I decided to post a little poem in my own mother tongue, Finnish. I do write both in Finnish and in English, depends on the mood and what I try to express. See, I've been studying in English for two years now so all my academic vocabulary and fine writing as well as self-expresion has evolved in English while my finnish language has roughened.. Some things I better express in Finnish and some better in English and so it goes and it shows in my texts. Here I stand, lost between two very dear languages but I'll try for me - to keep myself sane and to shape my feelings into words - and for you to hopefully find some sane structures from the insanity I might reveal and also to get comfort from the similarities to something you might have gone through or just to notice someone's patetic in their own life, too. Oh, or maybe just out of curiousity, too. I'll approve all that :) And here goes the poem I wrote:

Pakenen elämää kauniisiin lauluihin,
Tukahdun maailman suruihin.
Hengitän raskasta ilmaa,
Ilmaa,
Jonka taakkana on koko avaruus,
Ilmaa,
Jonka saasteena on koko ilmakehän paine,
Ja taas pakenen lapsiasentoon.
Pelkoni omaleimaisuus,
Joka painaa minua maata vasten.
En halua kuulla,
En tietää.
En valheita,
Ja velä vähemmän totuuksia.
Hulluksi kutsuvat;
Tyttöä,
Joka pajun kasvua kavahtaa.

To story of creating this is simple. I am from an ok-wealthy, beyond-averige family and I haven't gone through poverty of any kind, parents' divorce or anything like that, which seem to be the norm or just very common these days. Not saying I'm a spoiled brat here, no way (I've been working since I was thirteen and never getting all the things I have asked for), but rather to confess a little thing about myself; I was raised in veryveryvery stable and loving family that would support me anyhow with anything; money, grief etc.

But the thing is when I hear these disconsolate true stories from people that are close to me (such as parents cheating each other leading to a crisis and then divorce, the other one left broken-hearted and the child in between two homes..) I get the feeling of fear and gratitude. Fear of the things that are so common but to me so distant. And gratitude then, from all the things I've got (I seriously think that the best gift I've ever got from my parents is that they are together, they love each other and that they love me) and haven't got.

And when I have these moments of fear, I allow myself to be the child who hasn't gone through any of the stories I hear but still getting spooked by them and wanting hide from such truths. I have my own portion of misfortune, grief and my own problems I struggle with every day.

Any ways, good night for now :)

Davádat

Today I wanted to post the lyrics of a song that is in Sámi language, which is the original language of my region. I have that Sámi ancestral blood only 1/4 in me so I'm nothing special but I've studied the language out of curiousity and this song I find beautiful, not just the lyrics but the singing as well. It tells about the reindeer being lost from their tracks, not being able to find their way home or find enough food and they're asking for the West wind to lead them. It is a song with a double meaning the lyrics acting as a huge metaphor. Pretty :)

The song is called Davádat and it is from Sofia Jannok's, a swedish musician's, solo album. Here goes the lyrics:

Davádat

Gosa mii
johtit go
biegganjunni
ii šat deaivva
davás?

Láidumat
baskudit
go min juolggit
eai šat duolmma
bálgážiid

Davádat,
láide min ruoktut
mánnávuođa
oahpes bovnnaid lusa

Davádat,
láide min
vai min dábit
báhcet varas muitun
lieggasis

Be drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:"It is time to be
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

- Charles Baudelaire

We never were

I decided to gather a few edibly bitter songs that make my Monday, here we go:

The Kooks - Seaside
Coldplay - Viva La Vida
Maria Mena: Internal Dialogue
Blue Foundation - Eyes on Fire
Regina Spektor - Laughing With

Today is a bit odd day. Really is. Woke up late when the sleepy voice next to me whispered 'We're late'. And we were. An hour late.

Guess this is what happens when you pop a bottle of champagne. Champagne for the victory of the Finnish hockey team winning the World Championship. LEIJONAT

Between an inch and loss

There you are,

an inch apart from my longing lips.

You crouch closer,

not an inch,

not a single breath in between.

This is where I doubt,

where you linger,

not wanting to let go.

Your gaze getting softer shades,

loving – even.

The need for receding,

the fear of loosing,

confused messages that brush your cheeks

when I try to convince you

that I'm not scared.

Platonic love

The inseams of our relationship,

the victories we go through in our discussions,

and yet we achieve nothing.

We are each others' heroes,

the greatest critics.

Pale lattes in cozy cafés,

dissenting opinions in my toilet seat.

I flush them down,

and so you keep me sane.

Your hatred for my ignorance,

the way I'm not aware.

Our procrastination,

measured in long leaps,

the ones we take when we grasp for air

so we wouldn't be late.