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International Men’s Day 2019

A couple of years ago I made a list of 51 reasons why I love men. Some of the things I wrote there now seem a bit childish (although written in good faith and with positive intentions), but many of them are still true.

It’s International Men’s Day today and I want to take the time to celebrate all the men that mean something in my life. It’s a day when I want to encourage other people to be happy about themselves and to take a moment to think of all the things that make them who they are and why they are amazing. It’s also a good occasion to say „Thank you!” to the men who have supported me and who make my life nicer.

This year International Men’s Day has Positive Role Models for Boys and Men as the main theme. It got me thinking about what I’d like to see in men and what sort of behaviour I’d like them to adopt for the sake of their well-being and that of those around them.

So this one is for the most important guy in my life, my brother, for my friends who always offer me support and provide me with good conversations, for my colleagues at work whom I’m learning from every day, for my buddies in the office, who keep me entertained and make my days brighter, for the guys I don’t meet too often anymore, but who have passed through my life at one point, for the assholes who broke my heart thinking my feelings matter less than theirs, for the men that teach us and the men that lead us, for those that make our lives possible or easier in ways we don’t even know, these are my humble thoughts and feelings:

It’s ok to feel good about being a man and not accepting that other people try to blame you for things you haven’t done. I wouldn’t want anyone to tell me it’s not right for me to celebrate my femininity, either.

Please don’t feel afraid of women, because we’re not all out there to catch you red-handed and to make your life miserable. Many women don’t pretend to be fighting for equality when all they want is a new order where they command and you execute. Many of us still cherish you and hope for cooperation instead of gender fighting.

You don’t have to always „man up” or „grow a pair”, especially with your close ones. You’re already a man and you already have the pair. When you’re with your dear ones, it’s ok to just be yourself and if someone cannot accept that a guy might also have fears or worries, get them out of your life and move on.

If you think it’s your responsibility to make sure the family is provided for, it’s not. If you think it’s your responsibility to make the relationship work, it’s not. If you think you’re always supposed to make everything work, it’s not. Most of the time it’s someone else’s responsibility, too. You’re only entirely responsible for what you alone can control, for your actions and your words. Don’t put more pressure on yourself than is necessary.

Please understand that other people’s feelings matter, too. More than your ego. Don’t think only about what you want here and now, think about what it’ll feel like afterwards for someone else. You can make the difference between the two. You’re an adult, not a child.

If you have a child and you’re spending time creating memories for him or her, you’re awesome. This, teaching them how to trust themselves and make the right decisions are the best things you could give your kid. And love. Lots and lots of fatherly love.

You are not simple creatures and I do not understand what you want. I am certainly not a mind reader, so please try to articulate your needs and feelings.

If you’ve hurt me and you know this is of your doing, have the courage to apologize and try to explain why it didn’t work. Don’t hope my pain and frustration will go away, don’t try to make me sound like a crazy bitch. You certainly didn’t think that when you first started flirting with me, so what has changed in the meantime?

And lastly, but not least, you’re awesome in ways that I cannot be awesome. I am awesome in my own way. Let’s not fight against each other, let’s work with each other and try to make our worlds awesome!

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Joker or The Laughter that Breaks Your Heart

I’ve just come home from seeing Joker and I can hardly find my words or shake away the feeling of uneasiness. I try to convince myself it is just a movie and that I should merely appreciate the outstanding acting and the incredibly well fitting soundtrack. But I cannot stand tall or look forwards, I can’t really speak. My head is hanging and my gaze is staring downwards. But the pain… that there is plenty of.

Because Joker is not just a movie. Joker will punch you in the guts and make you short of breath. It will make you want to go into the fetal position so your heart won’t be ripped out of your chest. And good luck trying to strike a conversation with your partner once you leave the theatre and want to share opinions. There is nothing else I want to do right now, but go to sleep. Only I am afraid of what my poor brain will conjure once I have closed my eyes.

And there are also some images running continuously through my mind. The piercing, sad eyes and the light that came over his face when it seemed like a place of refuge had been found in the smile of a child or the tenderness of a woman. The incontrollable, heartbreaking laughter. The wonderful dancing in the short-lived moments when he feels there is also a place for him, when he seems to be liberated from the contempt and abandonment the others have made into his only reality.

And there is another thing that I cannot get over. The disgusting laughter in the movie hall. I am wondering if the creators of this masterpiece realized that what they intended to cast a light upon would not only happen on screen, but also in front of it. And at this point I am not even sure what makes me shudder more: Joker with his sinister crimes rooted in the neglect and disdain of others or the obvious lack of sensitivity and depth of the people around me.

Unfortunately Joker is an entire experience comprising both the artistic act on the screen and also the reactions it elicits in theatres all over the world. It paints a very realistic picture of our society where we avoid showing vulnerability, because it makes us look weak and pathetic. A society where we don’t reach out or talk about the tormenting thoughts that we have, because we’re met with the same urge to stop the self-pitying, since people don’t understand what it’s like to be assaulted by thoughts that seem to be created by a totally different mind that works against you. A society where people offer you support and compasion if you break a leg, but shudder and express scepticism if you tell them your heart or your mind is broken. Yet in this society it is perfectly ok to laugh heartily at scenes of a mentally ill person repeatedly stabbing someone with a pair of scissors and the scenes most devoid of humour still spark laughter in the audiences. This society is full of people so thick that they are still thinking they came to see a comic heroes movie. People so desensitized and unable to understand what they’re seeing, that they can’t even tell they are looking at themselves on a cinema screen.

This movie is entirely a masterpiece and if I hadn’t been afraid I would have a panic attack (I think the dread of experiencing such an episode in public with those people laughing around me was what saved me this time – ironic, isn’t it?) if I saw it again, I would definitely do this. Not to witness the immense pain of Arthur Fleck, but to watch again the oustanding performance of Joaquin Phoenix. For now I don’t think I am that brave.

For now I am left with some questions. What do we do with those who suffer in silence? What is there for the ones tormented by their thoughts to hope for? Do we let them end the game themselves when it becomes too hard to play or do we wait for them to become Joker? I don’t have an answer now. And I cannot think. I can only feel.

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Enter the realm of Nordic Crime

Between the moment when I finished watching the last episode of the newly released Deadwind on Netflix and starting to write these lines, I had to take a small brake to let my giddiness and enthusiasm fade away and to put my ideas in order, so I don’t sound like an overly excited school-girl. If you are planning on entering autumn properly, on immerging into the season of cold and darkness already, the Finnish production Deadwind is an extremely good choice. It will wrap you up in a mist of uncertainty and mystery, it will absorb you into its eerie atmosphere and give you the feeling that you must tread carefully into the frosty nights of the North.

I usually prefer European films and TV shows over their American counterparts, but among the film-makers in Europe it seems the Nordics hold the best recipes for crime shows and thrillers. Known as Karppi in its home country, Deadwind follows the steps of detective Sofia Karppi (Pihla Viitala) and her partner Sakari Nurmi (Lauri Tilkanen) who are investigating the death of a woman found buried near the construction site of a project developed by a company named Tempo, on whose ability to propose a new means of obtaining green energy depends the approval for construction from the City Council of Helsinki.

The victim is quickly identified as one of the consultants involved in Tempo’s project in more than one way. As the investigation proceeds, suspicion will be transferred from one man to another among the family who owns Tempo and their circle of partners and opponents. Uncovering Anna’s murderer will take time and serious efforts on the sides of Karppi and Nurmi, as they will kick more than one hornet’s nest revealing the wrong-doings of several dishonest business men and criminals, a complexity of the plot which the creators have exploited brilliantly over the span of 12 episodes. There is no predictability all the way to the last chapter of the series, and the uncovering of the murderer at the end was a definitely a surprise.

Personal drama and human relations weren’t overlooked by the creators of the show, but their true merit lies in creating realistic anti-heroes and taking their distance from the American hero – villain dichotomy which is so hard to swallow. Sofia doesn’t give too much of a warm welcome to the team to Sakari and their initial collaboration is filled with tension. Clearly affected by her husband’s recent death, Sofia will take a few wrong steps and will come very near a breakdown before she realizes that she will not be able to solve the case unless Nurmi and herself work as equal partners. The developments in their relationship illustrate the Nordic way of interacting between people with short lines, straight-forward statements, slow and wary revealments of feelings and actions stronger than words rather than romantic gestures and declarations. Family issues and social problems are also depicted through the hardship Sofia’s step-daughter has to go through as a teenager and the disputes between the man behind the Tempo project and his wife.

The creators of Deadwind spared no means to keep their audience on the edge of their seats and to make their hearts race. Scenes full of suspense supported by a matching soundtrack are interspersed at intervals, but throughout the entire series a feeling of insanity is hovering above the plot as the source of such a minutely planned crime. Even religious mysticism comes to play a part in the wanderings of this criminal mind.

For the viewers who have already been to Finland, the show is also a visual revisiting of some famous landmarks in Helsinki such as Tuomiokirkko or Kauppatori with its emblematic building of the City Townhall. The Finland in the film (the personification is intentional) is exactly like the Finland in real life: very often dark, mysterious, a bit wild, but extremely modern, a place where you can never know what will come next. But then again, what better place to dive into the cold seasons than in the enchanted story land of the suomi?

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Book Therapy

A bit of Finnish Literature

Almost every European country has its own iconic story about either the First or the Second World War. For the Finns it’s Väinö Linna’s Tuntematon sotilas (translated as Unknown Soldiers or The Unknown Soldier). Since it depicts the hardships of the Finnish soldiers in the Continuation War against their Russian neighbours who had previously occupied Karelia, a subject that seems to be very sensitive in Finnish history, there is no wonder the novel ended up achieving such a high status in the Finnish literature and being adapted for the big screen three times. The last time this happened was in 2017 when Aku Louhimies directed what was to be the highest-budget Finnish movie ever made, a film that was also intensely advertised because it was part of the Centenary celebrations in Finland and which also probably deserves a post of its own.

The title of Väinö Linna’s book somehow predicts the status the characters in his story will have. Despite numerous male appearances throughout the fierce scenes of battle in the deep woods of Finland and USSR, one cannot easily tell which one is the protagonist. They usually go just by their surname and only a couple of them have their first names mentioned once or twice throughout the novel. Different ranks are named and one can certainly say that this soldier is braver than the other, that this one sympathizes with communism or that another one has a very humorous manner of seeing everything happening around him, but it’s rather difficult to find some character with a full personality described in the book. This must be because all these characters’ traits and features can combine in a representation of a collective character – the unknown soldier who fought to get back Karelia to the motherland.

Many of the characters don’t even make it to the end of the book in an illustration of how devoid of any meaning war actually is. Some of them die heroically, some of them die in the most stupid manner. Some die gruesome painful deaths, while others don’t even have the time to realize how near their end is. But for most of them death is actually deliverance. It is the physical hardships such as the lack of food, the lice, the dirt and the cold, the wounds, the weaponry that they must carry on their backs, as well as the psychological torture – seeing their fellow soldiers being killed, the horror of the mutilated corpses, the never-ending fear and being sent in front of the enemy at any moment, irrespective of their physical condition – all this seems many times worse than actual death. And to think that this happened to young men in their early twenties…

If there is one thing that Väinö Linna manages to do with his book, it’s to shock his readers and to stir their compassion. He has the ability to take you into the woods with his deep forest warriors and also to make you feel that fuzzy warm feeling inside for these young men (some could arguably call them “boys”) who have left their youth behind and are now trying to make the best of a moment’s peace, to find a bit of life in this no-man’s-land suspended outside of time. And he also manages to keep you glued to the book just to see what else is next, despite the violence, the deaths and the hardship – something which I consider to be essential in a good piece of literature.

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In the house of books

Tonight I was on my way back home and I passed by the library in Leppävaara and I felt this big urge to go inside and see what a library is like in Finland. While I’m here I would like to experience as much as possible the Finnish way of living or to at least get an idea of what that involves.

However, I am always weary of the fact that I’m a foreigner and that I’m maybe invading the Finns’ space, so I often wonder if I should do this or that, just like I was hesitating tonight outside the library. And this very hesitation makes me feel a bit like a savage, it accentuates the contrast I feel between my country and this one, between how much these people have experienced so far as opposed to what I have.

First of all, I was not sure I could go in there without a pass. In Romania you don’t go inside places just to wander around and see what it’s like. You go in if you actually have some business there. OK, maybe they wouldn’t let me walk around in a police station just to see what it’s like but you get my point.

So I had to ask one of my Finnish friends if it’s ok to go inside even without a pass and if anybody would ask what I was doing there. The question probably sounded funny to him, but I don’t know any place in Romania where you could go and grab a book and just start reading. Even after I entered I was trying to make myself as small as possible so that nobody would notice me, and I kept looking at the employees, convinced that if I act unnaturally one of them would come and ask me what I was doing there.

But nobody asked me anything and I could just walk around the shelves looking at the books (I would’ve definitely done a more thorough check if I could understand the language without having to look up every word) and being impressed once again by how smart the people in this country are. I mean this is how you make sure of your progress, right? By giving your people the access to knowledge.

The place was pretty alive too. Lots of people (even though it was a quarter of an hour before closing time), definitely not just academics or teachers like you would see in Romania, and of various ages. I loved so much that there were parents walking around with their kids: they had probably come to get a new set for them to read (there was a big kids’ section on the ground floor). And students. Students in a library. At 8pm. Actually studying. Well done, Finland!

I read some of the labels on the shelves upstairs and I discovered subjects from almost every domain: technology, poems, geography, religion, there were even books about vegetables and cooking books. Not to mention the pretty well supplied shelves of books in five or six foreign languages.

Remember those articles where the Nordics are said to be reading like mad, where their book markets are estimated at tenths or hundreds of millions of euros, the tops with the Europeans who read the most where they rank among the highest? Yup, it’s all true.

Whether it’s because it’s so often very dark or cold or both outside and they need an indoor activity or is it that they understood that education is the way to go forward, these guys are definitely still offering reading a good place in their lives. My friend said that is a public place so of course you can go inside and read. Oh, and have I mentioned nobody asked me if I took a book with me a home without bothering to let them know? I didn’t check what security systems they had in place, if any, but in Romania something would definitely beep somewhere if you left with an unscanned book.

Well done, Finland! Once again I bow down in front of you.

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Going back up North

On 11th March 2017 I was coming back from my first trip to Finland. It has been one of the best experiences I’ve had so far and in a way I could say it has been life changing.

While I was there I was in a state of complete and almost continuous amazement. I couldn’t exactly point at something in particular, as it seemed to me everything was great and extraordinary. If someone had asked me what was so great about Finland, I wouldn’t have been able to say. The nature that was close everywhere, the ice in the street (ice is usually one of the things I hate most in winter), the train, the order, the serenity, the feeling of freedom… basically everything.

I probably came across as an overly enthusiastic retard because I was so happy and in high spirits and giggling and laughing for no reason all the time (except for work meetigs. You have to be serious during work meetings). But this is the effect that trip had on me. And on top of that, I lived one of my most uplifting experiences (I wrote about it in another post) at sea in Finland.

That one week I spent there and all the related reading that followed only made me love this country even more. When I think about going to Finland, now that I know it a bit better, my enthusiasm is only slighted checked by the thought that I might not be able to get used to the harsh weather or that I might not be able to fit in (despite all my love for this country), but I also feel my heart warming up at the thought of being there, reconnected with the nature, the places, the people I know there.

I picture Finland as the Nature holding me in its arms, giving me a part in this big Universe, making me feel safe and that my existence has a meaning.

To me, Finland represents sobriety keeping to itself when there is no need for too much noise or nonsense, but letting in feelings and warmth when these have gained their part in the game. It is this cool place of badassery (yes, I’m thinking of you, Mr. Tomi Joutsen), evolution and progress. It is the stories I have read in Kalevala when the Finns were just farmers singing about the creation of the world and about how the kantele was invented, but also the companies looking for smarter ways of doing things and the innovation they brought about.

It is now 11th March 2018 and a plane is taking me to the place I hold so dear. There is no better way to celebrate this anniversary.

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Book Therapy

Karl Ove Knausgård – Lupta mea (Partea I)

De cartea lui Karl Ove Knausgård m-am „lovit” de mai multe ori prin librării, dar nu m-a convins din prima să o cumpăr. Aflasem că e o autobiografie şi în general m-am cam ferit de genul acesta. Am mai citit prin articole de pe internet că a provocat un mare scandal în ţara sa de origine pentru că dezvăluirile pe care le făcuse în carte fuseseră incomode pentru unii membri ai familiei sale şi pentru câţiva apropiaţi. Cele şase volume mă făceau mai degrabă să îmi imaginez o operă greoaie, stufoasă, o autobiografie greu de urmărit à la Marcel Proust.

M-am hotărât să fac totuşi o încercare, să mă conving singură dacă autobiografia aceasta atât de notorie merită toată atenţia pe care a primit-o, dacă a stârnit atâtea discuţii doar pentru că e plină de detalii maliţioase despre cunoscuţii scriitorului sau pentru că e într-adevăr o apariţie rară în literatura începutului de secol XXI. Mărturisesc cu sinceritate că mă aşteptam să găsesc în Karl Ove Knausgård un tip dur, care n-a ezitat să arate lumii o imagine puţin măgulitoare a rudelor şi prietenilor lui doar ca să atingă statutul de celebritate internaţională.

Am citit câteva zeci de pagini din prima carte – Moartea unui tată – şi mi-am dat seama de cât de departe fusesem de adevăr. Karl Ove Knausgård e un om de o sensibilitate rară, cu o mare disponibilitate spre a trăi intens orice experienţă a vieţii. Sinceritatea cu care se prezintă pe sine (care trădează nu de puţine ori mai degrabă o lipsă de indulgenţă faţă de sine, decât o tendinţă spre a se prezenta într-o lumină pozitivă) nu poate să nu îţi atragă simpatia.

Aşa cum au afirmat deja mai mulţi critici, norvegianul i-a câştigat de partea sa pe cititori prin măiestria şi uşurinţa cu care reuşeşte să creeze impresia că scrie despre viaţa oricăruia dintre noi. Când îl citeşti pe Knausgård ai impresia că citeşti despre viaţa ta, despre frământările tale, despre relaţia defectuoasă cu unul dintre părinţi, despre cum încercai să îi faci pe ceilalţi colegi să te accepte în grupul lor în anii de şcoală, despre dragoste şi tot zbuciumul sau fericirea fără margini pe care le provoacă, despre cum te raportezi la propriii copii şi cum vrei să-i creşti. Este ceea ce face din cele şase cărţi (până în momentul scrierii acestui text au fost traduse în limba română doar primele patru) nu doar o poveste pe care o citeşti de dragul poveştilor.

Lupta mea e de fapt lupta oricăruia dintre noi, iar cel care a scris-o reuşeşte să deschidă o fereastră înspre psihicul şi sufletul unui bărbat ale cărui acceptare şi stimă de sine la maturitate sunt puternic afectate de o relaţie extrem de dificilă şi traumatizantă cu tatăl prea strict, despotic, care îşi manifesta forţa şi voinţa dominatoare doar faţă de copiii care nu îi puteau opune nici un fel de rezistenţă.

Cartea a doua – Un bărbat îndrăgostit – pune în valoare (cel mai probabil fără intenția scriitorului, pentru că el nu se vede sub nici o formă în această lumină favorabilă) un alt model de bărbat decât cel valorificat încă destul de mult în mass-media şi în societate – bărbatul viril, macho, un munte de forţă fizică, mereu neînfricat şi în nici un caz uşor de înduioşat. Ei bine, felul în care se prezintă Knausgård cu sinceritatea lui dezarmantă lasă să se înţeleagă că e de fapt un bărbat foarte sensibil, ale cărui lacrimi încă mai ies la iveală atunci când situaţiile prin care trece sunt de o încărcătură emoţională prea puternică, impresionat de literatură şi de muzică, îndrăgostit nebuneşte de cea care avea să-i devină cea de-a doua soţie. În a doua carte a autobiografiei sale scriitorul norvegian analizează de nenumărate ori oscilaţiile sale între dragostea pentru soţie şi copii, faţă de care simte un ataşament real şi sincer, şi dorinţa sa arzătoare de a scrie, nevoie din care a luat naştere şi proiectul autobiografic.

Cartea a treia – Insula copilăriei – revine la conflictul cu tatăl, pentru că prezintă mai detaliat primii ani de şcoală. E o şansă pentru toţi cei care au fost sub influenţa unui părinte opresiv, dar şi pentru cei care au avut o relaţie pozitivă cu familia din care provin, de a vedea urmările covârşitoare pe care le pot avea astfel de interacţiuni nefireşti şi de a înţelege dificultăţile adultului care a trăit experienţe similare în copilărie. Într-o oarecare măsură, cartea îşi depăşeşte astfel valoarea cathartică pentru autor şi poate căpăta chiar o funcţie terapeutică pentru cititori. Parcurgând cartea, dar şi pe cele două de dinaintea ei, ai senzaţia că nu mai eşti singur cu zbaterile tale interioare, ci că ai cunoscut un om care a trăit ceva similar cu tine şi din experienţele căruia poţi învăţa.

Chiar şi numai după primele trei cărţi citite, autobiografia lui Karl Ove Knausgård creează o impresie foarte plăcută şi, mai ales, dependenţă. E una dintre acele cărţi pe care le laşi cu greu din mână, iar când se întâmplă, îţi pare rău că mai ai şi altele de făcut decât să te bucuri de imersiunea în universul unui tip sensibil, cultivat şi extrem de talentat din ţara fiordurilor şi a munţilor trufaşi.

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Sometimes you just cannot find the words

There are moments when I feel a cold breeze surrounding me. But it’s all in my head. There are moments when I remember the solitude, the empowering solitude that made me and nature become one. There are moments like tonight that summon some of the dearest memories I have of my existence.

I have been struggling to find the right words to describe what I had felt then. Ever since. I tried to explain, at least to myself, what happened that night. And I am not sure I can. I just feel a lump in my throat and the tears coming to my eyes, but I cannot cry, for this is no reason to be sad. Right after that moment I was gasping for breath and I could barely speak although someone next to me was trying to have a conversation with me. I needed time for my mind to readjust to thinking about worldly matters.

There was a night in my life when I went out on deck on a boat. Surrounded by darkness, I was taken aback by the sound of the ship crushing through the ice and all I could do was stammer while I was receiving the wind straight to my chest and my face. I can still close my eyes at times and feel myself being immersed in that landscape, with the roaring sound of the boat through the frozen water in my ears. The lights of the city were yet too distant and barely visible. When I remembered that I could actually move, I turned my head and through the mist I saw a house on an island.

I could only think of nature at that time. All of a sudden everything and everyone had disappeared from the face of the Earth. There was nothing else but me and the elements. And I felt so small, completely enveloped in nature’s infinite folds. I thought of death too, but in that moment, death had nothing frightening anymore, it was the mere integration into that grand, enormous force I could feel everywhere around me. It was something so strong, so overpowering, yet I was not afraid, I knew I was not in danger, I was a part of nature.

And when I was all alone again, later that night, I broke into tears. I just laid down on my bed and let the tears come out of me. Because what I had felt was too strong, completely overwhelming, like nothing I had experienced before. The moment when I have probably felt more alive than ever before. This is what Finland did to me.

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The Nordic Adventure – Part II

It’s almost midnight, my eyes are starting to feel dry because of how tired I am, and yet I can’t sleep. The idiotic smile I’ve been harbouring for the past three days wouldn’t wipe itself off my face.

At times I wonder why (although I don’t want to try too hard) I am so excited about this. What is so special over here? What makes me feel like a child on Christmas day throughout the day? Someone told me I sound like a person on LSD. I guess I do, but then again, this feels great!

I was thinking that traveling is like a super fast way of growing as a person. Probably one of the best lessons I learned these days is that your will becomes so strong when you have to do something you’ve been dreaming of for so long or when you do something that you like. And I know that is not rocket-science, we all know that at a theoretical level. But what is truly amazing for me is how uplifting that feels.

I have experienced today a type of cold I have never felt before. I kept blowing warm air into one fist or the other, I tried to pull down my cap as much as I could. At one point I even felt my thighs were burning, like a thousand needles were mildly stinging my skin, that’s how frozen I was! And yet, I kept going. Back home I would (and I am pretty sure I have) complain and moan about way less than this. I am no fan of cold. But this time, I wouldn’t give up. And I didn’t even want to complain, I would try to confort myself as best as I could and kept walking.

And at the same time, I was amazed by how resilient I had suddenly become. Now let’s be honest: I wasn’t climbing Mount Everest, I was just wandering in the streets of Helsinki on a very windy evening. But normally I wouldn’t even have gone out on a day like this. So to see that I was willing to put up with something I normally avoid or moan about was not only surprising, but encouraging as well.

From a higher perspective, this experience I’m going through right now reminds me of how big the world is, how many the people in it and how numerous the opportunities to make your journey here worthwile. And remembering recent past events, I keep telling myself: “So the world is so big and so amazing, you can have this type of experience and you were worrying about that?”. Now it seems rather silly that I was so stuck on matters that have absolutely ZERO importance in the way life unfolds.

And I’ll go back to that kind of thoughts. Again and again. I know it. And that’s alright. I just hope I’ll always remember the lessons I learned these days and that my skin was burning because of the frost one evening in Helsinki.

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The Nordic Adventure

I’m walking towards my dream and I have a lump in my throat. I am traveling alone and there are so many people around me that I don’t know.

At times I feel like crying. If you were raised like me by overprotective parents, if you’ve always had someone to look after you all the time, then you understand why doing anything alone feels like a significant achievement. So am I scared? Maybe. A little. Am I thrilled? Yes. Does this raise my self-cofidence and make me feel like I can face the whole world on my own? Definitely!

Traveling in itself is such an amazing, thought-provoking and mind-opening experience. Doing it all alone increases that feeling and gives you even more space and time to face yourself. As I’m writing this I’m still in my home country and I already get that feeling that I am part of a much bigger community that the one I usually tend to include myself in.

But I’m already looking at the people around me, wondering who they are, what their life is like and where they’re going. Did they find it hard to fall asleep last night like me because they were too excited? Is someone waiting for them at their destination? How will they spend the time they have where they’re going?

I’ll soon arrive at a much larger airport and the sense of smallness will be even more overwhelming. But so will be the feeling I’ve achieved something important and that the pool of opportunities life has to offer is so vast.

And yet, the best feeling I got from this experince so far is that I am finally living something I’ve dreamt of for so long. Does that mean then that I can hope other things I yearn for will become reality one day?

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