bergskt

Of course it hurts when buds burst.

Otherwise why would spring hesitate?

Why would all our fervent longing

be bound in the frozen bitter haze?

The bud was the casing all winter.

What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?

Of course it hurts when buds burst,

pain for that which grows

and for that which envelops.

 

 

Of course it is hard when drops fall.

Trembling with fear they hang heavy,

clammer on the branch, swell and slide -

the weight pulls them down, how they cling.

Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,

hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,

yet sit there and just quiver -

hard to want to stay

and to want to fall.

 

 

Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond

help,

the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation,

then, when fear no longer exists,

the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer,

forgetting that they were afraid of the new,

forgetting that they were fearful of the journey -
feeling for a second their greatest security,

resting in the trust

that creates the world.

 

Vacker poesi, ytterst bra på såväl engelska som svenska, trots att Karin Boye skrev den på svenska. 
Jag önskar att tiden inte gick så himla fort, så jag hann känna in våren mer.

Jag tänkte bara om tipsa om den hemsida där jag nästan uteslutande köpt mina smycken under flera år. Shopen drivs av tjejen Matilda som även har en mysig blogg.

Dessa bedårande smycken klickade jag nyss hem:






Länk till shopen hittar ni här och till bloggen här.

I've been thinking about this blog post (not that much I confess...) not knowing what to write about.

This night I had quite an interesting dream about all these small white rabbits I had somehow received. It made me think of my first sentence containing four or five real words, depending on how you see it. Therefore I decided to tell you about it.

It was of course in Swedish:

"Ja såg hare däborta"

Already by then had my parents raised their daughter to be nature-loving.

Igår kväll agerade jag hemmafru och stod med grillad fläskfilé samt bulgursallad tills att Anton kom hem. Mysigt för en kväll då och då kanske, men jag insåg att jag aldrig skulle orka leva som hemmafru. En hemmaman kanske inte vore helt fel dock?

Mitt huvud känns likt den segaste av kolor. Jag vet varken ut eller in, knappt vilken dag det är och än mindre hur jag ska hinna med allt under de kommande veckorna. En storslagen show närmar sig, till den behövs mycket reptid och energi. Biljetter finns att köpa här. Jag fick dessutom idag reda på att jag kommer att ha minst ett, kanske två, prov veckan efter sommaravslutningen. Det blir kul.

Påsklovet var mycket välbehövligt, och även om jag inte fick ens en millidel av allt plugg gjort var det riktigt produktivt. Produktivt i den bemärkelse av att stressa av mig och njuta av solen och vänner. Påskhelgen tillbringades ute på mitt lantställe och för ovanlighetens skull följde hela familjen med.












Det var picknick bland högarna i Gamla Uppsala med Malin, boule med den finaste pojken jag vet, parkgrill, en broders tjugosexårsdag och skogspromenad i ett hav av blåsippor. Bland annat. Det var påsklov. Mums.

I cry very easily. It doesn't necessarily mean that I'm so sad that I'm thinking the world is coming to an end, but just that there are some feelings that need to be expressed in some way. My mother uses to say I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I think that the expression fits me very well most often. I have the worst poker face ever.

Alltså, nej, det här är ju ingen matblogg men jag är lite stolt över middagen jag (och Niklas då...) fixade ihop en vanlig onsdagskväll. Det var mumsighet på hög nivå.

Förrätt:



Avokado med skagenröra

Huvudrätt:



Bakad potatis, vitlöksstekt kyckling, créme fraiche med sweet chilisås (vinnande kombination!) och grekisk sallad

Efterrätt:



Fruktsallad på jordgubbar, vindruvor och sharonfrukt

When I'm down, chocolate and a cup of tea most often do the trick to pick me up. But what's most important is knowing that someone cares. A friend calling to check how things are going, being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold. A motherly, fatherly, brotherly or friendly hug or a kiss from my boyfriend. Those are the things that make me feel at my best. Also, I'm that kind of person who smiles when the sun is shining and that's why spring is my favourite season.

It's been a while since I wrote my last blog post and the more time that passes by the harder it gets starting to write another one, but here I finally go!

I'm quite contradictious, since I generally think that it doesn't pay off being upset with people. In the same time, if nothing upsets you, you won’t change anything in life or ever try to make a difference. I wouldn't want to live life passively, and therefore I'm upset with things, but I try to make it into something constructive.

What upsets me then? People being selfish, thinking only of their own best. People telling you that you're naive if you think that it pays off being generous and loving or if you think that you can make a difference in the world by acting righteous. People not empathic enough to think of what consequences their actions might have to others. 

Also, car drivers often upsets me. Most anything they do upsets me, for example taking the car when they have the opportunity of biking or going by bus or not taking any notice of pedestrians or bikers.

Last but not least, what upsets me is all of the men in the world with power enough to think that they can do whatever they like. Reading and watching the Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy makes me want to vomit.

As you can see, contradictive could almost be one of my middle names. What I'm saying is, if something upsets you; try to make a difference about it. It might be easier said than done and you may call me naive, but there is always something you can do about it.

Nej, rubriken är inte sann, den är mest där för att Robyn är grym. En annan som är grym är Anton, som det här inlägget är handlar om, på förfrågan av "hemlig beundrare". Grym är han för att han krossar mig i schack, bland annat.


Förutom att vara grym är han lika from som jungfru Maria, eller försöker åtminstone:



Även om rubriken inte stämmer är det sant att det vissa dagar känns som att jag skulle dö om jag inte träffade honom. Mitt hjärta bultar rätt hårt för den här mannen. (Jag känner mig mest som kvinna, så det vore ju lite underligt om jag hade en pojke till pojkvän. Tror att jag lägger av med hela den här manboy-grejen, så att han fattar att jag faktiskt inte vill ha Erik Saade...)





Fin.

Doing everything just like I use to every morning, except I'm this time putting all my belongings in three suit cases. I put an envelope with a letter on the bed that will no longer be "mine" and I go out on the street together with my host mother Cristina and her daughter Paula. The taxi that will take me to school is already there waiting, so we say goodbye real quickly with kisses and hugs. I guess Paula has no idea of the fact that I'm going away for good, she just looks kind of slumbery and dazed. The moment that I get into the taxi I burst into tears.

Actually, I cannot write this without crying. I'm not sure how I fell in love with three Spanish in a couple of months, but I miss them like crazy. I had no idea I could love a child that wasn't my own so much that it would hurt.

It's really hard summarizing a month like this, but I'll tell you about some of the things that I've been doing.


I spent one day and one night in Stockholm, with Gabbi, visiting our dear friend Björk.



One night I and my friends decided to cook an Irish dinner to celebrate St Patrick's Day. After two trips to the store and a couple of hours of cooking we finally ate a tasty stew.



Another night I had dinner with my brothers and cut both of their hair.







I have also spent some time with this amiable boy/manboy/man. Among other things we've seen Black Swan, a film that I would strongly recommend! Not for the faint-hearted though...



This afternoon I went out jogging, the same route that I ran last Sunday, and all these spots that were three days ago covered with snow and ice were now bare! I just love the feeling of an approaching spring. I understand the expression "full of the joys of spring" completely.

Also, this evening, I baked some oat cookies with cranberries and sunflower seeds. They were delicious!



In about a week March will change into April and then comes the Easter holiday. Time flies, and yes, I feel old saying it, but that's how it is. I have a lot of rehearsals with my choir until the show and I believe I will only get more tasks in school. In other words, I will not lack things to do, but they are mostly fun. Also, I'm really looking forward to summer, although I don't have much of an idea of how this summer will turn out yet.

I'm changing this blog post to "some things you regret".

I regret not doing things because I was too shy, I regret kissing people I didn't have any feelings for, I regret all those times punching or pinching my brothers and I regret killing a frog when I was too young to understand what I was doing (I'm clearly traumatized by the event since I can still remember hitting it with a clog and wondering why it stopped moving...).

Mostly I regret my regrets.

I'm not really that much for birthdays, at least not my own. When I was little I guess that the charm lied in having all eyes on me and getting presents, but now I feel birthdays are like any other days. They can be very pleasant of course, but I just don't have those sky-high expectations anymore. There is always something making them less than perfect. For instance, I had a very fun birthday party when I turned 7 or 8, but what ruined it was a pentathlon where my brother put black pepper in a bowl of flour with lumps of sugar that I was supposed to dig up with my mouth. I'm sure you can imagine the feeling in my eyes and nose when I dug in with my face...

Another example is that of last year, when I had a lovely celebration with some friends, kind of a combined birthday party and a farewell party since I was going to Madrid shortly after that. I had a great time, but I partly ruined it for myself by thinking of this one person who didn't show up and being full of melancholy because of my departure about a week later.




This is a picture taken on my second birthday. I have been looking through all these child photos, and found this one kind of funny, since I have a patch in my forehead which shows that I have always been good at unwarily hurting myself. Nowadays, I get my scars through jogging and mountain climbing, back then I got them by playing lively.

Nej, jag syftar verkligen inte till att visa upp mina stridsärr efter en joggingtur som skulle varit 7km lång, men blev 2m på grund av en isfläck. Jag vill inte berätta om hur ont jag har, och jag har inte alls skrämt upp folk med att säga att jag sitter och förblöder. Jag är inte alls en attention-whore idag. Det förstår ni väl?

Minst en av mina vänner kommer förmodligen att döda mig för det här, andra jubla. Hur som helst, idag gick jag till frisören, och reslutatet visas på en bild här under (mest tillägnat Björk Mirjamsdotter). Ni får ursäkta det faktum att bilden är tagen i en något smutsig badrumsspegel...