Nostalgia on a Monday afternoon

I’m pushing fourty which means I’ve been around for at least a little bit. I’ve made some discoveries along the way.

For me, my life is so split into different chapters I can hardly look at old photos of myself and realize it is me I am looking at. This is hard to grasp. And I guess this drastic change between 2016 and 2018 have left a harder mark than I expected. I am still struggling understand it, and in this process I keep having a bit of an identity crisis. Who am I really? What is left from before? What is left of me from 2009? From 2005? From 1999? Why is it so different? I was on the same path until 2016. There were massive changes along the way, but they didn’t feel like this. I am for dear life holding onto what defines me as a person – whatever that can be. And so I get nostalgic and look at old photos of me and remember what it was like. I look at the books I have written and I can hardly understand that I did that – those are my books and my work. It almost feels like it was someone else doing all that writing. It is so far away from what I am now, and have the time for. Did I do all that? Really? I don’t really get it. Now I can hardly sit in front of a computer before I’m being bothered. I guess it’s not all bad. I know I can’t go on like I did with this new situation. It is what I wanted after all.

But yet I guess I wish it wasn’t so brutal. Everything taken away from me so brutally and so unexpectedly. I don’t really consider this place for MY house. Not when she, tired and sleepy, says the house will always be more hers than mine. Not when she still asks her ex boyfriend about technical computer stuff when I have spent a week figuring it out and giving her a good explenation. I don’t know why she does that.

If I tell her all this, all of how I feel some times she will go on the defensive and say something like “I expected you to be ready for a daughter” but you know what – it’s not about her at all. Not at all.

And so I go through old videos and photos and I look at me – this stranger – smiling or doing something with the camera. There’s me with my long hair in 2010, there’s me all skinny and naive in 2001. There’s me with my dogs in 2014 and there’s me where I want to be before anything else, an airshow in England. That’s all me and I can’t understand it is actually what it is; ME. It feels like a crime watching someone elses life. That guy died sometime in 2016 or 2017 and never really returned. Someone else stepped into his mind and body and controls it now. That guy is gone. He is no more. It’s like I’m intruding on myself and my former life looking at it and digging into it.

It should have gone away by now shouldn’t it. A few songs still gives me the absolute creeps listening to. I still miss my old house. I miss my dogs and I miss my computer. I miss so much.

But, I was prepared to sacrifice, and that I did. I did that for you Emma, and never worry about it. I was stubborn as hell. That’s why you are here. It’s all me. I did that. I was stubborn. I did not give up. I rode that bull until the end. My stubborness and my willing to NEVER give up is the reason you are here. I saved you before you were even born, But all this about me is not your fault. I got nothing to do with you. I see that clearly. I had to so drastically change things and in such a short time that I was bound to loose most of myself on the way. It’s just really weird. I have to come to know this new person now – me – and when I don’t know myself any more it is hard.

And so I look back to my old self to try and remember me, and pick up a few pieces of myself that I have dropped along the way. They are still lying around. I just need to find them.



Summer aftermath

Earlier this year I wrote this about an upcoming stay at a cabin belonging to her family.

Now, the results are in, and the aftermath have already taken place.

I have been quite open about what I have been worried about concerning these cabin stays. In short, it comes down to the lack of proper private sphere and the lesser availability of hygiene. During my stay, even some of the others involved admitted the place was too small for the amount of five adults and three children.

But I also discovered other challenges I had during my stay.

I felt I had very little control over my own days. I was always following someone elses plans or agenda (or lack of). If we we’re going out for a trip, it was someone else saying this would be the activity. Whatever it was, I was simply degraded to a follower of someone elses ideas and schedule. I am not used to this. I have always been my own boss, and if not I have always been asked or been taken into consideration when theres plans to be made. With this, it felt I came last. I was simply part of other peoples plans. Today we go to the beach, today we go for a boat ride, today we don’t know what we’re doing…and so on.

I told my girlfriend about this, and I said I wanted more part in planning these days for next year. Maybe I want road trips to certain coastal towns, or visiting my aunt down south. I want plans settled and decided for. These days are important. Apperantly, she can’t really give straight answers about making plans because it’s like she doesn’t want to plan big things except things that will happen a short amount of time ahead.

Like an example;

If I suggest a hike to a certain mountaintop. Instead of saying yes, she hesitated and talks about another mountain instead that she feels is nice (nicer?). And so I tell her that mountain is nice as well, and I’m up for it – but that means automatically the burden of planning is on her now and not me as my suggestion was halfways voted down. I have no inside knowledge of her mountain which means it will be on her. And so, we often simply end up not doing anything at all because she is not at her best if planning ahead is involved.

When we got back home after our cabin stay she was in a sombre mood. In the end, she got mad because I wasn’t willing to say I loved going swimming in the ocean. I don’t. But, in the end it’s just a symbol of her disappointment. I have never really liked swimming. She accused me of going too quiet and simply being annoyed during our stay. She wanted confirmation on confirmation that I enjoyed my time.

Did I?

Yeah, sometimes. Not always. Not when I felt I was panicking because I had no space to think. Not when I felt I couldn’t even take a shower because no one else did. And I clearly remember someone else being grumpy – and vocally grumpy at that. Since everything is being compared to this individual, I did the same back. I said he was grumpy, and much more than me.

And so she came to attack the core of me, as I have written about here;

She attacked the airshow. MY airshow. My holy four days abroad with my father and brother. Those days that cannot be altered. The weekend I can’t find a middle road on. It is mine, but anyone can come. Those that respect me and my interests and wants to get to know me, they can all come. Anyone can come. She don’t want to come. I suspected so, and early on told her she didn’t have to go. She proceeded to attack the event itself without knowing anything about it. How it was just for old men. How it wasn’t a family thing. How it was about looking at old aircraft. I got mad. Very mad. Bullshit! All of it!

In the end, she apologized, but damage has been done. How disrespectful is it really to not accept my four days and to equally expect me to accept her three weeks at the cabin. How rude! The cabin is HER airshow, and I’m trying my best. She’s not even trying to adapt to my life. My narrative. My interests. She just expects me to be all in love with this cabin and I have constantly told her my challenges with it.

And so I expect this scenario to play out once again come this next January. I want to plan ahead, she doesn’t. I want to go to the airshow, she wants to go to the cabin. I accept her cabin and two weeks minimum there, but she doesn’t accept my airshow. And so I have to quite frankly beg for forgivness because I want to go. It shouldn’t be necessary.

The Third Age of Mankind (part 6)

I don’t know exactly when I woke up on that small sofa, but I’m sure it was close to noon. The owner of the room went back to his MS DOS drug game, and I could finally see, in daylight, how he had painted his entire room black. Very odd choice for a room.

In the kitchen were two elderly women sitting by a table, smoking cigarettes. «Who are you?» they asked. I said my name, and added I was from Norway. «Did you get lost or something?» was their answer. They laughed. I was so uncomfortable I didn’t even smile back.

The day was strange. We got a lift to the car (situated a few miles away from last nights bravado) by a family member of this drug game boy, but there seemed to be no plan. The car was still not going anywhere if we got a lift there or not. So the past designated driver of us opened the hood and confirmed the alternator belt was sure missing. Then we started to walk back to the house. I started to see a pattern in their behaviour; they didn’t seem to get anything done. Pot smoking was their activity choice.

However, we ended up at some pool located in this large wooden area, but by this time I was so uncomfortable that I said I was sick and said I didn’t want to swim. The rest of the group did, but the boys actually swam around in their t-shirts and shorts. Again, odd. At some point or another, sitting in this room of this MS DOS drug dealer boys room, they started drinking. I was upset by this point, and took a gulp of what I believe was wine. «Yeah man, go for it,» said the designated driver. I did, but only a gulp. It didn’t taste very good.


At night, the drug game boy decided to go for a drive with us. He had no license, but he drove anyway. We drove around the small roads inside this big forest. At one point he stopped and told us he had to gain a bit of speed because the road was full of quicksand. I don’t know whether it was true or how dangerous it was, but we went over it fine. I sure do remember it though.

My memory is a bit blank the rest of this day or the next, but at some point we got the car going (or found another means of transportation) and headed towards the designated drivers house where he lived with his mom. I remember entering this neighbourhood. It was basically sealed off from the rest of the area with surveillance and tall fences. Not something I was used to from home. The house had higher standards than the previous house though. I don’t think the MS DOS drug game boy went with us. I went to sleep either on a sofa or on a matress on the floor. I think my friend and her boyfriend took the room of the designated driver. I dont’ recall meeting his mother.

The designated driver boy of age 17 was a handfull. Whenever we passed Walmarts on our way north, he flipped his finger at them. After a while I learned that he was banned from Walmarts across the country for unknown reasons to me. The giveaway for that was his behaviour towards other peoples property. Once, when we walked through a parking lot, he took his keys and scratched up the length of a nice car. He did it like it was nothing. No one said anything, just continued on their way. I felt like I somehow had ended up with some kind of rebel teenage group, ousted from society. My choice of clothing give it away though. I often wore a way too big Guns N’ Roses shirt (Live Era 87-93), short pants, socks and sandals. Yes, socks and sandals. No one said one word about it. I was a nerd.

Back to the present story; my memory draws blank once again, but considering I said I was sick, we finally headed to her parents house which was located out in the open countryside. No surveillance or security there, just a very nice house located in the wilderness. I liked it. Maybe I was picked up by her parents, I don’t know. I remember it was daylight when I came to her place, so we must have been driving. I have a photo of her car parked there, so it must have been fixed at some point. I also have a photo of a mechanics garage, but from my recollection we stopped by there because of a flat tire.


In all honesty, I also remember being picked up during nightime, so I don’t really remember. But, I ended up there and met her parents. If my friend stayed around or not I don’t know, but I know she went boating on a lake somewhere, and I didn’t see her for a day or two.

I met her dad. Immediately on, I liked him for his easy, straight forward approach. He was keen on getting to know me. Her mother was more mellow and caring. I liked them both. They were not fools, and wondered if I really was sick or not. I said I wasn’t sure, and wanted to wait it out a little bit. They gave me herbal tea. I wasn’t sick, I was simply trying to get out of where I was because I wasn’t comfortable with the behaviour, the laziness or the never ending pot smoking.

I also got more information about what had gone down during my travel. When I didn’t show up in Dallas on the Lufthansa flight, my friend had called home to ask for assistance. Her dad had then called Lufthansa. They were not willing to give out passenger details, but in the end they had managed to track down that I was onboard American Airlines. So, thanks to her parents (I think! I was picked up at the airport several hours late from my original schedule.

I met her little brother, aged 12. He was also a nice boy, and I liked him. It was only later on that I found out that her dad really gave him a hard time. Once, when I was inside using their computer, I heard the dad yelling at this 12 year old in a fashion I had never experienced before.

Now, I had heard all sorts of stuff from my friend about her 16 year old little sister. Biggest issue was; she was pregnant. Second, she wanted to join the army or something. To my biggest surprise, we hit it off at once. We spoke for a long time one of those first days when I was at their house, and I could finally confide in someone just how that group of rebellious pot smoking teens behaved. I told her how I looked at my friends boyfriend, how the designated driver was a criminal, and how no one seemed to be able to get anything done, nor did they have any money at their disposal. She agreed completely. She was great. She’s STILL great. I often talk to her on Facebook.

To be continued…

The Third Age of Mankind (part 5)

I don’t know why we stopped by Athens, Texas. I thought we had been going northeast, not southeast. The alternator belt on her car kept dropping off, which meant we had to turn back and pick up from from anywhere it fell off. It happened a few times. And so we slowly made our way across the huge plains of Texas. I thought we were going towards her hometown and her parents house, and maybe we were, it’s almost twenty years later I discovered we were taking a good de-tour.


We fixed the car outside a Taco Bell restaurant in Athens, and was on our way soon enough. At some point we stopped at a gas station, and while her boyfriend et. al was out looking to buy dope, I made a much welcomed call to my mother. She sounded stressed on the phone. She had been trying spiritually get in touch with me by thinking «please call home, please call home». Maybe it worked, and I finally did call. It surpised me though, these peoples relationship to their parents. It didnt look like they cared about their parents, and wanted nothing to do with them. That was the impression I got. I didn’t understand, as I always had a very good relationship to my parents.

I guess we turned north at some point because we finally made it her hometown. In the meantime, her boyfriend had lost his job at some fast food joint because he didn’t make it back to his shift in time. Yeah, I guess it’s this easy in Texas – to get and loose a job. We were not heading back to her parents house though, but to a friend of theirs living basically out in the woods. At three in the morning, we were almost there when the alternator belt fell off again. This time we could not find it, so we had to push the car the rest of the way to his house. The friend of theirs was surprisingly still awake playing some MS-DOS based drug dealing game, and so we were to spend the night (what was left of it) there. I tried to fall asleep on the floor, but her boyfriends smug smile meant he had other plans. «Do you mind if you take the sofa? We have some catching up to do,» he said – meaning they would share the matress on the floor while I slept on the sofa two meters away. ‘Catching up to do’ he said. I always suspected he wanted to mark his territory, and if that meant what I thought it meant it would be unpleasant. «Okay, just be quiet,» I answered and turned my back towards them, positioning me on the sofa. I heard they had a few puffs of pot before I noticed a few odd sounds. But, surprisingly they fell asleep quicker than I expected.

Before I fell asleep listening to odd sounds coming from the floor, I asked myself a question. Just how on Earth did I end up in a dense forest in Texas, sleeping on sofa belonging to a strange pot riddled teenage boy with what I thought was best friend and her boyfriend  doing God knows what on the floor just meters away?

I had no idea.

I slowly started to think more strategically, because this didn’t go as planned. Then I fell asleep.

To be continued…

The Cabin – a cultural golden ticket to high status

Norwegian culture is funny if you look at it from the outside and not while being inside it. The term «hytte» or «cabin» is widely accepted as something people are lucky to have. It portrays that you might be well off economically, but it also gives an impression of being in touch with nature. All in all, having a hytte is very, very positive and something to make other people impressed about. It’s a cultural golden ticket to high status.

What you do in these cabins though are often strange. You pack a lot of people (family) into a small house with less comfort than normal. People you may or may not be related to stay there too, and you’re expected to live very close to these people for a decent amount of time. You may or may not have a shower available. Same goes for water facilities, toilet, and so on. The beds you sleep in are always much less comfortable than the ones you have at home. And so it’s simply less of everything (except people) and the area is often in scenic surroundings. The last part is nice. The rest? Well.

I have to deal with «hytte» now. That means her family, often three or four of them (excluding children) in a relatively small hytte. And I am expected to stay here for weeks on end. Maybe three weeks. There is a shower, but people don’t use it every day. I am often being referred to the ocean for cleaning myself. Last year I managed to shower every third or fourth day and I felt rather uncomfortable with it. I don’t really feel fresh or clean after swimming in the ocean but I guess that’s just me. It is the norm to be social throughout the day. Reading books or magazines (my fave holiday activity) is not really undertaken or even accepted. The cabin is located in a very nice scenic area, no doubt about that, but it is the living bit that I struggle with.

I don’t like people that close to me. I know lots of Norwegians don’t either, but it’s like this is forgotten once the word «hytte» comes along. Then it’s all fine and dandy living so close to others. I don’t like it. I don’t like the never ending social activity. I don’t like people being everywhere. It’s like I need to walk outside just to think. I wouldn’t like it even if it was my own family.

I don’t like it when comfort is taken away. I don’t like it when I can’t shower as much as I want. I don’t like it when I need to share bathrooms and toilets with six other people (including children). I don’t like it that I have to sit somewhere with someone all the time talking. I like to be in silence reading books or going for a bike ride, at least a bit. I don’t like this, and I get stressed by simply thinking about it.

Last year I brought some magazines along, and I tried to read them when I could. At one point I was approached by my girlfriend asking why I was pulling myself away from the others. For fucks sake, I just want to read a book and do MY holiday activity for a change! And now I’m all anti social? Yes, maybe I am. Hey, that’s me.

I am stressed about the holiday now. There’s no real joy. I’m not really looking forward to it. I ask myself why. Is it because of the hytte itself or is it because of living so close with people? It’s the latter. If that hytte was all mine, and it was just me, my girlfriend and the kids I would be fine. I could set an agenda for the holiday weeks and be happy about it. Now, I’m just dreading all the social stuff. I dread the sleeping arrangements too. The tightness of it all. Sleeping on some damn matress on the floor. People being there when I wake up. People being there when I go to bed. People being there when I just want to read a fucking article on my cell phone. No scenery or nice ocean view is worth this. I feel down because I can’t read a book like I have always done. I dread the constant two week non-stop social activity. I dread the feeling of loss of hygiene too.

I am Norwegian, but I’m not this Norwegian. This is foreign to me. I don’t understand the cultural approach. How people are so impressed when I mention I’m going to this hytte. Why would anyone be so impressed by taking away so much necessities and adding too many people on top of it like that? It’s like going back 60 years in time, and I don’t want to. I seriously don’t want to.

The Third Age of Mankind (part 4)

On the American Airlines flight, on my way all alone across the Atlantic ocean to Dallas, I was seated next to a rather chubby American businessman. We didn’t speak for the duration of the flight, but he did order the chicken (not the fish). That I remember. And I remember how wide and tall he was. I felt small.

The first happening of sorts I remember from the flight was the order of drinks. The stewardess asked me what I wanted, and I replied; «Coca Cola». She then gave me the whole can of Coke which took me by surprise. I think we also were given hot towels before take off.

Once we flew over Greenland, sheets of ice could be spotted. It felt almost unreal to be looking at it. I took a photo of it. I spent my time either reading magazines I had brought along with me, or listening to my Discman. I clearly remember being told by the Captain that we were flying over Milwaukee, so I put on U.S.A by TNT from their Knights of the New Thunder album from 1984. I guess that is my strongest memory from the flight – listening to that song while entering the States.


Coming into land in Dallas, it felt like we were circling for a wee bit before touchdown. I got off the plane, and observed the airport. It was huge. Biggest airport I had ever seen. And the floors had wall to wall carpets. I found it really odd that an airport, with all its dirt and filth decided that carpets was a smart move.

Surprisingly, my suitcase had also found its way to Dallas. I didn’t really expect that it had considering how I had plastered on the baggage tags. I came out of the baggage terminal, and looked around. No one I recognized was there. I had no idea how delayed I was. Four hours? Five hours? Ten hours? I panicked once more, and grabbed a service phone. I was stressed, and couldn’t even muster a proper sentence. The service lady at the other end of the phone started laughing when I said the words in the wrong order. I tried to tell the service lady that she had to call my Texas friend up.

A few minutes later I spotted her. She was there. She had my back towards me, and I remember slapping her with a piece of magazine on her shoulder. She turned around, and gave me a hug. A hand reached out, and I shook it. It was her boyfriends hand. He said nothing, just shook my hand. And off we went outside into the blistering heat. 40 Celsius. I had never ever experienced that before. I met another friend of theirs, the designated driver aged 17. Off we went in fast pace on wide highways. The heat was horrible. They had all the car windows down, but it didn’t help one bit.

We drove out of Dallas going north in the sunset. I was jetlagged, and had no idea what day it was. We kept on driving for some time before stopping by a Jack-In-The-Box fast food joint for a burger. We ate while we drove. I remember her boyfriend simply – when done with his food – just threw everything out the window. I wasn’t brought up like that, and felt it to be wrong. But, I didn’t want to be the odd one out, so I did the same. I remember the burger I got was a plain thick cheeseburger. My first American meal. I also remember drinking the Coke like a madman. I had obviously been drinking way too little, and the taste of Coke was simply bliss.

We kept on driving for quite some time before it was decided we needed to rest. My newfound friends were all broke, so they talked about sleeping in the car. I wanted no such thing, and said I could pay for a motel. And so we found one, and turned off the main road. I have often wondered what town we were in. I gave her boyfriend a stack of dollar bills, and off he went (as the oldest of us) while we were standing in a parking lot. He came back some minutes later with a key and a pleased face. The sidestory to this is that there was reason to believe the money I gave him was counterfeit. A few months later, in the newspaper here at home, there was a story about a local family being arrested in the US for counterfeit money. They had gotten their dollar bills from the same bank as I had – at the same time – and they had also been in the States at the same time that I had been there. It all came from the same bunch of money I’m sure. That would have been something. To have been arrested for counterfeit money.

In the motel, we were four people, and the room only had four beds. That meant some tough choices. I was knackered, so I went to bed and halfways expected the designated driver to show up at some point hopefully staying at his side of the bedt and far away from me. He didn’t. He slept on the floor. Nice of him. My Texas friend with her boyfriend took the other bed.

While I desperately tried to sleep, they decided to smoke pot on the other side of the room. I wasn’t used to the smell, and I wasn’t used to trying to sleep with the lights on and people chatting while playing Nu-Metal. I fell asleep anyway, totally drained from the travel I had done.

To be continued…

“I hate the trendies, but I also hate the freaks”. A letter from 1999.

I have saved a lot of files from the earliest days of using a computer. Not all, but still a lot. I have always made sure I have brought the folders with me when I have changed computers, and now I have also uploaded them to Google Disk for safe keeping. Sometimes, when I scroll through stuff, I discover forgotten writings I have done. Little did I know that these bitter and lonely ramblings would mean something one day. They are almost historical in a sense that it beatifully portrays my thoughts and feelings as a young and confused teenage boy.

In hindsight, I was scared of adult life. I was angry at not having friends to talk to, but I chose this way by shutting people out. I did want to be like them because it made me feel uncomfortable. I was bitter because no one seemed to understand me, but instead of dwelling on the why’s and how’s I simply alienated myself further from my peers, and stuck to my guns. I actually did fight the trends, but I fought them just as much because I was scared. I was a nerd. I didn’t dress right, I liked the wrong things and I had no chance with any girl. I was scared of alcohol, I was scared of parties, and I was scared of social settings. I wonder if this actually was a mild form of social anxiety from the beginning. Instead of facing it, I simply tried to shut it out. And I was simply wishing to meet someone like me when there were no one like me around. No wonder I found so much comfort in my Texas friend. No wonder. And while longing for a girlfriend, my bitterness did not do anything for my chances.

I remember that party I refer to in the text. It was a huge Halloween party, and I was given a free ticket. I was there, but didn’t know where to go or where to sit, so we (my cousin and I) ended up going in and out of the building until we had enough and walked home.

I have honestly no idea who I’m referring to about this girl that didn’t work out. I had two classmates that last high school year I connected a bit with. One was just a friend, but the other I had a major crush on. Could be the latter.

Well, here’s what I wrote 20 years ago.

Without any research into the world of interesting and fun people, I would say, unofficially that I may be the most boring guy on this planet.  I was born in the early 80`s, more precisely, 1980. That makes me 19 years and on top of everything you can track down when it comes to physiology.  During my days at junior high I discovered that I was on a different path than the rest of my friends. First of all, I couldn’t stand any of the music produced. That’s one thing, but I also made it my hobby to dislike whatever the others would find “cool”. I remember that everyone was so into this teenage club thing, while I found it extremely stupid and not interesting at all to be stuck in a smoky room with music I hated. Don’t get me wrong here, I wasn’t a freak, and as the title says, “I also hate the freaks”. That was the start of my adventure of doing things clearly my own way.

When starting High school in 96, my own “trend” of going against all others just got 
stronger. By the way, while finishing junior high, my school arranged a big party for everyone to join. By then it seemed that most people accepted my “not interested” behavior, and never even bothered to ask me if I were going. Ok, back to high school. You see, in Norway we can choose one major level to study, and of course, I choose mine against any statistics ever produced. While the rest of my friends chose the usual boy things, like mechanics or electricians or just the regular high school education, I chose the “girly” thing. Health and Social care. By this time I had developed a strong hate against alcohol as well, since everyone found the world of drunken parties such fun. I hated it…honestly hated everything about their lifestyle. Through my 3 years in High School I totally refused to join any parties, and I do think that’s some kind of record. I have never regretted my statements whatsoever. That is..I went to a party last year..I stayed for 2 hours before going home…and thought: “never again”.

Im still “going strong”.. I hate 90`s music, I hate cigarettes, I hate alcohol, I hate those big wide trousers the guys are using these days..and… short, I hate whatever the average person finds “cool”.

So, you may think Im no fun, you may think Im the most boring person ever (and 
from your point of you, I am) and you may wonder what Im doing with my life. 
No need to worry, I like what Im doing. I like listening to my 80`s heavy metal music, and I like working with old people in a hospital and I like reading history from World War 2, I like to draw things, and I like to watch Formula 1. Most importantly, I get recognition and praise from where it counts, in real life, were what I do is important and matters. Doesn’t matter if you can drink 5 bottles of beer in real life, it doesnt do you anything. I take life serious, but also fun and I do fun things, but those things are not fun to you.

Im always dead honest, and I can honestly say that I have never smoked a cigarette, 
I have never been drinking beer and I have of course never been drunk and  I have been to 1 party since the 6th grade. I stick to my belief, doesn’t matter if they  are stupid to some or have no meaning. Its who I am.

I miss only one thing in my life, and that is to find someone who understands who I am, and share (hopefully) the same beliefs as myself. Ive known a lot of girls, but I have only met one who I really could connect with. Sadly, that didn’t work out.

Meanwhile, Ill continue to hate what you love and love what you hate. 

The Third Age of Mankind (part 2)

Between my internet best friends visit in the summer of 2000, and my visit in the summer of 2001, several things happened. While our e-mail conversations continued as before, there were a few bumps along the way.

First of all, she returned to Texas after our summer together, and started college. She did not, to my naive surprise, dump her boyfriend. Again being naive, I asked what we should do considering we acted as a couple for those days. I honestly don’t think «fooling around» was in my vocabulary. If something like this went down, it was obviously serious. When she replied saying «that’s that» to my question if we should continue this or say that’s that I was surprised. Only a fool would be surprised, but I was. The fact she actually had any form of physical contact with this guy gave me a surprise. It’s one thing to be naive, but this was way beyond being naive. But hey, she was physically far away, and it didn’t bother me as much as another subject which came up a bit later on.

From my side on, I was approached by a girl at work. She was 17, in a relationship, but eager to at least officially dump him to be with me. I hesitated. First of all because she wasn’t very attractive, but the prospect of more of this fooling around made up my mind. And, so, for a few months in the begininng of 2001 I was in a relationship. It didn’t last long because she decided to revert back to her ex-boyfriend (or was it another guy – I can’t recall). It didn’t bother me much really.

What did bother me immensly was the fact that my Texas best friend was now indulging in drug use. While it was nothing more serious than pot smoking, my ideology at the time was a complete zero tolerance towards all of it. Even alcohol. Don’t ask me why, it simply felt scary and silly. I wanted no part of it.

When she told me that she and her newly found group of male friends (including her seven year older boyfriend) smoked dope, I was heartbroken. I thought we had common ground on the subject. A sort of «the two o fus against the world and against the trends of society» and now she had betrayed me. I didn’t know much about pot. At that time, it was almost unheard of where I came from. Alcohol was the main choice of drug. I had simply heard all these bad things about it, and I was scared of it. But, most of all, I felt simply betrayed. Now it was just me. She had found herself a boyfriend, a couple of friends and started college as well. She had, even if still being very low on confidence, moved on. I had not.

I remember taking the bus homewards that day when she told me this, and all I could do was to stare out in a complete blank all the way home.

In hindsight, and not being THIS naive any longer, it all looks really silly, but to me back then this was very serious stuff. However, we continued talking like normal. Our friendship online seemed to be somewhat intact, and there was nothing but excitement about my visit in the summer of 2001. I was honestly ignoring the fact that there was another guy involved, and a visit from me could make things a bit ugly.

In the spring of 2001, I was slowly preparing for the adventure of a lifetime. Because of embracing this new technology like I had, I was now on the verge of travelling all alone to the United States of America. I was 20 years old. I felt grown up, but of course I wasn’t. I felt I was ready for it – but I wasn’t that either. The journey itself troubled me the most. I was in e-mail communication with SAS on several occations asking about transit time and what not. I didn’t know if my transit time in Frankfurt would be enough or not, and there was no way of knowing except asking. SAS replied that my transit time was within the regulation. I had no idea what they meant, and there was no information available online either. In 2019 of course, you can Google yourself to any answers about transit time and journeys through airports. It wasn’t like that back then. Like I mentioned in my previous post, I even took the bus to the airport to get my bearings so to speak. It didn’t help much, but I walked around the terminal looking at it all for several hours before the bus returned and took me home.

It was soon time to travel to America

To be continued…

Like somebody walked all over my grave

I got myself a new haircut yesterday. Well, not new really, I’ve had this hairstyle before. From the spring of 2016 to the summer of 2017. And so my hair was cut that way, and I went home and studied it in the mirror.

A chilling feeling came over me. Like someone walked all over my grave. It was uncomfortable looking at, but yet I enjoy this hairstyle which put me in an awkward bi-polar position.

It reminded me of 2016-half of 2017 badly. Suddenly it looked as if «I was back». I wondered if this would bring me bad luck now – using this hairstyle again. Like I brought everything back that was finally put in some distance from myself. Like I had pulled myself back from the transit of the dead.

It just reminds me of how shit it was. Everything. Not going two days without having some form of breakdown. Just wandering around in those days feeling left on the outside of community. It was so chilling I have no words for it.

Maybe there is a reason for whatever sometimes. Maybe my past, short, relationship actually made it all at least a bit easier to deal with back then. Without her care and comfort and presence, maybe it all had been even worse. Maybe a lot worse. And for that I thank her.

And all of this because of a certain hairstyle.


Lost in translation

I must be poor at explaining myself and trying to make proper arguments for a case, because when I do, I have to tackle a very angry girlfriend.

Like yesterday. There’s a documentary on TV that’s been doing rounds in the media and with the public. It shows horrible conditions and downright cruelty to pigs by farmers. A journalist have been using a hidden camera visiting pig farms for five years. I didn’t even want to watch the entire documentary because of what it shows.

So this subject comes up (she now doesnt want to eat meat because of it), and I’m simply trying to put forward the fact that this journalist obviously have taken the worst cases and included it in her documentary. If she visits 50 pig farms and five of them have these horrible conditions, there’s no point in including scenes at pig farms where nothing happens and everything is fine. It doesn’t take anything away from the horrible fact shown, but just because some farmers do this  doesn’t mean every farmer is like this. This is easy.

And so she goes on a rampage. She tries to show me articles from NOAH (animal rights organization) to which I decline. I would like to stay somewhat neutral and to use sources which obviously have an agenda is not my first stop along the way to the truth (even if they might be right). She then accuses me of «being like her ex boyfriend» because he hated NOAH. I let that one go, but I am getting furious.

While I am simply trying to make the point that not all farmers can be accused of animal cruelty, she continues her shock n awe tactic. She then compares Holocaust to the pig industry, and that’s where I put my foot down. Never, never, never, EVER compare Holocaust to ANYTHING else. By doing so, you clearly show lack of understanding of this event. She actually does not back down from this fact. Then she calls me stupid, two times in a row. I’m like «what is this, really? What did I say that was so bad?»

I try to make a point where I say “what if someone shows up with a hidden camera in this town and document five cases of parents hitting their child? Would you like it if someone said the entire town does this – that would include you as well?”

She rejects the example and says it’s on the same level as her Holocaust argument, and I am simply shocked that she thinks its the same.

Am I THAT bad at explaining myself?

After a while, I discover one fact; since we have not seen the documentary there’s confusion as to what is shown in the documentary tiself. Is this local farmers cruelty towards animals, or is this cruelty happening at slaughterhouses? While I am almost sure this is recorded at local farmers, I give in and say «I didn’t know it was recorded at slaughterhouses». She seems focused towards a more general production style of this type of meat and the obvious killing of pigs that is done. I was always talking about the documentary itself. I understand what is going on in slaughterhouses, but comparing that to the Holocaust is a step too far. So whats she actually she’s arguing about?

I have no idea.

In the end, she apologises for calling me stupid, but the rest if simply left alone. I revert back to simply «agreeing» without trying to introduce more nuance in the debate.

We’re simply lost in translation.