place and even though sometimes it can be a little lonely all I need to do is step outside my front door…that way I forget all of my woes and just think about how cold I am instead!

My best friend and I laughing about something great in Hyde Park 

To the constant crusade of positivity, may there always be new ways to laugh every day..even if it is at myself (which most of the time it is).

 

“At the end of a miserable day, instead of grieving my virtual nothing, I can always look at my loaded wastepaper basket and tell myself that if I failed, at least I took a few trees down with me.”
― David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day

Lost & Found

Head is weary, bones feel brittle, typing mimics the inconsistencies in my sleep deprived brain. It seems that autumn has most definitely arrived in Gothenburg (or as I like to call it, “the big G”) and with it the same old cold that I always get when the weather changes. No matter where I am, it will always find me, and it will always come at the most inconvenient times. I have an audition today for a chamber choir in town and I am singing “O mio babbino caro”, a song that is not for the faint of heart and especially not for one who can’t even breathe through her nose, but I must resist the urge to crumble in to my bed with hot soup and lots of pillow time and go out in to the unearthly haze outside my window. Sure, I am taking this moment now to feel sorry for myself, simply out of self-pity, but I have come to learn that unfortunately the world does not stop for you when you are ill. Most of the time I just pretend I am not sick when I am and hope that it goes away because when I wallow I just end up feeling worse. There is, although, this thing that happens to me when I get sick (other then little red dots under my eyes), I become really emotionally unstable. The type of unstable that will cry about something that is too small, or frankly about anything that is the least bit sad or cute. Yesterday, I hung out at my friend Andrea’s house and after lunch we decided to watch Schindler’s list. Yes, on a sad and gloomy Sunday we sat in front of her television and watched a deeply disturbed and heart-wrenching Holocaust film equipped with a lot of sniffling and some sort of strange wet substance coming from our eyes. I do this shit to myself all the time though…at least this time it wasn’t while drinking whiskey from the bottle with my best friend in college and introducing her to the movie “Life is Beautiful”. I remember going to the bathroom and coming out to her sobbing with the bottle in her hand saying “how could we have done this”. That was the moment I realized that I had to stop pulling my friends down to my depressive movie level. I am now aware of this flaw of mine and am taking time to recuperate the situation. It has been harder these last couple of weeks to really take a step back from life and think about anything too hard. Everything is so busy and I am just trying to stay healthy in the midst of it all.

The weekend before last I visited Stockholm for the first time and it was as magical as I thought it was going to be. We stayed with Jessica’s (mama of the house) sister along with her husband and three kids for a short 3 days. We arrived late on Friday, but on Saturday I spent the whole day out on my own exploring the old town, Gamla Stan. I stumbled in to a great little bookstore and lost myself in there for awhile and then walked in to the Stockholm Cathedral. I didn’t think I was going to sit there for as long as I did, but there was something so other worldly about the organ music and the calmness in the air. It was also freezing outside and surprisingly warm in the cathedral.
I don’t really spend a whole lot of time hanging out with myself. I mean, it is great to be alone sometimes, but I think that exploring somewhere new is just more fun when you have someone with you. It was only a day though, and I still found many ways to entertain myself. I even got a bit tipsy off of some nice red wine and ate some of the best mushroom risotto I have had in awhile. We celebrated Jessica’s nieces 5th birthday that evening and the next day we took a walk to a castle. The weather was perfectly autumn and it smelled so lovely and crisp. I really wish I could smell right now, I kind of miss it. This last week I have had stuff going on almost every evening whether it was my Swedish course, music related, or spending time with the kids. I’m finding a sort of rough sense of a rhythmn here and trying to find a way to effectively fill my time. It was fun to celebrate Katie’s birthday on Thursday and make a wicked big deal out of it. I am very much a birthday person. My birthday could last the entirety of the month if I try hard enough, but there are some people (like Katie) who really don’t care about their birthdays very much. But, don’t worry, I made sure that she wouldn’t get away with out a celebration. We went to a mexican restaurant that actually has good tacos (shocker for Sweden) and I made her wear a super sweet sixteen crown as well as a huge ass badge that said “It’s my birthday”. She of course hated all those things, but I knew deep down she loved them anyway. The night transpired in strange ways and we all woke up the next morning with an array of feelings in our heads; confusion, sadness, stress…you name it. Maybe sometimes the expectation of a celebration sets one up for disaster? Don’t worry, the night wasn’t a disaster, it just turned out..differently then expected. For instance, I somehow ended up with the crown and completely forgot I had it on. I introduced myself to people in a pink crown with a big 16 on it. I often wonder why people don’t take me very seriously sometimes, that night I understood why. There are other things I wish I could write, but i’ll hesitate for now.

Last weekend, I had the house to myself as the family were going to celebrate their parents wedding anniversary. It sounded like a lovely getaway in the forest, but I needed a weekend before we leave for Thailand where I could just hang out with friends and possibly walk around naked in the house. There are rather big windows here though, so I was discrete. There is something so sacred about that kind of freedom to me…not having to make a mad dash to the bathroom through the hall when you forgot that you didn’t have something you needed after a shower or just letting yourself be naked for awhile. If you think about it, we really aren’t naked that often. Maybe I get it from my mother who REALLY loved/loves running around naked throughout our home. She wouldn’t even flinch if a friend of mine was over. My childhood mind transferred that in to wearing clothes as a sort of prison. I once had a friend come over (who is actually still my best friend to this day) and when she entered I tore my shirt off and then told her that “we don’t wear clothes here”. I’m surprised she didn’t run off that second. But hey, our friendship is 15 years strong, so maybe stripping was a good way to make a friend at 7 years old. So yes, I drank whiskey by my bed, watched casablanca, and maybe had a solo dance party. I had friends over for dinner on Friday night and made pasta and set out appetizers (like a real adult yay!). No one threw up or looked disgusted so I call that a successful evening! Saturday I worked on music stuff with a friend at the music school. I’m hoping we will record some stuff soon so I can share it with you guys. I think it sounds fairly good and you might end up liking it too, but I think we have to like it first (lol). Sunday was the lunch at Andrea’s (which was spectacular by the way) followed by Schindler’s list and The King’s speech. VERY different movies, but both beautifully done. The thing I am really looking forward to is the fact that I am leaving for Thailand on Saturday! I can’t believe that the day has come…and incredibly fast as well! I will be there two weeks laying on the beach, soaking up all the rays of sun I can, and possibly finding a handsome traveler that wants to drink wine with me in my private bungalow. Well, the last one is fairly unlikely, but anything is possible when you are on vacation, right? Boys are foolish and confusing, but they can sure be cute (the broadest statement ever…I’m vague for a reason folks!). This week I will prep for Thailand and try to get some work done before I leave so I don’t stress about it later. I’m still not sure what the future holds, but hell, I’m 22 years old…I might just have some time to figure it all out. Or possibly just be blissfully disillusioned by the possibility of it all.

To being a little lost, but not being too worried yet about being found. Here’s to you and here’s to me!

Drink with me
To days gone by
Sing with me
The songs we knew

Here’s to pretty girls
Who went to our heads

Here’s to witty girls
Who went to our beds

Here’s to them
And here’s to you!

Drink with me
To days gone by
Can it be
You fear to die?
Will the world remember you
When you fall?
Could it be your death
Means nothing at all?
Is your life just one more lie?

Drink with me
To days
Gone by
To the life
That used
To be
Let the wine of friendship
Never run dry 

Drink with me
To days
Gone by
To the life
That used
To be
At the shrine of friendship
Never say die

Here’s to you
And here’s
To me..

– “Drink with me”, Les Miserables 

Trench coat pocket

At this point in time, it is really quite hard to imagine this place being unknown to me. I used to wake up and feel a slight twinge of fear, that moment when you are drifting between dreams and consciousness, where I had no idea where I was. The light in the room was unknown, the way that the sheets cradle me felt foreign, but I was still warm and safe somehow. Once I realized where I was all my fear sort of radiated off of me, distilled in the air, but no longer a part of my scent. I no longer feel this way because the moment when my eyes open there is no longer strange light, but just the light that I’ve created. The pictures on the wall are people that engulf my existence and the letters are written by pens of those who I have heard speak time and time again. I have surrounded myself in familiar echoes of all that is and all that was. Still sometimes my dreams lead me to darker places, spaces that my physical being wishes not to dwell. Tears that feel wet even when my eyes are open and fear that makes my head ache. There is not much I can do about that, the inner working of my mind have always been a mystery to me. They get stranger year after year. I laugh them off and put them in my trench coat pocket, carried with me throughout the day, but in a small warm place where no light can touch. Still, my hands are kept warm, so maybe I need them after all. It is unlike me to admit to melancholy, but some days are just better then others. It is likely that my optimism will fail me every once in awhile. Loneliness has never bothered me, I actually seem to thrive upon it, but there are some things much better done when someone else can laugh with you. These are all just trivial thoughts, I’m happy, don’t get me wrong. There is just a lot of change and thoughts that of course come with it. It is good to think, it means you are processing, I suppose I just process quite a lot these days.

A small cabin in the woods surrounded by green and trickling sunlight from shadowed trees. A Swedish family all in little boots with baskets wandering through the forest foraging for mushrooms and berries, their blonde trestles illuminated by the autumn sun. The air is cool, but a sweater is a delightful feeling upon the skin. As the collection goes on flowers go in to hair, findings are a constant surprise, and trails are not needed. Two brothers put little sticks in to each others hair becoming one with the nature around them and finding ways to entertain each other. Little hoods go over heads as the wind picks up and grandpa in his bright red sweater can be seen from wherever he stands, leading the chase to find the biggest mushroom. Landscape is barren, little pine and fir trees here and there, but nothing all engulfing. Coming back home grandma is cooking dinner in the wood stove, the warmth from the fire contrasted with the outside chill is ever so welcoming. As she sets the table everyone trickles in, showing off their findings, happy to be back in warmth. As night descends and the candles and gas lamps are lit, the stars decide to come out to play. Looking up all the milky way glitters in the distance. The grass is wet, but star gazing is necessary. I lay in darkness, but embrace the constant vertigo from the strange abyss above. These stars forever surprise me. After wishes are made, I return inside to feast upon our findings for the day then lay my head upon the cool floor, wrapping myself in my blanket and trying not to think about spiders. The night is icy, but I try to think warm thoughts. Morning comes with coffee and sleepy heads, but everyone is happy to be together. As the car descends down the little path home I find myself transported back to present time, where our phones are checked, and technology is everywhere you look. That little cabin in the woods was surely the best get away one could ask for. I hope to smell those embers burning once again.

Somethings are different, some the same, but in this persistent movement I find myself constantly forgetting the choreography. I have still, however, made it this far, perhaps stumbling my way through all of the steps. I am not sure if I will ever get it down perfectly, but I think that as long as there is music and I keep moving along with it, that I will never truly fail. These complex motions deterred by others floundering can never be predicted, but isn’t life, after all, just one big contradiction? Cynical, maybe. But, I enjoy a little cynicism, I think it builds character. Tomorrow we leave for Stockholm and I already have the song that I want to play when we arrive…”Emmylou” by First Aid Kit. It’s a constant adventure here and I love being lost in it. I hope you’ll enjoy feeling like you’re lost in it with me.

Now so much I know that things just don’t grow
If you don’t bless them with your patience
And I’ve been there before, I held up the door
For every stranger with a promise

But I’m holding back, that’s the strength that I lack
Every morning keeps returning at my window
And it brings me to you and I won’t just pass through
But I’m not asking for a storm

-“Emmylou”, First Aid Kit

Spells of laughter in the dark.

The trees outside my window are thrashing about, while I can hear the leaves walking along the pavement, being whirled around by the constant gusts of unpredictable winds. Every moment or so the sound will die down and once again silence will envelop the house, but then the rumble starts and everything feels shaky once more. With my warm coffee in hand, I watch the fluctuations, a part of me wanting to feel them, but a part of me so warm and safe inside. It is quite odd how weather makes us feel. On rainy or stormy days I tend to feel more nostalgic and maybe even a bit more romantic then I already feel normally. I fantasize about the essence of the rain, how it would feel to get caught in it, and how the skin feels when such startling dew descends upon our body’s outer shell. I can feel the coolness even from inside. Although, the sunny days in Gothenburg rejuvenate my vitamin d deficient soul, there is something that is so fantastical about the rain. Most of us think of it as a good excuse to not go outside, a proponent of that devilish word that we all know and love, “procrastination”, but when I can smell rain in the air it is almost as if my want to go outside escalates. I’m not sure why, but it has always been this way for me and may be the reason why I am always getting colds and constantly finding myself soaked. Lately I feel as if Gothenburg has sensed my longing for a bit of rain because I swear that every time I leave the house I am caught in a rain storm. It will be calm the entire day until the moment that I leave the house. So if you could picture me this week just think of damp hair and soaked jeans with wind gusts blinding me while I try to run for the bus. I am no longer concerned with looking cool, especially when everyone else is just trying to not fall over from the force of the wind.

The concert that I went to on Thursday at the GSO (Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra) was great as always, but this time I knew some of the songs that they were playing. The pianist played melancholy with his fingers closing with an encore performance where he played Debussy. They had the conductor from Finland who is going to start there full-time next year and he was delightful. The way he moved and signaled to the musicians was like a dance. My weekend ended up being a lot fuller then I thought it originally was going to be. That always happens though, you plan something, it doesn’t happen, but when you plan to say watch a sad movie by yourself with a bottle of wine and candles someone always tries to make you go out (me every weekend). Friday was one of those nights where I don’t know how I ended up where I ended up. I went out with Katie and a couple of her music friends to a house-party. Just imagine a nearly empty apartment with a kitchen and Ikea jellyfish lamps descending from the ceiling, their tentacles shining lights of pink and green. I’m just going to come out and say it, I went to a hipster gathering. I respect all forms of art and the performers who try to display them, but I don’t think I was in the right place in my mind. The first performer came on, an adorable girl who kind of did like slam poetry, but less words and more sounds she made with her throat. In hindsight, it was really cool and impressive what she was doing, but in the moment I felt my body shaking from laughter, which in turn made some of my friends infected with the bug. Now, it was real quiet and everyone else, like the good people they were, were taking it very seriously, but like deeply feeling it. I had to grip the chair next to me so I didn’t explode. I thought about it after though, when I was being chastised for being so insensitive to the art form, that maybe that is just how I was taking in what she was doing. I don’t know, maybe it’s all bullshit, but I enjoyed myself none the less. The next performance was a bit more palpable and I knew what to expect so I layed on the floor and closed my eyes. I felt extremely connected, but I also had like three beers by that time, so who really knows. By the end of the night we were all dancing and laying on the floor, I had fully immersed myself in my surroundings, feeling as if maybe I should have brought my beret and a cigarette instead of wearing my ripped jeans and my butterfly tank top. I guess that I will know better next time, that is if I am not banned from such gatherings. All my life I have treated things with humor, it is just how I survive. It is easier to turn any sort of hint of suffering in to something that makes me laugh, life is sometimes too hard to take seriously.

Saturday was full of brunch in Haga and a crayfish party where I got much more drunk then I wanted to, but it really was not my fault. See, crayfish parties are a very traditionally Swedish, and you have to drink Schnapps. I don’t mean a small amount, I mean about every 20 minutes you sing a song, take a shot, eat, then do the whole thing over again. It was the Schnapps that motivated me to do yoga for everyone in the living room at the end of the night, I swear! I did, although, realize that night how lucky I am to have met such lovely people right away. My group of friends is growing rapidly here and they are all so different from each other in age and personality making me learn a lot about the various ways to live a life. Speaking of new friends, one of Katie’s music friends, Rudolfs, has a house on an island that is close to Gothenburg called Vrångö. Katie and I went there on Sunday, accompanied by Rudolfs Danish friend Simon (pronounced Se-men, but I decided that I just couldn’t say it that way). It was a beautiful day and we made lunch at the house then went around to explore the island a bit. They all proved to be very good models for me and I got some rather good shots that day with my camera. We decided that we are going to start a band together and last night we booked a practice rooms and played songs like “Angel from Montgomery” and “Jolene”. Then Simon whipped out his arrangement of “Love me tender” and with his sweetly melancholic voice we decided that some duets were in our future. It felt amazing to sing again. I have been feeling, well, a lot lately. When I sing my pain runs through me, but in a way that I can endure, it is almost as if every word I get lighter and start to understand my self a bit more. It is natural, like feeling the sun on my face while walking through the park on a warm day, two natural forces existing at the same time, taking each other in. Billie Holiday said “Singing songs like ‘The Man I Love’ or ‘Porgy’ is no more work than sitting down and eating Chinese roast duck, and I love roast duck”. I completely understand what she means it is simple, but it is love. I’m bringing back that love and letting it stay for as long as it likes. Sorrow may be, but where there is sorrow, there is always another song to sing.

 

“Death is often the point of life’s joke”

-Vladimir Nabokov, Laughter in the dark

P.S.- Videos of music and other collaborations are in the works. Stay tuned!

A complicated relationship.

It’s strange to think of the way time passes or the way that when you stop thinking about time itself, it seems to glide through the tunnels of movement in space that much faster. You know, you get in to the rhythm of life and you sort of begin to forget about your self. Everything moves around you in a familiar way and you don’t need to take the time to think of yourself in the middle of it all, just that it is moving and that somehow, you are a part of it, in a flow that neither defies or corrupts the musical score. It is almost as if time makes you an allegorical character in the story of your own life. Are we all just symbols of one big life rather than individuals? Our entangled ideas of what we are or who were just constructs of a bigger picture that is continually more complicated by time and with time? I think that I have always been a little addicted to the idea of time, but at the same time, Ironically, I have a hard time living in the present. Sometimes I forget that the present is the present. In simple terms, an example of this would be when I am eating lunch, but in the back of my mind I am thinking about what I am going to eat for dinner. Will the lunch that I am eating be enough so that I won’t have to eat another meal later? Will I have to buy something if it isn’t? Come to think of it, though, it may just be my poor college student tendencies seeping in to my post-grad life, but you get the picture. So that is sort of the theme of this week in Sweden, that time and I are in a complicated relationship and it is hard to understand how to keep moving forward.

During the weekend I went and saw Katie perform in her first orchestra concert. The venue was in this sweet little music building, all filled with proud parents and friends happy to see their loved ones on stage. I acted as Katie’s mom for the evening, taking photos of her from the audience and giving her words of encouragement. It was, of course, very good and extremely impressive. After, we went out on the town and although I could only tell you about a handful of names that I met that night out of the 50 I spoke to, I had a pretty fabulous time. The bar was called stage door, a little pub that was reminiscent of the UK and left little room to breathe, therefore making it impossible to not talk to everyone in sight, but when you’ve had a couple beers…everyone is a friend. I found my clansmen (Scottish McKay clan, I should say), talked Brexit with some Brits, and then of course sprinkled in the always enlightening depths of my knowledge of WWII and the holocaust. That always promises to light up an evening! I lost myself in conversation and found my voice to be scratchy at the end of the evening from the constant chatter, well shouting I should say (it was very loud), and my feet were also a bit sore from standing for so long. We didn’t get home until about 5am, but for some godforsaken reason I still got up early the next morning. The next night I went over to a housewarming party for Andrea (the one who I helped move in). We drank prosecco and then some of the salsa dancers in the group got up and started dancing. It was like watching a painting being made, all of the movements and colors flowing through the air. I’ve decided that I will learn to salsa even if I look a fool. It was a lovely evening, but I was exhausted from the shenanigans the night before and, to be honest, I think that going out like, really going out, one night a week is about all I can take sometimes. Sorry if my old woman is showing. Going out in Gothenburg is quite fun though and there are so many places that I have still yet to explore as far as night life goes.

The last couple of days I have been trying to keep my mind busy with the present and how these moments do and will matter. Every morning I wake up in a house that is miles away from the place that I used to call home. I live with people and think of them as family when a couple of months ago they were just faces on a screen. This is another moment where I would just like to point out, time is weird. I am anxious to integrate in to my surroundings faster then I am probably able. When I have lived abroad before, the best way to find myself a part of it all is to be busy and, well, to be present. My weeks are now a bit busier because my Swedish lessons have started at the FolkUniversitetet. I met all of my classmates on Tuesday and boy are we an eclectic bunch. Everyone is from everywhere and we all have our different reasons for being in Sweden, but the one thing we share is the need to learn the language of the country we are currently residing. The teacher, Birgitta, is a sweet old woman who is patient and kind, like a grandma that just wants to take you for fika and tell you about the “days of her youth”. I actually found myself understanding and knowing a lot more then I thought I would. I guess that living in a house with a bunch of Swedes has its benefits. Being in a class again with people who were stimulated and ready to learn was wonderful, it affirmed the meaning of my whole experience. Today I went out with one of my classmates to this incredibly cute part of town called Haga and we grabbed lunch at this very hip mediterranean deli. The streets were lined with cobblestones and little stores full of antiques and vintage clothes, it is my new haven.

I know that a lot of good is yet to come and there may also be some sorrow in there as well. It is all part of it and every bit of it matters. Some days I want to hug my family more then others and some days I go to sleep smiling for no other reason then the enjoyment of being fulfilled by my own experiences. There are always things that I wish would have been different and people that I wish could have stayed a bit longer, but even in the midst of lonely days I am not afraid of facing all of the collisions of time that constantly tick in my mind. Perhaps in this disillusionment I am lost not in fear, but in delight, like a child at a candy store, too innocent to think of her poor mother scouring the streets desperately trying to find her lost daughter. There is no cause for alarm, I am happy and have plenty of candy on the shelf to keep me occupied. I think I could stay in this fantasy a bit longer.

To the improbable movement of time and all its intricacies. I guess we all shall see.

Time has told me
You came with the dawn
A soul with no footprint
A rose with no thorn
Your tears they tell me
There’s really no way
Of ending your troubles
With things you can say

And time will tell you
To stay by my side
To keep on trying
‘til theres no more to hide
So leave the ways that are making you be
What you really don’t want to be
Leave the ways that are making you love
What you really don’t want to love

-Nick Drake, Time has told me