I’m alive. Feeling right at home. For your information. Good night and good luck.
1. Walking it out during family badminton session 2. Nephew, moi and cousin making our very best cakefaces 3. The mobster family celebrating the “Godfather’s” 88th 4. My favorite party girl and moi fail miserably at posing 5. Bonsai comes and sees me off at the airport 6. Good old mother-daughter love.
I don’t quite know what time it is. Which is slightly annoying, as I’m supposed to catch a flight at some point. I’m currently cooking in the dwellings of Moscow Sheremetyevo Airport. I forgot my awesome surgeon mask in my check-in luggage, but luckily it doesn’t seem to be needed after all. Or is it?
So far people seem nicer than I remember them being at the airport. I’ve spent so much time complaining about being bored that I actually (if I finally got the hour straight) should be hurrying off to check my gate. With my luck, it’s probably the wrong Sheremetyevo. Ah well. You’ll know if I’m stuck here, I promise.
Trainrides make me nostalgic. You know, when you’re sitting in the window seat, looking out on all the scenery passing you by. You remember all the things, the people and the memories that did the same throughout your life. You rush through it all, because you’re heading somewhere, because you have a destination.
I miss not having a destination. Just living for the moment, feeling every bit of it all the way from my head to my toes through my heart and my gut. Stopping still, inhaling, exhaling, looking, closing your eyes. Doing this today, perhaps doing it tomorrow again, or doing something completely different. Never being bored by anything else than own free will, constantly on the move, or just standing still, not asking questions, not being asked, just talking, laughing, listening, learning, loving, living.
But sometimes, sometimes destinations are good. They pull you forward, they can grant you purpose, they give you that kick in the bum you need. They get you where you want to be, where you want to see, smell, hear, taste, feel. A new place, an old place, a familiar place, a loved place.
Choose your destination, choose it wisely. Don’t be pushed by your problems, be lead by your dreams. Love it and you will live it.
I’m coming home now. And I’m living home to the fullest until it’s time to sit on yet another one of these nostalgic rides towards my new home.
I’m sitting on a train, just sitting on a train. What a glorious feeling, I’m heading home again.
1. Newlyweds in Vagnhärad 2. Sisters, mum and me 3. Meza and BBQ at the most awesome Lebanese restaurant ever. 4. Sister and the Gävle beachvolley gang 5. Sis rocking the bike.
So the past week I’ve been on the move. Attended my aunt’s wedding (and that as the official photographer, o.O), visited Stockholm and jumped up to Gävle where I saw the last of my goofy sister and her boyfriend before leaving.
It’s weird to think that image number 2 will be the last of its sort for a long time to come. So I won’t.
1. Swedish crayfishparty @ Maria’s 2. Doing some honorable tourism in the old streets of Stockholm 3. Eating crayfishparty left-overs in a fancy pantsy way 4. Breakfast made by Maria with love
I don’t really like Stockholm. It’s an aesthetically appealing city, it really is. But the atmosphere isn’t for me. However, there are certain gems hidden up there. Illustrated above, really.
From Stockholm with love.
Surely, cleaning out your computer must count as cleaning your room, if your computer so happens to be in your room? Pretty much like cleaning your closet counts as cleaning your room because your closet is in your room. Right?
Well, I was hard at work looking through the old files on my MacBook. Poor thing is acting possessed these days, which might have something to do with the 11 000 images resting in my iPhoto library. Just might. So I thought I’d do something about it, and started flipping through the very oldest “happenings”. It was all good until I stumbled upon this.
Aah. Nantes -07. Spent four days there (school trip), staying with an utterly French and amazingly sweet host family. Above is the oven-baked french bread with camembert (or some other cheese with a fancy name) we had as an appetizer on my second evening there. What followed was my very first taste of canard, I believe. All cooked by the coolest French host father ever. All very magnifique.
Passez-moi la salade, s’il vous-plait? or something. My French is a bit rusty. As if it was ever shiny. Ha. Il est moche dans sa tête. Ha ha. Good times.
Now I’m starving and seriously considering tossing some garlic baguette into the oven whilst I finish cleaning my, ehrm, room. I’ll be damned if I do and be damned if I don’t.
Longji rice terraces. Sound exciting? Perhaps not. But it was the most amazing day on our Guangxi trip. The sun finally decided to come out, the air cleared up and it was nothing less than wonderful being up at the very top of the terraces, looking out on all those fields and houses, breathing fresh air for the first time in Buddha knows how long…