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Kolmen kuukauden jälkeen...
Sep. 26th, 2008 12:57 am
1 - Viitta. 16.9.2008
I have been finding it extremely difficult to sleep - given the possibility of freedom but not the space for it.
Some wonder if it was just coincidence that I was treated so kindly there, or that I was a foreigner - perhaps most telling were the remarks made of me while the speaker was inebriated and uninhibited.
In Finland the one guy who called me a magician. Said to me and my roommate closely. And the other drunk guy who wanted a photo of me (without cloak).
And I was out there like that a majority of the time.
Here I seldom travel out of my building with it, and when I do it, more often than not, perfectly sober people in their right mind choose to yell insults at me from across the street. They do not do the same to others of more ingrained groups of alternative appearance. What makes me so much different than, say, goths?
It is a strange compulsion: to have an opinion is not enough; one must shout it to the heavens instead of keeping it between the persons involved.
It is a virtue to know when it is appropriate to speak.
Frequency analysis seems to indicate more than pure luck.
One learns to ignore such remarks, but it is more troubling to me that too many people lack the confidence to be content with themselves and not need to project their insecurity on others.
People who know me find it a source of curiosity. "It looks so nice. Where can I get one?" And because we are agreeable in a multitude of other ways, there is no reason why I should [think] that they are just pretending in order to not hurt feelings. (We have faith in mutual understanding!) It is not like they fear me for anything.
I know that I have gone on about this for far too long; but maybe here a more thinly veiled discourse on the actual situations.
2 - Odotus. 26.9.2008
The days draw ever longer. Every moment draws me to my people and away from the responsibilities of the here and now. I stay up often later than I should - for I don't get anything done but wait in vain for words from the aether from where, at the time, people are living their lives at school or at work or wherever they are. There's no reason for me to think that they will write to me then, yet I go on waiting.
It is a craving for news and a craving for understanding. If I am a character that bears this cultural identity, albeit one that is endangered, I have all but the social aspects: language, perspectives, customs, history (and the values that come from it), education. This missing half is what is tearing me apart now. It isn't because things are better there that makes me lose interest and focus here, it's a hunger, a starvation.
Even my friends here don't feel so close anymore. It's not them, it's me. They can't replace what I've seen and lost, what cannot be unseen.
Is this all I have left: a pile of photographs and a handful of worn stories that have become trivial and banal after so many tellings?
Aside: In a foreign language I would rather write about my opinions on something than to describe something concrete; however, I only have the words and grammar for the latter - the former gives me a literal headache and a complete lack of vocabulary.
Another aside: I do not believe that I can express these feelings and describe these memories in anything but English, and even that is doubtful, given my requirements for accuracy, veracity, and authenticity.
I am surrounded by all manner of Finnish things and tributes thereof, but the fact that the people and their presence ("F-energy") are not present makes all of those things hollow, collecting dust. (Except for my dictionary.)
Nothing distracts me from this leaden heart, sweeping me from all other things... sleep especially.
Mä odotan...
I have been finding it extremely difficult to sleep - given the possibility of freedom but not the space for it.
Some wonder if it was just coincidence that I was treated so kindly there, or that I was a foreigner - perhaps most telling were the remarks made of me while the speaker was inebriated and uninhibited.
In Finland the one guy who called me a magician. Said to me and my roommate closely. And the other drunk guy who wanted a photo of me (without cloak).
And I was out there like that a majority of the time.
Here I seldom travel out of my building with it, and when I do it, more often than not, perfectly sober people in their right mind choose to yell insults at me from across the street. They do not do the same to others of more ingrained groups of alternative appearance. What makes me so much different than, say, goths?
It is a strange compulsion: to have an opinion is not enough; one must shout it to the heavens instead of keeping it between the persons involved.
It is a virtue to know when it is appropriate to speak.
Frequency analysis seems to indicate more than pure luck.
One learns to ignore such remarks, but it is more troubling to me that too many people lack the confidence to be content with themselves and not need to project their insecurity on others.
People who know me find it a source of curiosity. "It looks so nice. Where can I get one?" And because we are agreeable in a multitude of other ways, there is no reason why I should [think] that they are just pretending in order to not hurt feelings. (We have faith in mutual understanding!) It is not like they fear me for anything.
I know that I have gone on about this for far too long; but maybe here a more thinly veiled discourse on the actual situations.
2 - Odotus. 26.9.2008
The days draw ever longer. Every moment draws me to my people and away from the responsibilities of the here and now. I stay up often later than I should - for I don't get anything done but wait in vain for words from the aether from where, at the time, people are living their lives at school or at work or wherever they are. There's no reason for me to think that they will write to me then, yet I go on waiting.
It is a craving for news and a craving for understanding. If I am a character that bears this cultural identity, albeit one that is endangered, I have all but the social aspects: language, perspectives, customs, history (and the values that come from it), education. This missing half is what is tearing me apart now. It isn't because things are better there that makes me lose interest and focus here, it's a hunger, a starvation.
Even my friends here don't feel so close anymore. It's not them, it's me. They can't replace what I've seen and lost, what cannot be unseen.
Is this all I have left: a pile of photographs and a handful of worn stories that have become trivial and banal after so many tellings?
Aside: In a foreign language I would rather write about my opinions on something than to describe something concrete; however, I only have the words and grammar for the latter - the former gives me a literal headache and a complete lack of vocabulary.
Another aside: I do not believe that I can express these feelings and describe these memories in anything but English, and even that is doubtful, given my requirements for accuracy, veracity, and authenticity.
I am surrounded by all manner of Finnish things and tributes thereof, but the fact that the people and their presence ("F-energy") are not present makes all of those things hollow, collecting dust. (Except for my dictionary.)
Nothing distracts me from this leaden heart, sweeping me from all other things... sleep especially.
Mä odotan...
