Thursday, October 29, 2009

Paris je t'aime??



I used to be sold on Paris; Fan, Super-Fan, Fanatic. Used to. This weekend I had a long awaited reunion with my beloved city. But for some reason it wasn’t as I thought it would be. Walking across a rainy Paris I felt like a stranger, and although the views continually swept me off my feet (as they always do), I was reminded, again and again, of why Paris is not a city where I want to live anymore.

Listing the things that I love….would take a long time; the smell of a bakery, the slow pace of a Saturday…the even slower pace of a Sunday, the space to live, the time to enjoy, the creative liberty, the appreciation of good things; beauty, food, art; love of that which embellishes life, the quality, the thoroughness, the choice (especially in the market and supermarket), the pride, the splendor…all the splendor…and still…I was confounded.

Maybe it was the lack of habit, the loss of edge that only a few months in Paris give you, but I was shaken by the arrogance and the sense of not belonging. I certainly hadn’t missed being walked into 1000 times on a crowded street without as much as a pardon. There I was, in the stronghold of politesse, yet it was nowhere to be seen?

Maybe it was the rain, that swallowed the pace and the brilliance and beauty which otherwise stings my eyes.

Maybe it was the short moment that didn’t allow me to digest and profit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…I just felt that Paris was a chapter passed…but an eternal love. When we landed back in London it was neither melancholy nor relief, just…acceptance, just normal.

Paris je ne t’aime plus, mais je t’aimerai toujours

Monday, October 19, 2009

Rather sleepless in Seattle than heatless in London?

Autumn has come to London. All of a sudden sticky grey has been replaced by biting blue. I am trying to convince myself that the fact that the sun is actually making an appearance every second day, makes up for the 7 degree loss in temperature. And I would have been successful should my apartment not have been as cold as the outside.

Resentment is the word. Who ever came up with this ridiculous boiler-system? And where in the world did anyone get the idea that single windows have an isolating effect? As you might have guessed, my boiler doesn’t work, and I wake up every morning with excessive amounts of mist on my window (it is called excessive when you can’t see the colour of the sky). I can’t even begin to tell you the pleasure of getting out of bed and stepping into Siberia…or Antarctica, whichever is colder.

After having spent the entire weekend closed in my room with schoolwork, I have completely exhausted all my ideas of how to heat myself up; candles, tea, double layered clothes, woollen throws, hot showers…and still…cold toes.

I keep trying to tell myself that this is yet another one of life’s ways of making me appreciate the simple luxuries that I have come to take for granted…but a little heating isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Monday, October 12, 2009

Monday, October 5, 2009

One tough cookie...?

Marie said I am too kind for my own good...and that I need to become One tough cookie:

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

"Daddy, I want another pony"



Looking around it seems that people are never satisfied, quite frankly I am even occasionally disgusted by my own hungry materialism.

While a simple gaze can trigger the most profound fulfillment, most of us seem to want to believe that the very same feeling can be purchased with an item, or just purchased, period. Now I am no hypocrite, I walk in the same trap, although I see myself doing it; “Oh, if I had that top, I’d feel pretty… and content”. I can be really daft sometimes.

Friends with money…I have them. Granted, they don’t have to ask themselves how they are going to pay for food or rent, or think twice before they buy a sweater (on sale), but they are neither happier nor unhappier than me, just… facilitated in life.

Realistically, I don’t lack anything; I don’t need, another book, another film, or another pair of shoes, yet I crave it from time to time. That’s when I feel corrupted; I have it all, but I still want more? Like Veruca Salt (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) who upon getting her golden ticket – allegedly, everything she ever wanted – looks coldly at it and exclaims: “Daddy, I want another pony” (in addition to the two rabbits, six parrots, one hamster…). I would hate myself. Because there is, nevertheless, one element that makes the fundamental difference between blind greed á la Veruca Salt and the occasional yearning middle-class miss: appreciation.

Call me simple, but I like the concept of ‘no pain, no gain’. I like the thought of working, trying and achieving something. I love the process of making myself deserving of my own successes. That makes me smile from the inside. That makes me truly satisfied. And of course, there is nothing like giving yourself the pleasure of a prize, when you’re the one who’s made the effort. But to be greedy on somebody else’s expense? No.

Greed starts becoming dangerous, when you forget the value of what you already have, when you diminish it to irrelevancies, and give in to the desire for that next watch, shirt or pair of jeans to add to the collection. When you let arrogance take the overhand of humility, hubris in one single word. And you keep wanting more and more and more. Perhaps when you forget, or misjudge your own self value, it’s easier to attempt to gain it back by accessorizing your life and wardrobe, rather than your spirit?

Yet I want exactly that; to adorn my inner self, if you will; I want to love, laugh, give, contribute, dream, achieve, experience. I want to make something of myself, and for myself, something worthy and valuable. Like Veruca sings (which is hopefully where our common denominators end): “I want the world, I want the whole world…I want today, I want tomorrow…”…but just to experience, not to have.

- Sharing is caring ;-) -

PS. Just a small parenthesis: Above clip is from Willy Wonka: original Roald Dahl feature from the 70ties, Tim Burton remake is also recommended.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

A day wasted is a week won

I think Tracy Chapman sung the line of the millennium when she said a woman’s work is never done… I say an adult’s work is never done, the list just never ends OR once you’ve gotten to the end of it, it is time to start from the beginning again.

Buy food, clean bathroom, wash towels, put in a dark wash, hang dark wash, put in light wash, pay the phone bill, bake a cake, make lunch, clean the kitchen, change the sheets, e-mail twenty odd people, take care of all correspondence, look for a job, look more for jobs, read the novel (but only 30 pages…because…there are other things to do in life), work, correct…by this time food will have run out, and the bathroom will need cleaning again. And there I go, running up and down that list, ad on bronchitis, two colds, the flu and a few other infections, and there is not much left of a person.

So at the end of the summer, it all started to get to me, and I was feeling pretty exhausted. But who has time to rest, right? The show must go on.

Nevertheless, at some point I started to get the sneaking suspicion that some rest would be good…you know, a few of those days where you wake up, but you stay in bed, wear your PJs all day, watch crappy movies, read and think about absolutely NOTHING useful. You need those days to make the good days function. But when your list reaches across the Atlantic…where do you find the time to waste a day? An ENTIRE day??

However, when the energy-account was on minus, there was no escaping the fact, that wasting a day would win me some energy. And so, I decided (because every rule calls for an exception… and my rule would be; rest when you’re done), that wasting time was not actually a bad idea, why not deviate from lists and routines? A day wasted is a week won, and I have plenty of weeks to go on living. Viva vacation (if only for another few hours)!

Monday, August 31, 2009

Ay, no hay que llorar, esta vida es un carnaval

Moi feat. Celia Cruz - La vida es un carnaval (youtube it - it will make you smile)

Todo aquel que piense que la vida es desigual,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que la vida es una hermosura, hay que vivirla.



Todo aquel que piense que esta solo y que esta mal,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que en la vida no hay nadie solo, siempre hay alguien.



Ay, no ha que llorar, que la vida es un carnaval,
es mas bello vivir cantando.
Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval
y las penas se van cantando.




Todo aquel que piense que la vida siempre es cruel,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que tan solo hay momentos malos, y todo pasa.



Todo aquel que piense que esto nunca va a cambiar,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que al mal tiempo buena cara, y todo pasa.



Ay, no ha que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval,
es mas bello vivir cantando.
Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval
y las penas se van cantando.












Monday, August 24, 2009

She lingers – an experimental one

When she lingers, it is to pull the band-aid.
She is searching in her vacant heart,
but the void is growing, all the larger is the shade;
wishing for a feeling, at least a point to start.
She wants to escape, but her path has been laid,
body and mind are pulling apart.
Where to look for what’s lost inside,
without repeating what’s left behind?

Coloured by despair, the tears are deep.
Lost and begging for force;
mustering will, for the uphill is steep.
Roaming externals, to find the source.
The will to progress, is a treasure-hunt,
a map-less one. It must run its course.
Impatience drives, all the while it darkens and burns
walking towards the day when the light returns.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Home is where the heart is?

If home is where the heart is, I am fundamentally confused.

My heart is scattered… if that is even possible. But…How does it work out then; home is where a majority of the heart is? So how do I know who has the greater part? Or can I even know that?

The absurdity of these questions boils down to the eternal dilemma of figuring out where one belongs (which to be honest, tends to plague me with regular intervals).

There is more than one place in the world, where the sight of the natural scenery makes my eyes tear with profound emotion, and where my heart can come to rest. I have no one home with exclusivity. Then again, might there be a difference between feeling comfortable, familiar, and not a stranger, and the feeling of being at home?

Some people make you feel at home, where ever you might be; in the deepest of jungles or in the roaring city, you will still feel safe and content; as if you are where you are supposed to be. And I ask myself; is home really a place or a person?

When do I actually feel at home? Home, has for me, a sense of personal identification. Home is family. Where home is, or who home is, in one way or another, has to appeal to the essentials of my personality. I have to be able to see how I could fit into the various contexts; cultural, social, practical, and also how I could have been shaped by these very same contexts. It is not only a question of finding a ‘common denominator’; most places will offer you that option, it is about finding yourself in large parts of the contextual frameworks which constitute what you call home. It is about seeing your history and your future in their very evolution.

If this is fairly straight forward, why am I still confused then? Because; in addition to the one or two places in the world where I feel profoundly at home, there is the home that I build for myself; education, career, apartment…the list goes on. Everything that is mine is here, in London. When I go to my house, this is where I find it.

However, as much as love London, this is not home to me, in the sense that my heart tells me differently; the views do not speak to me. This is home…for now. I feel comfortable, I don’t feel a stranger, I can navigate. I’ve created myself a history here, and I might even be building a future, but truth be told; I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I am not 'at home'.

On the other hand, I am with someone (in London) who makes me feel loved, happy and content, in whose presence the importance of the physical location tends to diminish (but not vanish). I am exactly where I’m supposed to be…

…So…if home is where the heart is; where is home for me?

Friday of longing

Someone said to me, on Fridays (at least for a jew) there is a feeling of longing. Today, I miss this:

Monday, June 29, 2009

The hills are alive


Up on Hampstead Heath with a great view of London
(I know...I'm really white...it's a work in progress)


...and on the other side of the hill it's just green...good for a change, breathing some new oxygen


... an iPal is a good pal, and entertaining picnic associate


Chasing away animals lurking in the grass...


Soduko in the sun :)


Spying on the neighbour (?)


I've heard of flying saucers...but never flying sausages. Can anyone tell me what that is??


And the clouds came roaming in... and I can't resist saying it...SEE!! Every cloud has a silver lining.


And then the storm came...massive drops...thank god for tube stations and good timing.


No one was spared, after a Bakerloo train ride, out of the ordinary, where water was leaking in from every possible direction, we took out our blanket for cover and made our way home.

As a routined londonian I should know by now to ALWAYS bring an umbrella, but I like to be an optimist, and as you say in Swedish: 'Alla sätt är bra utom de dåliga' - 'All ways are good except for the bad ones'.

Apart from this not being a very dry adventure... It was actually a real laugh.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Verbally positive is practically optimistic…?

A week or so ago I was walking with my loving other along the southern banks of the Thames. At a specific passage there were a lot of street performers; bronze-painted, gold-painted, and even lizard-painted (?). However there was one specific performer, who, sadly, attracted more of my pity than my attention; through a plastic ‘transport-cage’ for dogs, this man had stuck his head, painted like a Dalmatian with floppy ears, while hiding his body underneath the table where the cage was posed. To ‘add some spice’ he had attached a wagging tail to the back of the ‘canine container’, thus spending his days barking through the small opening of the cage to make a living for himself.

This being a situation which could obviously not go un-commented by my standards, I turn to my boyfriend and say (in French):
That’s what I call desperation (using the very same word in French).
Whereby he says to me (also in French):
It’s not desperation it’s désespoir
And then he smiles and says:
…but it’s no surprise you don’t know that word, you don’t ever use those kinds of words (referring to what I would entitle ‘negative vocabulary’)

All of this goes back to a discussion we had earlier that day where he confessed that words such as enthusiastic or practical had so far been words ‘of mine’ to invade his active vocabulary.

This simple fact makes me smile for a number of reasons:

One, there is truth to the Swedish saying: ‘Man blir som man umgås’ equivalent to you become like the people you spend your time with.

Two… I really don’t use a lot of negatively ringing words. I tend to go with possible, energy, solution, enthusiasm, belief, goodness, positivity. Still I don’t think I come across as naïve, I am a realist, but an optimistic one.

Three… The vocabulary you use in many ways reflects your world view. If you are positive you will perhaps believe in helpful people, in sincere caring and in true friends. This of course doesn’t mean that you are not careful or aware of risk, but rather that you see the glass half full and not half empty.

If you, on the other hand, are a negative person, maybe you use words such as horrible, idiot or problem a lot, and you tend to use your words to draw up disastrous scenarios, full of betrayal, forgetfulness and unaccommodating attitudes.

So the words paint your world. In what color? It’s up to you. Language and attitude is ultimately merely a self-fulfilling prophesy. What you believe is what you create. Similarly your perspective guides your choices and helps you rebuild the verbal and concrete world wherein you feel comfortable, be it a dark or a light one.

Your words are used to describe what you see, and so accordingly if your concept world is positive, the verbal structures describing it are much along the same lines and vice versa.

Hence your vocabulary use greatly mirrors your practical world perspective, it does not shape your actions, your attitude and belief does, but it describes them. The words you use in that sense become a reflection of who you are.

Of course, a lot comes into language; intonation, gestures and meaningful gazes. But only from the actual words used, irrespective of what accompanies them, a lot could be told. So I, who am verbally positive…am I inevitably practically optimistic?

What words do you use?

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Things you might not know...

  • My name is Shani but people call me Shunka, Nicki, L’amour, Shnix, Shanne.
  • I will be 24 in March.
  • I was born in Karlskrona (Sweden)and now live in London with my boyfriend (French) and another flat-mate.
  • In the future I want to live in the US perhaps, but I would like to return to Sweden.
  • I study International Business with Spanish.
  • In my spare time I usually study or go for walks in London, but I would also like to go to the cinema and to art exhibitions more often…and to read more books.
  • This time next year I am working at a company that does something really interesting.
  • I would like to be world champion in …God…I don’t need to be champion in anything, what’s important is to improve and advance.
  • I would have liked to have invented the wheel.
  • I would like to invent windscreen wipers for glasses…or a time-machine.
  • Anne Hathaway plays me in the film about myself, because she looks good in glasses, and she can play an ugly duckling/dork/determined and passionate carrier woman.
  • In ten years I think that I have a small family, a decent job and a lovely place to live in.
  • I feel happy when I get to spend time with people I love, the sun shines, people are helpful, cars stop to let you cross the road, when I succeed in something that was a real struggle…lots of things… you are so much happier if you rejoice over small things.
  • I get angry when I encounter unfairness or violence, or when people don’t listen.
  • I have stopped wearing all my lovely jewelry (need to start again) and started neglecting doing sports (in my defense my health has been really unlucky this year)
  • I collect…languages (if 5 count as a collection?)
  • I am proud of anyone I know who fight for something they want or believe in, or anyone I love who dares to dream or be a visionary.
  • My role models are most of the people who I feel close to because they possess an admirable quality of some kind that I either don’t have or don’t have enough of.
  • My dream profession is to be an author but it would also be a lot of fun to organize and coordinate things in a creative or multicultural enterprise.

My favorite:

  • Food: Plenty of things…but I do love deserts
  • Country: Ah…this is a though one, I have three natural loyalties Sweden (born and raised + my father is Swedish), Israel (Israeli mother and a big and loving family), France (boyfriend is French…and Paris really is ‘my’ city).
  • Expression: 'Finns det hjärterum så finns det stjärterum', Swedish for: if there is room in the heart there is room for the ass as well.
  • TV-series: Grey’s Anatomy, Scrubs, Friends
  • Song: For lyrics: If it be your will – Leonard Cohen…but ah…there are so many
  • Team: Sweden?...not really big on the sports
  • Lie: When something is really bad: Good is not the word for it!
  • Garment: Underwear…that’s pretty basic, then it depends on the mood
  • Web-page: Google
  • Person: Pff…I can’t choose that…my winner-stand fits a lot of people in first-place.
  • Animal: If I have to choose a dolphin or a horse, I prefer people to animals
  • Shop: Ordning & Reda

Tell me something about you...?


Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Modern version fakir?





This is my bed of nails. It's supposed to help relax my tense back, improve my blood circulation and my sleep. Never did I think achieving these things would require becoming a fakir.

10 minutes is all I was allowed to do today, and quite frankly my back looked fairly traumatised; red and warm and full of little dents and dimples (what else would you expect from a bed of nails?)

However bad this may sound I have only to admit that I felt a strange feeling of ease throughout the entire back. So I'm giving it a try for a few days. I'm hoping I can pack it down and bring it to London and that it will salvage me from stress, tenderness and pain. If so, ten minutes of warm stinging ache and discomfort will be an insignificant price to pay.

So here I am, sold on portable masochism (?)...on a small nail mattress, like a modern day fakir.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Lesson from Thai massage

If there is one thing getting a Thai massage can teach you, it is to never underestimate a woman... Small can still be equal to strong... even very strong.

Kvinnor kan! (Women can!)

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Stray luggage


Travelling is this happy yet melancholic event; rainy walks to the bus-stop, waiting at cold train-stations, tearful good-byes at the airport. And then, the joyous arrivals, the warm welcomes, the comfort and the love.

Nonetheless, voyages in all their glory, they still have that one element of unavoidable impatience; waiting.

Checking in, you will always get in the 'wrong' line; the one which, as per chance, takes the most time. So, despite being sleep-deprived and in general having difficulties upholding your posture and perky disposition, there is still that moment of leaning gently on your suitcase, and at the same time observing all lines next to you move in express pace, while your's is seemingly advancing in slow motion.

Security, lets not even start; put your liquids in a bag, take your belt and jacket off, remove your laptop from your bag, take your shoes off (?), go throught the detector, get body searched if you are unlucky (three times if its not your day, none otherwise). The fun part comes after that; put everything on fast enough not to block the flow of people coming after you.

God, by the time you get to the tax free, you feel like you've come to paradise. Here there are two scenarios; one: you rush through the stores, and after 40 minutes you realise there is a final call for your gate. Two: you have ridiculous amounts of time to spend at the airport, and after your second tour of all the stores you start to feel slightly irritated that your gate hasn't even been announced yet.

Eventually on the plane, there are a few ways to go; none ideal, all possible. Either you fall asleep before the plane has even pulled out, or it feels like an eternity before it actually does. When you are going to your destination time can pass fairly quickly; it's exciting and thrilling and you can't wait to get there. However, going home is either a necessary evil or conversely; something you really desire (either way you are in for, what feels like a very long jurney).

Finally, the moment is there, when the cellphones start ringing again; halfway out of the aircraft and everyone is already on a par with your every step. But, not to forget is that little appendix, that you always bring along, your luggage, for which... you have to wait.

Without exception, you will see that strand of stray luggage; one bag which is shining new, not even a scratch to it, the trendy version of traveling, then another bag which you can understand someone might not want to claim; torn, old or other, it's one that doesn't look valid for travelling. A third one is the well travelled suitcase, the one with a few old stickers and some bumps and scratches (that looks like it has a life apart from it's owner). Occationally there is the odd large hard samsonite with one of those belts around, or that has been aggressively wrapped in plastic (that looks impossible to open). And sometimes, just sometimes, a part of a trolley or a toy rotates around and around, all the while some poor baby will be missing their means of transportation.

I am not the one waiting anymore, my silver titan slides up infront of me. Yet someone somewhere, is still waiting; stray people, lost from their luggage, stray luggage waiting for their owner. Someone will have to journey without their luggage, continue without their extention... and continue to wait while the stray find their way home... because they always do, no?.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

From one structure fetishist to another

A few weeks ago I was finishing off a group report at university. Now I am the kind of person who takes great pleasure and seeing a finished report, not only because it’s in fact, done but because I like seeing structures; headlines, paragraphs and every other component that makes a report look neat and accessible (not to speak of language use and sentence structure, which is a different story altogether).

Also mentionable is that, although my ex-flat mate claims with conviction that I have an innate resistance to anything that is potentially addictive, I do occasionally (or realistically quite often) splurge in chocolate. Addictive or not, but chocolate is a life necessity.

Sitting in the computer lab, working on the finishing touches, I lean over to look at V’s screen:
Me: Oh, do you also use the automatic index function in word?
V: Ohh yes!
Me: Don’t you just love it??
V: Mhmm!
Me: The best moment is when you press the button and the index just appears, all nice and organized
V: I know, isn’t it great?!
Me: It’s like chocolate!
V: (laughing)
V: (2 minutes later….still laughing?)
Me: I know, I’m a bit wacky
V: (still laughing….and I’m sure there was a tear or two) I’m the SAME way!
Me: (laughing) So that’s why you’re laughing?
V: (laughing and nodding)
Me: (thinking it’s actually quite a relief to not be alone with my abnormality)

The report turned out really well… two structure fetishists on one report (!!). If that’s not organized what is?

Friday, June 5, 2009

Cleaning coma

This morning I felt like four months of stress just dropped on my head. Yesterday I had my last exam, and already towards the evening I started feeling like someone had seriously done my head in, to the point where I felt dizzy and started doubting my ability to walk down even the widest staircase.

Having woken up at ten o’clock this morning, it took me until 14.30 to actually set foot outside the bedroom door, or on the floor in general for that matter (and it’s ok for me to do that! Wow! Can’t believe it…).

I managed to get through this semester, flues, bronchitis, infections and all, and now I just felt like….blahhh, empty. It was a rough one, towards the end it started to feel like the more things I tried to put into my head, the more came out of it, is there such a thing as knowledge retention, honestly?? Indeed, there does come a point where you are so tired that nothing feels relevant anymore, its saddening really, to feel like what you do loses meaning.

Anyhow, once I actually got up, I got to making some food for myself and my boyfriend who was coming home (very hungry) between his shifts. That physical action alone took the life out of me, and as I was fairly unmotivated to force myself to do anything (because…I say it again: I didn’t have to!) I went back to bed and watched ridiculous episodes of series I’ve never seen before… as if in a coma.

Feeling that my day needed to have some kind of purpose, I started cleaning. Organized my papers and stowed them neatly in the shelf, I even put away my neon markers and retired my calendar, and THEN I got to cleaning, bedroom, bathroom, changing sheets and towels. Still feeling like in a coma….fairly detached from what I was doing. I EVEN ironed things that had been lying around for at least two months (because I never had the time, and my boyfriend, bless him, although he does a lot of things, does not iron).

And now I am actually wondering whether this was a cleansing coma, rather than a cleaning coma, admittedly I do feel just a tad more ready to take on the world again… Hello vacation!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Surprise, Surprise...


Willy Wonka says: ’The best kind of prize is a surprise’…and I couldn’t have said it better myself.

When I came out from my three hour (excruciatingly long and intense) Monday exam, my boyfriend greeted me with open arms and a picnic prepared in a backpack. 1st of June and lunch in the park, doesn’t really get any better.

I am a very lucky girl, to have someone make me a surprise picnic. Lucky and loved… still getting used to that luxury… I hope I never do.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Phenomenally fair and fantastically unbelievable

When you study for a degree, everywhere you go you’re being judged and measured. Your efficiency level is being worked out and your capacity is being calculated. It’s a fairly tiresome thing.

But, you can always comfort yourself with the fact that at least people don’t relate to you with ambivalence, or shrug their shoulders in ignorance when you pass by.

I don’t know, today I would have preferred not to know, and stayed blissfully ignorant and motivated; because this semester, every teacher on the program seems to have it in for us. Hard work and devotion can fly out the window, it hardly matters what you do; the good grades appear to be lagging behind.

Today came the point where he limit was reached. Not only me, but a fair share of people felt cheated by the system. I know, fair doesn’t exist, in this life you have to fight for what you want (hence the vast negotiation of grades throughout the semester). A reasonable reward for a strong effort is apparently not to be taken for granted.

I can accept that teachers critique the extent of my work or point out the insufficiency of my analysis, but when I get evaluated by my peers only to get downgraded by the system, there is no way I am keeping quiet.

An absurd amount of exercises in university promote competitiveness; that is one thing, another is to punish team-work. Many will not be estranged to the scenario of carrying somebody else’s workload when working in a team, nor will they be unfamiliar with the feeling that this effort goes un-noticed. Well in this evaluation it didn’t, great! However what happened to the balanced groups? When you pulled your weight in a strong group, what you got was ZERO!

Now, this girl is not one to stay quiet, I don’t expect anyone to drop justice in my lap. Module leader got a civilized mouthful….is how I would describe it: it’s disappointing really that an institution that is supposed to prepare you for a successful professional path will create a situation where elitism is preferred over team-work and where consistency and coordination is ignored. Why would they want people to take on a manipulative attitude to group-creation? Choosing groups which will make you shine and get you ahead, due to their insufficiencies, rather than choose to combine fantastic resources to learn, evolve and advance.

An idealist to the marrow, I know….I know… But I like to think, I was the first of many e-mails that will be flowing in… Maybe now that I have gotten this of my chest…I will be able to continue to study

It’s phenomenal really how much you can do and how little you can get for it… unbelievable….fantastically unfair

Cross your fingers x

Monday, May 25, 2009

At least the corporate strategy book will have taught me something...?

So... I am making a brave attempt to study my corporate strategy... so far the most influential quote I found is this:

"It's easier to act yourself into a better way of thinking, than to think yourself into a better way of acting"
Any accurate?

Sunday, May 24, 2009

I'm still alive...



... and today I actually had time to live a little (for a change)...



...move my legs (althoug not my sea-legs this time)...



...move me to nostalgia (?)...



...make me dream...



...in good company...



...play around...



...discover (yes, this is still central London)...



...even take the time to look for the funky details...



...and then just soke up the sun.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Retiring Euclid

It’s been a rough few days. Those Greeks, they’re quite sticky, even after they’re dead, they will still be there to haunt you... Euclid; the father of geometry; the source of my misery (his eulogy, only 2300 years too late).

For the past few days I’ve been dealing with the tedious task of determining the quantity, size and placement of schools in a ‘new town’ (which has the double population density of London! But that is beside the point). The Euclidean Metric is the way to do so.

Now I am not what you would call a mathematical person; I speak five languages, but math is not one of them. I would gladly reason myself to any solution, calculating just tends to seem complicated. Nevertheless, yesterday I finally bent to the needs of the task, and sat myself in front of a spreadsheet (highly confusing), to crunch some numbers. To sum it up, early afternoon, became late evening, became early night… and I was still on a date with Euclid (I told you! Sticky!).

This morning however, instead of using his metric, I got to spend just a few precious moments criticizing his tiresome method (Joy!). All in all, tables, spreadsheets and accompanying explanations and maps; 43 pages (wow?). And now I get to hand it over to someone else and move on to yet another thing I need to study; no more ancient Greeks, I’m retiring Euclid.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Plague Prevention

Pandemic prevention? Or plague prescription?
So, this is apparently what is supposed to protect us from the escaped swine flu virus strands, and save us from mass-death. Somehow, I really doubt that... The whole elastic band around the neck, makes it a bit difficult to digest. Quite a disastrous scenario actually; a crammed train car in the London tube, and everyone is wearing a plastic bag on their heads? Probably more people would get sick from the plastic bags, not to mention the environment. How about that sustainability? Sustainable health problems...would probably be more like it.

Same day, BBC writes, there is no scientific evidence that the virus can be air transferred... hmm?

Tadaaaa! Pest medicine #1: Hand Sanitizer. Even when you enter the hospital now days, they will tell all people, visitors and employees alike, to carefully clean their hands. The reason why I know that is another (not very dramatic) story. Preventive medicine is really just common sense, come on (!) any routined Londonian has owned, or at least contemplated buying, hand sanitizer, public transport is like a bacteria culture in itself.

So for now rest assured, hands are clean, with a 51p sanitizer from Tesco (of all places). Is sustainable cleanliness really plague prevention? Let's hope so.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Moleskinned

I've followed the lead of Van Gogh and Picasso, and finally gotten a Moleskine planner. I always saw myself having one, don't know why I never got it. A Moleskine feels a bit like an artistic statement, maybe it will inspire me, and make my words flow (?).

Also, to the dismay of my boyfriend, I spent close to an hour walking up and down the shelves of a book-store. I know, I know, what a patient boyfriend, right?! Funny thing is, small decisions always leave me at a crossroads, doubtful and anxious, while big decisions, like moving abroad, or choosing a university, I always make with preparation, speed and intuition. I should really learn more from myself...

It will last me until the end of 2010, my Moleskine. So, I feel like I bought just a nano-piece of my future, or at least...now I can plan for it. Because God knows I LOVE planning. Let's hope for some big dreams, luck and inspiration; now that I'm Moleskinned.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Losing it

I'm losing my favourite game (I'm losing my mind again??), well not quite to that extent, just feeling a bit drained of energy and inspiration. Does it ever stop? I wonder.

I am officially exhausted... for a while now. Some days I feel like crying when I see a book, others I really just wish I had time to read one, a real novel, with poetic words and intriguing stories. I'm making a mental list and secretly planning to go raid a book store (recommendations are warmly welcome).

There is only one more week now, of scheduled classes, then I'm in for a different kind of hell; exams. Not feeling too enthusiastic, but at the same time I just can't wait to be done. I just feel like sleeping.

My life isn't really interesting at the moment, I feel bad whenever someone asks me, haha, last week the most exciting thing I can think of that happened is that I went to get a haircut (She knows how to have fun this one...!!).

Thank god for Love...it's a major motivator, like a light in the dark almost...yeah, Loves is like the spoon full of sugar that helps the medicine go down.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Death by Jesus (last year nostalgia)

Semana Santa, the holy week, brings a lot of questions to the surface. Especially when spent in the south of Spain. Andalucíans take pride in celebrating this week in the most grandiose manner possible; with processions, worship and packed streets they seem to be searching for penance for the lazy year passed. Andalucía, and Cádiz in particular, is known for its lethargic and laid back attitude. Why work when you can enjoy life? Unemployment rates are the highest in all of Spain here, yet no one seems to mind. This is Cádiz, the city that smiles, the city that makes you smile.

As a sceptic Protestant Jew with a fascination for eastern religions, a procession can at first be slightly difficult to digest. Correction; is at first a frightening experience. Why? Because you don’t know what to react to first; the over exposure of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, or the fanatic behaviour surrounding it. Is it not just all a way to show off the assets of the church in the end?

As a gesture of remembrance and identification with the sufferance of Jesus, large processions take place in all of Andalucía throughout the week prior to Easter. It is nowhere near Easter bunnies and sweet eggs hidden in the garden. Instead people mobilise themselves to find the processions that lie them closest to heart, all through the week. Granted, sweets exist, but it is more similar to buying popcorn before going to the cinema. While awaiting a procession you will find people sitting on a chair (brought from home) on the side of the streets nibbling on sunflower seeds and overly sweet lollypops. As the procession comes closer the tension rises and the crowd grows. Some will have been waiting long. Maybe to get a closer glimpse of Jesus, I don’t know. I’m just wondering how all this fuss makes anyone feel closer to God.

Then finally, comes the procession, first the men (women or children as well, but frankly one can’t tell) with the hats and covered faces, who look like they belong with the KKK (but we try to say that quietly not to offend anyone). Some carry wax candles others signs or crosses that are symbols of the fraternity of the church, somewhere in there is always a sign that says SPQR (the ancient roman designation of a king) which was in fact put on top of Jesus’ cross as he was crucified, to mock him, a friend tells me. Then come the men with the embellished candlesticks who lead way for the grand platform, or what not; an enormous piece of wood often embellished with gold or silver and fresh flowers. On it stands some kind of image of Jesus, embodying part of the story of his last 12 days alive. Under it; forty to fifty men who gladly and even voluntarily carry this beast around for the duration of the passing, which can last up to ten hours, if not more. After this comes the band and then….another procession or, better, another part of it, which is in the honour of the Virgin Mary. Men with candles and incense escort her through the streets. And again; a band. In between we find the people walking for penance; those who carry a cross or wear chains around their ankles, or simply the quiet crowd of followers crying for the pain and sufferance of Christ their saviour. And where was he to save me from this? I keep thinking to myself.

But I don’t know. Walking through the streets, where the atmosphere is filled with vacation and exited expectations, there in some way a sense of belonging, a grander purpose. I find myself respecting it. Still I don’t really know how to relate. There are far too many questions and far too much critique for me to swallow this pill whole.

A friend and I walk down the street and turn a corner. In front of us: the KKK dressed in purple and black. The streets are narrow and full. I grab her hand, because yes, truthfully, it frightens me. Through the holes in the cap I can see the eyes of the first person in the procession following every individual crossing his path. Although I can’t see his regard I can apprehend the pride in his posture. I know I don’t want to make them angry or in any way disrespect their tradition. We try to find a place along the street. Ironically we get told off at first, by and elderly woman rambling on about how she has been waiting for an hour. I look in front of me: Procession, behind me: a wall. Where exactly does she want us to go? We gather all our courage and cross the procession as it is standing still, to finally find a place on the over populated street. When the scent of incense reaches us, we know he is getting closer; Jesus is about to make his entrance. The heightened platform just barely fits the narrow street, to the point where older men on both sides of us, spectators, push it to help the carriers reach equilibrium. Looking up at the impressive spectacle of a platform passing, who is looking down at us if not the man himself? Jesus. We look at each other. He will fall, the screws will come loose and he will drop on our heads, and that will be the end of us; death by Jesus and the end of this marvel of a thing we call life. Despite all of this we are laughing. True, that fear often calls for laughter, but also, what other way to welcome something new than with a smile?

Towards the end of the week someone asks me: Have you taken this week to reflect on your sins? My sins? I keep thinking. In today’s terms a lot of things considered pleasure can be regarded as sin. So, am I a sinner? Or am I not enough of a sinner?

Although conclusions are still ripening, this is what I’ve learnt so far: Approach religiosity (and probably life in general) with a smiling caution and curiosity. And, be as big a sinner as you like. Because whether you die by Jesus or any other, in the end the only one who needs to forgive you is yourself. (And I can only speak for myself, but I’d rather forgive myself for a step mistaken, than a wish unfulfilled).

Thursday, March 5, 2009

One day older

Tomorrow I will be one day older than today
and one year older than last year
and 23 years older than when I was born.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Fair enough…fair is enough

After an intense start to this year; moving, searching, moving, unpacking, constructing (built half an IKEA-catalogue in my new flat) a stubborn flu and finally, starting to study, a lot of things began to suffer, my weight for one…and my shape as well.

So today I went to the gym, got myself a good deal, new program and health check every six weeks; meaning I will actually be able to read my muscle increase (as opposed to just feeling it). All values were good, but my general shape was fair, according to their unproportional scale (and no, it was not I who gave that denomination to the scale, but rather the trainer, who said she never ever gets any one on the top of the scale).

Fair enough I thought, I’ve been out of rhythm for a while, away from exercise and movement. I’m in fair shape, which only leaves room for improvement. Improvement is encouraging…and encouragement is motivating and motivation is just what I need to pull this semester off.

Fair is enough, because it can really only get better.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Friday, February 27, 2009

...I London

Lars Winnerbäck säger det bäst...

Här är alla lika övergivna
Ensamma, synd om oss
Här går man inte runt och hälsar på
man måste ringa först
man måste boka tid
man måste skynda sig
man måste skärpa sig
man måste komma in
i Stockh.... eller nej förlåt: i London
en stor stad...som alla andra

Jag går inte långsamt längre, vem hinner det?

Monday, February 23, 2009

A midnight runner?

I’ll try to paint the picture. Knee long, thin coat tied at the waist, large trousers, weighty boots and a hat with earflaps. Quite a tall, well built man running up the street and rounding a lamp-post and then continuing running down the street again. It looked heavy, like a child in oversize shoes. I really wonder what in the world he was doing, but I guess that’s just your average, normal midnight runner…

Sunday, February 22, 2009

This is just a different carnival

I am in London, back in academia. In Cádiz there is a carnival. And here I am, breathing literature, eating words and dreaming news-headlines. I already have a crooked middle finger on my right hand, because I write so much. Achievement is the goal; focus is the mean, ambition the fuel. My bookshelf is a fiesta of information, in my head it’s still mostly chaos.

Carnival is a celebration, before the harsh reality sets in, before joys are sacrificed. Cádiz was my carnival even without a grand, collective dress-up party. But I am feasting on knowledge… so for me this is just a different kind of carnival.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Put on your dancing shoes…



Today it is definitely an art walking down the streets of London and pure comedy seeing people’s approaches to snow. It’s either a deeply troubled face trying to find the least wet way across the melted snow on the roadside, or someone with a deep crease of concentration on their forehead (trying not to fall) or, the last, and most pleasant alternative a person with a childishly happy smile pasted across the visage.

London is quiet and empty and closed; like a car-free Sunday (highly unlikely in any other weather). But today there is snow…and more snow.

So we are waiting for it to stop, for the city to get up and running again. And I want to sign the contract to my new flat. Snow is stopping me from doing that as well. The new landlord is stuck outside of the city and we are stuck waiting. It’s my destiny to wait, even though I have no patience. The world is telling me to wait. Please God, I promise not to forget to appreciate what I have once I have it. I even appreciate the thought of it.

But snow is to calm you down, and slow the pace, stop running for once. Ok, I give in, I’m passive (whatever that is?). I put on my dancing shoes and walk the streets of London….because there is nothing else to do.

Friday, January 23, 2009

When you go... you know

I had to pay for the overweight for my suitcases today. I had to pay a lot.

The funny thing is all the other times I've left, I always knew: "I'll be coming back, this is still home". This time it was different. This time I really felt I am setting out to find a home, I'm really leaving. It's ironic, all the 'rehearsed' moving, all the times I've slid past the baggage drop without paying, it was just practice, just not to scare me off.

Now, it's the real thing, and the real thing hurts, in your heart, in your mind(which struggles to keep together all the pieces of the moving puzzle) and even in your wallet.

When it's the real thing there is no cheating or escaping. When you go... you know.

Monday, January 19, 2009

I want...

In London this year I want…
…to find a really great apartment (at a really great price)
…to make a good plan and follow it
…to find a really good summer-internship
…to get back into shape
…to start with yoga again
…to enjoy my courses
…to achieve amazing results
…to see more concerts
…to visit museums more often
…to not neglect my sleep
…to have more visitors (when we can match vacations)
…to discover new parts of the city
…to go more to the cinema
…to keep my Cádiz calm
…to find little places that only I know about (smultronställen in Swedish)

Sunday, January 18, 2009

On the move

Yesterday was a great day. Apart from a raw cold digging into my bones it was…special. I started off the day with my father, we had breakfast, a talk, went to look at furniture for him and then he dropped me off in Malmö, where the work began. I hitched a ride with a couple of friends (or two friends who are actually a couple) and went back to Lund (my hometown) with them. This is where the actual moving started. They rented a truck and five of us filled it all up in a little bit less than an hour (WOW). And back we went to Malmö again…to unload the truck, because we all really love carrying sofas and deconstructing and reconstructing beds.

We were a good team, correction, we were a wonderful team; efficient, encouraging and we had fun. I am yet to see three girls carrying a huge dinner table across a street laughing hysterically; still I was one of them. After redressing couches, making beds and placing drawers in their place it was finally time for dinner. In the middle of mess and boxes we sat down and had the remains of an immense Lebanese buffet, delicious! For desert cheese and crackers, and juicy pears, and what was left of red wine from their summer wedding, but most of all there was laughter, smiles and conversations.

Although exhausted, I think all of us, surely I, still looked at the boxes in envy (and joy). It was a real home, a place to be and to stay. It left space for a real life, without the stingy demands of a poor student. It was the future, far away for some, closer for others. Still, we were happy, we got to take part, we got to visit for a second, to imagine ourselves there…it has to be enough to last me a few years, I sucked it all in and left it there.

Today I took out my suitcase, again. And I’m packing it to live this time, not just to visit.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

The trapeze swinger




This song by Iron and Wine took me flying back to their concert in Lund last January. This song, like their entire concert feels like a swinging trance...wonderful...my sick-bed obesssion.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Hello 2009


I decided not to say goodbye to 2008, goodbyes are sad and sometimes quite ambivalent events. It has discretely flowed into becoming a new year and I shall leave it at that. Instead I will warmly welcome 2009, full of hopes, but without expectations; a year open for new experiences with old friends and perhaps the reliving of old experiences with new acquaintances (?). It will be an active year, a year full of love, work and some, although not very much wanted, waiting; waiting for the loving visit, waiting for the results, waiting for responses, waiting for flights and for sunny free afternoons. It will also be a year of longing and one of looking; looking for the right apartment, looking for the right facts and that eternal thing, of looking for what is right; the right way to live, the right way to progress, the right way to write, simply the right path.

2008 meant a lot of change. It was the year when I left stress for shanty; big city for bursting beach. It was the year when I learnt the hard way that even if I want things done yesterday, tomorrow is more probable, and I would have to settle for today. It was a year of travelling and thrills, of silliness and sunshine. But most importantly it was the year when I searched for love, gave it all up, tried to define what I wanted, but in the end, finally, found what I needed (as most of us do in the end).

There are things to bring and things to leave behind. In the past year I want to leave confusion and unrealistic expectations, dwelling sadness and slow administration. I will discretely sneak away from that and shamelessly leave it behind. Into the new year I am bringing my love (without either doubt or confusion), my friendships, my motivation and joy, my discipline (cross your fingers), my efficiency (if I still have it) and my ability to not work myself up about things anymore (it’s just the problem of managing to maintain it).

So I welcome 2009, hope for greatness, dream of amazing and ambitiously work for unbelievably good.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Gaza

Det exploderar,
där en väg mött en annan.
De röjer fram nu
utan att stanna.

Det finns ett mål i våldet
trots all sin meningslöshet,
det finns en väg för ilskan
till hjärtats förtret.

Och trots att eldar härjar
på väg som liten gata,
brinner hjärtats eldar än starkare
och än mer för att hata.

Det pumpar stadigt,
trots att solen bleknar
och det ägnar sig
åt hängiven övertygelse
och farliga lekar.

Man letar förgäves efter kärleken,
tills att man kan gråta,
men finner bara hatet större
och ovilligheten att förlåta.

Att mata glöden

När tvivel dundrar
och konkret förfaller,
veknar hjärtats kamrar
av bombens skaller.

Och då hjärtats eld
uti svaghet svinner,
glöder kärlek länge
trots att hatet brinner.

För en brand kan släckas
då en glöd bevaras
och hårdhet försvinna
då värme bevaras
Att älska med ömhet, ord och beröring,
det är att mata glöden
– då kärlek besvaras.