Monday, 13 July 2009

Home.

The time here on the tiny island paradise draws to a close. It has been so much I never wanted it to be and still so much more I could have ever imagined. There are just no words left. I am leaving my family for who knows how long. And today it feels alright for the first time. I am going home.

I made a list of all the things I will remember, and I thought it sounded much like a poem.

the fuzzy horizon
the moon that vanished
and turned from red to white
in a single night
all the spikes on the plants
rust
and colour contrasts
flies that light up like fireflies
from the light on the veranda
the hedgehog
and the bats
all the parasols
and the haystacks
in the endless fields
black pines
and the trip up to the top
filled with laughter, tears
and bags of vomit
Fjarskanistan
by Amina
the taste of mint and cinnamon
cheap wine
the most surprising party
waterfights
sprinklers and rainbows
the evil witch
on the mountaintop
lazy days and StumbleUpon
The Silmarillion
and my stepfather reading Lord of the rings
to my sisters
the paper-thin walls
that enable me to hear it as well
the three of us crammed in a single bed
watching bad films
eager speculations on Aion
the dog that assumed an attitude
an inspiration that came back
with a roar
cheap beer in Pafos
and how beautiful it was
against the white parasols and the blue sea
the forgotten restaurant in Lofou
with the fancy forks
the best halloumi in Kellaki
the president
and speculations about his
frequent visits to our village
we think he has a mistress here
because no man should visit their mother
quite that often
the traffic
people stopping in the middle of a crossroads
to pop into the shop to get some cigarettes
the fact that you can smoke in Ikea
and pretty much anywhere
which is why they don't sell
nicotine gum here
to my mother's woe
and last but not least
when you realize how much
you really like someone

again
and again

and again.

Wednesday, 1 July 2009

Decomposing.

I spend a good bit of my time online, reading the random writings of random people. These writings are in fact more commonly known as blogs. I, however, strongly feel that the word "random" should be in the title, or at the very least in the immediate definition of the concept of a blog. Naturally this would be the place to insert one or two not so positive remarks on my experiences of most blogs, especially widely popular ones, but I shall not stoop quite to that level. A lot of the time I actually do find immense comfort and inspiration in these writings of other people, some whom I know IRL and some not.

I myself have been pondering on the concept of having a personal blog. As a person who inhabits a whole litter of personalities I find it difficult to keep to just one online place of writing. But I know owe that thinking to a slowly fading "me" who has persisted on separating all the other sides of me from each other.

There is of course the brooding me.
And the temperamental me.
The over-analytic neurotic.
Let us not oversee the treehugger.
She is of course friends with the socialist.
The hedonist. The superficial aesthetically inclined.
The nerd. The romantic.
The self-proclaimed artist.
Daughter.
Sister.
Lover.
Student.
The observer. The meddler. The pain in the ass.
And of course the self-involved, who cried all the way home.

I accept that I am, and will forever remain, a paradoxical person. And I believe all are. You might feel shallow one day and a philosopher the next. There is no need to deny that fact. We should instead be proud of inhabiting the capacity and having the right to have multiple personalities.

I know I am trying to be. So there's that.


Trade your demise
for mine
a tissue
for a cigarette
my eyes
are dry
but on the inside
I'm all wet

I picked
a bad day
for the beach
crowds of scarcely
clad sides of meat
our world's all wet
but on the inside
something's dried.


- I will stick to one blog from now on.