Facing what's to come, kind of

My mum and I have had a projekt all spring. We planted seeds in Match. And now we have beautiful plants all over the verandah. I love just sitting looking at them. They have become my babies. It's as if we're desperate to watch something living grow. It's peaceful and almost healing. To see that there is still life that can grow in this world.

I've been sitting among those plants today reading. I was looking through our book cases for something to read and my eyes stopped on a book my Kristian Gidlund. He was a Swedish journalist who was diagnosed with stomach cancer in the spring of 2011. He then started a blog to write about his internal war. Last summer his blog was published in a book. Just a short while later he passed away. He lived just over two years after he was diagnosed. I haven't had the strength or the courage to read his book. My mum bought it late last summer. And for a long time it was just lying in our living room. No one daring to open it. No one wanting to know what was inside. My mum has read it. Don't know if anyone else in my family has.

I started reading it today. Because if it's anytime that I will read it, it's when my parents aren't here. And if there's any place I should read it, it's here. In this house. On this verandah. Where I am at my safest. At a time and place where it's okay to fall apart.

I think this is something I need to do.

Empty

I don't remember last time I was this lonely.

How did my life turn into this?

Denial as the best defence

Things are getting personal. I realise that. And I will sometimes dump very personal stuff here. I don't write about these things anywhere else. And most of my thoughts on all of this I do not formalise. They're just in my head. But sometimes I need to get it ouf of my system. Written down somewhere. And I want people to know how I am. People who might read this blog. Friends. Because I do not write about it that much in e-mailes or messages. Because as you can see, I'm denying it all. And who knows, maybe someone else in a similar, horrible, nightmare'ish position will read this and know they're not alone. We're all in this together. Fighting this monster.

It's terrifying. Absolutely terrifying, to think of the death of a parent. We all know it will happen. It's how it's meant to be. People have children. The children grow up while the parents grow old. Then the children have children. And the parents become the grandparents. And then the grandchildren grow up, while the parents get even older. And then they pass away. At the age of 80 or 90, or sometimes 100. Like my grandfather. My amazing, beautiful knight in shining armor He died the year he was going to turn 90. And he was only sick the last six months of his long and wonderful life. That's how it's meant to be. While the death of a parent must be horrible, and terrifying even at that stage, it's somehow manageable. Because you've been prepared for it your whole life without realising. It sounds horrible. But it's true. And it gives you peace and hope to know that they lived a happy, long life.

My mum will most likely not get that ending. My mum is 54 years old. And she is the most amazing, wonderful, strong person I know. She is my hero. And right now she is fighting an incurable disease. An alien has taken root in her body, in her stomach, and is slowly fighting its way through her body. It's reached her pancreas. Her lungs. Her skeleton. And her liver. She is doing chemotheropy. We are going to halt it. So we get more time. Because according to the doctors that's all we can hope for. And that is all we want, isn't it? Everyone? We all want time with the people that we love.

I moved back to Sweden so that I could be closer to my family. It wasn't the only reason. But it certainly put things in perspective. What's very strange though is how I felt more aware of the cancer when I was in London than I am now. In London I would get panic attacks. I would fall apart completely. I didn't sleep. I would sit in my room, with the lights out and hug myself while crying hysterically. Maybe it was partly because it then was so much fresher. It was new. I was in shock. I was in the first stage. It didn't seem real and I would work myself up by not being able to see my mum every day. I didn't know how she was doing. And I would imagine her ill and weak and sad.

Now I'm home. And while I sometimes question what I've done. Changed my entire life around because of this. I wonder if I was stupid giving up a good job, with great colleagues. Leaving some of my closest friends behind, whom I now miss terribly. Was it the right decision? Of course it was. But it all almost seems more unreal now. I wake up in the mornings. I have breakfast with my mum. We chat. We get on with our days. And she's mum. She sleeps more than she used to. She takes slower walks than before. But she's mum. It's impossible to get it through my head that she is so sick. I just can't do it. And I don't want to do it.

I want to keep living in this wonderful state of denial. Where everything is still okay. Where the events of the 20th of June 2013 doesn't exist. Because in this world it's me and my mum. Spending wonderful quality time together. Like a lovely long vacation. I'm not unemployed living off my parents. And she does not have a giant tumour in her stomach. It's just us. Like normal. Because everything else is too hard. It is too painful. And it is too terrifying. I cannot picture a world without my mum. I do not know how that world would look like. It would be a cold, lonely and dark place. A place I cannot go. That's not an option. So I live in this world of denial. Because right now it is the best I got. It's the only thing I have.

I'm worried that I will get ripped out of this world soon though. Because we are getting eerily close to the end of chemo. Fifth round tomorrow and Thursday. And then one more round two weeks later. And then we'll get to know if it worked or not. If it's halted, or if it's continued spreading.

I hope it worked. I really really really realy hope it worked. But I'm scared. I'm absolutely terrified.

Looking out the window

It's destructive,
this world we're living in.
You're supposed to do so much,
be so much.
And yet we are clueless,
not knowing what to do, or what we are.

You are bombarded with information from all corners,
there is nowhere to hide.
You're expected to be up to date,
every hour, every minute.
But you know that it is killing you,
this constant need to know everything.

It hurts,
it's like a constant reminder.

The virtual world is crap, real life is so much better.
Caye Caulker, Belize. Dec. 2009.

Of what I used to have,
of who I used to have.
Of what I used to do,
and never will do again.
Of who I used to laugh with,
but are not anymore.
It's a reminder of everything,
the good and the bad.

Right now though,
the bad seem to be winning.
So I'm taking a break from it all.
To run away from the pain,
the confusion,
the heartaches.
I'm saying good bye,
I don't know for how long.
But no,
you cannot find me on facebook.



It hurts too much.

Things change

I expect to bump into you,
I look for your face.
I take out my phone and get ready to text you.
That's when I remember that you're not here anymore.
It's not like you're GONE with capital letters,
but still.
I look for you,
and you're not here.
It's strange.
And quite sad.

Happy times ahead

We haven't had electricity all day, until now.
Which has given me a lot of time to just lie in bed thinking about random things.
And I was struck by the fact that I am really looking forward going back to uni in September.
I'm excited about my classes.
I'm looking forward to going back to the gym.
I'm anxiously looking forward to being president of a society.
I'm so excited about moving into the new house with two of my closest friends.

All in all, I am so glad I am going back there. Not having to deal with the future or what to do with myself. It is nice to know, and it is nice that I am actually excited about it and looking forward to it.

I'm also excited about my family coming to Uganda to hang out with me for my last two weeks here. I cannot wait. It is now less than two weeks until they're here.

Finding the right rhythm

To sit and sip a good cup of coffee.
To listen to the sounds of daily life.
To look out over the great lake of Africa.
To smell the mix of burned rubbish, spices and fresh fruit.
To strole past children looking wide-eyed at you.
To never feel cold.
To just be,
and feel apart of it all.

I'm starting to feel at home here.
It's an incredible feeling.

Not going anywhere

It's that time of the year.
When everything comes to an end.
You know what I'm talking about.
The feelings you go through at the end of something great.

This year is different though.
At this time of the year, for the last five years,
it's been the end of a chapter.
Be it high school,
work (twice!),
leaving for year abroad,
leaving my year abroad behind.
But not this time.
This time my end of exams (yay!),
the packing up of my room,
the farewells to friends.
It doesn't mean the end.
It just mean I'm going to be gone for a little while.
For a couple of months,
and then I'm back.
Come September,
and I'll be back in my dear England again.
So it's a different feeling than normally.
But it's nice.
It's very, very, very nice.
I should do this more often.

Let's not start a new chapter

For once,
I am quite relieved that I'm not the one leaving.
It feels safe, calming,
and very, very nice.
It's a feeling I haven't had before,
and I'm surprised at how at ease with it I actually am.
There isn't a single bone in my body that tells me that I want to move on.
I think of the fact that I'm staying put,
and I exhale in comfort and relief.
I'm not starting a new chapter,
and I love it.

When you think about it

I was sitting in my chair,
by my window.
There's this giant tree outside where the leaves now are so plenty it could be the rainforest.
Okay, maybe not the rainforest,
but you know what I mean.
It's plain beauty.
There is so much of it out there,
and I can't help but wonder why we don't see it more often.
Or maybe that's just me.
There's this filter covering my pupils,
only allowing me to see certain things.
And making things look in a special way.
Everyone has their own filter,
shaped by their past and looked through with their present.
Isn't it strange,
we all start off at the same position.
Neutral, empty.
And as the years go by we are filled with love, lies, laughters, lives.
And by some miracle of events we turn into the people we are here and now.
Change one second of your past,
and nothing would be the same.
Some turn out to change the world,
some turn out to save lives,
some live their lives happily on the sidelines,
some end up doing something they never thought was possible.
But we all started off at the same place,
and yet we all turn out so differently.
It's quite a miracle,
when you think about it.
There are so many people walking this earth,
and still not two are identical.
Not even identical twins are identical.
Everyone is unique.
It's quite extraordinary when you think about it.

Double life

I sit at the table and look at the people around me,
discussing the events of the day.
Mum just came home from work.
Dad is on his way to the golf course.
I had a relaxing day with a good friend.
I mention the fact I have to choose classes for next year,
I get puzzled expressions.

It is as if my life here and now is the reality.
The years spent in that other country was just a dream.
The days of laughter in the grass outside a campus building.
The long hours in the library.
The dinners at friends' houses.
Is it really the same girl that goes through that that is sitting here?

I look out my window.
And think of my double life.
The relaxed, chilled, typical Swede.
And the stressed university student who spends most of her hours in a corner of the library.

Most people lead double lifes.
One at home where they've grown up,
and one in the place they decide to make their home.
When those two places are seperated by a sea,
and when the people in one place have little knowledge of the people in the second place.
Then your life truly becomes double,
and I can't help but feel on the outside.

I love both places.
But will I ever find a place where I don't feel like a part of me is missing?

The ultimate paradox

Looking back I can't say when it all began. Usually I know the answer. Most things began on that day now many years ago. The day everything changed. But not this, this came later. D Day rather had the opposite effect thinking back. During those years of tears, loss, pain and close friendships this strange feeling was never present. I sought what I no longer can deal with. It's strange, isn't it? How you can change so drastically without even noticing. I've become so used to being able to pin point the day. Now I can't. But never the less, it's present. Always. Everywhere. And what does it matter when it started? Isn't it more relevant to know when it ends?

It hits when I expect it. Which is funny since nothing ever used to. But now I can see it ahead of time. I can walk into a room knowing it will hit. I can know days in advance. It's a never ending battle, that I often lose. You probably can't see it. Or maybe you can. Maybe I don't give you enough credit. I probably don't. I try so hard not to show it, while at the same time screaming for you to know. It's the ultimate paradox. How to keep something hidden, while wanting to talk about it. Wanting to be left alone, while wanting to be with you. Wanting to be ignored, while wanting you to see it all.

It makes it difficult. I know.

Staring into space

The waves kept hitting the beach,
and she stared into the sea.
On the horizon she could see the ships pass by,
searching for another harbour to anchor in.
She could picture the men on the ships,
staring back at shore just like she was staring toward them.
The sun was setting, and water was burning.
The colours were playing out there,
while the breeze kept blowing her hair around.
She kept staring into eternity.
Because there was nothing else she could do.
There was no where else she could go.
And as the sun disappeared,
the darkness krept closer,
and the stars showed their pretty faces.
She moved her gaze from the sea to the sky,
not knowing what she was searching for.
All she knew was that she wasn't leaving,
for she had no where to go.

It is what it is

It is what it is.
Have you ever wondered what's behind someone's eyes?
The man queuing behind you in the grocery store.
The girl walking fast with a sad look.
The old lady struggling to walk while glancing toward the sky.
The boy running back and forth because he has too much energy.

Have you ever wondered what your dreams really mean?
You wake up, realsing you've just left a different world behind.
You close your eyes, trying to force it back, but it's impossible.
It was just a dream.
And that's when one, lonely tear comes.
At the moment you realise dreams are not real.
They are what they are.
Dreams.

Have you ever had your life shattered into tiny, tiny pieces?
One day the phone rings, and you can't do anything but listen.
That's when you know that no matter what,
life goes on.
If you for one second thought that it would stop, stop for you, you were terribly wrong.
It goes on. For better or for worse.
You don't get a break from life.
It is what it is.

A never ending walk.
Or atleast that's how it used to look like.
Now it's a winding path amongst the unknown.
It is what it is.

Life

It's like balancing on the edge, always being afraid to fall.

.

You know how you said that the reason that you rush through life is to make sure you get the most out of it?
I don't believe you.

You know how you said that the reason that you never look back is to make sure you don't live in the past?
I don't believe you.

I rush through life, because I'm scared that if I stop nothing will make sense.
I avoid looking back, because I don't want to be reminded of the horrors of the past.

We are given a life, and then it's up to us what we do with it. You can choose your own path, but we all start off at the same point. Then our mission is to get to the end.
I don't believe you.

The journey is the mission. And I'm trying really hard to not run.

As it is

So I picked up my brain,
grabbed the feelings I had so long hidden,
put on my sun glasses,
and I walked away.
And decided not to stop.

How to live our lifes

There's something in this world that tells us how to be. It tells us how to act. How to react. It tells us what our lives should be like. From the time that we are able to understand the words that are told to us, we are told how life is supposed to be. We are told that we have to go to school. We have to have friends. We have to graduate high school. We have to meet a partner, preferably of the opposite sex. This someone we are supposed to fall headless in love with. Share our lives with, tell them our secrets and our dreams. We are supposed to become a union, one soul. And we are supposed to get jobs that leads to a career, and a home that leads to a family. This we are told as soon as we can take in the meaning of life.

But what if this doesn't happen? Is there something wrong with us? We are told how our lives are supposed to be so many times, for so long, that it becomes the truth. It becomes the only option. Therefore, when reality hits, and all those things that are supposed to come with it is lacking, we start to question. We start to wonder. Is this the true reality? Or is it only me? Is this the big lie in society? In the world. That everything we're told, everything we're taught, is not real. But then we look around, and realise that the world does look like we've been told. People live in pairs. People have their careers, and their families.

So I look around, and can't help but wonder. If that is how life is supposed to be, then what happened to me? Where did I get lost? In my searches for the answer, I think I've gotten lost. Running in circles, never knowing what to expect.

There is something in this world that tells us how to live. While sometimes it's good to ignore that voice and do your own thing, sometimes it's better to just shut up and follow the stream. It might just take you to your dream...

Contemplating

A strange sadness.
No explanation.
Thinking of a past long gone.
Thinking of a windy present.
Thinking of a distant future.

Wondering. Contemplating.
What will become of me?