The Flossy Flossy
Keeping it “on the real” the best I can.Archive for norway
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This is it. It’s over. Today marks exactly 11 months since the day I set foot in Oslo Gardemoen. Today is also my last day in Horten. Happy anniversary. Farwell. We’ve come full circle.
I’ve already said goodbye to Joakim. Now I’ve got the TV set to NRK 1: sandvolleyball verdensmesterskap i Stavanger. It feels like a throwback to the first days here, when we watched the OL matches. The world doesn’t stop, but it revolves round and round; I suppose life is like that too.
I wonder what Pappa’s last bad joke would be. I wonder what would be the last thing we would laugh at. I wonder what is going to happen tomorrow on Bones.
A few hours ago Alexander Rybak came on TV, and I realized that might have been the last time I got to see “Fairytale” on public television. As overplayed as it is, even it has snuck its way into my heart: a little something uniquely Norwegian, a little something belonging only to us: 2008/2009. A little something that only I—and perhaps the other partakers on this journey—will know, love and appreciate.
This has been an incredible year, and I’m glad to have finally experienced what I’ve always dreamed about—if only for a short 330 days: a complete family, a dad. I don’t know why, but it’s always so hard to say how I genuinely feel, and I don’t really know if I have it in me to tell him all the thing I want to say when I leave.
An uncomfortable pressure at the back of my throat is pushing me to stop writing, so I will.
And a parting question: I know I will come back, but will I come “hjem?”
Wanderlust, Thoughts
I’ve never seen Lost in Translation, but judging from what I’ve heard and read so far, I think it’d be a movie that I’d really like.
The reason I brought it up—have you ever found yourself in the middle of this huge place, with people shuffling past you in every direction, and the only one that seems to be stagnant is you? I love that: stopping still and watching the world move—anyway, the title of the movie always reminds me of that.
So on Saturday I was Lost in Oslo S, in the interim between Xenia and Eric’s departure and my train to Holmestrand. Usually I don’t think too much about Oslo—it’s not an exciting place—but I guess in these last days here you start to appreciate everything a little more. So on Saturday, Oslo S was an exciting place to be: the hustle and bustle of people, all headed to different places—the airport, Drammen, Vestlandet, Sørlandet. But I was going to Holmestrand.
Of all the possibilities, of all the different trains you can take from Oslo Sentralstasjon, I was taking that particular one. (Actually, I ended up taking a replacement bus because of “tog innstilt.”)
I guess what I’m really trying to say is: I have a really bad case of the wanderlust.
I want to go places, see the world, do things. I want to sleep in a Mongolian ger, I want to bike around Iceland, I want to go Scuba diving again. I want to be in those pictures you see in those DK Eyewitness Travel Guides, not just look at them. Ahhh!
Two other thoughts that have been nipping at me i det siste:
1. What if you’re not who you want to be, but who you’re good at being? I mean, let’s say a person is amazingly gifted at computer programming. It’s not shabby right? A computer programmer earns good dough! So let’s say this person has everything it takes to be the next great computer programmer, but: what if it’s not his dream to be the next great computer programmer? What if he really wanted, more than anything, to be a weightlifter? The typical clichéd advice would be to follow his dreams right? But what if he was really scrawny and sucked at weightlifting. What would he do then? Continue doing something he’s really good at but not really agreeable “with,” or pursue something he wants but never achieving the success that he wants? What would you say to him then?
Sometimes, I don’t like the things I do, and there are many qualities about myself which I don’t necessarily agree with. But I would never want to be a second-rate version of somebody else, even if I admire them profusely.
2. 这个산쟈오…
I’m not even sure what my true intentions are anymore. I know what my role is and what is appropriate and not, but I’m dancing dangerously along the edge and I’m not sure if I can even control myself. When does this stop becoming “no strings attached?” I will not let passion undermine my morality; I have more respect for myself than that.
PS: There was no appropriate place to integrate this into any of the above so I’ll just write it here.
Etter jeg kom hjem på søndag sykla Mamma, Pappa og jeg ned til en privat strand for å se på solnedgangen, grille marshmallows og feire St. Hans (Midsummer) med Hans-Ingar, Christina og Henning.
Og formiddagen idag tok vi våre kajakker ut til den samme stranden og paddla sammen med Mariëtte rundt Mellomøya og Løvøya. Det var kjampedeilig med sjokolade og bølgane.
Small Details and Big Picture
Glurgh, I am so sick of it! How come the guys I like never like me back? Am I just that unlucky in finding love? I feel like I’m gonna die an old lonely spinster.
I think I’ve seen more sun these past two days than I have in all the other 300+ days that I’ve been here in Norway. Chilled with Tilly at the beach yesterday. Transportation problems; walked back to Asker station. Honestly, I think sometimes we’ve become more Norwegian than some Norwegian kids here. I mean, I’m taking hikes and sykkelturer for leisure now.
“Hei, åsen går det? Har du lyst til en tur?”
At night the family minus Marie plus Joakim’s girlfriend, Rebekka, took to Borre Golfbane to hear nightingales and sip cocoa. (Haha, see what I mean? Midnight Songbird Badge: Check!)
Today, we were at a huge family gathering near Holmestrand: lots of tremeninger that I haven’t met before, grilling, and oddball but fun games. They also had a helicopter fly in dropping candy over us, which was pretty darn cool.
As of tomorrow, I will have been in Norway for exactly 10 months, although nowadays, all of us are counting how many days we have left (a month and four days). I don’t think the anxiety of leaving has really hit me yet. I know it’s coming, and I’m expecting it to bother me, but it doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to leave at all; despite school more or less sucking ass, I still love many things about Norway. But I can honestly say that after having lived here for almost a year; I find myself…disillusioned. I remember an email from a boy was in Sweden for his exchange year, and he said he had a love/hate relation with his host country. I can definitely understand that mindset now. In a sense, it’s quite painful because I can’t openly declare that I love this country without feeling a bit antipodal. But I suppose that’s how you also know that you’ve truly lived in another country: when that coat of sugar dissolves.
Just something to gnaw on for your brain…
Gratulerer Med Dagen
Today, for those of you who are not aware, is Norway’s National Day: a day of parades and marching corps and general “hip-hip-hurrah” celebration. Literally all of the townsfolk were gathered on the main street to watch the happenings; I’ve never seen so much people in Horten before (or Fremont/Union City for that matter)–it’s incredible. Kinda makes me think, if Horten, with a population of just over 20,000, had a turnout like this, how would it look like if all of Fremont and its 210,000 citizens were gathered in one place…I think I would feel so small.
I honestly can’t recall the last time I saw a parade, and despite the mucky image it probably invokes in your head, it was really quite a pleasant experience. For starters, I got to wear a bunad (the Norwegian national costume) for the day. I swear, if it wasn’t so expensive I wouldn’t hesitate to purchase one myself. I always thought it kinda sucked that the USA doesn’t seem to have a national costume that could be worn for those exceptional occasions. It was very special to put on late [bestefar] Erik’s old bunad. I think, in the future, when I can afford it, I will definitely come back and get my own, haha.
It was also great to watch people you know in the borgertog (a parade consisting of town clubs, teams, and miscellaneous interest groups). And in between the parades (there were three: barnetog, borgertog, og russetog), we walked around the park, ate some ice cream, and greeted everybody. Which is kinda cool yet pestering at the same time because you can’t walk more than five steps without stopping to chat with somebody. It took us a good 30 minutes to get to the ice cream stands, which was less than ten meters away, and by the time we got there, it had been all sold out. Anyway, afterwards we went home to a hearty barbeque courtesy of Pappa.
And last night, we were witness to Norway’s history-making victory in Eurovision. A great evening spent at the Weschke household with Gayoung and Elaine. Here’s to the end of a very koselig weekend. Skål!
Done, Part I
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.
