Tell me all your Demons.

Why are you angry?

Has this been brought on by the thoughts of the beach the other day?

I don't understand why you have to be one or the other, I think it's about being different things at different times, depending on what you think is the right response. It's clichéd but everyone is different, your persona is your persona, there's nothing you can do about it and there's nothing to do about it.

It is always a bit strange to think about you once being one of those really popular, outspoken types of kids that I kind of admired, but always from a distance. I agree that it's very different to you now.

You always talk about your bad period - but you never really ever defined that for me. Could you now? If you're looking back and feeling ashamed, there's no need. If you want to be more of a leader, be more of a leader. There is no target where you should be aiming for to please one particular person.

You are what you are. The thing I want is for you to measure up to your own expectations and not be scared to aim high or try new things - that is the only thing I want for you. I know you're set in your ways, but I don't think there's ever any harm to be more open to different people and different tastes. (MUSIC). :)

I guess I wish you were less scared of the unknown, that you could regain some good attributes from your past - your confidence perhaps, because I know it would make you feel better too about yourself. I always say you're cocky and vain, but you have reminded me sometimes that you're very self-conscious when you shouldn't be. When you're meeting my friends, and physically even too. Though god knows why.

You talk about your mind. What are you scared of? What are these violent and sexual fantasies you talk of? Why are you struggling with yourself?

Anyway, my main message I guess is:

Stop trying to please others so much. I'm not saying don't listen, but aim to please yourself.

Some relief

I am so angry all the time.

Macho/feminine, dominant/submissive, rough/soft, alpha/beta, aggressive/passive. All these terms floating around in my mind all the time... Which of them am I, which am I not? And this anger, these demons, it all stems from here – my insecurities about my own persona.

All through my childhood I was the top chief – always in the leader seat and never shy of conflict. Honest truth – that's not who I am today. I'm certainly a more passive character, and not an enthusiast for conflict and arguments. But something changed along the way – and I believe that happenened during my bad period, where everything went to shit. My personality changed as a consequence of the actions that were done to me, and unfortunately these were some of the most crucial years in the human being's personal development.

Where am I now? My mind is troubled with anger, fear, frustration, violent fantasies, internal struggle and messed up sexual fantasies, and I don't seem to be able to find the way out.

I don't know what you want me to be, but I think most of this is rooted in the fear of not being that – not measuring up to what you expect. I want you to know every part of me, and to be accepted and loved nonetheless, but I fear that that will break something.

Being Paul Desmond seems nice... But I'm sure he had his demons as well.
Even on the saxophone I don't know. Should I play tenor or alto or soprano? Should I play rough, should I play soft? Your instrumental voice should resemble your own. Paul Desmond did that.

Suppose this will have to suffice for misery for one morning ;-)
Love you.

Updating Dennis the Menace...

I remember reading Dennis the Menace comic strips when I lived in Edinburgh.

I was about 6 or 7 years old I think, I had mastered English, and life was carefree. I used to see these comic strips with Dennis in his red and black stripped jumper, with his ever present companion and fellow mischief-making-friend Nasher the black, spunky, dog sitting in the corner of the after school club at Sciennes - which I wasn't technically attending. We were extremely poor then, my father studied for his PhDs whilst trying to juggle as many dish-washing and restaurant jobs as possible so we could get by, and my mother had just started on her Masters. It was a true case of starting at the very bottom and scraping a living. 

I remember my mum telling me the other day that my dad actually quit a dish-washing job once because they refused to pay him more, and he thought his work was worth more. Funny. Especially since half the time he washes them these days they still manage to look unwashed..

I used to sit there not really part of the club because we couldn't afford it, and not having anyone pick me up yet because mum had to rush from class to school, and she'd always come in near closing time, having half run half walked the distance - Edinburgh is notoriously hilly after all. I had to do something with my time, so I'd pick up these magazines, and I read them all. 

Pouty lips.

How eagerly I waited for the next edition as well after I had finished the backlogged collection. Sometimes the lady who ran the club felt sorry for me, and so she'd let me join in the activities too and gave me food. It's sad that I don't remember her name or her face, but I remember her being a plump, strongly built woman, a true northerner - a character you read about in books, a bit like the maid or the old cook who had been with the manor serving all her life.

It's kinda surprising that I don't remember any of this normally, and I really have to recall it. I feel like I forget, or bury things far to easily.

Anyway, it was really surprising when I found out the boy who acted the part of Dennis looked the exact opposite to the character. And like a certain someone.. And he's certainly much better looking too. Dennis was never the prettiest character you had ever seen. 

I'm a sucker for mischief, what can I say. I think I'm much smoother than him though, and I never, well, hardly ever, got caught.

And now I'm just thinking about this boy I used to know. 

We were good friends, we lived in the same flats and I remember thinking he was really annoying at first, that he'd follow me around and pick a fight with me and argue with me about stupid stuff. I would think "Boys are soo stupid" and one day me and this other girl were playing, and he wanted to join in. I told him no because he was a boy, and he just wouldn't go away for some reason that day. My friend said something like "I bet you fancy her, that's why you won't go away isn't it?". And the poor boy went bright red and denied it ferociously (still not going away). It made me think. 

The next time I saw him we were on our own (I often sneaked out the door when my mum had a mid-day nap and I would hook the door open with a chain or a stick so I could get back in), I asked him outright if he did. He admitted it. It was incredibly cute, he was maybe a year younger than me - but when you're a kid, you feel so much more powerful and look down on people younger than you - and American and he looked so guilty. It was quite adorable, and it made me change my attitude towards him a bit. But I think he felt so embarrassed over it that he couldn't look me in the eye and our friendship was never quite the same after that. His parents left to go back to America soon after that so we didn't really get the chance to patch it up either. 

Luke Fisher, I wonder what kind of person he is now.

If there is no post soon, I'm gonna be a fucking menace

A few updates

I'm going through a chapter and some stats in my demography textbook, and the shit in there scares me. By 2050, in our lifetime, (with the current population increase of 1,2 %) the world will have 10,7 billion citizens, and I keep wondering with which resources Earth will be able to provide for all these people.

Moving on...

Frederik is moving out today – will be interesting to see who moves in.

Mr P got lucky on Tinder. Apperently she's NOT very cute, but he doesn't complain.

To get to the main part of this post... I was thinking while walking home from the central station yesterday. It's a 15 min walk, through one of the crowdiest streets in Oslo. I was looking at people, and at what was going on, and I realised why some tourists don't fancy certain parts of Oslo. This street that I speak of is kind of infamous, and it's the obvious route home unless you take a detour or bus or tram.

Every other person I walked past looked like users (they have an unmistakable appearance), and most of them looked like they were high on heroin, staggering about with a euphoric look in their eyes. Everywhere. I was walking behind this girl the whole way, and there were so many creepy guys that threw remarks at her. One that stood out was this old long-haired drunk without teeth that basically was drooling while she walked past. There are certain parts of the city I don't need you to see. And what happens to the eastern parts of the city at night is also something I don't like. If you walk home through the inner east after midnight, for fun you just start counting how many times you are offered drugs during that one walk. African guys will be standing at every corner coming up to you: «Want some weed? Something else? I can get you everything», and in the end it just becomes routine to ignore them.

But you'll like it apart from this, so do come. Do you know about the reading week yet?

Hardcore nostalgia time

I was born in Feiring, I grew up there. I spent my first 14 years in the same house – a cute, red wooden house in a steep hill. We had a huge garden that garden enthusiasts from across the country came to see. There was a pond with fish and frogs connected to a small creek, apple trees, plum trees, wild cherries, raspberries, blueberries, and there was a greenhouse that we redecorated into a greek tavern. Me and my sister had a treehouse high up in a tree with a swing that our dad built for us – but we never used it, poor man. Me and my sister had a pet lamb, dogs, chickens, bunnies, geese, ducks, a cat, ginnea pigs. My grandparents and great grandmother lived on the other side of the forest, my great aunt on the other side of the road – very few of the neighbours weren't related. On saturday and sunday mornings, the family would have breakfast looking out over the lake or down on the garden, where moose or deer would be eating the apples that fell on the ground. Sometimes a goshawk or a fox would kill the chickens – that always broke my sisters' heart, and we would have a small funeral in the forest bordering on the garden. I feared that forest, to my dads great annoyance, because he always wanted me to go with him when he went for trips. Neither my dad nor I ever went hunting – we never had lust for killing animals (although my grandpa has been hunting moose his entire life). Me, my sister and my dad would often go to a small lake in the forest where we had a canooe, and we would fish for pike (tastes like shit, but whenever I caught one I would brag about it to my friends the day after, always exaggerating its size), perch or trout. In the middle of the lake was a small island where we had a permanent lavvo-tent and campsite, that we would go to after fishing, and we would cook the fish and eat it. The lavvo burnt down in the end.

(The best photo of the house I could find at the moment, taken the winter after it was built. Lake with ice in the background)

Summer holidays would pass by playing football on the field by the lake. Sondre, Ole, Ola, Bjørnar, Ingeborg, Karoline, Jonas, and so many others. After a day of playing, me and Sondre would go to his house, right by the beach, lay down on the trampoline and talk about life, love, sex and our futures.

The family would go for day-trips in the boat, on a dead still lake with the evening sun in our backs. When my dad was in a playful mood we would go get the water skiing-equipment and the boat would race me and my friends around the lake. Good times.

Winter would pass by skiing until we were too cold, and we would go inside and have waffles and a hot drink.

When I come here again, after all this time, I do feel a sense of home and belonging – but I also feel estranged. I don't think this is home anymore – home is in the city – but this is where I am from. No doubt about it. It has its own special place in my heart, and I will always have ties here; family and memories. I hope I will have the chance to take you here.

(Think I will update this post with some more pictures in the future)

Today

My love for you is like noodles, long and yielding.

I'll be the first to admit I overlooked your feelings.

Sometimes I forget how much you actually care about me, and it always surprises me to see you upset over small things that I didn't think about.

Like the other day - I'm quite a recluse in my habits and very much an independent soul. I don't need to keep in contact with my friends all the time, I don't need to talk to them all the time and I don't feel they need to hear from me all the time either.

For example, I haven't spoken to my best friend since February. But it doesn't change anything, and she knows me, and as soon as we see each other again it will be like there never was a break. She's still my bestfriend.

What I'm trying to say is, even though I might not be talking to you all the time, it doesn't mean I don't think about you, or I'm not thinking about what you're doing, where you are, who you're with. You're on my mind, I just don't always communicate it.

And I know you have a completely different attitude, and you see it a different way. But just try to see if from my point of view too. I show my appreciation in a different way.
Trust me when I say this is as good as I get - which I know is awful.

I know you need the communication, the confirmation and the contact a lot more. You get jealous and anxious and needy and that's fine. It's just I need my space and you know and respect that.

And now I need to try to respect what you need too.

If you were here, I would poke you and hug you and not let go even if you tried to shake me off until you broke a smile. And then I would cook you a hearty meal and sit you outside in the last bits of the evening sunshine with a nice ol' book. (after you washed the dishes of course).

I'm not insensitive, just difficult and silly and, most of all; sorry.

:).