“What did you expect from these rhetorics?”


July, 2016

Rhymes only exist in your imagination and your sentences meaningless when detached from reality. Words have expiration dates because their meaning is subjective and proverbs false because their predicaments unproven. No, all roads don’t lead to bloody Rome.

I wish they did.

“You’ll be out of here soon, find comfort in that.” Tranquility might be sufficient at times but your mind needs movement to avoid stiffening. But you know this. A view of the clouds and a foreign tongue. Late nights city lights and cobble stones echoing your pace on stern brick walls, sunsets by the lake and flashing basement club lights. Sober nights and drunk surroundings to let you know you are alive, cigarette breaths and beating drums to remind you it won’t be forever.

It’s okay to dream as long as the leading role is played by abstraction. But be careful, little girl. Or delusions will get the best of you in the end, after all.

Gothenburg and the sunset

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My lovable, lovable lovable little city, viewpoints high above the rooftops and perfect summer sunsets.❤ (Instagram)

I’ve been living in a suitcase since Cuba and I’m getting *slightly* tired of it. Haven’t slept in the same place for more than three nights in a row in I don’t know how long and haven’t properly unpacked my bags for a month. Traveling is beautiful and the fact that I’ve been to four countries just in the last two weeks is obviously extremely privileged. But can I still complain a little?

I’m craving autumn, new beginnings, the start of something and for things to happen. What’s up with summer holidays being to bloody long, anyway? Yes, human beings need recovery in between working our asses off, but two entire months? I’m going mad.

It’s okay. I’m going back to Umeå and my everyday 5 am alarm and twelve–hour workdays and literally living in the studio in just three (!) days. However bad as that may sound to some, it’s like music to my ears. I love when things are happening, I love feeling that I’m being productive as hell and I love getting things done.

Last year was a good one. I’m surrounded with the greatest people I could ever ask for up in that little studio, and we’re pushing each other to be the best we can every damn day. Hopefully this year can be even better, even more productive, even more efficient, even more creative and even more fantastic. We’re building the foundation to the rest of our lives up in that little northern town, and despite the cold and dark and seclusion and whatever else that place brings, it’s a pretty good place to do it. Because holy shit, if anything, we are FOCUSED. And I can’t wait to get back to it.

Three days! I moved into my grandparents townhouse today so that’s where I’ll be until then. My grandparents are the best people I know and I always say I want to be like my grandmother when I grow up. She’s been a psychiatrist her entire life and is the most empathetic and rational person I know, all the while still understanding that human beings are irrational and mad and incomprehensible and that’s okay. You can still find peace in the midst of that, too. 

Hope you’re good.❤


Cuba part VI – Las Terrazas & Soroa

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August 1

Why do we do anything at all?

For survival? For the greater good? I’m on a balcony in a nature reserve on the Cuban outback. Cigar smoke burning my nostrils, crickets chirping loud in the forest behind and horses running past in the darkness ahead. Stomach full of frijoles and fried plátano. It is peaceful. But is that it? What is this moment for me? I’m a human being and is this what human beings should be doing? We’re not part of the food chain so that notion is irrelevant, surviving no longer a struggle but a simple fact. We existence in abundance but reproduce nonetheless, hence we can forget that too. So what is it?

We live to figure out this life. To answer the questions that preoccupy our oversized minds. That’s all. I have a million questions. But in the end, what is there to figure out, really?

We live and we die and most of us miserable in the meantime. Stressing out over the fact that we have no money, our family cause us pain and our hearts shatter our souls. And we roam around thinking there must be more than this, let me just figure out what that is and it will be okay, it will all be okay.

I live my life balancing on a thin border between cynicism and mindfulness. On the one hand I don’t understand the purpose of human beings when all we do is destroy ourselves and our surroundings. On the other hand this life is the most beautiful thing I know. The fact that we feel. The fact that we create. The fact that we are conscious. “I think, therefore I am”. Yet this consciousness is completely abstract to us. It can’t be broken down into atoms like all the other parts that make us humans. It just appears as we are born, gradually intensifies with age and experience… Only to disintegrate into nothingness as soon as we die.

So the process never ends. And as human beings we have, for yet another generation, gotten nowhere. Our answered and unanswered questions buried with us deep beneath the earth, and the /solution to it all/ still a complete mystery to all of mankind.

So what is the point, then?

There isn’t any point. And maybe that’s all. Maybe realising that and being okay with it is our purpose on this planet. We all want to be important, we all want to feel like we are significant and part of something grand – but in the end, we are nothing but a little piece of dust in the history of the universe.

And perhaps that’s the beauty of it all. We’re fleeting, impermanent, and though we are fully aware of this, we’re all still trying so damn hard to make the best of our little time here anyway. We will perish sooner than the universe can blink yet we are so eager to make a contribution anyway.

That’s admirable. And maybe it’s the answer to everything, too.

Cuba part V – Cardenas

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August 2

Day thirteen on this island and we are going places. Eastbound on Cuba’s main highway (the only place fifth gear is even remotely possible and the meter-wide potholes only appear every other kilometre), past Havana, along the white sands of the northern coast, enter – Varadero.

The tourist mecca of the entire island, enormous hotel complexes lining up the 20 kilometre beachfront and the most up-to-date infrastructure of the entire country (you gotta pick and chose what you decide to show the foreigners, right?). But living here is expensive (exploitation at its finest) so we continue elsewhere, namely – Cardenas.

These places are like night and day. You leave the large, clean, polished avenues of Varadero and enter the dusty neighbouring small town just fifteen minutes away. The buildings are the same colonial architecture as the rest of the country. But they are run down. Abandoned and shut off. Underfed horses scramble the streets. The dogs are happy, but damaged. The one across the street has only a limp as a forth leg. In a pile of garbage lies the foot of a vulture, a few steps ahead the rest of its severed carcass. I dodge it with my sandal-covered foot in the last second and scream out loud. Dead birds ain’t my strong suit.

This place is communism impersonated. We arrive late in the afternoon, too late to do anything purposeful but too early to call it a day, so we decide to take a walk to the water. Down a palm tree-covered alley, oil refineries on both sides and stretching out into the ocean ahead – a long pier. It’s getting dark, not because the sun is setting just yet but because an enormous black cloud is approaching. Better hurry. We make our way out on the pier, dodging the piles of trash on our way and past abandoned concrete buildings. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the wind catches on and the dark intensifies. The cloud has literally swallowed the entire area and arriving with it – the rain.

We run. Seek the first shelter we can find under the cracked concrete ceiling. Crushed stone beneath our feet, the rain is coming in horizontally and we hide behind what’s left of the walls. Thunder so loud you can’t hear your own thoughts and lighting crushing down around us with mere moments in between.

It’s monumental. Exciting and terrifying. In the midsts of the storm and completely helpless, unable to do anything but wait it out, however long in takes. In the meantime the dampness is settling onto our skin and the cold approaching our bones and we wonder what exactly is this place, really?

“Freedom or death”. It’s written on the walls behind me. Imprinted into the mind of every Cuban nationalist. And now it’s falling apart like these barracks themselves. The communism is dying. It always would, the system was too fragile at the start. But the idea will always remain.

Freedom or death. I wonder. Ask yourself this. If one were to take your freedom from you – would your life still be worth living? Or would your existence become unbearable? You’d be a slave to the world, unable to form your own decisions and opinions.

It sounds agonising to me. But then again. Do you really think this isn’t the case already?

Gothenburg musings


Favourite city and neighbourhood and architecture❤

I’m finally (!) back in Gothenburg and it is fantastic. I’m usually the first one to shy away from familiarity but right now, it is all I ever need. I know these streets like the back of my hand. I know the coffee shops with the best internet connection, the least crowded shopping streets, the cleanest restrooms without charge, the best lunch spots by the water and every direction of every tram line in the city. I don’t even have to think. I just step outside and walk, let my feet guide me wherever I need to go and my brain on hold in the meantime.

Well, well. Wait one week and you’ll hear me complaining again, don’t worry.😉

I spent the afternoon the other day in the city running errands, and then found a juice bar with wifi to call my best friend in London. Our normal routine: me sending her hysterical messages out of nowhere (“OMG DUDE CALL ME LITERALLY RIGHT THIS SECOND PLEASE I’M DYING”) and her excusing herself from her work: “Excuse me, my friend is having a minor meltdown again, I will be right back…”

So I’m sitting in this juice bar trying to recall my recent life events to my best friend. Loud enough to be heard over an online phone call yet quiet enough to avoid being shared with the rest of the room (a challenge if there ever was one) and I completely forget the fact that it’s Sunday, meaning — everything closes early. Suddenly the entire place is empty and the doors closed and chairs on the table. I look around with slight panic in my eyes (where can I go to find wifi now?!) and catch the stare of one of the employees. “We still have to clean up so you can stay, it’s okay!”

THANK YOU!. So I stay in my corner an hour passed closing time, inadvertently spilling my secrets to not just my friend, but cute juice-making bartending hipster guys as well. Making a massive fool of myself in hysterical fits of crying and laughing and whatever other ridiculous screeching sounds you make when on a long distance phone call with your best friend, but, honestly — who cares?

If making a fool of yourself is going to make strangers laugh, then hell yes, you are doing something right. “You leaving already?!” the hipsters told me an hour and a half later in the empty bar. “Well, you’re more than welcome back anytime!”

Okay. Considering the topics I just loudly discussed with my best friend and the all–too friendly reaction from strange men… Maybe I do share my life a little too openly.