I hear the key in the door and wake up but my eyes feel swollen shut. I think I was dreaming or something. I hear Olov in the kitchen then in his room. I know it’s after 8am without looking at the clock and I feel lazy for not being awake with breakfast as I said I would.
I will my eyes to open and get out of bed.
“Mornin’! I smile, standing in his doorway.
“Oh hey!”
“How was work?”
“Quiet, with two calls like I said.” he smiled and walked passed me into the kitchen.
“There are pancakes left!” he exclaimed and pulled them out of the ‘fridge.
“I thought you wanted me to make something. I was going to make French Toast.”
“I’ll eat both.” he said.
I pull everything I bought out of the ‘fridge and get started. He investigates the Nutella and says doesn’t like the idea of chocolate peanut butter.
“I don’t think it’s necessarily peanut butter…” I trail off but he’s already pulled out the jam.
He finishes eating before me and retreats to the computer in his room. I stare out the window, the sky lighting up is fabulous. I wonder if we’re going to see the sun today.
I hear the television come on and think he’s got an awful lot of energy this morning for being at work all night. I clear my dishes and go change clothes.
By the time I get everything together, the sun is out and I’m desperate to be outside. I didn’t know I could miss it so much. It Atlanta, sometimes a cloudy day is a nice relief from having my retinas burned out on a daily basis by the blazing sun.
I say goodbye to Olov and head out to Creem first. I feel an extra spark of energy in my step as I look over at the sun splashed buildings.
“Hey!” I exclaim to Benny.
“Hey.” he smiled. If I could have just a piece of his laid back attitude, that would be amazing. He looks and acts as if he’s never had a care in the world. “The usual?”
“Yes sir!” I grinned. “How are ya?”
“I’m good.” he shrugged. “How are you?”
“Ecstatic to see the sun!” I squeal.
“Yeah, that doesn’t happen too often here.” he smiled and handed me the large glass of coffee.
“Apparently.” I smiled, handed him some “fake” money, (I’m still not used to it) and sat down in the window.
I can barely sit still. I don’t even know how to describe how I feel except that it’s sheer joy at it’s absolute best. I’m trying not to laugh out loud at my giddiness as I try to focus on writing. I’ve been here four days now and I haven’t been too dreadfully lonely. When those feelings come, they pass fairly quickly, I’ve managed to navigate around ok despite my bouts of getting lost, I’ve still managed to figure it out without having to stop and ask. Hmm. I’m ok. Really ok. I really do have everything I need right now at this moment and really, this is the only moment that I need to focus on. I have a horrible tendency to get wrapped up in the “what-ifs?” and looking too far in the future. I haven’t done that at all this week. Even when Olov asks what I’ll be doing later I don’t always have an answer because for once, I haven’t been thinking even that far ahead.
I pull out my map and look at Gamla Stan again. For real. I’m going to find this damn chocolate café if it kills me. I write the directions down from studying the map and happily bounce out the door and towards the underground.
Once on the train I survey around at all the people with their artfully undone hair and layered clothing with bright splashes of neon thrown in every now and then. I do love the train. I’ve grown to enjoy the automated sounding female voice that comes over the loudspeaker announcing the next stop. In a few days I’ll be back in my car, sitting in traffic, hoping there is gas somewhere, and wondering when I’ll have time to take care of maintenance issues. Or maybe not. Maybe I don’t have to. The idea I once entertained but put aside returns and I think to myself, “I can so do that… just as soon as I clear US Customs upon landing…”
I didn’t even know my giddiness could be amplified but it was and I took off out of the underground station once it stopped in Gamla Stan. Finally I felt filled with a sense of purpose and had received the clarity I had been craving and hoping for once I got to Stockholm.
Following my directions from the map, I finally made it to the chocolate café! I’d tell you the name of it, but I can’t spell or even pronounce it. I just knew it looked like the word I saw in the book!
It was packed outside, people huddled together at small tables with huge ceramic mugs filled with deliciousness. I squeezed through the door and saw that it was just as crowded inside. This usually turns me off and I’ll leave only to return at a less busy time but I had finally found this place and was determined to stay.
“Sit anywhere you like!” A skinny gay man with black hair and eyes called out to me. He looked more Italian than Swedish.
“Thank you.” I smiled and headed for a tiny table in the middle of the room.
“I’ll be right back to take care of you.” he said quickly, handing me a menu that was printed in both Swedish and English.
“Thanks.” I reply to the menu. Once I figure out that I want hot chocolate (what the café is famous for) and a cinnamon roll, I start looking around. Pictures of half naked men line the walls as this is a predominately gay café. The floor is hard wood and a small group of men who all look similar to the man that handed me the menu are bustling about, carrying huge trays of food and desserts in and out of the small door leading to the outdoor patio. Loud but fun dance music is playing and people are everywhere. I pull out my journal as the man returns.
“You know what you like?” he asks?
I ordered and he took the menu and later returned with a bowl of hot chocolate I could swim in, and a cinnamon roll the size of my face. The book was right! It was the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had!
I stay a little longer, people watching and writing until I’m dying to be outside again. The whole city is practically sparkling. I also think I’m a little jacked on caffeine, mixed with a sugar high.
I wind around through the streets until I get to the edge of the water again. Tears find their way into my eyes again but hurry away before they have time to fall. I snap pictures, and breathe in the amazing air. People are out walking everywhere or sitting alone on benches looking as if they’re contemplating something.
Once I’m finished at the water’s edge I walk back through the shops again. A small dimly lit one filled with dark colored dresses catches my eye. When I walk in I’m overwhelmed at all the pretty things. Where to start…? Corsets hang on one wall, long dresses on an opposing wall, and short party dresses line another one. I go for those first. A pretty girl in what looks like her early twenties comes up to me.
“Can I help you find anything?”
“Just looking.” I smile.
“Ok. Just to let you know all the corsets are made my me and my business partner makes all the dresses.”
“Are you serious?!” I exclaim.
She smiles and nods. I spend the next twenty minutes with her as she pulls things out that she’s been working on. I’m absolutely amazed at her talent and a little jealous of her fabulous creativity. As I leave, she hands me her business card.
Once outside again I start my meandering again. I see a café that I came across last night. “Hmm. A latte wouldn’t be so bad…” I think to myself and head down the staircase to this little underground spot. My eyes open wide when I see all the antique looking couches and chairs scattered about with little tables and dimly lit chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. People fill some of the chairs and couches, either talking quietly, or writing something. I order a latte and sink into a plush green chair that is between a pink and white one and a large blue one. I pull out my journal and begin to write. I’m maybe a paragraph in when I remember I told Olov I’d meet him back at his house at 5. I turn my phone on. It’s 10:00am in Atlanta, plus six so it’s 4 now. Back to writing.
“Is that a journal you’re writing in?” a voice pulls me out of my head and I look up to see a tall man with a shaved head and blue-gray eyes standing in front of me.
“It is.” I nod.
“It reminds me of one I had that I used for poetry.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, where did you find that one?” he sits with me.
“Just a random bookstore at home.”
“You’re American?” he asks.
What gave that away?
“I am.” I smile.
“Which region?”
“Southeast.”
“Hmm.” he nods.
“And you?”
“I’m from Sweden.” he smiles.
His name is Ulf (pronounced as if you’re saying “wolf”, I think, but it was kinda loud in the café at this point.) We talk about writing, (his poetry, my journals and short stories) our jobs and the general differences between Americans and Swedes.
“We Swedes are rather shy. I think it’s because we spend a lot of time indoors.”
“I’ve noticed that a little. Generally, I feel as a whole, Swedes are standoffish until a conversation is struck and then it’s like having a long lost friend come back into your life.” I laugh.
“It’s true! We do look to the Americans a lot though, for style and things.”
I’m laughing again remembering Jhoni asking me to try and take pictures of what people were wearing out of curiosity about Swedish style. I tell him this and he thinks it’s odd of course when they’re looking at us for the same thing.
“I feel like, with Americans, you guys make it hard to get under your surfaces.” he says.
I nod.
“You are all very commercialized and it’s as if everyone is trying to live up to this image or ideal instead of just being individual.” he shrugs.
“Exactly!” Isn’t that human nature though?
“Are you inspired by people when you travel?” he asks.
“Absolutely!” I exclaim. “I like watching mannerisms, how people have arranged their clothing, language, the list goes on.”
We bounce around to random topics about our lives before I glance at my phone. It’s time for me to get going.
“I have to run but thanks for the chat!” I smile.
“It was a pleasure Melissa. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Stockholm.” he shakes my hand and I’m on my way again.
Once back at Olov’s, he wakes up long enough to say hello then returns to sleep. I decided to continue my writing in the kitchen. I’m jittery and full of nervous energy. (surely it’s not because of that latte…hehe.) My mind reels back and forth between enjoying my time here and having to return home at some point. I don’t want to go home but can’t hide out here in Stockholm forever. I try to figure out why I’m not ready to go back. Not that I’m leaving tomorrow, but the thought of returning is sparking my anxiety. I want to tell Olov about my decision but at the same time, I don’t want to talk to anyone about it. I just want to sit with it and keep it with me, for now.
I can no longer sit still. I’ve been writing for an hour. I change clothes and whisper to Olov that I’m going for a run.
“You are?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ok.” he closes his eyes again.
I’m on the street in no time, flying passed all the stores and things that are now familiar, dodging people, ignoring my screaming shins and going until the road turns to the right. I turn and head back.
Once back at Olov’s, I see he’s still asleep. I quietly shower and get dressed. I walk into the kitchen for some water, suddenly feeling hungry.
“Melissa?”
“Yeah?” I turn and walk into his room.
“Hi.” he smiles.
“Hey. Sleep good?”
“I did. Where’ve you been?”
“I went running. You don’t remember me telling you that?”
“Nope.” he turns on the TV then walks into the kitchen. “How long have you been gone?”
“I don’t know.” I follow him.
“I have to ref a soccer game tomorrow out in the country. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure.” I nod.
“There is a book sale I want to check out then I was thinking we could head over to where the Royals live before that then go from there.”
“That would be fabulous.” I smile.
“Good. So when I come home in the morning, I’m going to sleep for a couple of hours then we’ll go.”
“Ok! I’ll probably be at Creem while you’re asleep then.” I smile. “I was thinking about sushi for dinner. You want to come with me?”
“Sushi huh? I don’t think so. I’m still a bit tired. Were you going out to sit down or bringing it back?”
“I was thinking about going out if you were going to come with me.”
“Not tonight. There is a place across the street that has take-away though.”
I nod. “Alright. I’ll be back.”
I leave and head to the small restaurant across the street. I really just wanted his company. I’m ok with eating alone, or even taking something to go, it’s just I feel I’m bursting with all this stuff I want to share with him and I’m having a hard time finding the words. I thought that maybe by being out, there would be no distractions and maybe I could attach words to my thoughts. “Would it have killed me to say this to him?” I think to myself. No. I just don’t want to appear needy.
I open the door and am greeted in Swedish by a cute little Asian woman. I apologize for not speaking Swedish. Turns out, she doesn’t speak English. I look up at the menu. Swedish, of course. Oh boy. I’m about to order raw fish in Swedish. I should just close my eyes and point to something cause that’s as close as I’m gonna get to ordering something I can understand. I do just that, except my eyes are open. I simply point, pay and take the food out a few minutes later.
Everything turned out fine. I could identify almost everything and it was all delicious. Olov sat with me but neither of us said much until I piped up.
“I feel like I have all this stuff to tell you but I don’t have your attention.” The words came out all at once.
“Of course you do!” his eyes widened.
I shake my head. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just extra sensitive and I’m having trouble volunteering things I guess.”
“I’m sorry.” he replied. “You have my attention.”
A weight leaves my chest. Saying that one thought out loud took off weight I didn’t even know I was carrying. He wasn’t angry with me or anything and I was able to let go of whatever was there. I should probably try this more often…
He leaves a little while later to go to work. Another night shift.
“I’ll call you later, to check on you, ok?” he smiles.
“Deal!” I call after him as he leaves.
I’m sitting at his computer, writing my sponsor. The Nutella is still residing in the ‘fridge. “Stop it.” I tell myself and keep typing. I write her about it and say that when I send this email I’m going to toss it and go for a walk. I click ‘send’ and head to the fridge.
“Hmm. Maybe just one bite.” I tell myself, fully knowing better. I take the lid off and have a bite. “Just one more…” another bite and then another follow. My mind slowly sinks into it’s lovely, familiar numbness as I push the spoon into the jar and into my mouth. Jar, mouth, jar, mouth. I don’t hear anything, see anything or feel anything. I barely remember tasting the stuff. Before I know it, the spoon has hit plastic, the sound snapping me out of my numbness.
Shit.
I look down at the jar. It’s all gone. Gone and in my belly. I toss the jar into the trash and head back for the computer confessing to my sponsor that I didn’t make it to the trash can before consuming it. She writes back almost immediately reminding me that it’s only one slip and to get back with my food plan in the morning.
I fall into bed after washing my face. Olov calls to say hello and that he made it to work. We chat another few minutes before he lets me go and I fall asleep with little trouble.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Sweden!!! Part 3...
I get up when I hear Olov in the kitchen. It’s Thursday and somewhat early. He’s got the radio on, playing 60’s music.
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey. You want pancakes for breakfast?” he asked while holding the door to the ‘fridge open.
“Sure.” I pour a glass of water.
“It’s Thursday right?”
“Uh huh.” I nod.
“Thursday is pancake day in Sweden.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Yup. We eat pancakes and pea soup.”
“Pea soup?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“Me either.”
I watch him pull various ingredients out and place them on the counter.
“We don’t eat pancakes with syrup like you Americans.”
“What do you eat them with?”
“Jam.”
I nod.
“I do think I have some syrup though.” he reached up to open a cabinet.
“No, I’ll eat them with jam.” I smiled.
When they were finished, he was eating them with the syrup, and I had blackberry jam. Delicious!
“I think I’m going to try and go to the Vasa Museum today.” I tell him as he’s leaving for work.
“Oh yeah?”
“How do I get there?”
We walk over to the map in his kitchen.
“We’re here, there’s the museum.” he pointed. “Take bus number 47. It’ll take you all the way there. You’ll see the Nordic Museum first. It looks like a castle.”
“Ok.” I nod. I don’t do buses but this is the only way to get there. I’m intimidated by their schedules and the mass number of them. God forbid I get on the wrong one.
“I have to work tonight, overnight. I’m going to record music today and it’s also my sister’s birthday. You want to meet back here for a little while at five?”
“Yup!”
He leaves and I get everything ready to go, looking at the map one more time. I stop in at Creem for coffee.
“Hey!” I exclaim when I see Benny at the counter.
“Hey.” he smiled.
“How are ya?”
He shrugged. “Ok. You?”
“Good.” I nodded.
“The usual?” he asked.
“Yup!” I smile when he hands me a large glass of coffee. I’ve never had coffee in a glass before.
I alternate between writing and staring out the window, until I can’t sit still anymore. I get up and when I’m outside, I see bus #47 loading across the street. I walk faster until I reach it and climb on.
I thought I’d read on the ride over but I’m too enthralled with everything going on outside. Certain streets are filled with people, others are filled with cafes and stores. We pass the Acne jeans store and I smile. I think I’ll be going back for those jeans. I quickly make other mental notes to return to the surrounding areas.
In what seemed like thirty seconds, we were pulling up outside the Nordic Museum. I got off the bus and walked passed the museum and followed the signs to the Vasa Museum.
Good. Lord. The place is huge. The Vasa was a ship that sank in 1628 during a battle between Sweden and Poland. It was later found and pulled out of the ocean in the 1960’s.
I can’t believe I’m looking at something from so long ago that is so huge and still intact. Intricate sculptures line the ends of the ship. The belly of it is extremely wide. The room is so dark, my picture taking results in near black images on my camera’s screen. I keep walking around and around, reading various facts about the ship and looking at the remains of clothing, etc that was also found on it. I imagine my dad would enjoy this place a great deal.
I have no idea what time it is, when I leave. I contemplate the Nordic Museum but there are a lot of people coming in and out of there and I decide I can always come back. I don’t find museums to be enjoyable when they’re overly busy.
Instead of taking the bus I decide to walk back, stopping at Acne of course. I head straight back to the jeans section where a tall, thin man with navy eyes and dirty blonde hair is folding a pair and placing them on the shelf in front of him. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply.
“Oh! Well, is there anything I can help you find?”
“I’m looking for a pair of jeans that aren’t too tapered at the ankle.” I’ve had enough of the skinny jean thing for now.
He pulls out pair after pair in many different shades of denim explaining the difference between them. Each pair he pulls out look as if it would fit a twelve year old American. I discover the most common sizes are waist sizes 24-26. Ouch.
After talking some more with him I walk into the dressing room with a stack of jeans. I’m breaking into a sweat by the time I’m done trying them all on. Finally. I settle on the pair I tried on yesterday. Dramatically high waist, slightly flared leg.
I thank the guy for his help, pay for the jeans, (another “ouch” moment, regardless of dollars or Swedish kronors) and happily take my new purchase with me.
It’s about time to head back to Olov’s. I put my iPOD in and find a train station. “Addicted” by Saving Abel plays and tears spring to my eyes again. I do wish Rob were here, or at the very least in Atlanta when I returned. I wonder if he’d even like Stockholm. I imagine it would be too cold for him, but he’d enjoy the architecture and all the bridges. I remember him saying he wanted to travel more…
…”Excuse me.” the man next to me almost whispered, standing up.
“Oh sorry!” I immediately try to lower my feet in my airplane seat.
“No, no, you’re fine.” he smiled and took a giant step over my extended legs then disappearing into the bathroom. I have no idea how long we’ve been in the air or what time it is. I’m wrapped up in a blanket, still reading this book. I’m almost half way done by now.
I prop up on my elbows and survey around the cabin. It’s dark from everyone pulling their shades down. Nearly every passenger is asleep and I’m jealous. I place my open book across my stomach and close my eyes.
…I push the huge key in the door and twist it. The door opens and I step in, taking off my shoes.
“Wow! You’re right on time!” Olov exclaims from his room.
“Of course. I’m never late.” I smile, joining him where he’s eating dinner in bed, watching TV.
“How’s your day?” I ask him.
“Good. You?”
I nod. “I made it to the museum. I ended up practically walking back. I bought some jeans and of course stopped at Creem this morning.”
“You get some writing done?”
“Yes sir I did!”
We’re quiet for a while until he asks if I’ll make breakfast in the morning.
“I was actually thinking about it!” I laugh.
“You were?”
“Yeah. Anything in particular you want?”
“Nope.”
I think to myself that I’ll make French Toast. Do I do it my way with a chocolate spread or my aunt’s way with cream cheese icing? Hmm. I don’t remember a whole lot about that icing…
“What are you going to do tonight?” his voice interrupts my thoughts.
“I don’t know yet. I think I may go back to Gamla Stan…” I look out and see the sky is already beginning to darken a little.
“I have to get going. I’m going to see my sister then off to work. I’ll call you later on the landline, see how you’re doing. Ok?”
“Ok.” I nod.
He quickly leaves and I get on the computer. I Google “cream cheese icing”, then stare at the screen. I blink twice, just to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. Every word on the screen is in damn Swedish! Alright, fine then. Chocolate it is!
I walk to the grocery store and step through the doors. Folks, there ain’t a damn word of English up in here. (“What did you expect?” Olov asks me later. “I know, I know…”) I have a small list of easily identifiable food items and set out to get them. Eggs, bread, juice, Nutella Chocolate spread. I think about this before purchasing it. There’s a reason I don’t buy it at home. It’s certainly one of my “trigger” foods and can spark something compulsive but food hasn’t crossed my mind all week, except when I’m hungry. I feel ok about it and walk up front to pay.
I watch the girl in front of me bag her own groceries. I do the same and leave.
It’s dark when I get back to Olov’s. I put all the groceries away, (After a bite of that Nutella) and change clothes. I locate the chocolate café I’ve been wanting to visit on the map, and set out to find it. I feel energized by all the people outside tonight. I take the train to Gamla Stan and get off. Once my feet hit the street, I feel unsure. I don’t remember which way to go and I don’t want to pull my map out either. Dammit.
A jewelry store catches my eye and I walk over there examining all the pretty things. I then start walking again. The streets are much quieter at night than during the day. I stand up straight and survey my surroundings while still walking. It’s not that I feel unsafe, just unsure. I finally realize I have absolutely no clue as to where I am. While walking, aggravated, in search of the water now, I’m trying to identify my feelings. I’m a little surprised when I admit to myself that I suddenly feel incompetent, hideous and a bit defeated by my lack of sense of direction. Although it’s better than it has been since I first started traveling alone, it’s still severely lacking.
I find the underground fairly quickly, being I didn’t wander too far off the path. When I make it back to Olov’s, I shower and crawl into bed with my book. I was looking forward to some sleep but finding again that it isn’t coming quickly. I keep reading until the phone rings and I jump out of my skin then out of bed to answer it.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hey. How are you?” Olov’s voice reverberates through the receiver.
“Sleepy. You?”
“Yeah, I just got to work.”
“How was your sister’s?”
“Good.”
We stay on the line a little longer before he has to go. I put the phone back and read until my eyes finally close…
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey. You want pancakes for breakfast?” he asked while holding the door to the ‘fridge open.
“Sure.” I pour a glass of water.
“It’s Thursday right?”
“Uh huh.” I nod.
“Thursday is pancake day in Sweden.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Yup. We eat pancakes and pea soup.”
“Pea soup?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“Me either.”
I watch him pull various ingredients out and place them on the counter.
“We don’t eat pancakes with syrup like you Americans.”
“What do you eat them with?”
“Jam.”
I nod.
“I do think I have some syrup though.” he reached up to open a cabinet.
“No, I’ll eat them with jam.” I smiled.
When they were finished, he was eating them with the syrup, and I had blackberry jam. Delicious!
“I think I’m going to try and go to the Vasa Museum today.” I tell him as he’s leaving for work.
“Oh yeah?”
“How do I get there?”
We walk over to the map in his kitchen.
“We’re here, there’s the museum.” he pointed. “Take bus number 47. It’ll take you all the way there. You’ll see the Nordic Museum first. It looks like a castle.”
“Ok.” I nod. I don’t do buses but this is the only way to get there. I’m intimidated by their schedules and the mass number of them. God forbid I get on the wrong one.
“I have to work tonight, overnight. I’m going to record music today and it’s also my sister’s birthday. You want to meet back here for a little while at five?”
“Yup!”
He leaves and I get everything ready to go, looking at the map one more time. I stop in at Creem for coffee.
“Hey!” I exclaim when I see Benny at the counter.
“Hey.” he smiled.
“How are ya?”
He shrugged. “Ok. You?”
“Good.” I nodded.
“The usual?” he asked.
“Yup!” I smile when he hands me a large glass of coffee. I’ve never had coffee in a glass before.
I alternate between writing and staring out the window, until I can’t sit still anymore. I get up and when I’m outside, I see bus #47 loading across the street. I walk faster until I reach it and climb on.
I thought I’d read on the ride over but I’m too enthralled with everything going on outside. Certain streets are filled with people, others are filled with cafes and stores. We pass the Acne jeans store and I smile. I think I’ll be going back for those jeans. I quickly make other mental notes to return to the surrounding areas.
In what seemed like thirty seconds, we were pulling up outside the Nordic Museum. I got off the bus and walked passed the museum and followed the signs to the Vasa Museum.
Good. Lord. The place is huge. The Vasa was a ship that sank in 1628 during a battle between Sweden and Poland. It was later found and pulled out of the ocean in the 1960’s.
I can’t believe I’m looking at something from so long ago that is so huge and still intact. Intricate sculptures line the ends of the ship. The belly of it is extremely wide. The room is so dark, my picture taking results in near black images on my camera’s screen. I keep walking around and around, reading various facts about the ship and looking at the remains of clothing, etc that was also found on it. I imagine my dad would enjoy this place a great deal.
I have no idea what time it is, when I leave. I contemplate the Nordic Museum but there are a lot of people coming in and out of there and I decide I can always come back. I don’t find museums to be enjoyable when they’re overly busy.
Instead of taking the bus I decide to walk back, stopping at Acne of course. I head straight back to the jeans section where a tall, thin man with navy eyes and dirty blonde hair is folding a pair and placing them on the shelf in front of him. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply.
“Oh! Well, is there anything I can help you find?”
“I’m looking for a pair of jeans that aren’t too tapered at the ankle.” I’ve had enough of the skinny jean thing for now.
He pulls out pair after pair in many different shades of denim explaining the difference between them. Each pair he pulls out look as if it would fit a twelve year old American. I discover the most common sizes are waist sizes 24-26. Ouch.
After talking some more with him I walk into the dressing room with a stack of jeans. I’m breaking into a sweat by the time I’m done trying them all on. Finally. I settle on the pair I tried on yesterday. Dramatically high waist, slightly flared leg.
I thank the guy for his help, pay for the jeans, (another “ouch” moment, regardless of dollars or Swedish kronors) and happily take my new purchase with me.
It’s about time to head back to Olov’s. I put my iPOD in and find a train station. “Addicted” by Saving Abel plays and tears spring to my eyes again. I do wish Rob were here, or at the very least in Atlanta when I returned. I wonder if he’d even like Stockholm. I imagine it would be too cold for him, but he’d enjoy the architecture and all the bridges. I remember him saying he wanted to travel more…
…”Excuse me.” the man next to me almost whispered, standing up.
“Oh sorry!” I immediately try to lower my feet in my airplane seat.
“No, no, you’re fine.” he smiled and took a giant step over my extended legs then disappearing into the bathroom. I have no idea how long we’ve been in the air or what time it is. I’m wrapped up in a blanket, still reading this book. I’m almost half way done by now.
I prop up on my elbows and survey around the cabin. It’s dark from everyone pulling their shades down. Nearly every passenger is asleep and I’m jealous. I place my open book across my stomach and close my eyes.
…I push the huge key in the door and twist it. The door opens and I step in, taking off my shoes.
“Wow! You’re right on time!” Olov exclaims from his room.
“Of course. I’m never late.” I smile, joining him where he’s eating dinner in bed, watching TV.
“How’s your day?” I ask him.
“Good. You?”
I nod. “I made it to the museum. I ended up practically walking back. I bought some jeans and of course stopped at Creem this morning.”
“You get some writing done?”
“Yes sir I did!”
We’re quiet for a while until he asks if I’ll make breakfast in the morning.
“I was actually thinking about it!” I laugh.
“You were?”
“Yeah. Anything in particular you want?”
“Nope.”
I think to myself that I’ll make French Toast. Do I do it my way with a chocolate spread or my aunt’s way with cream cheese icing? Hmm. I don’t remember a whole lot about that icing…
“What are you going to do tonight?” his voice interrupts my thoughts.
“I don’t know yet. I think I may go back to Gamla Stan…” I look out and see the sky is already beginning to darken a little.
“I have to get going. I’m going to see my sister then off to work. I’ll call you later on the landline, see how you’re doing. Ok?”
“Ok.” I nod.
He quickly leaves and I get on the computer. I Google “cream cheese icing”, then stare at the screen. I blink twice, just to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. Every word on the screen is in damn Swedish! Alright, fine then. Chocolate it is!
I walk to the grocery store and step through the doors. Folks, there ain’t a damn word of English up in here. (“What did you expect?” Olov asks me later. “I know, I know…”) I have a small list of easily identifiable food items and set out to get them. Eggs, bread, juice, Nutella Chocolate spread. I think about this before purchasing it. There’s a reason I don’t buy it at home. It’s certainly one of my “trigger” foods and can spark something compulsive but food hasn’t crossed my mind all week, except when I’m hungry. I feel ok about it and walk up front to pay.
I watch the girl in front of me bag her own groceries. I do the same and leave.
It’s dark when I get back to Olov’s. I put all the groceries away, (After a bite of that Nutella) and change clothes. I locate the chocolate café I’ve been wanting to visit on the map, and set out to find it. I feel energized by all the people outside tonight. I take the train to Gamla Stan and get off. Once my feet hit the street, I feel unsure. I don’t remember which way to go and I don’t want to pull my map out either. Dammit.
A jewelry store catches my eye and I walk over there examining all the pretty things. I then start walking again. The streets are much quieter at night than during the day. I stand up straight and survey my surroundings while still walking. It’s not that I feel unsafe, just unsure. I finally realize I have absolutely no clue as to where I am. While walking, aggravated, in search of the water now, I’m trying to identify my feelings. I’m a little surprised when I admit to myself that I suddenly feel incompetent, hideous and a bit defeated by my lack of sense of direction. Although it’s better than it has been since I first started traveling alone, it’s still severely lacking.
I find the underground fairly quickly, being I didn’t wander too far off the path. When I make it back to Olov’s, I shower and crawl into bed with my book. I was looking forward to some sleep but finding again that it isn’t coming quickly. I keep reading until the phone rings and I jump out of my skin then out of bed to answer it.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hey. How are you?” Olov’s voice reverberates through the receiver.
“Sleepy. You?”
“Yeah, I just got to work.”
“How was your sister’s?”
“Good.”
We stay on the line a little longer before he has to go. I put the phone back and read until my eyes finally close…
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sweden!!! Part 2...
“Would you like anything else to drink?” the Swedish flight attendant asked me in very slow, deliberate English.
“No thanks.” I shook my head, good with my water.
“And you sir?” she asked the man next to me.
“I’ll have a glass of champagne please.”
He was already finishing his fourth cocktail and we’d only been in the air a little over two hours. I finished reading my book and started another one. I kept stopping to close my eyes, hoping sleep would finally come and rescue me from my wandering mind but it was the book keeping me grounded in all it’s silly girlishness. Each time I tried to sleep, my mind would reel in 70 different directions until I couldn’t take it anymore and was picking up the book again to shut off the instant replays of the past week and of not being ready to go home.
Anyways, where were we? Oh yeah, so I woke up on Wednesday morning…
“Melissa.” Olov whispers to me.
“Hmm?” I can’t open my eyes.
“I’m running late for work. I overslept. I’ll see you later.”
“Kay.” I sigh.
I slept for another three hours before waking up almost in a panic. It’s 9am and I feel I’ve slept the whole day away. I’m freaked out that I don’t “have time.” (I have nothing but time.) I’m still overwhelmed by thoughts of “I have to do this, go there, see that…” The list goes on as I realize I have one foot on the crazy train and I take a step back and take a deep breath. I carefully eat breakfast and head down to Creem to get coffee and write.
The man behind the counter has dark skin, black hair and warm deep brown eyes. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply
“Oh, ok. My Swedish isn’t all that good anyway.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Iraq.”
Oh boy…
“What brought you to Sweden?” I ask before he can ask me where I’m from.
“My parents moved here years ago.”
I nod.
“Where are you from?” he asks of course.
Canada? US? Canada? US?
“United States.” I quickly reply.
He nods. “Vacation?”
“Yup.”
“How long are you here for?”
“A week.” I smile.
“What do you think about Stockholm so far.”
“Oh, it’s amazing!” I try not to squeal.
“It’s cold here.” he tells me, while looking out the window.
“I know! I love it!” I laugh, thinking about Chicago.
“My name is Benny.” he offers his hand.
“Melissa.” I smile and shake his hand.
“Good to meet you. Look, let me write down my number. If you need anything, or if you get lost or anything, call.” he picks up a pen and paper.
“Will do. Thank you.” I take the paper, order and pay for my coffee and sit in the window, journal in hand.
I wrote for two hours, feeling proud of myself for sitting still and allowing myself to take the time to do so. I have to keep reminding myself that the point of vacation is to relax. Why do I feel like I have to be going 100 mph? Why do I feel like I have to see and do everything when all I really want to do is wander? That is what makes me happy. Walking around, people watching, sitting in cafes, shopping, and exploring architecture. That is what I like to do. I don’t understand why I give myself such a hard time about that. I like making the city I’m visiting feel a little bit like a home away from home by frequenting the same coffee shop or restaurant, taking the same path to wherever that day, etc…I guess because I travel alone it’s nice to make some sort of connection at the very least, with people who work in these various places.
So apparently, Stockholm is home of Acne Jeans company. I keep reading about these jeans so I set out to find the store. I get off the train at the right stop but I think I took the wrong exit. After pulling the map out 15 times I decide to just say screw it, I’ll ask Olov later and being wandering. I walk up and down hills with various upscale shops and what looks like some residential areas. It’s all beautiful and I feel like I can’t open my eyes wide enough to take everything in.
After a while though, I start getting angry that I accepted I couldn’t read a map and pull it out again. The map will not win! I’m going to find this shop.
Sure enough, I figured out where my mistake was (wrong underground exit) and headed in the right direction from where I was, which wasn’t far from the store. I eventually find it and walk in to it’s minimalist displays and head for the back to try on jeans.
Two stunningly attractive but painfully thin, hungry looking women are carefully arranging pairs of jeans on a table. There are two very tall parallel shelves that are all filled with various style and colors of jeans. I grab several pairs and try them all on. Hmm. I’m not sure yet. I decide that if I can’t stop thinking about this one particular pair, I’ll come back tomorrow and get them. It’s getting about time for Olov to come home, even though we haven’t decided to do anything tonight.
I quickly find the underground and head back. I sit in the kitchen and write more until I hear the key in the door.
“Hi!” I smile as he walks in.
“Hey.” he takes his shoes off.
“How are you?”
“Good. You?” he walks in the kitchen and leans on the counter.
“Good.” I nod.
“I’m starving. Are you?” he asks, opening the ‘fridge.
“I can eat.” I reply. Of course I can eat…
We make some dinner, neither of us saying much until everything is consumed and he tells me his friend Eric is bartending tonight at a bar at the University.
“You wanna go?”
“Sure.”
We leave a little while later, taking the bus up there. We’re walking along various paths and I’m listening to him tell me about previous jobs he’s had.
“It’s hard to get a job in Stockholm without really good references.” he explains.
“Interesting.” I nod. He’s pointed out a few times that I say that a lot. He’s also made the comment that because I listen to and talk to people as a part of my job, I have to at least “act” interested in conversation. He can’t tell if my interest is genuine. I’ve never thought about that before. Nine times out of ten, my interest is genuine, regardless whether or not I’m at work.
“That’s the place.” he quickly points to the cute little house ahead of us.
We walk in, say hello to Eric who is American, order a beer (Olov) and a water (me) and sit down with another friend of Olov’s. This not drinking thing is getting easier. They immediately begin speaking Swedish. Two girls then appear, and sit with us. I introduce myself and Olov. Again, more Swedish exchange. My skin begins to heat up and I feel my face getting hot from nervousness. I feel too shy to say anything at this point. The girl closest to me turns and speaks English to me. We talk about my time there and her job. Eventually the two girls and myself walk outside to chat more. They ask me question after question about where I live and what else I’ll be doing in the city. I enjoy their company. I’ve noticed that Swedish people keep to themselves for the most part until you strike up a conversation with them. After that, it’s like having a friend for life.
I get chilly and excuse myself to go back inside. Olov is still at our table.
“Hi!” I smile.
“Hey. You ready?”
“Sure. You?”
He nods and stands up. I grab my bag, and we say goodbye to Eric and the two girls and start heading down the path again.
“I think we’ll take the underground.” he says as we begin approaching the station.
“Kay.”
Somehow talk of running starts.
“Run to the train station?” he asks.
Oh really…
“Really? You wanna race?” I giggle.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I have my bag…” I trail off.
“I can hang on to it.”
“Nope. I’ll be fine.” I reply, suddenly feeling defiant.
We’re quiet for a moment until I say, “so, when we startin’?”
“I don’t know, um…”
I see he’s about to start and I take off as fast as my legs will go. He’s ahead of me in no time. I try my absolute best to speed up but I literally cannot run any faster. My vision is blurred and my shins are screaming but I don’t want him to beat me too badly!
“Whew!” I exclaim as we stumble into the station.
“What? I’m not out of breath.” he calmly states.
“Stop lyin’!”
He exhales hard and we both laugh, stepping on to the train. It doesn’t take long until he decides the next stop is the one we need to get off at.
As we exit the station we walk along dark, quiet streets. I’ve noticed there isn’t much graffiti in Stockholm, nor are there any “bad” neighborhoods. (none that I know of anyways) People keep to themselves, minding their own business, not starting any trouble.
“Hey, that’s our bus!” Olov piped up and took off.
Shit.
Shins still screaming, I take off after him trying not to plow into him once we get to the bus’s door. We both plop down into our seats and exhale.
“So the run to the train station was the warm up?” I laughed.
“Yeah.” he smiled.
At home, I once again try to sleep but it’s not coming. I will be delirious by the end of the week if I don’t get some substantial sleep…
“No thanks.” I shook my head, good with my water.
“And you sir?” she asked the man next to me.
“I’ll have a glass of champagne please.”
He was already finishing his fourth cocktail and we’d only been in the air a little over two hours. I finished reading my book and started another one. I kept stopping to close my eyes, hoping sleep would finally come and rescue me from my wandering mind but it was the book keeping me grounded in all it’s silly girlishness. Each time I tried to sleep, my mind would reel in 70 different directions until I couldn’t take it anymore and was picking up the book again to shut off the instant replays of the past week and of not being ready to go home.
Anyways, where were we? Oh yeah, so I woke up on Wednesday morning…
“Melissa.” Olov whispers to me.
“Hmm?” I can’t open my eyes.
“I’m running late for work. I overslept. I’ll see you later.”
“Kay.” I sigh.
I slept for another three hours before waking up almost in a panic. It’s 9am and I feel I’ve slept the whole day away. I’m freaked out that I don’t “have time.” (I have nothing but time.) I’m still overwhelmed by thoughts of “I have to do this, go there, see that…” The list goes on as I realize I have one foot on the crazy train and I take a step back and take a deep breath. I carefully eat breakfast and head down to Creem to get coffee and write.
The man behind the counter has dark skin, black hair and warm deep brown eyes. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply
“Oh, ok. My Swedish isn’t all that good anyway.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Iraq.”
Oh boy…
“What brought you to Sweden?” I ask before he can ask me where I’m from.
“My parents moved here years ago.”
I nod.
“Where are you from?” he asks of course.
Canada? US? Canada? US?
“United States.” I quickly reply.
He nods. “Vacation?”
“Yup.”
“How long are you here for?”
“A week.” I smile.
“What do you think about Stockholm so far.”
“Oh, it’s amazing!” I try not to squeal.
“It’s cold here.” he tells me, while looking out the window.
“I know! I love it!” I laugh, thinking about Chicago.
“My name is Benny.” he offers his hand.
“Melissa.” I smile and shake his hand.
“Good to meet you. Look, let me write down my number. If you need anything, or if you get lost or anything, call.” he picks up a pen and paper.
“Will do. Thank you.” I take the paper, order and pay for my coffee and sit in the window, journal in hand.
I wrote for two hours, feeling proud of myself for sitting still and allowing myself to take the time to do so. I have to keep reminding myself that the point of vacation is to relax. Why do I feel like I have to be going 100 mph? Why do I feel like I have to see and do everything when all I really want to do is wander? That is what makes me happy. Walking around, people watching, sitting in cafes, shopping, and exploring architecture. That is what I like to do. I don’t understand why I give myself such a hard time about that. I like making the city I’m visiting feel a little bit like a home away from home by frequenting the same coffee shop or restaurant, taking the same path to wherever that day, etc…I guess because I travel alone it’s nice to make some sort of connection at the very least, with people who work in these various places.
So apparently, Stockholm is home of Acne Jeans company. I keep reading about these jeans so I set out to find the store. I get off the train at the right stop but I think I took the wrong exit. After pulling the map out 15 times I decide to just say screw it, I’ll ask Olov later and being wandering. I walk up and down hills with various upscale shops and what looks like some residential areas. It’s all beautiful and I feel like I can’t open my eyes wide enough to take everything in.
After a while though, I start getting angry that I accepted I couldn’t read a map and pull it out again. The map will not win! I’m going to find this shop.
Sure enough, I figured out where my mistake was (wrong underground exit) and headed in the right direction from where I was, which wasn’t far from the store. I eventually find it and walk in to it’s minimalist displays and head for the back to try on jeans.
Two stunningly attractive but painfully thin, hungry looking women are carefully arranging pairs of jeans on a table. There are two very tall parallel shelves that are all filled with various style and colors of jeans. I grab several pairs and try them all on. Hmm. I’m not sure yet. I decide that if I can’t stop thinking about this one particular pair, I’ll come back tomorrow and get them. It’s getting about time for Olov to come home, even though we haven’t decided to do anything tonight.
I quickly find the underground and head back. I sit in the kitchen and write more until I hear the key in the door.
“Hi!” I smile as he walks in.
“Hey.” he takes his shoes off.
“How are you?”
“Good. You?” he walks in the kitchen and leans on the counter.
“Good.” I nod.
“I’m starving. Are you?” he asks, opening the ‘fridge.
“I can eat.” I reply. Of course I can eat…
We make some dinner, neither of us saying much until everything is consumed and he tells me his friend Eric is bartending tonight at a bar at the University.
“You wanna go?”
“Sure.”
We leave a little while later, taking the bus up there. We’re walking along various paths and I’m listening to him tell me about previous jobs he’s had.
“It’s hard to get a job in Stockholm without really good references.” he explains.
“Interesting.” I nod. He’s pointed out a few times that I say that a lot. He’s also made the comment that because I listen to and talk to people as a part of my job, I have to at least “act” interested in conversation. He can’t tell if my interest is genuine. I’ve never thought about that before. Nine times out of ten, my interest is genuine, regardless whether or not I’m at work.
“That’s the place.” he quickly points to the cute little house ahead of us.
We walk in, say hello to Eric who is American, order a beer (Olov) and a water (me) and sit down with another friend of Olov’s. This not drinking thing is getting easier. They immediately begin speaking Swedish. Two girls then appear, and sit with us. I introduce myself and Olov. Again, more Swedish exchange. My skin begins to heat up and I feel my face getting hot from nervousness. I feel too shy to say anything at this point. The girl closest to me turns and speaks English to me. We talk about my time there and her job. Eventually the two girls and myself walk outside to chat more. They ask me question after question about where I live and what else I’ll be doing in the city. I enjoy their company. I’ve noticed that Swedish people keep to themselves for the most part until you strike up a conversation with them. After that, it’s like having a friend for life.
I get chilly and excuse myself to go back inside. Olov is still at our table.
“Hi!” I smile.
“Hey. You ready?”
“Sure. You?”
He nods and stands up. I grab my bag, and we say goodbye to Eric and the two girls and start heading down the path again.
“I think we’ll take the underground.” he says as we begin approaching the station.
“Kay.”
Somehow talk of running starts.
“Run to the train station?” he asks.
Oh really…
“Really? You wanna race?” I giggle.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I have my bag…” I trail off.
“I can hang on to it.”
“Nope. I’ll be fine.” I reply, suddenly feeling defiant.
We’re quiet for a moment until I say, “so, when we startin’?”
“I don’t know, um…”
I see he’s about to start and I take off as fast as my legs will go. He’s ahead of me in no time. I try my absolute best to speed up but I literally cannot run any faster. My vision is blurred and my shins are screaming but I don’t want him to beat me too badly!
“Whew!” I exclaim as we stumble into the station.
“What? I’m not out of breath.” he calmly states.
“Stop lyin’!”
He exhales hard and we both laugh, stepping on to the train. It doesn’t take long until he decides the next stop is the one we need to get off at.
As we exit the station we walk along dark, quiet streets. I’ve noticed there isn’t much graffiti in Stockholm, nor are there any “bad” neighborhoods. (none that I know of anyways) People keep to themselves, minding their own business, not starting any trouble.
“Hey, that’s our bus!” Olov piped up and took off.
Shit.
Shins still screaming, I take off after him trying not to plow into him once we get to the bus’s door. We both plop down into our seats and exhale.
“So the run to the train station was the warm up?” I laughed.
“Yeah.” he smiled.
At home, I once again try to sleep but it’s not coming. I will be delirious by the end of the week if I don’t get some substantial sleep…
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sweden!!!
Part One...
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard flight one seven three, non-stop service to Atlanta, with continuing service to Seattle…” the flight attendant’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I look down at the words that make up sentences and paragraphs on the pages of the book I’m reading and watch them blur with tears. “Why am I crying?” I think to myself, looking up and blinking profusely. “I’m supposed to want to go home right?”
I inhale sharply and get back to reading. The plane pushes back, heads for the runway and takes off. We aren’t in the air long before the tears return and I’m walking to the bathroom. Once inside I go ahead and cry, and cry, and cry. We haven’t been in the air fifteen minutes and I’m already mourning the end of this amazing week. In nine hours and fifteen minutes I’ll be back on the ground, and back to settling into work, traffic, bills, life. I’m just not ready yet.
In the meantime, what had happened was…
I landed in Stockholm on Monday morning, silently screaming and doing a happy dance in my head while clapping profusely. On the outside though, I looked glazed, and beaten down. I had no idea where I was going from here and already felt like a fish out of water.
After getting off the plane we all filed through Customs. I exchanged my green dollar bills for bills that looked like play money and found a machine to buy train tickets from. “I am too tired for this.” I think to myself, feeding the machine money and hoping to God I was buying the right ticket. After that, I was hoping I was going in the right direction to the train.
Sure enough, there it was and here I am on it, heading to the underground station to continue my journey into the city.
The train stops at the central underground station. I somehow manage to exit without buying a visitor’s pass thinking I’ll just come back later. Right now though, I wanted to simply walk.
And walk I did, taking in the crisp, clean air, the beautiful architecture and all these blonde heads. Walking didn’t last too long though. My crazy ass is sporting three inch heels, a messenger bag and a backpack that weighs almost as much as I do. I eventually turned around and headed back to the central underground station.
Trying to figure out where to get a visitor’s pass was ridiculous. I finally stopped to ask someone and he pointed me into a store where I finally bought the pass.
On the underground I pull out the directions to my host, Olov’s place. I’m supposed to meet him later this afternoon but I want to make sure I know where I’m going. I realize I just have the address and the metro stop, so I assume I’ll be able to see the street from the station. Oh no. There is none of that. (I do realize later that you can in fact, see the street from the station.) I proceed to walk in a huge circle around the street before finding it, stopping for coffee first to get off my feet.
Once I figured out where I had to go, I noticed a park across the street and sat there writing until I was interrupted by a homeless man speaking Swedish to me. I looked up, said I spoke English. He nodded and told me in very broken English that the bench I was sitting on was his bed, then walked away.
I met Olov at his place at five. I was sitting in his courtyard when he walked through the door.
“Hey there!” I smiled upon seeing his bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.
“Hi! Enjoying my courtyard?”
“I am!” I stood and hugged him hello. “How was your day?”
“It was ok. You want me to take a bag?” he asked.
I handed him my messenger bag and followed him inside, up some stairs and into his apartment.
“You can put your shoes there.” he nodded toward the row of shoes that were already lined against the wall.
Gladly. I kicked those beasts off and began surveying around.
“That’s the bathroom.” he pointed to the door next to the front door. “Kitchen is there.”
I nodded.
“This is your room.” he said, walking through a door to reveal a bright blue room with two big windows. He put my bag down and I slid my backpack off. “And that’s my room, through there.” he pointed through another door.
“Fabulous!”
“Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?” he asked.
“Hmm. Coffee.” I smile, knowing that drinking more right now will have me up all night but I’d really like my eyes to open up a little more and maybe carry on an intelligent conversation.
“Ok.”
We walk into the kitchen and chat briefly while he makes the coffee. He tells me he’s going to watch a soccer game at a pub down the street. “You can come if you want.”
“Ok.” I nod, pouring the coffee.
“Milk?” he asks.
“Nope.”
He walks into his room and I stare at the map of Stockholm he has posted on the wall. “I’m here.“ I think to myself. “Really here.”
I hear Olov’s voice and walk into his room.
“Huh?”
“Do you need the computer?”
“Just for a minute please.”
He hops up from his desk and turns the TV on while I sit down, quickly typing out a message home and to work.
“I read your blog.” he tells me when I’m done.
“Yeah?”
“Well. Not all of it. They’re really long.”
I laugh. “I know, but thanks for reading it anyway.”
“You’re a good writer.”
“Thank you.”
He tells me about some things that have been going on in his life then returns back to the contents of my blog and Rob.
“I don’t know if you want to talk about it. If you don’t that’s ok, but if you do I’ll listen.”
“Thank you.” I nod. “I’m ok with talking about it.” I reply, but I don’t know what to say right now.
An hour later we’re sitting at a bar, watching the soccer game. I still can’t quite believe I’m here and can’t believe I’m actually awake and able to somehow string together sentences that resemble coherent thoughts.
The game ends and we walk back to his place. The city is lit up and the water is sparkling under the bridges we cross.
“You live here!” I exclaim.
“Uh huh.” he looks at me as if to say “and?”
“It’s just beautiful!”
“I guess…”
I notice later this is a common response among the Swedes I met. Maybe if you’ve spent your whole life there you’re unable to see the city like a new person sees it. I am completely enthralled.
It doesn’t take long to fall into bed and close my eyes, although I don’t sleep. Damn caffeine. My head won’t stop swimming…
The next morning I wake up to hear Olov moving about in the kitchen. It’s still dark outside. I roll out of bed and join him.
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey.”
I sit down and watch him make oatmeal, neither of us saying much.
“Are you going back to sleep?” he asks, already dressed for work.
“Nope. Once I’m awake, I’m awake.”
“What are you going to do today?”
“No idea.”
He leaves shortly for work. It’s maybe 6 am. I stare out the window of the kitchen before peeling my ass off the chair and going to find the oatmeal I brought with me. So far, thoughts of food have not entered my mind. I brought my oatmeal to keep my routine as normal as possible. I quickly make it, eat it then decide to run. I notice the sky is lightening up a little as I put on my running clothes and head out.
It’s damn cold outside! I crank up my iPOD, knowing I’ll be deaf by the age of 55 but right now it feels so good. My feet pound the street, running faster than I normally do. I don’t know where I’m going or when I’m going to turn around but right now, flying down this somewhat empty street, breathing hard, and letting my mind wander is the best feeling.
I turn around when the street ends. Coming back, I get distracted by various shops and cafes. I make mental notes to stop into these places at some point this week. It takes me twice as long to get back to Olov’s.
I quickly shower and try to appear human. I walk down the street to a café I saw earlier called “Creem.” I ordered a small coffee and sat down on a bench that lined a huge window. I sat there, allowing myself to be still and write, stopping occasionally to look out the window at bunches of platinum haired children crossing the street to go to school. There is a song by Suzanne Vega called “Tom’s Diner.” I downloaded a couple of years ago and when I would listen to it I would think “One day, I’ll be in Stockholm, listening to this song.” Here I am, finally, with my iPOD, listening to her beautiful voice and trying to hide the smile on my face so as not to appear insane. It’s just I’m so unbelievably happy to be here I can’t find the words to explain it.
I leave a couple of hours later and go to an area that I guess can be described as similar to the Virginia Highland area of Atlanta…kind of. I get off the underground and start walking. My eyes are about to explode out of my head when I see the water that is residing at the end of the hill I’m on. I start walking towards it, trying to watch where I’m going but take in all the shops and people around me. Once at the bottom of the hill and at the edge of the water I stare at the buildings that line the water’s edge, the boats, the people walking around. The air is cleanest air I’ve ever inhaled and by the water it has the slightest hint of a salty scent. It’s so slight it makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. I stare out as far as my eyes will let me for a little while longer before headed back up the hill, popping into various shops, and aimlessly wandering…
Back on the train I go to what looks like a much older part of Stockholm. The way the cobblestone streets wind around each other reminds me of Barcelona. I go further and further into this maze of streets, people and shops and realize an hour later I am completely lost. I told Olov I’d meet him at his apartment at 4pm and go with him to watch him play soccer. How am I going to get back? Hmm… In Spain the plan was to head towards the Cathedrals. Here, I guess it’s head for the water. So I do and sure enough, I find the underground, completely proud of myself for thinking it through and not freaking out.
I get to Olov’s place a little before 4. I haven’t touched my book since leaving Atlanta and decide to read for a few minutes. I’m maybe a paragraph in before I notice the corner of a picture sticking out of the front of the book. I pull it out and stare at Rob’s smiling image. Somehow a flash of a memory sparks in my head. It’s of me, opening my front door to his smiling face, him stepping inside, wrapping me up in a huge hug, my face pressed against his chest. After kissing him I look up at him, at his beautiful eyes and smile a huge smile that says “I can’t believe I have you. You’re real and I’m so happy I can hardly stand it.”
The memory disappears faster than the speed of light and in it’s place, this unbelievable sense of wanting creeps in. This feeling comes to visit from time to time. It’s intense and induces this temper tantrum in my head, complete with screaming and violent rage. Never again will I see him and it makes me insane.
A fresh wave of tears follow. I can’t tell him about this experience, can’t share my thoughts with him, nothing. I’m just not ok with that right now. Hell, if he were still here, I’d be in Chicago. That’s a whole ‘nother topic though. I’m hoping to have some clarity this week on that.
I stare out the window at the overcast sky, wipe my face then get back to my book. A minute later, I hear the key in the door and Olov appears.
“Hi!” I exclaim.
“Hey! You haven’t been here long have you?”
“Nope! How’s your day?”
“Ok. What did you do?”
I told him about the café, wandering, and getting lost.”
“Yeah, if you get lost, just follow the water.”
“I did!” I laughed.
He made some meat balls and pasta and after dinner we headed for the underground and to the soccer fields. The temperature dropped along with the sun. I stood on a sideline and watched them run back and forth for forty minutes. It made me miss playing. Afterwards I’m surrounded by deep voices all speaking Swedish feeling completely lost. All of us get on to the underground and start heading back to the city. One of Olov’s teammates, Philip, introduces himself to me and asks where I’m from.
“The States.” I smile.
“Which part?”
“Southeast. Atlanta.”
“Oh! Your economy isn’t doing too well right now huh?”
“Nope.” I shook my head, feeling a little embarrassed.
“How has that affected you?”
I explain that I’m a hairdresser and I’ve noticed my clients stretching out their appointments more and of course gas is high but other than that, I’m ok.
“We pay more for gas than you do.” Philip tells me.
“I know but we drive more.”
“Yeah, you and all your Chevy trucks…”
I laugh at this. It’s both true and sad. No one in Sweden drives anything bigger than a Toyota Corolla.
Olov and I say goodbye to everyone and get off at the next stop. Once inside we talk a good while about our lives and things that have happened recently. I am uncensored and it feels so good to be open and be accepted. He hears my words and lets me talk. I listen to him, grateful he feels comfortable enough to tell me details of his life.
I have no idea what time it is when I finally retreat to bed, once again closing my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come quickly…
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard flight one seven three, non-stop service to Atlanta, with continuing service to Seattle…” the flight attendant’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I look down at the words that make up sentences and paragraphs on the pages of the book I’m reading and watch them blur with tears. “Why am I crying?” I think to myself, looking up and blinking profusely. “I’m supposed to want to go home right?”
I inhale sharply and get back to reading. The plane pushes back, heads for the runway and takes off. We aren’t in the air long before the tears return and I’m walking to the bathroom. Once inside I go ahead and cry, and cry, and cry. We haven’t been in the air fifteen minutes and I’m already mourning the end of this amazing week. In nine hours and fifteen minutes I’ll be back on the ground, and back to settling into work, traffic, bills, life. I’m just not ready yet.
In the meantime, what had happened was…
I landed in Stockholm on Monday morning, silently screaming and doing a happy dance in my head while clapping profusely. On the outside though, I looked glazed, and beaten down. I had no idea where I was going from here and already felt like a fish out of water.
After getting off the plane we all filed through Customs. I exchanged my green dollar bills for bills that looked like play money and found a machine to buy train tickets from. “I am too tired for this.” I think to myself, feeding the machine money and hoping to God I was buying the right ticket. After that, I was hoping I was going in the right direction to the train.
Sure enough, there it was and here I am on it, heading to the underground station to continue my journey into the city.
The train stops at the central underground station. I somehow manage to exit without buying a visitor’s pass thinking I’ll just come back later. Right now though, I wanted to simply walk.
And walk I did, taking in the crisp, clean air, the beautiful architecture and all these blonde heads. Walking didn’t last too long though. My crazy ass is sporting three inch heels, a messenger bag and a backpack that weighs almost as much as I do. I eventually turned around and headed back to the central underground station.
Trying to figure out where to get a visitor’s pass was ridiculous. I finally stopped to ask someone and he pointed me into a store where I finally bought the pass.
On the underground I pull out the directions to my host, Olov’s place. I’m supposed to meet him later this afternoon but I want to make sure I know where I’m going. I realize I just have the address and the metro stop, so I assume I’ll be able to see the street from the station. Oh no. There is none of that. (I do realize later that you can in fact, see the street from the station.) I proceed to walk in a huge circle around the street before finding it, stopping for coffee first to get off my feet.
Once I figured out where I had to go, I noticed a park across the street and sat there writing until I was interrupted by a homeless man speaking Swedish to me. I looked up, said I spoke English. He nodded and told me in very broken English that the bench I was sitting on was his bed, then walked away.
I met Olov at his place at five. I was sitting in his courtyard when he walked through the door.
“Hey there!” I smiled upon seeing his bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.
“Hi! Enjoying my courtyard?”
“I am!” I stood and hugged him hello. “How was your day?”
“It was ok. You want me to take a bag?” he asked.
I handed him my messenger bag and followed him inside, up some stairs and into his apartment.
“You can put your shoes there.” he nodded toward the row of shoes that were already lined against the wall.
Gladly. I kicked those beasts off and began surveying around.
“That’s the bathroom.” he pointed to the door next to the front door. “Kitchen is there.”
I nodded.
“This is your room.” he said, walking through a door to reveal a bright blue room with two big windows. He put my bag down and I slid my backpack off. “And that’s my room, through there.” he pointed through another door.
“Fabulous!”
“Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?” he asked.
“Hmm. Coffee.” I smile, knowing that drinking more right now will have me up all night but I’d really like my eyes to open up a little more and maybe carry on an intelligent conversation.
“Ok.”
We walk into the kitchen and chat briefly while he makes the coffee. He tells me he’s going to watch a soccer game at a pub down the street. “You can come if you want.”
“Ok.” I nod, pouring the coffee.
“Milk?” he asks.
“Nope.”
He walks into his room and I stare at the map of Stockholm he has posted on the wall. “I’m here.“ I think to myself. “Really here.”
I hear Olov’s voice and walk into his room.
“Huh?”
“Do you need the computer?”
“Just for a minute please.”
He hops up from his desk and turns the TV on while I sit down, quickly typing out a message home and to work.
“I read your blog.” he tells me when I’m done.
“Yeah?”
“Well. Not all of it. They’re really long.”
I laugh. “I know, but thanks for reading it anyway.”
“You’re a good writer.”
“Thank you.”
He tells me about some things that have been going on in his life then returns back to the contents of my blog and Rob.
“I don’t know if you want to talk about it. If you don’t that’s ok, but if you do I’ll listen.”
“Thank you.” I nod. “I’m ok with talking about it.” I reply, but I don’t know what to say right now.
An hour later we’re sitting at a bar, watching the soccer game. I still can’t quite believe I’m here and can’t believe I’m actually awake and able to somehow string together sentences that resemble coherent thoughts.
The game ends and we walk back to his place. The city is lit up and the water is sparkling under the bridges we cross.
“You live here!” I exclaim.
“Uh huh.” he looks at me as if to say “and?”
“It’s just beautiful!”
“I guess…”
I notice later this is a common response among the Swedes I met. Maybe if you’ve spent your whole life there you’re unable to see the city like a new person sees it. I am completely enthralled.
It doesn’t take long to fall into bed and close my eyes, although I don’t sleep. Damn caffeine. My head won’t stop swimming…
The next morning I wake up to hear Olov moving about in the kitchen. It’s still dark outside. I roll out of bed and join him.
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey.”
I sit down and watch him make oatmeal, neither of us saying much.
“Are you going back to sleep?” he asks, already dressed for work.
“Nope. Once I’m awake, I’m awake.”
“What are you going to do today?”
“No idea.”
He leaves shortly for work. It’s maybe 6 am. I stare out the window of the kitchen before peeling my ass off the chair and going to find the oatmeal I brought with me. So far, thoughts of food have not entered my mind. I brought my oatmeal to keep my routine as normal as possible. I quickly make it, eat it then decide to run. I notice the sky is lightening up a little as I put on my running clothes and head out.
It’s damn cold outside! I crank up my iPOD, knowing I’ll be deaf by the age of 55 but right now it feels so good. My feet pound the street, running faster than I normally do. I don’t know where I’m going or when I’m going to turn around but right now, flying down this somewhat empty street, breathing hard, and letting my mind wander is the best feeling.
I turn around when the street ends. Coming back, I get distracted by various shops and cafes. I make mental notes to stop into these places at some point this week. It takes me twice as long to get back to Olov’s.
I quickly shower and try to appear human. I walk down the street to a café I saw earlier called “Creem.” I ordered a small coffee and sat down on a bench that lined a huge window. I sat there, allowing myself to be still and write, stopping occasionally to look out the window at bunches of platinum haired children crossing the street to go to school. There is a song by Suzanne Vega called “Tom’s Diner.” I downloaded a couple of years ago and when I would listen to it I would think “One day, I’ll be in Stockholm, listening to this song.” Here I am, finally, with my iPOD, listening to her beautiful voice and trying to hide the smile on my face so as not to appear insane. It’s just I’m so unbelievably happy to be here I can’t find the words to explain it.
I leave a couple of hours later and go to an area that I guess can be described as similar to the Virginia Highland area of Atlanta…kind of. I get off the underground and start walking. My eyes are about to explode out of my head when I see the water that is residing at the end of the hill I’m on. I start walking towards it, trying to watch where I’m going but take in all the shops and people around me. Once at the bottom of the hill and at the edge of the water I stare at the buildings that line the water’s edge, the boats, the people walking around. The air is cleanest air I’ve ever inhaled and by the water it has the slightest hint of a salty scent. It’s so slight it makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. I stare out as far as my eyes will let me for a little while longer before headed back up the hill, popping into various shops, and aimlessly wandering…
Back on the train I go to what looks like a much older part of Stockholm. The way the cobblestone streets wind around each other reminds me of Barcelona. I go further and further into this maze of streets, people and shops and realize an hour later I am completely lost. I told Olov I’d meet him at his apartment at 4pm and go with him to watch him play soccer. How am I going to get back? Hmm… In Spain the plan was to head towards the Cathedrals. Here, I guess it’s head for the water. So I do and sure enough, I find the underground, completely proud of myself for thinking it through and not freaking out.
I get to Olov’s place a little before 4. I haven’t touched my book since leaving Atlanta and decide to read for a few minutes. I’m maybe a paragraph in before I notice the corner of a picture sticking out of the front of the book. I pull it out and stare at Rob’s smiling image. Somehow a flash of a memory sparks in my head. It’s of me, opening my front door to his smiling face, him stepping inside, wrapping me up in a huge hug, my face pressed against his chest. After kissing him I look up at him, at his beautiful eyes and smile a huge smile that says “I can’t believe I have you. You’re real and I’m so happy I can hardly stand it.”
The memory disappears faster than the speed of light and in it’s place, this unbelievable sense of wanting creeps in. This feeling comes to visit from time to time. It’s intense and induces this temper tantrum in my head, complete with screaming and violent rage. Never again will I see him and it makes me insane.
A fresh wave of tears follow. I can’t tell him about this experience, can’t share my thoughts with him, nothing. I’m just not ok with that right now. Hell, if he were still here, I’d be in Chicago. That’s a whole ‘nother topic though. I’m hoping to have some clarity this week on that.
I stare out the window at the overcast sky, wipe my face then get back to my book. A minute later, I hear the key in the door and Olov appears.
“Hi!” I exclaim.
“Hey! You haven’t been here long have you?”
“Nope! How’s your day?”
“Ok. What did you do?”
I told him about the café, wandering, and getting lost.”
“Yeah, if you get lost, just follow the water.”
“I did!” I laughed.
He made some meat balls and pasta and after dinner we headed for the underground and to the soccer fields. The temperature dropped along with the sun. I stood on a sideline and watched them run back and forth for forty minutes. It made me miss playing. Afterwards I’m surrounded by deep voices all speaking Swedish feeling completely lost. All of us get on to the underground and start heading back to the city. One of Olov’s teammates, Philip, introduces himself to me and asks where I’m from.
“The States.” I smile.
“Which part?”
“Southeast. Atlanta.”
“Oh! Your economy isn’t doing too well right now huh?”
“Nope.” I shook my head, feeling a little embarrassed.
“How has that affected you?”
I explain that I’m a hairdresser and I’ve noticed my clients stretching out their appointments more and of course gas is high but other than that, I’m ok.
“We pay more for gas than you do.” Philip tells me.
“I know but we drive more.”
“Yeah, you and all your Chevy trucks…”
I laugh at this. It’s both true and sad. No one in Sweden drives anything bigger than a Toyota Corolla.
Olov and I say goodbye to everyone and get off at the next stop. Once inside we talk a good while about our lives and things that have happened recently. I am uncensored and it feels so good to be open and be accepted. He hears my words and lets me talk. I listen to him, grateful he feels comfortable enough to tell me details of his life.
I have no idea what time it is when I finally retreat to bed, once again closing my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come quickly…
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Recharge...
I…am jacked on caffeine. Just needed to say that before I launch into this. I have a feeling I’ll be scattered, so again, I apologize ahead of time.
Writing has been really difficult. I can’t clear my head long enough to form sentences that actually mean something. I’m still not clear but thought I’d try to fill this blank space.
I’m leaving in a couple of days for Stockholm! It’s been on my list of things to do for two years now. I’ve finally made the effort to get up and go. I pulled out my passport last night and glanced at the picture of my 22 year old self, smiling at the camera as if a cookie was attached to it. I flipped through the random stamps that I’ve acquired from entering a country and smile for the memories of racing through the airport, heart exploding, praying to God I make this flight or that flight, desperate for something new.
My heart is still racing. There is always a little glitch in the plan. Right now for me, it’s work. I’ll be cutting it close getting to the airport and won’t calm down until I’m happily seated on the plane breathing recycled air for 10 hours.
“What are you going to do while you’re out there?” My co-worker asked me in between clients yesterday.
“I don’t know yet. Aimless wandering, some sightseeing, a lot of writing. Not really sure…”
“Just to breathe new air is going to be nice!”
“I know! I was thinking the same thing!” I laughed. “I’m nervous though.”
“How come?”
“Um, I’m afraid I’m going to cry a lot once I get there. I’ll be completely alone, and I’m scared of things sneaking up on me.”
“Why are you afraid of crying?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“If you cry, then cry. It’s ok. It’s good for you.” he smiled.
“I know.” I smiled back. “I’m afraid of food too. I’m afraid of being so emotional that I’ll eat and eat until I explode.”
“Fear isn’t a bad thing. Use it to make a good decision and not eat.”
I nod.
I’ll have to make some changes on this trip. It won’t be like my other ones. I’ll have to be careful with what I consume. I won’t be drinking. I will try to learn to relax. I will make an effort to keep my head clear, to take all the time I need to write, to think, to walk, to actually inhale and exhale. I won’t be putting myself on any guilt trips for not doing this or that. It’s my trip and I’ll define it how I see fit.
When I come home I won’t be taking anything personal when my clients ask what I did and all I respond with is “I relaxed.” I didn’t see everything there was to see, I didn’t run around like a crazy person trying to fit everything in, I did what I wanted and if that’s stare at the ocean for a week, and do nothing then so be it.
This is a tall order but I’m going to try it and see how it goes. I also feel I have a lot riding on this trip. I want some clarity. I want to feel grounded, and come home feeling a little more sane than what I feel like right now.
Writing has been really difficult. I can’t clear my head long enough to form sentences that actually mean something. I’m still not clear but thought I’d try to fill this blank space.
I’m leaving in a couple of days for Stockholm! It’s been on my list of things to do for two years now. I’ve finally made the effort to get up and go. I pulled out my passport last night and glanced at the picture of my 22 year old self, smiling at the camera as if a cookie was attached to it. I flipped through the random stamps that I’ve acquired from entering a country and smile for the memories of racing through the airport, heart exploding, praying to God I make this flight or that flight, desperate for something new.
My heart is still racing. There is always a little glitch in the plan. Right now for me, it’s work. I’ll be cutting it close getting to the airport and won’t calm down until I’m happily seated on the plane breathing recycled air for 10 hours.
“What are you going to do while you’re out there?” My co-worker asked me in between clients yesterday.
“I don’t know yet. Aimless wandering, some sightseeing, a lot of writing. Not really sure…”
“Just to breathe new air is going to be nice!”
“I know! I was thinking the same thing!” I laughed. “I’m nervous though.”
“How come?”
“Um, I’m afraid I’m going to cry a lot once I get there. I’ll be completely alone, and I’m scared of things sneaking up on me.”
“Why are you afraid of crying?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“If you cry, then cry. It’s ok. It’s good for you.” he smiled.
“I know.” I smiled back. “I’m afraid of food too. I’m afraid of being so emotional that I’ll eat and eat until I explode.”
“Fear isn’t a bad thing. Use it to make a good decision and not eat.”
I nod.
I’ll have to make some changes on this trip. It won’t be like my other ones. I’ll have to be careful with what I consume. I won’t be drinking. I will try to learn to relax. I will make an effort to keep my head clear, to take all the time I need to write, to think, to walk, to actually inhale and exhale. I won’t be putting myself on any guilt trips for not doing this or that. It’s my trip and I’ll define it how I see fit.
When I come home I won’t be taking anything personal when my clients ask what I did and all I respond with is “I relaxed.” I didn’t see everything there was to see, I didn’t run around like a crazy person trying to fit everything in, I did what I wanted and if that’s stare at the ocean for a week, and do nothing then so be it.
This is a tall order but I’m going to try it and see how it goes. I also feel I have a lot riding on this trip. I want some clarity. I want to feel grounded, and come home feeling a little more sane than what I feel like right now.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Surface...
I’ve been struggling with two different issues lately. One is of course, this grief. I don’t understand it, or why it lasts for so long or the waves of it that come in and go out with little warning. I also don’t understand how people can look at me and simply say “you need to get over it, let it go, move on.” If you’re so adept at this, you tell me how. You tell me how to get over something that is so devastating there are no words for it. No one can simply do that when the person they loved so much is dead. Not simply gone somewhere else on the Earth but no longer living. I look at Rob’s pictures and smile at him, sometimes thinking “I can’t wait to hear from him” or “I need to go up to Anderson sometime.” Can’t. He’s not there. Not in Anderson, Atlanta, or Stockbridge. He’s not on vacation, he won’t show up on my doorstep, and he’s not going to pick up the phone. I can write him all day long but there’s no where to send the letters. It’s like an awful game of Hide-n-Seek but it only ends with you running around alone because what you’re looking for no longer exists.
I can’t look at the pictures for too long. It creates this unbelievable wanting that eats away at my head, making me try to think of a way I can go back and have him again. I can’t begin to tell you what’s that like. I can imagine him smiling at me, hear his voice, remember what his skin and hair feels like but I can’t actually have it again. It’s maddening.
On top of that there is issue number two. I don’t even know where to go with this one. It’s again, beyond my comprehension, and like the grief, when I think about it too much it makes me crazy.
It’s no joke when people say that when you lose someone, it changes your life. I don’t know if I just didn’t believe these people, or didn’t think it could happen to me, but they’re so right. I’m still me, but a different version. It’s almost like I’m becoming the person I always was on the inside but never shared with anyone. (Until Rob of courseJ )
On one side it’s freeing. It’s like opening your eyes to see a spectacular day ahead of you and you can’t wait to set out and discover what that day will bring you. On the other side, it’s scary and unknown. I’m quick to retreat back to old ways of thinking and old habits. They aren’t the healthiest but it’s comfortable.
I’ve been trying to spend more time on the spectacular side and working through the fear of the unknown lately, instead of retreating. It’s causing some rifts in various relationships. I’m changing and they’re not. I feel I’m actually handling things differently and that feels good but again, scary.
I’ve gone back and read some journal entries from when Rob was still here. I hear my voice through the words but it’s like I don’t recognize myself. It’s as if I can see a clear line between this former self and the new self. The line divides these selves the moment my dad said Rob was dead. From that moment on, I feel I’ve been an open book. I’ve suddenly started talking to people, wanting to connect with someone on some level, any level. In return I’ve received more love and understanding than I ever knew possible. Of course though, every positive has a negative and right now the negative is grating pretty hard. I feel I am completely alone in ways I never thought possible. My co-worker Kristen told me not too long ago, “Melissa, when Rob died, it’s like all your issues came to the surface. So you get to deal with everything all at the same time. When you’re done you’re going to be a whole new person!”
She’s definitely right about all that. No one said it was going to kick my ass this hard though. Issues that were buried deep in the marrow of my bones are now being pushed to the surface. I’m in the middle of learning what my own identity is, what it looks like to be the person I am, to be proud of myself, my opinions, my choices, my life, even if it hasn’t been the popular route. I had been so focused of the “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve” that I wasn’t really living. I got too caught up in what everyone thought about me instead of accepting that some people will like me, some won’t, and it doesn’t mean I have to change who I am.
I’d love to stand here and say “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” but that’s not true. Everything hurts. I still don’t like admitting it. I miss Rob and these growing pains are enough to make me want to disappear.
I can’t look at the pictures for too long. It creates this unbelievable wanting that eats away at my head, making me try to think of a way I can go back and have him again. I can’t begin to tell you what’s that like. I can imagine him smiling at me, hear his voice, remember what his skin and hair feels like but I can’t actually have it again. It’s maddening.
On top of that there is issue number two. I don’t even know where to go with this one. It’s again, beyond my comprehension, and like the grief, when I think about it too much it makes me crazy.
It’s no joke when people say that when you lose someone, it changes your life. I don’t know if I just didn’t believe these people, or didn’t think it could happen to me, but they’re so right. I’m still me, but a different version. It’s almost like I’m becoming the person I always was on the inside but never shared with anyone. (Until Rob of courseJ )
On one side it’s freeing. It’s like opening your eyes to see a spectacular day ahead of you and you can’t wait to set out and discover what that day will bring you. On the other side, it’s scary and unknown. I’m quick to retreat back to old ways of thinking and old habits. They aren’t the healthiest but it’s comfortable.
I’ve been trying to spend more time on the spectacular side and working through the fear of the unknown lately, instead of retreating. It’s causing some rifts in various relationships. I’m changing and they’re not. I feel I’m actually handling things differently and that feels good but again, scary.
I’ve gone back and read some journal entries from when Rob was still here. I hear my voice through the words but it’s like I don’t recognize myself. It’s as if I can see a clear line between this former self and the new self. The line divides these selves the moment my dad said Rob was dead. From that moment on, I feel I’ve been an open book. I’ve suddenly started talking to people, wanting to connect with someone on some level, any level. In return I’ve received more love and understanding than I ever knew possible. Of course though, every positive has a negative and right now the negative is grating pretty hard. I feel I am completely alone in ways I never thought possible. My co-worker Kristen told me not too long ago, “Melissa, when Rob died, it’s like all your issues came to the surface. So you get to deal with everything all at the same time. When you’re done you’re going to be a whole new person!”
She’s definitely right about all that. No one said it was going to kick my ass this hard though. Issues that were buried deep in the marrow of my bones are now being pushed to the surface. I’m in the middle of learning what my own identity is, what it looks like to be the person I am, to be proud of myself, my opinions, my choices, my life, even if it hasn’t been the popular route. I had been so focused of the “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve” that I wasn’t really living. I got too caught up in what everyone thought about me instead of accepting that some people will like me, some won’t, and it doesn’t mean I have to change who I am.
I’d love to stand here and say “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” but that’s not true. Everything hurts. I still don’t like admitting it. I miss Rob and these growing pains are enough to make me want to disappear.
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