night's dream

Traditionally, on Midsummer night, you should gather seven flowers and place them under your pillow for the night, so that you could see your future spouse in your dreams. But I think I'll rather go dancing.


I feel like I've finally caught up with summer. This morning I woke up early and walked the almost-empty streets of Helsinki. Summer mornings are what I love most about Helsinki. The sea, the breeze.

let it snow x3

Again, no snow. It's so dark in the mornings I like to imagine it's actually midnight and we've all been tricked to go to school for an impromptu Christmas party or a huge sleepover. (I've yet to be correct in my guesses.)

Fortunately it is dark and damp and cold enough anyway (and viciously windy and endlessly rainy) for enormous scarves and baking.

Nan Lawson is one of my absolute favourite illustrators. 

(Art inspired by Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Sufjan Stevens, 

Pride and Prejudice, Franny and Zooey and Where the Wild Things Are? 

How could I not be arse over tea kettle in love?) 

winter winter winter

Dear December,

Please bring us the same kind of snow we've had in Helsinki for the past two winters. I won't mind you making my trains late or sneaking into my boots or clouding my glasses. Just bring us a cold white wet blanket and those red cheeks.

Please help me find my calm this Christmas. I swear I'll try my very best to do my Christmas shopping and fretting in time. I'll open my ears and my eyes for everything you want to show me, snowflakes and Christmas lights and delightful jazzy Christmas songs.

Speaking of which. There's this one Christmas song that always always makes me cry a bit. Because it promises things like next year all our troubles will be out of sight and faithful friends who are dear to us will be near to us once more. So, yeah. That. 

Thanks ever so. And I'll see you tomorrow. With all my advent calendars on the ready and my corny Christmas playlists on standby. 

Yours daily and nightly and ever so rightly (for the next thirty-one days at least), 

me

praised

According to Facebook, it's snowing somewhere in Helsinki. Winter is here, at last.  

Laudatur is Latin and means praised.

It is also the highest grade for the Finnish matriculation exams. I got two of 'em yesterday for my two autumn exams. I'm quite pleased, I must say.

sunday blues

Sundays might be my favourite thing.

(Also, have I mentioned how much I want it to be winter already? I got a new winter coat yesterday (a navy blue peacoat) and it's my second-most-favourite thing right now. Helsinki has reached the miserable point of autumn, the rainy dreary grey bit where all you can do is wait for snow. And ice skating. And roasted chestnuts and Christmas lights and all kinds of glorious wintry things. Waiting for winter always makes me act like a complete child - all the more reason to adore it.)

ramblings

This past week has seen Helsinki ambushed by endless rain and strong winds. Winds that make tin roofs rattle and dry maple leaves sweep the pavements in waves.

Oh, October. All I feel like doing is curling up in an armchair inside and drinking Earl Grey and reading and maybe watching Downton Abbey. (I'm telling you, that show is dangerously addictive.)

Luckily for me, I'm on holiday for the week. So that's exactly what I'll do.

(And once I've slept enough and consumed my own body weight in tea, I might venture outside and slink into the nearest café with some friends. And maybe really relax, for the first time in months.)



Also, am I the only one who's been feeling kind of Christmas-y lately? I've had this song on repeat for the past three days and I have to exert all my willpower to keep from watching Love Actually. 

things

"Learn to value yourself, which means: fight for your happiness."


Ayn Rand


(And oh, am I fighting.

 Because things are quite difficult right now. Too much to be done, never enough hours in a day. Difficulties sleeping and too much anxiety.

But there are good things too. This early-autumn sharpness in the air, the underwater sunlight after a downpour, the clatter of trams over cobblestones and skipping down the steps of the library after a good cram session. Good little things, waiting to be noticed.)

a love letter of sorts

To my city.

Because stepping off that train and breathing in your sun-tinted air, lying down on the freshly cut lawns of all your parks, bringing my tired feet to rest in the folds of your sea,

it's home.

More at home than I've ever felt.


I have broken my heart in your arms, I have cried too many tears of frustration, and yet you are the skin memory of my youth. There are few streets not blotted with moments gone, few tram routes that don't have me glancing up from my book to smile at a certain corner, a certain window, a certain someone.

And however far I end up going, I promise to come back. Every now and then. When you are at your best, during these summer months made of sunsets and cobblestones warm beneath bare feet. When one can stumble upon a young man playing a grand piano in the middle of Senat's Square, when the sunlight hits the golden domes of Uspenski just so.

small cities

Yesterday was parks and a sunset by the sea. We sat on a pier, dipping our mojitos into the spring-cold sea to cool them. (Are you sensing a drink trend for this summer? Because I know I am.) 

We ate insane amounts of ice cream, joined a group of music students who cruelly hijacked our ukuleles, set off to find a bar but couldn't find anything to fit a student budget. So we sat at a tram stop watching the last trams of the night rush by on their way to bed, empty of passengers, lights turned off.

Then walked all the way from Kallio to the railway station, which admittedly is not much of a distance, except when you're tired and hungry and the city is almost asleep. Helsinki is so blissfully small sometimes, when there are distances to be covered by foot and familiar streets to get lost in.

I arrived home at sunrise, the lilacs next to our gate have never been quite as beautiful. A good night, one of the best in a very long time. I can't begin to understand this warmth, bare legs all through the night, donning a light cardigan sometime around two in the morning.

(Can you imagine how hot my room gets, with our black tiled roof and sunlight pouring in all day, every day? I sleep with my windows open and sometimes I wake up in between dreams to listen to the birds and trains.)

plans for summer

We planned picnics today, proper picnics, not the improvised ones we usually get up to. And garden parties and tequila nights and road trips and festivals and birthday parties.

I think the thing I miss most about summer is twilight in Helsinki.

The steady descent of the sun, the sea breeze, the softness of grass against my bare shoulders. The endless almost-white nights, the few hours of darkness, the dawn that comes slightly after three a.m.

Catching the last train home or meandering to a friend's for the remainder of the evening or just sitting on my windowsill and watching the sunset. There's nothing quite as exquisite as being able to spend the night out of doors.

may

And so, a new month.

When May began, around midnight, we were walking past a rave under a bridge. On our way to catch a bus that ended up driving by and leaving us stranded without batting an eyelash. (Not too surprising, considering buses tend to lack eyelashes.)

The stars had just come out then. We were tired and cold and heading to a friend's place after an eveningful of drunken shenanigans and surprise encounters. Two different parks, pink hairspray, a stray dog, Communist songs, missed trams, iloveyous, dinosaurs, silly games of footsie.

A hopeful beginning for this month.

(Also, last Friday was one of the good days: an exhausting yet incredibly helpful therapy session, a park, friends, running downhill simply because being young in April is rather nice a feeling. Also a royal wedding which I unabashedly enjoyed.)

sunlight

I promise I won't turn this into a fashion blog, but I simply have to post these photos by The Sartorialist. Just look at that light and the lack of warm clothes! Something that's still around the corner in Helsinki. (Fingers crossed for next week's weather forecast to be accurate. Please?)

friday flowers

Some flowers for your Friday. Aren't they lovely? (My Friday consisted of school and cafés and skipping ropes and sunshine and an impropmtu picnic and old friends and some nice, sturdy beer. What a way to begin a weekend!)

Yesterday evening I did some ship maintenance. I spent almost three hours up on a yard, at about 25 metres, with the Uspenski cathedral to my right, the mostly unfrozen sea before me, the setting sun on my back. It's gruelling work, but the view more than makes up for it. I hadn't realised how much I've been missing climbing. My hands are dry and full of cuts and plasters, but I don't mind, it just makes me feel like I've been working hard.

tiny green things

Listening to this song, because last night I dreamt of a road trip. Running out of petrol at sunset and climbing onto the still-warm roof of the car to watch the stars appear like blots of ink. I think I'd like that. It was one of those rare dreams that linger after you've woken up, their remnants etched into your spine for the rest of the day.

I've been nervous all day, my hands shaking and my teeth biting into my lip on their own accord. Trains being late and pens choosing to malfunction in the middle of an exam have been pushing me to the edge. Some days are like that. I wish it stopped raining.

But then there are the better things as well, like cute elderly couples on the train and quiet libraries and unexpectedly running into friends. Like the first hints of green in our garden. Like James Blake performing at Flow Festival in August.

claws of summer

I feel like summer has sunk its claws into my skin. Sometimes I literally ache with longing. And this song by Regina only makes my desperation sharper. Because (and yes, I know I've said this before) there is nothing I love more than Helsinki in the summer.

(By which I don't mean to devalue any other cities. But this city is mine, which means I live and breathe through these streets. And all the dull darkness and slippery slush ceases to matter come June. I don't know what it is, exactly, but somehow the sky seems further away in the summer. Somehow, it's easier to breathe.)

maybe

After two days of a spring flu, I'm finally back in action. Today I sat on the library steps in the sun and waved at friends across the road. I also skipped across dry, dusty asphalt and bought a swimming costume for next summer and browsed music festivals in Finland and thought about going abroad, maybe.

(Have I ever told you what this city is like in the summer? It's lying on the grass in parks and singing in the streets. It's the sea breeze, wherever you go. Trams rattling along the polished cobblestones and sunlight on the art nouveau facades. It's fresh and it's bright and it's all one needs to be happy.)

sunday and dreams of summer

After a night of hide and seek with friends during Earth Hour and not-quite-enough sleep, we rolled out of bed into the sunlight. A table laden with candles and breakfast. A hint of soft guitar music.

And afterwards a solitary walk around Helsinki. Spontaneously. Because the sun shone from just the right angle at Esplanadi, and I could squint and imagine the endless deep green of late summer. Because of a display window that read Do you live in the moment? 

The ice has retreated and the sea is finally open. Dreaming about taking the ferry to Suomenlinna come June, maybe leaning into someone, bumping elbows, feeling the warmth against the wind. Pointing out the little islands scattered around like memories of a dream.

Humming a song to myself, the one that goes tämä on kuitenkin minun kaupunkini, this is my city after all.

can you hear that hopeful heart?

You anchor me by the consistently delightful Marc Johns.

Today the sun had almost risen when I woke up. After months upon months of darkness, that's the most hopeful way to begin a day. That, and skipping along the first dry patches in the asphalt.

(Also, I heard the seagulls cry yesterday, which, in Helsinki, is the only reliable sign of spring.)

This week has been made up of baking birthday cakes and wrapping gifts (six birthdays within two weeks!). I've also been taking my sailing plans to a whole new level - looks like I might join up to four crews next summer.

(And finally, things are calming down. I'm still slightly hopeless, every now and then, but I try to treat myself well regardless. I soak in all the sunlight I can get and drink spicy tea and every now and then I listen to this song, because they sing about happiness that can't be stolen.)

sunlight and soft soles

I want these. Handmade vegan moccasins by Manimal. I can already imagine biking around Helsinki next summer wearing moccasins and a dress, or walking across the city centre, feeling the sun-warmed cobblestones through the soles.