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Shakira Lo Hecho Está Hecho

Martin Stenmarck 7milakliv

Alex Ubago ft. Sharon Corr Ammarado a Ti

So this is the mood I get into when I’m drunk now. I can’t afford to love you.

Friday night: Soho with Bryce, Cam, Sam, Isabeau
Saturday: walked to Ponte Tresa, Italy, with Quinn and Acacia
Saturday night: naufrage

I can’t make you love me if you don’t.
I can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.

I’m sure I haven’t ever caused anyone to feel the way I feel right now. I just don’t have that kind of power over people. And if I have this must be God’s way of sending karma back to me. Faen.

Every night I go to bed, filled with the tiniest bit of hope of everything that could be. Every morning I face the reality of all that simply cannot be.

Comparing hands: one palm against another fremmed one. Marveling over how right it seemed to be, that they would be the same size, that they would lace so well. Our pinkies topple and fall, og det går uten objection. Our ring fingers follow i stillhet, skjer det virkelig? Another one, and I could only imagine the look in your eyes as our hands make a funny gun shape. L’indice après, but we are only in prayer for a second as your thumb moves in front of mine.

Jeg vil kjenner det. Livet er ikke verdt å leve uten kjærlighet.

God, some days I think I am romancing myself. Does your head ever play sick tricks like that on you? “No, I don’t want you to date him because you deserve better.” Really now? Fortell meg hvem jeg fortjener då. This is all some game part of me invented to entertain the other half out of boredom and ensomhet.

There is a lyric in Nek’s “L’Anno Zero,” that has been ringing in my head lately:
Stanco di chi mi scalda il letto.
How true.

I’m back to doing what I’m so good at doing: waiting. Men jeg vil ha ham, og kun ham.

I wait for those little moments with him: sul treno, på færja, quand nous buvons, when we stay in silence.
Those little moments and little victories we don’t get enough of: comparing fingers with Mom and remarking how similar they are; that singular moment at Coyote Hills when you take in all that gold and turquoise and boundless beauty; the self-reaffirmation that I deserve better.
Life is tough sometimes–and I don’t mean homeless African orphans tough–I mean that it tears at you, makes you feel lonely, makes you feel bitter and defeated, makes you doubt yourself; but I’m confident I’ll turn out alright.

I haven’t written lately because I’ve discovered the secret joys of keeping a handwritten journal, in Norwegian. I get a kick out of writing in public and on BART now–it’s a great way to think and not worry people thinking you’re weird/retarded/queer.

Meanwhile, I got tired of watching Life drift on past my window and being lethargic and watching Friends all day (which, I might mention–gives you a false pretense of what friendship should be like…right? I sure wish I had a Chandler.) so I decided to get started on a demo album, thanks to Garageband.

Here’s to the little moments.
L’Anno Zero

Långt Härifrån

That there above is a snippet of my memorable, Italian-infested weekend! Joined Xenia, Eric, and Valerie on Friday in Oslo, where they held a free concert outside the city hall (Rådhusplassen). We had the pleasure of seeing many famous Norwegian and non-Norwegian acts, including:

Alexander Rybak, who performed something other than “Fairytale”…well, he sang that too but we missed it, much to Xenia’s chagrin;

a-ha, you know—the “Take on Me” guys. Yeah, they’re Norwegian, if you didn’t know! I still can’t believe we saw A-Ha, for God’s sake…It’s so incredibly strange;

Tone Damli Aaberge;

Espen Lind, Kurt Nilsen, Alejandro Fuentes, and the fourth guy whose name I never remembered, who performed a raw mix of “Never Easy,” “If I Were A Boy” and “Free Falling” simultaneously;

Karpe Diem, hvor er’u bor hen a?;

Lene Marlin, who might have a picture of me on her digital camera;

and my personal favorite, the Icelandic beauty Yohanna, who you see above.
I have apparently turned out to be quite the Eurovision fanatic. I’m not so sure if that is a good thing, but I’m very glad that I got the chance to see her live. It was a whole different experience actually being there; her voice filled the entire arena and sounded so ethereal.

When the concert concluded up came the fireworks by Akerbrygga, and after that we wasted some time at a nearby amusement park, staring at the Ferris wheel (it was too expensive to ride), before settling on kveldsmat at McDonald’s. There were drunk girls with tampons and cigarettes.

Took the last trikk back to Eric’s mansion-house, where we lounged around some more before retiring.

A suivre–

So many thoughts and emotions.

Removing the pin from Katherine’s letter on my wall.

A sudden urge to take a bus ride to Andebu. Pour voir, pour voir comment il vivait. Pour regarder les mêmes bâtiments que, peut-être, il regardait, et marcher parmi les mêmes rues qu’il marchait.

Packing. This shirt doesn’t smell like me. Perhaps some lingering scent from a previous rendezvous. Un uomo norvegese…o forse tedesco.

Lying on the living room couch, room dimly lit by a singular lamp. A comforting orange cast on the ceiling. Tori Amos’ Gold Dust playing; I’ve been here so many times before. The familiarity of it all: the fireplace, the cognac on the glass table, the flickering eyes and that emerging, probing question of whether or not you’re falling in love then and there. E poi, that moment of closing in, brushing lips, moist and tender. It’s a different setting, but the same warmth, the same feeling. And it feels so real. I think I could love him, but that would be stupid.

“Det ordner seg for snille gutter.” Det må.

L’autre, il n’avait que vingt ans quand ils se sont rencontrés. And everything after that fell into place accordingly: even the drama seems to have written itself out a painful yet perfect addendum to their story. Jeg skal fylle det samme nummeret neste år. But will I be so lucky? So fortunate? Blessed? To think, that I could meet “The One” next year—but alas, non sarà lui! (You can’t blame me for thinking. Vi kan ikke være forelska av noen som vi aldri har møtt. Vi kan bare trekke fra våre erfaringer og skape forventninger derfra.) Allora, a guy can hope.

Tengo tanto amor que dar, ¿pero cuando él me va a encontrar?

Io sono qui, staring at a glowing rectangular box. And every time I look at the trees outside my window they seem to be merging together…but they never do. And as much as I crave our union, any union, it’s only an illusion.

Kunne. Det kunne vært annerledes. In another world, another lifetime, kunne han vært min?

Okay, first of all, I just have to say something about the Air France debacle: the plane disappeared?! Are you kidding me? And now they’ve reported to finding parts of the wreckage. What a shit time to hear about this. I mean, I like flying, and I love traveling, but this just gives me the creeps.

In other news; I need to find a job in Switzerland. Can’t go on leeching off of Mom’s money. And it’s not a matter of wanting to get one. I need to get one. I want to know I can support myself—or at least be able to cover my own pocket spendings—stand on my own two feet. I want to be financially independent. I know the prospects of landing a job in Lugano is not very good, but I’m determined. Have to start working!

Nous avons vu un film en français aujourd’hui qui m’a fait trist et un peu abattu. (Un sentiment trop courant dans ces derniers temps, mais t’inquiète po, chuis correct.) Ceci est ma critique:

It is the story about “an outsider coming into a close-knit community and the effects that [he] has on the people, and the prejudices that are stirred up.”

The writer’s portrayal of the small town is grim, yet relatable: a chilly, impenetrable circle of homogenous Bretons who are more or less unmalleable in regards to their ways and manners with outsiders.

The viewers are introduced to Antoine as a catalyst, but the characters are stagnant, and aside from the gradual warming up on Yvon, there is no real change, which is the most frustrating thing about this movie. It is essentially a movie about a man fail: unpleasant and hopeless, an ironic twist on the film’s title, L’Équipier.

As a foreigner, an expat, an intruder, this film hits a little too close for comfort, and its message is disappointing and harrowing. I was secretly hoping for a more reconciliatory ending.

Obviously, this isn’t the kind of movie that I would have liked to see, but I can’t help but ponder on its accuracy. Why is it so damn difficult to immerse yourself into a small community? People who have never lived outside of their homelands, hometowns, they will never come to know this feeling.

I like traveling and seeing the world, and wouldn’t give it up for the world. But really, where is a place that I can say I belong to? Is the right to a communal citizenship something every vagabond has to renounce? Or is it just me who is floating in between countries and continents?

I leave you with Elephant by Damien Rice, a former favorite that I rediscovered a few days ago. Used to be a huge Damien Rice fan in junior high; such powerful melodies and strong—albeit de temps en temps senseless—words. And you’ve gotta admit the man’s got balls.
‘Cause I am lately…Lonely.
‘Cause I am lately…Horny.

So after falling into a hellhole today, I am finally feeling a bit better. I’ve got Zaiko kosing himself on my lap; I think I’ll miss him more than leverpostei. Which makes me wonder if the damn thing will even remember me after I leave, never mind miss me. That’s the only thing dogs have over cats, you know; their blatant loyalty. You can never tell what a cat is thinking ‘cause it acts so damn nonchalant all the time.

Har akkurat kommet hjem fra Engler og Demoner med Anniken. Hun kom hos meg, vi spiste litt Grandis, og så dro vi til kinoen. Jeg må si at jeg føler så mye bedre etter å ha vært ute med henne. Det var en pust av frisk luft å kunne endelig få snakke med noen om disse følelsene jeg har fått i det siste, og det føles like bra å få høre hva som skjer i hennes liv. Vi snakka om masse, både seriøse og dumme greier; det var i allefall en skikkelig bra fredag kveld.

Filmen, forresten, var innmari bra. Selv om jeg har lest boka allerede var det likevel spennende. Og den skuespiller’n, Ewan McGregor, fyttikatta han er kjekk ass! (Selvfølgelig spilte han rollen sin veldig bra også, men det hjelper jo at han var deilig å se på òg, haha.)

今天晚上带给我了心的希望. 我会继续努力的. 虽然我跟学校一大部分的人不会有设么结果, 我还有时间和机会去交一两个好的挪威朋友. 嗯!

I’m going to leave you with a song that I’m beginning to like very much. (It’s by Nek, no surprise there; I am so taken by him.) Its lyrics, though simple, are poignant, a hopeful yet cautious reminder of l’importanza di amare.

Puoi creare un grande impero intorno a te
Costruire grattacieli per contare un pò di più
Puoi comprare tutto quello che vuoi tu
Ma se non ami, se non ami
Non hai un vero motivo per vivere
Se non ami, non ti ami
Non ci sei
[You can build a great empire around you
Construct skyscrapers in order to matter a little bit more
You can buy all the things that you want
But if you don’t love, if you don’t love
You don’t have a true reason for living
If you don’t love, you don’t love yourself
You don’t exist]

I have big intentions. Huge plans and goals. I just can’t conceive them. I’ve always been in awe of songwriters; they make the process of creating a song seem so effortless. I want to do that. I want to carve out the intangible, capture and preserve a feeling, a moment, an emotion, and then pass it on to others. There exists nothing more satisfying.

But tonight, I’ll relegate myself to sharing other people’s songs, so unwax those ears.

1. Super Junior 너라고 (It’s You)

2. Kelly Clarkson Don’t Let Me Stop You

3. Nek ft. Laura Pausini Sei Solo Tu

It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of Nek, e non solo perché è gnocco. His music and lyrics are filled to the brim with emotion and intensity; they stir up feelings of boundlessness and nostalgia, and remind us of the fragility of being human. Mi sento il vivo quando ascolto lui.
Perché mi piaci in ogni modo,
Why do I like you in every way,
da ogni lato o prospettiva, tu?…
From every side and perspective, you?…
E poi sai fare morire un uomo
And you know how to make a man die
con l’innocenza del pudore che non hai…
with the innocent modesty that you don’t possess…
Perché sei bella che mi fai male…
Because you are beautiful that it hurts me…
Sei solo tu nei giorni miei…
There is only you in my days…
Sei solo tu e dimmi che
There is only you, and tell me that
sono questo ora anch’io per te…
I am also the same to you…

4. Cajsa Stina Åkerström Långt Härifrån

5. Keith Urban Til Summer Comes Around

And I saved the best for last. God, this song is everything I feel right now: deserted, wishing on something that doesn’t exist yet still persistant and keeping that flickering hope alive. And the guitar riff makes me speechless. This isn’t a song to listen to, this is a song to live.

I think all the songs here on this collection reflect a fragment of my mindset right now. They sing what I couldn’t dare say.

L’inquietudine

Well, considering I’ve smoked half a carton and downed a liter of beer within the past two hours, it warrants me an excuse to blog now and regret later.

I’ve had as much as I can take. I’ve tried to keep my mind open, my spirit up, my attitude positive, but I can only keep up this façade so far. I’m tired, and I’ve stopped trying. If you were to tell me to pack up my bags tomorrow for California, I wouldn’t argue a word. I’m ready to leave.

I’ve held my trap for as long as possible, thinking “just wait it out, it’ll get better,” but now I see that it won’t. To say that I hate Norway would be an overexaggeration and an insult to my family here. They’ve been nothing but patient, generous, and kind to me and believe me, I’ve guilted myself enough for thinking what I am about to say.

But I hate it here, I really do. I can honestly name you all the people that I talk to at school on one hand. I wake up in the morning to the thought of “How am I going to get through the day? Who am I going to talk to?” Do you realize how hard it is to wake up every morning to that thought? To even worry about how you’re gonna get through the day because you’re afraid that you might not make it to 3:30 without going bezerk? And you wanna know what I do at school? Break? Lunch? Stare at my fucking computer screen.

But I suppose it’s my fault right? That I’m not putting myself out there. That I’m not trying. That I’m not persistent. Or desperate enough to keep on leeching to people that don’t give a damn about me. That don’t want to know me, that won’t even remember me, or if they do–only as “that one kid last year that was boring and didn’t say anything and was by himself the whole time; that ‘mann.’” That after nine fucking months here I’m still as foreign as the day I set foot in Horten.

And I suppose it’s my fault that people here are only friendly when they’re flat out wasted. Because they need the liqueur to warm up their frigid Scandinavian hearts. Because they need 22 cans of Tuborg in order to truly feel free. To say “Hey! How’s it going?!” To give you a high-five, a pat on the back, a hug. Because without alcohol, there’s no way they can even greet you in the hallways!

I know these people, I watch them everyday, and I know that they’re not cold. I can see the way they interact with each other and they are as lively as any American, but they’re so fucking private and excluding. “You get used to it, it takes a long time to be accepted into their circle.” Well you know what? They can keep their privacy and their drunken stupors. I’ve lived without it for nine months, I can live without it for two more.

I came here with an open heart, ready to love this country and know its people, but Norwegians have really disappointed me. I’m sorry that I came here. I’m ready to leave.