hand

By Jesper Waldersten. 

autumn

Here we come to the turning of the seasons, like they sing in that song by the Decemberists. And though the roses in our garden are still in full bloom, I wear jumpers and scarves every morning when I go to school. And I drink tea and read and appreciate the novelty of not waking up at four in the morning to the sunrise.

seasides

Because that's where I'd rather be now, somewhere far away and summery and revision-free.

(Although last night was nice, taking the ferry to Suomenlinna, ogling tall ships on the way, and ending up at a folk gig at Korjaamo. Nights are still so warm sometimes, warm enough for t-shirts and running.)


I've lost the source of the first photo. If you know, please tell me!

that fallen heart feeling

"No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention."

Chuck Palahniuk


(This is something I've been thinking about lately, what with starting my final year in school and applying to universities abroad. The things I am thinking about leaving behind seem to grow in importance and at the same time I need to face my inadequacy at truly appreciating it all.

But maybe this is something we all need to accept? That we will never feel as though we have lived enough, no matter how many things we do and no matter how much we pay attention to them. And maybe feeling as though we should have done it all better doesn't mean we've actually done it wrong. Maybe this self-doubt and hopeless nostalgia are simply natural, inevitable downsides of being human.)

letters and rain

I received a letter today, from an old friend. (You know the peculiar type of people you might not see in years and yet you still never forget them? That kind of a friend.)

And at the very end of her letter there were the words, You seem to have changed.



A remark, by the tone of it. Not a judgement or condemnation or appraisal. Merely an observation.

And, holding the letter in my hands, I glanced up and caught my eyes in the mirror. And I stood still for a while, just looking at myself and thinking, yes, I really think I have.



I can't bring myself to point out what it is that is different from before.

Maybe I've grown a bit, in confidence and happiness and in knowing what I want.

But, to be quite honest, I have no answers. (And maybe it's this acceptance of not-knowing that is the biggest change?)

Such is life, as I find myself saying more and more often. Small things and sighs to get me by. Vast amounts of rain yesterday evening, the city scrubbed clean, a letter pointing out something I maybe needed to hear.

sunday

A Sunday made of revision, Hemingway and tea. And the Sunday papers. (I don't think I've ever discussed my intense love of newspapers? It's untamable to the point of absurd.)