Kitchen Table

I share a kitchen with four other people, those being my family. It is our kitchen, our fridge, our food, and our kitchen table. At times, like now, only my elbow rests upon it. Other times, the noise level rises as we all sit there - smiling, fighting, laughing, eating, breathing, singing, living, reading and living. Life and movement could sum up what goes on at that table. And even tonight, as four of the seats remain vacant, the same life, love and energy still lingers.

When I get my own kitchen table, at some point in the future, I hope each seat will be occupied most of the time. Always is perhaps impossible, since we do need to live outside of the kitchen too. But the chairs should fulfill their purpose, and whether it is a small gathering of friends, or a large family, or just me in my comfortable solitude, I hope that the Kitchen Table Legacy will become a big part of everyday life.

The ordinary remains fascinating.
Peace

World, Sweden, Uppsala, Geijersgatan, Room.

Aina thought she was in Hong Kong and the Philippines today. Erika enjoyed the warmth of Aina's room, taking her summer illusion to new heights by wearing tie-and-dye trousers. I was convinced that I was in Kenya. And there we were, listening to a good selection of hiphop, soul, rock, world and jazz; each working with our own set of assignments. There we were, in a ridiculously diverse environment. There was conversation, useless babble and necessary babble; there was comfortable silence and laughter, a lot of laughter. Desirée popped in, stayed, planned to leave several times, failed at that, and then left. Aina was in Hong Kong because her room was so small, and I had to sit on the floor in order to eat my lunch in the most convenient way. Erika enjoyed the warmth, because of the precious cooking that had been done in the room. I was in Kenya, because the heavy bassline of one of the songs, combined with laughter always takes me back to Nairobi. We had our own personal associations. They were perhaps completely different, but they were there united in one, small room. And as I left, I stepped out into Sweden and Snow, with Sean Paul's voice booming into my ears. That is what I call a diverse world. Globalization. Making it possible to be in several places, while only physically being in one. Making it possible for several places to find their way to one small, room.
One, small, diverse room.
Peace

Impressed.

Something that our family has always discussed is the "Swedish system" or "Swedish society", and we end up coming to one conclusion: It functions. This is in fact impressive, inspite of the other complaints one may have about Sweden. This system (that functions) can benefit a lot of people, the entire population to be exact, if the population choses to exist in this system and abide to a few rules. When considered, it is not that hard. There is a department for everything in this country, and if something malfunctions, then there is a back up plan for that too. And if the back up plan fails, then they fix it. Somehow. A lot of people complained about how the lines to get the swine flu vaccination were so long. They complained and complained about how the Swedish government or Health Department did not handle it properly. Well, at least we got the vaccine. And that hardly belongs in the "at least" list. I would like to see the people complaining doing a better job themselves! People will always complain, for various reasons. Some may complain because they just do not like a country. But let us be naive, and humanitarian and assume that the reason behind the complaining is because people believe that they can change things. Useless complaining is pointless. But what if people are willing to complain, write a proposal, and try to change something? That is impressive. People who see things they want to change, and make an effort are impressive. This is an observation I made last week, when a girl a few years younger than me simply explained a plan she had to change something in her everyday life. I automatically started questioning her plan, but she had thought about it. She had planned. And I hope the people who stand in the way of this plan, will look past the slang terms and first impressions (which we often stop by, and stay there) and hear her out. Because the plan is in fact impressive. And this system that Swedish society is built on was formed by people who wanted change, and did something. And the leaders will hopefully keep changing things, developing, trying to improve. Everything can be made better, but realizing that something is good is never wrong either.
Peace

A Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy & A CocaCola Bottle

I quote my Dad:
"I do not remember the books we read in school... Oh, no wait. I do remember a few, and I remember hating one of them. I hated it so much, and could not understand the point. I think it was called... Wuthering Heights."
Been there, done that.
School literature. I love most of the literature that school feeds us with, but cannot help but be amused by the concept of several generations being forced to read and analyze Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Woolf, Plath, Beckett etc.
To quote Blackadder after having gone back in time and met Shakespeare, and as he proceeds to beat him up:

"This is for every schoolboy and schoolgirl for the next four hundred years. Have you any idea how much suffering you are going to cause. Hours spent at school desks trying to find one joke in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'? Years wearing stupid tights in school plays and saying things like 'What ho, my lord' and 'Oh, look, here comes Othello, talking total crap as usual.' Oh, and... [He kicks Shakespeare, who's still on the ground....] that is for Ken Branagh's endless uncut four-hour version of 'Hamlet'."

Peace

Hanna and I spent a few hours talking about time and how it flies yesterday .And during the discussion I realized once again how hard it is to grasp time, to understand it. It is amongst the most useless discussions because it wastes time. It seems that we, or my brain at least, can handle the concept of an hour, a day, a week, a month and possible a year. Maybe even a few years, but beyond that it becomes very abstract. It becomes daunting and wierd. Especially since i have only lived for nearly two decades. Having a good memory helps handle the time that has passed, since you can hopefully account for it, evaluate it and so on. But if you cannot remember it, then there is a big block of PAST that has happened, and it took time and now I see how my thoughts are confusing themselves. And when trying to understand the big block of FUTURE time, one can only hope that the time will be filled with things of worth. With people, experiences, with what-have-yous. Time is constant though, no matter how varied it can feel at times. Some days run away; others stagger along. Conclusion? Settle for the simple, because the abstract and complicated will not let itself be explained. Live in the simple, but take occasional trips to the complicated? Or maybe realize the simple, and through that understand the "complicated".
So there is the last day of this decade left to live; it will not be as dramatic as it sounds. "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself." (Matthew 6:34)
Happy New Year!
Peace

The humid air chokes her melody. A few years back, her melody was as free as the chirping birds --- she remembers them. She remembers a time when the clouds were not just a shelter from the unbearable heat, but a place that she resided in. When time was not her enemy, but her friend. Her brother moans, and she embraces him. She closes her eyes, finds stillness and sings a melody of the Past, one that has always brought her comfort. She rocks her brother back and forth, gently, sisterly, lovingly. A breeze sails past and relieves the two of the thick air. Her heart stirs in recognition, as if she heard the breeze whisper to her. [The latest out of "Thud", that is coming along slowly]

All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in smaller doses; I think Szymborska said that. The above text is out of a bigger text, but when pulled out of context, it may apply to a larger audience and not be too overdone. The importance and power of music is something that my parents taught me, since they sing all the time, and somehow singing is done subconsiously by every member of our family. Whether we actually can sing or not is not important, we just appreciate and spread music. I watched a few scenes out of Dreamgirls yesterday, and the voices in that movie jazz me into some other world. Jennifer Hudson has one craaazy voice. And it was only a few days ago that Aretha Franklin's voice combined with the choir sang that wonderful bit in "You've got a friend" and i had to stop what i was doing and just listen, crunch up my face and recover from that beautiful pulse that just hit my face, and my soul. Music must be one of the greatest things God invented, and so all credit to Him for that. Because on any grey day, any note, or simple melody has the power to encourage. This is the beginning of the bigger text:

Thud. Thud. Thud. She steps out of her place in the choir, leaving the comfort of the multitude and makes her way to the edge of the stage. Thud thud thud. Her heartbeat quickens, her heart wants to beat out of her chest. It’s painful, but the adrenaline eliminates any negative effect – it is all necessary. Inhale. Exhale. A trumpet sounds, the saxophone enters and the piano answers back. The drums calm her down, steady her heartbeat, and she is now in time with the music. That’s her intro. She approaches the microphone stand, and only now can she see what is beyond the stage. People. The bustle of expectation merges together with the orange, blue, red, purple and all other colours creating controlled chaos. The eyes of the thousands all focus on her, waiting for a fantastic performance. A crowd so big, it scares her. She misses her line… her heart is off beat. --- The intro starts again. The drums lead her back to the right tone, the right beat. She’s moving, her feet feel the joy. The rhythm sways her body to and fro, it penetrates and conquers any fear.

Peace

There is (italicised) something in the air

At some point today there was something that seemed to take hold of everyone in the school corridors; we all went giddy and jolly and giggly and happy for a good twenty minutes. When it had passed, and we went back to thinking about why they had curry in the fish for lunch, Carolina made an observation about it: "Did you all notice the moment of good Christmas Holiday Spirit that just passed?" and we all agreed. So, some people have gone off to far away places to celebrate Christmas with their families, others stay in the same place as always and find time to breathe, others sit with their close friends sharing memories; and while some are alone, and others are together, I want to make a shift in my bitter attitude towards this controversial season. For even if commercialism does take a lot of the attention, and there is the longest list of things that seem wrong with how civilization celebrates Christmas, being negative and anti-everything is no solution. Celebrating something has never been a crime. Obvious you say? Well, for some that is a recent realization. So here goes:
Merry Christmas,
Peace