From salt of the earth to crème de la crème

In one week this summer I went from salt of the earth to crème de la crème; from service provider to, practically, service abuser.

I went from an environment where a friend can very well grab your behind and lovingly tell you that your ass has a remarkable resemblance to that of a pig’s, to a world where ‘hello’ can feel worse than a slap in the face and a mere sideway look is an insult.

Starting from the bottom, or perhaps the beginning, there are a few questions awakened in this, rather traumatic, transit. What sets these worlds apart? What do they require for acceptance? And how does one really fit in?

One could say value is the most significant difference between these worlds, monetary as well as moral. At the “bottom” what you do and how you do it carries most weight, whereas, taking a few steps up the class ladder, its who you do, or rather who you know, and how much you spend upholding this relation that is more relevant.

In order to be accepted (anywhere) you need to have the right accessories; mental or material. Granted, the battle of status through material attributes exists everywhere, but in the riches as opposed to in the rags it defines and validates their existence. I own therefore I exist. And without the right accessories you can kiss initial respect goodbye.
In the ‘underworld’ the best thing you can do is sharpen your elbows, because there you need to deserve your position, playing a completely different social game. There the attributes you need to have play more at the qualities you own. Nevertheless, a sharp tongue, a sarcastic sense of humour or whatever may be required, might gain you respect in one place and be unfavourable in another, it’s all about picking up the tone.

Getting in the context and fitting in can be more complicated still. It requires some measure of likeness and sense of equality between the individuals. When it all boils down, we all search to identify ourselves, at least slightly, with our fellowmen and especially with those we aspire to have as friends. We look to feel at ease in our surroundings; we search for shared values, to be accepted without having to adapt excessively and to fit in and feel comfortable.

Between rags and riches there is a large grey-zone, where you are free to navigate. And often there is no evident choice. When you don’t lack anything nor live in abundance, when physical, mental and spiritual pathways seem padded and protected and your survival is unthreatened; you appear to be moving eternally between the worlds, searching for those spots in the grey-zone where your social survival is guaranteed.

The paradox, and the advantage, is often that the more you move, the more you learn to adapt and find yourself in every location and feel secure. Because when you are in the habit of moving from salt of the earth and crème de la crème and back again, all you really need to pack… is your comfort.

Cadiz: A Killer (?)

Here I am; a shadow of my old self. Yes. Those of you who know me as an overly organised, always on top of things, always on the move, kind of person, might actually go into cardiac arrest when looking at my current state. And this is no joke…

Vanja and I have made countless efforts to revitalize it; the pumping rhythm of the city, that chain of goals and objectives succeeding one another, even that frustrating feeling of never having enough time (even though your plan is close to immaculate). Shock-a-shock we’ve actually been looking for this state of mind… even slightly missing it.

I know. In a few months from now I will be eating my words up. I will be calling home in tears saying: “I can’t take it, I just need one full night of sleep…and another 12 hours to the day”. Time will, again, be in short supply.

But it’s dead, the stress, and Cádiz has ‘killed’ it. It took us a while to wrap our heads around it, even longer to join in and another good while to actually understand it; the Cádiz effect.
At first we were thrilled about the stress-less atmosphere, and accordingly we took our time to slow down and kick back in the sand. That was the time when we could still fish for London in our blood, and we didn’t have to look that deep. Now days we are searching, and are yet to be lucky. Instead we keep finding one example after another of how a city can seemingly swallow your ambition, simply by ridding the purpose for its existence. You don’t need to dream big here, it’s the small that counts. You don’t need to be quick here, because rest dominates.

And it doesn’t seem to bother a soul that students retake, and retake and retake courses in all eternity, some day, he will become a doctor, or an engineer or an economist. Life is too short to waste on obsessive studying is what Cádiz seems to be saying, just live a little and a little bit more…and the rest will be ok in due time. It makes a good point, this city, to all of us hyped up ciudadanos (city-people). About not forgetting to stop and see, not neglecting to listen and enjoy.

Yet we miss the city because it gives us purpose, it stimulates us and challenges us to evolve… Cádiz poses another challenge, that of how to enjoy while keeping alive your ambition. But as sure as Cádiz is a killer…we can revive London again.

Solrosen

Hon är hukad för regnet,
skyld för mörkret.

Hon är utan idéer,
men hennes essens är konkret.

Hon söker solen,
dock utan att veta.

Solrosen hittar ljuset,
alltjämt utan att leta.

Hon sträcker sig mot strålarna,
när sig på dess värme.

Växer ambitiöst,
för att komma närmre.

I sin natur vill hon blomma,
envis, tålig och stark.

En evig strävan uppåt,
utan att lämna mark.

Enough is enough is enough

Last semester I was suffering from the unlikely noise-level of my neighbours. Singing, screaming...and even talking could all be heard through theese thin walls. Not to mention the persistant woman frequently standing outside on the patio (creates QUITE the echo might be mentioned) screamig for some Marta at 8am. Then there was of course the moving of furniture at 2am in the appartment above or the heavy fying of food past midnight.

This year I'm in luck! (sense the irony). What was previously my neighbours are now my flatmates. Halleluja! And I would gladly ask my neighbours to move their furniture more often if I could just have some peace and quiet after 2am. Sing-alongs to Rihanna are not exactly on my list of favourite things, especially not if they wake me up or prevent me from sleeping.... And then I should probably not even get started on the level of cleanlyness in the kitchen. Que horror! (as you would put it here).

So I am really just waiting for the day where, as you would say in Swedish; my cup runneth over and I will actually bring my self to say it: Enough is enough! Clean up! And sh*t up!

Do I realistically see that happening?...Most probably not. A more diplomatic solution would probably suit me better. But I'm leaving it for mañana.

When it rains it pours

Here in Cádiz things are as they should be, and still not. The normal state of stressless-ness is of course blissfully present, there is time for everything. There is even time to do nothing (which is quite amazing). Thus I'm really trying to take advantage of this fact, as my future seems quite bleak on that aspect.
Plenty of good company, parties, dinners and time to rest... everything a person needs to prepare for a hectic last year at EBS.

Soaking up the sun is also energizing. Here we are far from winter-jackets. Still, we are traumatised by autumn trespassing into the late summer heat. Not only has it rained, it has rained so heavily that underground-parkings have been flooded, even stores on the street. Some of my dear friends even suffered in-house floodings when water came up their drain and into the shower. And it's not like the kind, eternal, London-rain. In Cádiz, when it rains it pours... it's the kind of rain that will wake you up and keep you awake.

In light of this, I can do nothing else but express my gratitude to the brilliant concept of Siesta...at times frustrating (yes, because the world really does stop during siesta), but sometimes it might just save your day.

What's in a word?

In the true spirit of globalization a lot of us choose to travel, not only for fun, but also to try to achieve exchange and integration into cultures different than ours. While routines can often be adapted, language is one challenge that is often tough to tackle.

It can be tiring, that search for the right words; finding the precise expression that will convey not only, the practical message, but also the underlying sentiment. I sometimes ask myself; how much of the meaning of what I say gets lost in the banality of the words I’m using?

Still, most of the time I manage to make myself understood, without really knowing how I finally got my point across. After seemingly endless minutes of fishing for words, associating across languages and attempting chance-creation of new linguistic constellations we finally arrive at the crucial point: the answer; the main teller of whether you’ve made any sense what so ever. So I wonder, if I manage to make myself understood with an insufficiency in both vocabulary and verbal skills: What’s in a word?

First I think about the components of communication; individuals and language; where each constitutes complexity within itself. Considering the fact that every one uses language differently, or even uses different languages, and most of us listen from our own perspective, thus we hear what we want to hear. Honestly, it’s a wonder we ever understand each other at all.

One can only admit it; we hear things in a way that suits our world image and help support it. In the end, everyone wants to be rubbed the right way, whether there is truth to the word or not.

Second one must reflect on whether people actually really apprehend the impact (or insignificance) of what they say. I mean do you really fully understand everything you say? Being accustomed to using foreign languages, many of which I do not fully master, I know it can be difficult to estimate the weight of a word. That is, to understand the feelings it can potentially provoke in whoever is listening.

More easily put, assumingly there is a gap between what you say and what you understand that you are saying, which brings us to another component essential to contemporary, cross-cultural, communication; tact. Collins dictionary defines it as a sense of the best and most considerate way to deal with people so as not to upset them. I would call it an ability to know how and when to say things, or quite simply; what is vulgar and when to shut up.

Now this is not an evident thing (as you would say in French). Tact takes a different shape when applied to different languages. What is apprehended as offensive in Swedish would in another language just be taken on the chin. Words even though translated are frequently used in varied ways.

An example close to heart would be the Spanish verb Querer which can be translated into to Love as well as to Want. Now, in a German stemming language these are wisely not mixed (unless in bed, where they belong together?). In Spanish, on the other hand (depending on how you say it) it can be completely asexual (obviously if you were to pull someone forcefully towards you and whisper it in their ear with desire it could easily be the equivalent of: let’s go to bed immediately).

Finally, putting this together, vocabulary, knowledge and tact, I’m still thinking, which one of us has not heard a speaker with plenty of authority and pride and still felt as though his words were empty? And accordingly stopped listening to this person within five minutes even though he (or she) was incredibly correct? On the other side of the equation there would be this whirlwind of a person, who would accidently step on a few toes, but wholeheartedly grab everyone’s attention. Because the way they spoke appealed to people’s emotions.

So is it precision that gets the message across or is it effort, patience and sincerity? In the end, the word is really just a tool, as any other. The word itself carries little significance, it is how you build with it and support it. What is in a word is finally not a lot theoretically speaking. What is in a word is really just the sentiment you wrap it with and the emotion you put into it….And still we can only ever hope to understand and to be understood.

Excuse me, forgive myself

Apologies and excuses are a funny thing. They come in all shapes and forms; sincere, rude, sudden and even long-overdue.

There are those ‘little’ excuses that you politely (or reflexively) blurt out when you bump into someone on the street, or while trying to make way through a crowded room. The pardon me’s that are pure politeness.

Then there are those excuses that come from deep inside, from knowing that someone has been hurt by you; your words or your actions. Where you are not looking to justify your deed but rather rid yourself of that ounce of guilt which only ‘I’m sorry’ can accomplish.

And then finally there are those excuses that are more related to your own regrets than anything else. Like that party that you didn’t go to and you know no one holds a grudge against you for it. Nevertheless you need to apologise; if nothing else, then to get the external confirmation that it’s fine; nothing's won, nothing's lost. Where you say you are sorry, but what you really are trying to do is to forgive yourself.

October, October the summer is over...?

It took a me a while, but now I actually realised; summer is not over quite yet. After Sweden where it was already full on jacket, scarf and gloves, a few days were needed for reality to sink in. Although the gaditanos (inhabitants of Cádiz) have apparently already retired from the beach for the season, it is still summer by my measures, which means jackets need to come off and bikinis on.

And although my new flatmates have turned out to be a group of young (and then I mean young AND green on living 'alone'), loud and smoking spaniards, I'm now going to do my best not to let it get to me. After all I have the privilege of a few more weeks of soaking in the sun and swiming in the Atlantic, and that's not all that bad.