My own refuge

Yesterday I oficially moved into my own flat. My little piece of heaven. Which so far is pretty empty. But it has the essentials. A bed. A sofa. Working wifi. Small dining table. Couple of chairs. Close to work. And best of all? It's all mine, and only mine. And my landlords. But that's not important. Currently, it's mine. And I love it. I feel like I can breathe again.

I lived at my parents house for just over a year. I can't belive it's been that much time. Most of my stuff is still there. Moving a little bit each day now. And it will be home for a long time still. But now this is home too. Which is great. And lovely. And amazing. And so so needed. I need a place where I can fall apart. Where I can be happy. Where I can feel all my emotions out in the open. A place that isn't tainted by disease. I make my parents house seem horrible. It isn't. It's my favourite place in the whole world. But so is this. And it will just get better and better as I keep putting my mark on it.

The benefits of home

Sometimes I panic when I realise that I'm unemployed and living at home with my parents. It's not really the norm. But then, there are some definite advantages to being here. Other than the most important and obvious one that is.

1. There's a full fridge and freezer and pantry with lots of food of all kinds. And goodies. And baking goods. And it comes with a fancy kitchen which makes cooking and baking more fun than it ever was while I lived in the UK.
2. A month ago or so my parents bought a new car. That means that the old car got more or less handed to me. Definitely a bonus.
3. Access to a lovely garden which is mine for the taking if I ever feel the need to get out and do some gardening (who knew raking leaves could be so satisfying!).
4. I get to sleep and live in my room. This, where I'm sitting right now, has been my room since I was born. It has been my hideaway my whole life. It holds memories and comfort. This is where I feel the most at home. Getting to sleep in this room is definitely one of the best things of living here.
5. Comfy, nice furniture everywhere in the house which suits all possible moods. 

And the most important and obvious one you ask? Getting to have traditional weekend breakfasts at the dining table with my parents, the way we have done it all my life. And spending an entire, rainy weekend in front of the tv watching the European golf tour with my dad. Having afternoon fika with my mum. In other words. Getting the chance to spend some serious quality time with my parents.
 

This is where I live

On days like these I have to admit to quite enjoying my small town life. This is where I live. And I shouldn’t be surprised, not by the fact that I live here nor that it’s very beautiful. I grew up here. It’s home. Like in this photo for instance. I’ve gone skating on this small lake. I’ve been fishing in it. I’ve dyed wool in it. There’s a tiny gap between the trees on the far right of this photo. In that gap you can almost, almost, hint a buidling. That’s my primary school. So this truly is my neck of the woods. And this time of year it is more beautiful than ever.

I realised the other day that I haven’t been in Sweden in October since 2006. And I know Britain turns into various shades of yellow and orange and red as well at this time of year. But I can’t help myself, I’m impressed by what Sweden is showing me. It is absolutely stunning.

Thoughts from a hammock

I'm lying in my parents hammock on their verandah. They bought it when they visited me in Mexico. This verandah is my sanctuary. This.whole house is my sanctuary. I'm lying looking out.over the garden. My 'playhouse' (a tiny cabin which i got for my 6th birthday or something like that). The berry bushes. The ruhbarb shrubs. The trees. It's raining so there's a comforting sound coming from the.roof of the verandah. This house is so familiar to me. I know every inch of the garden. It's my childhood home. And to a certain extent my adult home as well.

I love being here. Nothing feels more like home than the familiar views, sounds, and smells of this house and our street.

My day

Today is the first time since 2008 that I'm home for my birthday.

By home I mean my parents house in Skövde. 

The house that has been 'home' my whole life,

regardless of if I've lived here or not.

I've lived more of life in other places than this beautiful house,

but this is where I get that feeling of 'home' when I open the door.

It's nice to get to be here today.

And to have a traditional birthday, with the grandparents,

and lots of cake.

I also got a feeling of Notts as I talked to two of my lovely friends over there around 1am.

Which was midnight over there, which meant I got some birthday wishes from over there too.

That was a great start to this 25th birthday of mine 

(now that I've reached it 25 doesn't seem that old anymore)

Now I'm going to meet up with the best person there is.

My beautiful, amazing best friend.

We're going for coffee.

Like we did last year on my birthday.

It's going to be a good day.

How lovely it was

I learned a couple of things this past week,

like how England never feels further away than when you're in Sweden.

And how wonderful it is to sit around a dining table having a conversation with your grandmother, after not knowing if you'd ever see her again.

And how amazing my parents are for always, always, always being there. And how grateful I am that they accepted my tattoo, no questions asked.

Every time I go home, the feeling of wanting to leave shrinks a bit more.

Happy

In 15 minutes I'm going to take the bus to the bus station.

In 90 minutes I am going to hop on the coach taking me to the airport.

In 8 hours I am going to board the plane.

In 10 hours I am going to touch ground.

In 12 hours I am going to get off the train,

and have lunch with my mum.

And then we'll head home.

I cannot get the smile off my face.

I'm coming home

Since I have probably the best mum in the world,

I am going on a quick visit to Sweden in two weeks time,

or actually, a week and a half.

Friday to Wednesday in the lovely place that I call home.

Inevitably, as soon as I bought the plane ticket yesterday I've started making a mental list of things to do and what to eat:

• Switch on the heating on the veranda, curl up in the hammock and read a book.
• Fika! Several times, every day. If you don't know what it is, google it! It's Swedish amazingness.
• Sit at the dining table making really bad jokes with my dad.
• Go see my grandma and giver her the bigges hug ever. Just cause she's old and perfect.
• Take a trip into town and walk around just taking in the Swedishness of it all.
• Eat the traditional, local sausage with mashed potatoes.
  
• Play with my baby cousin (who is 18 years old and not a baby anymore. But we still play, and laugh like to little kids when we meet).

In other words, it's going to be absolutely amazing. And since I won't be home for Christmas this year, this is definitely going to be precious :)

I took this photo last Christmas. Time will tell if this is what I'll be greeted with in ten days!

Escaping

You know what the worst thing about living in a different country than your family?
Apart from all the obvious reasons?
That I can never escape.
I see people go home for the weekend,
see their families,
get away from it all if only for a couple of days.
I can never do that.
And it sucks.

Yes please

Home is where the heart is,
the question is,
where is the heart?

Time to go

The bed was covered with different piles.
Jeans.
Cardigans.
Tops.
Scarves.
Shoes.
Skirts.
Books.
Passport.
Tickets.

Hours to go.
Hours of anticipation.
Of waiting.
Of looking at the watch every other minute.


Yes,
home is calling.

Homesick

You don't know how lucky you are.
You who can go home whenever you want to.
You who, if it becomes too much, can be home within a few hours.

I chose this.
This is my life.
But it doesn't make it any easier.

And it always strikes.
And it gets you bad.
And it makes you feel tiny.

I want to go home.
Now.
But I can't.
And it makes me very sad.

Nothing

A swift breeze.
That's all it takes.
To make me wish for home.

A longer blink.
More isn't requiered.
To make me see home.

A passing thought.
It doesn't take much.
To make me smile at what is ahead.

The feeling

Waking up in a boiling room.
Eating sour milk with blueberries.
Reading the morning paper about library opening hours and other non-intersting things that has happened in the small town.
Listening to the rain while sitting in the giant sofa.
Having the coffee ready when mum comes home from work.
Playing with the neighbour cat.
Picking rhubarb in the garden on a wet morning.
Watching the classics on TV that reminds of a past childhood.

The feeling of being home is soon here.
And I cannot wait.

Going home

She looks at the sun. How it warms her heart. She turns her head, takes in the view. Puts a sad smile on her face.

She's leaving.

She breaths the air. How familiar it feels in her lungs. She lets the air out, takes in the view. With a feeling of a drizzling summer rain.

She's going home.