May 31, 2013

Moving out

I don't remember how many times I've moved since I moved out on my own for the first time a bit over 9 years ago. I could count but I'm to tiered to do it right now. I have a love-hate relationship with moving. Mostly it's on the hate-side, but there's also something fresh and new about moving into a new place, like getting a clean slate to start on. 

Today I'm leaving my apartment and if everything goes as planned I won't be back until december. My stuff is packed tight in the basement and the apartment looks white and clean - and empty. I still have my furniture, they'll stay up here for the girl who's renting the place while I'm gone, but it still looks extremely empty. I know it's a cliché and I know I say it every time I move, but it just hits me equally hard every single time - how is it possible to have this much stuff!? I feel like I haven't done anything but packed and stuffed and managed an advanced game of Tetris in my tiny basement this last couple of days. I can't possibly need that much stuff. I have these last couple of weeks gotten rid of six or seven grocery bags full of clothes and shoes and I could probably get rid of three or four more. It's shameful is what it is; all that space and all that money wasted on something I maybe used once or twice.  And don't even get me started on the books! My books will be my downfall, literally - I'm going to fall down flat on my face when my back gives up after carrying down 200 liters of books. I know it's a strange measurement but I have filled out over three boxes (of 65L each) with books and obviously I haven't weighed everything so that's my measurement and that's my way of saying - a lot!

Now I have one hour to wash the floors, dust the cabinets and carry the last couple of bags down, and then I'll take a loooong shower, slip into a cute dress and enjoy an evening with the best girls in the world. Cheers to a great weekend! ;-)

May 19, 2013

The chapter before the story can start

A little over two weeks ago I received a phone call that has started a huge chain reaction in my life. I'd been preparing for it, knowing it was coming but like with so many things in life you can't really imagine what it's going to be like when it finally happens. I had been matched with a mission. Despite the fact that I've been thinking about it for years and that it's exactly what I've been planning for, for months now it still came as a chock. Obviously I was happy, I kept jumping up and down and smiling while I got the details, but then came the nerves. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut, like I needed to throw up. This was it, this was real and it wasn't just some dream or far away plan, this was going to happen - and soon.

I got the weekend to think about it but to be honest I didn't need it, I knew I was going to go, it's the perfect mission for me - I'll be working with babies, how do you say no to that? Well if you're me you don't. I was scared and that was the big hurdle, but once I talked to my family and they bombarded me with all the questions a loving and protecting family could possibly think of, and I had to answer them with what I know and try to calm them down, I found that the fear slowly disappeared. I told them that I felt safe going - and I didn't lie. Still, I was concerned and nervous about everything from cultural differences to my own competencies as a doctor, and the more I thought about it the more I got confused and blocked. It was just such a typical "me" reaction. I over-think and over-analyze everything and mostly the answer I find is that I can't do it. I'm not good enough or brave enough or whatever other reason I might come up with, and I end up not doing anything, just feeling frustrated and stuck. It's the story of my life - but I'm so sick of that story! So the evening after receiving the phone call I decided that not only was I going to go, I was going to kick ass. Yes, just that simple. I'm going to go and I'm going to do my very best and no matter how it turns out, at least I'm not going to be the girl who stands in her own way anymore.

This was cold winter ground in April, you forget how much can happen in a couple of weeks.

May 14, 2013

When the present turns to past

One click leads to the next and suddenly, without really knowing how, a familiar tune begins playing on my Spotify. Immediately I'm transported to another time, facing another screen, where words quickly and emotionally are tied up together to form a poem, a note or a letter. I can feel the teenage heart pounding in my chest and the deep sigh of relief when the words are out - out of my head and on "paper". Words that no one will ever see, but that still exist, as a proof of all the jumbled up thoughts that once lived in my head. Words I had forgotten but that are brought back by lyrics sung by Swedish boys. I can even now feel the calmness that settled after a good writing session. The song also brings up faces I haven't seen in years, names I haven't said in ages and emotions I'd even forgotten I could experience. Youth really is for the young - no one else has the energy to feel as much, have highs as high and lows as low as them. I always forget that I've had that range, that even now, when I freak out and tears are unstoppable, it's not a teenage-freakout, it's a grown-up-freakout - and those are far easier to handle, because no matter what, you know that feelings pass, times pass and suddenly you're not in this moment anymore, suddenly it's just a memory triggered by a song.

Who needs a time machine when you have music?