Another chapter

Another page has been turned - and this time not only in the book I'm reading (which is "Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo) but also in my life.

It all began yesterday, a normal, ordinary Friday. The sun was shining, and I had little to do at work due to the fact that my pupils were participating in a soccer cup, so I decided to get some assessments done. It was time for 6th and 7th grade, and I got settled in at my desk and started to write...

"PLING!"

A text...from my boyfriend

"We need to talk..."

And gone was my focus, my serenity and my mind - what did he mean by that?

14:00 - The meetup

So when I was done for the day, I headed home to meet him for "the talk".

And then it began - "Would you still like me just as a friend?"

.....

2 hours later - a corner has been turned, and I'm left with a nauseating feeling that it is all my fault, even if it is not. The rest is history - hours and hours of crying, headaches and total darkness. When I finally fell asleep, I was exhausted.

Hope the next chapter will be better...

A revelation

One thing I have learned so far in my reading challenge: never underestimate a book supposedly written for children.

I consider myself extremely fortunate to have stumbled across the authorship of Pádraig Kenny and if you are looking for something out of the ordinary, look no further.

Both of these books touch upon what it means to be human and Kenny uses the power of description to lure the reader into his world. I'm not easily moved by literature, but I cried, cursed, smiled and laughed while reading, and to me, that is the hallmarks of good literature. 

So, what are you waiting for? Read these gems and thank me later 

Stubborn

My reading project has been moving steadily forward for the last few weeks and it has been an overall pleasant experience - until I met this book. The well-appraised Harry Potter'esque novel for adults...

But it wasn't my first encounter with this novel - it was part of my book collection until I gave it to a dear friend as a birthday gift a few years back. I remembered vaguely that I liked the book then and when I visited York in March, I bought a new copy. And started reading...

The positive memories were soon drowned in everlasting whining from the, let's be honest, not-so-interesting protagonist, Quentin. When he wasn't complaining about something, he was acting like a combination of a spoiled child and a dickhead/idiot. But did I stop reading? No - I'm too stubborn and I was determined to finish it no matter what. So I trudged on, through 488 pages of complete nothingness - well, there were a few silver linings now and then, but the apparent stealing from Narnia, the uninspired writing and the uninteresting characters nearly brought me to my knees.

So, even if it wasn't as pleasant as some of the other books I've read so far this year, I can see it as a form of cathartic experience, because it made me suffer greatly.

The art of crying

My reading project began detached from my English studies, but suddenly I understood that what I was studying also became apparent in the books of fiction I was reading outside the classroom. And this little gem certainly crossed the border between work and pleasure. It started out as the latter, but when I had to pick a topic for my term paper, I instantly knew it had to do with poetry. 
And one morning, after a sleepless night, it came to me: this novel would be my way into the matter of aversion against poetry in the classroom. Because this was a novel, written in verse - a Frankenstein monster in the face of the "proper" definition of the literary genres. It was both a novel and poetry - and the poetry hit me straight in my heart. This was poetry I could understand and relate to - and the story of Xiomara, the protagonist of the story, became more and more exciting, frustrating, painful, excruciating, and surprising for me with every page I turned. 
I must admit, I cried several times and even cursed a bit at the most dramatic parts. And I would read it again and again...
My favourite part/poem:

Homecoming

At the apartment door, I slide the key in,

but don't unlock.

I can hear both people behind me breathing.

Mami might not be home yet.

I still have time to gather my thoughts.

To get my life together.

But when I open the door

she is there. Standing in the kitchen,

wringing a dishrag. Her eyes are red.

And she looks small, so small.

Twin gives my shoulder a squeeze

and moves behind me.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.

"Mami, we need to talk. 

And I think we need help to do it."

I step aside and let Father Sean cram into the kitchen.

He reaches out a hand to my mother: "Altagracia."

And this woman I've feared,

this woman who has been both mother and monster,

the biggest sun in my sky -

bright, blinding, burning me to the wick -

she hunches her shoulders and begins to sob.

Silent, silent crying that shakes her whole body.

And I'm stuck, and still.

Before I go to her.

A reading experiment

My blog has been forgotten by me. Not on purpose, but life happened, and there was suddenly insufficient time for it. But the time since my last entry has also allowed me to figure out what to do and how to do it. To start at the beginning...

New Year's Eve - 2022

I'm not a fan of making new year's promises, mostly because I know I will break them sooner or later. I'm simple that way; I know I lack the stamina to stay away from the pleasures of life; good food and drink, chocolate and funky stuff. Measuring every ounce and gram of everything, despising my own reflection in the mirror and so on - oh my god, I'm done bringing myself down and feel like a complete failure over and over again. So, as I stood there in the snow with a glass of terrible champagne, I made a vow: My new year's resolution would bring me joy.

I would read for pleasure again. 

Many years have passed since I last managed to sit down, turn off the world and dive headfirst into a novel of my own choice. In my many years of studying subjects like history, music, language and didactics, I had read hundreds, if not thousands of pages - because I had no other choice. I lost the ability to read for pleasure. Reading had become strictly business.

So, this year is going to be different. I installed a "reading timer" on my phone, added books I knew I wanted to read and set my goal: 30 books and at least 1 hour of reading daily. I chose to combine physical books and audiobooks since I was out of practice, and to be honest: a well-read audiobook is just as satisfying as the one I make inside my head when I read.

It felt like a quest, I was entering the world of fiction again!

And from now, my blog will be linked to this literary adventure. I will post updates from my quest and book recommendations. 

Started on January 11th - and my god: I am hooked! So far, I've read these titles:

• Northern Lights - Phillip Pullman
• The Gilded Ones #2 - The Merciless Ones - Namina Forna
• The Wise Man's Fear - Patrick Rothfuss
• The Wren Hunt - Mary Watson
• Tin - Pádraig Kenny
• Maus - Art Spiegelman
• Scythe - Neal Shusterman
• Thunderhead - Neal Shusterman
• The Subtle Knife - Phillip Pullman
• The Call - Peadar O'Guilin
• On Tyranny - Timothy Snyder

So beware, I will share - when I have the time.

To grow up

Life is strange.

When you're a child, you long for adulthood and when you're an adult, you long for the uncomplicated childhood. It is like we can never be satisfied where we are, but always long for something else, the life you left behind or the life you're dreaming of.

I've never felt like an adult, even after I became one by law and tradition. It has always been the thing I have been waiting for - the magic moment when I would lay down my youthful mind and take my place among the serious adults.

But time passed - I turned 20 - and no sign of it. 25 - and the same happened. 30 - shouldn't it have happened by now?

Next year I am turning 35 - and my newfound goal is not to reach adulthood by the standard of others, but by my own. I am sick and tired of feeling like a fraud! I am as good an adult as any others, and if that includes singing in the shower, getting tattoos, collecting owls and corsets, writing horrible poetry, loving whomever I want and how many I want - so be it!

I choose this life!

Accepted

 Life is rarely simple, nor easy. It's like a rollercoaster ride and with an overanalyzing mind to go with it, it can get quite messy. Or so I thought.

The last year I have had a secret I thought I couldn't share with anybody. It is a good kind of secret that makes me feel happier than you can imagine. But I keep it a secret because it is not "normal" as society would have it. Though I break no laws nor hurt anyone - except those who wish to govern my way through love and life. To them, I am perhaps the worst thing imaginable: a deviant, a breaker of families, a slut, a sick person incapable of true love and loyalty. "Why can't you be faithful?" is the chorus of their neverending questions. "Why can't you be like us - normal, heterosexual monogamous people who never changes, making the same pattern over and over again? Why do you have to challenge our conceptions? Shame on you!"

But I shouldn't have to feel ashamed. I choose my life and what makes me happy - and I stick with those that build me up instead of those that break me down. I love the way I see fit and yes, it is unconventional. But I'm faithful in every aspect of the word. I'm a sexual being taking my powers back, but I am no slut. And last but not least - my love is not limited to one person. Because love is not a cake - it's a spring of clear, fresh water that never empties. And I choose to share that love - I am polyamorous

Får jeg være vennen din?

Slutten på en helg, arbeidsdagen kaller om noen timer og batteriet i kroppen er tomt. Hodet er tomt etter en dag full av skriving og planlegging av både undervisning og kommende foreldresamtaler. Livet som barneskolelærer er hektisk, men godt. Mye annet er også på plass; godt gift, hus, katt og bil. Men når det hektiske livet endelig får en pause, kommer usikkerheten snikende. Er jeg egentlig fornøyd, lykkelig, på plass?

Siden jeg gikk ut fra videregående i 2007, har livet ført meg til mange ulike steder i dette langstrakte landet. Jeg fikk oppleve de utroligste ting, både faglig, sosialt og ikke minst musikalsk. Men hver gang jeg brøt opp fra et sted, pakket flytteeskene og satte kompasskursen, så mistet jeg noe. Det ble enda lengre hjem - ikke til familien, men til vennene. Venner fra videregående, fra studiene og koret.

Jovisst traff jeg fantastiske mennesker på min vei, men for hvert nytt veikryss ble denne sosialiseringsprosessen vanskeligere. Vonde tanker kom sigende, usikkerheten økte og dørstokkmila ble stadig vanskeligere å overstige. Så når helgen endelig stod for døren, så gjorde det litt vondt i hjertet. For utenom kollegaer står jeg nå uten noen nære venner som ikke bor på andre siden av landet. Dette er et savn og frykten for å slite ut de få relasjonene jeg har er overveldende. Så jeg trekker meg tilbake, våger ikke å spørre om noen vil finne på noe, vil ikke være til bry.

Jeg savner noen å drikke te med, å prate skit med, å være meg selv med, noen som er like kørka som meg, noen som har tid til meg (sånn innimellom)

Og slik går no dagan...

Her fant jeg inspirasjon

The little lost girl

I have reached my 29th year on this planet and I keep telling myself that it is time to grow up - but I "fail" over and over again. I am not saying that staying young at mind is a bad thing - but one thing I still fear in this chaos of delayed childhood: the moment when I start to fear myself and I am left in the corner feeling like a frightened, little girl.
And this weekend it happened again - a weekend I had looked forward to for weeks, yes months. It was supposed to be a weekend filled with the things I love the most - a chance to live my life freely with wonderful,  accepting friends all around. One weekend without the mask I wear daily - a weekend of fun, kink and awesomeness. But things never turned out the way I hoped it would - and all I can do is to blame myself, my foolish fear - and the little, frightened girl hidden within my frail being.
All I wanted was to be strong and free - and when I finally let my guard down ⬇ was rewarded with all the beauty of the entire universe. And I broke - I shattered like a piece of glass smashed with a baseball bat. The utter loss of control frightened me more than I can explain - and after a sensual explosion,  I imploded and turned into a black hole filled to the brim of numbness and fear. My darling was there for me - but what I truly needed was to be surrounded. I needed more than he could give, and I was ashamed of feeling so. I wanted to show my vulnerability to everyone - but the little girl within stopped me, choked me, made me sob and cry. I was ashamed of how weak I looked, all I wanted was to disappear and never to feel again. Or maybe go too far to even feel at all...

En søvnløs natt

Ligger her i min egen seng og stirrer på taket som besatt. Jeg får ikke sove! Hodet bare kverner rundt på alle slags tanker, men den som stadig dukker opp igjen er denne: vi må flytte igjen.
Jeg vet i mitt stille sinn at det problemet er lite på verdens målestokk, men for meg snur det opp ned på alt...igjen.
Jeg har etter 28 år på planeten kommet frem til at jeg trives best når ting er oversiktlige,  forutsigbare og vel planlagt. Og jeg vet likesågodt at brytes dette mønsteret, går verden i knas. Små filleting kan få meg til å bryte sammen og alt går da inn på meg. Jeg blir hypersensitiv.

Noen lurer på hva som er galt med meg - og når jeg tar meg selv i nærmere ettersyn, så lurer jeg på det samme selv.
ADHD? Asperger? Posttraumatisk stress?

Så her ligger jeg og får ikke sove. Det er snart morgen,  men jeg vil være utmattet av enda en søvnløs natt.