Shoes

I leave Finland. I'm moving, it's all a bit spontaneous but it just feels perfectly normal. Or the word "crazy" has lost its meaning to me, as everything around me seems to be more or less out of the standards.
Mama cries when I leave, which is weird, because she never cries when I leave. I don't feel anything, not now, it's just absurd to think about time an relationships.

At the harbor I have the feeling that someone is looking at me. It's a guy from Tartu, a handsome one. Do you want to sit together, I ask, but he is already pouring me tea from his thermos. "Of course." I tell him my unicorn story, and other such things, and we are laughing against the wind on the deck of the boat that is rocking and jumping up and down so that I feel really really drunk.
And it feels good to hug somebody who smells like forest.

And then I'm in Estonia.
I had a master plan in Finland: I have two pairs of red shoes, almost identical. Both pairs have the other shoe in a very bad condition, so I decided I'll take one of each, the good half of both pairs.
Then I'm in Estonia, and I realize I have taken two shoes for the same foot. Two for the right, none for the left. I have to laugh, this is so typical. This kind of shit happens all the time, at least to me.
Well, surely I have other shoes, the ones I'm wearing. But these are big sturdy hiking boots, and in Germany it's still 24 degrees and summer (fingers crossed!).

I'm waking up in four hours, so better get some sleep.

licht, liebe und leben


(I'm switching off all the censorship for a moment and allow myself be just as hippie as I feel now. I have to do it, otherwise I'll explode. )


I'm in love.
It's good that the human heart is expandable because there is so much to love.

Why does it feel like a stupid cliche to write about love? Love is not a cliche, nor a cult, nor a sin,
but it is Everything. And separated from the feelings of haterd, fear and jealousy it becomes just light. A light that shines upon all and everything. Have you noticed how similar the words love, laugh and life and light sound like? Because they are the same.

It's not necessary to ask "who do you love?". I just love. It's a love without an object, and I want to share it with you.

something new


I'm on fire, I feel like jumping around but since I have to take it easy and can't use all this energy in a physical way, I'm writing and writing and there's probably smoke coming out of my brain. My parents are laughing at me. It's good that I have some self-esteem these days. Otherwise I might be hurt. What is there to laugh about, damn it, don't tell a young person in the middle of her inspiration to calm down.

Ahh. What I wanted to say. The surgery was ok. Not pleasant, but I'm alive! Still, it amazes me from day to day that I'm living. How is it possible that I'm this lucky, that we all are? All of us, we are alive! Hooray!

just a stream of thoughts on a sunday afternoon


Based on random searching on Couchsurfing, I'd say that 90% of the people are calling themselves open-minded. More than half of the profiles are talking about freedom, or being a free spirit.

I must confess, I also used to have the classic "I'm open-minded" statement on my profile.
We like to call ourselves open-minded, but what does it really mean? Is it just a cool word to define oneself, is it to show that you're open for some things that "close-minded" or conservative people dislike? Or does it, as I'm afraid, mean being tolerant only towards people like yourself (who might be considered "alternative" or "different")?
And we all like the word "freedom". Such a big word. Free spirits, free love, free world. So much used, but what do all these things mean to us? Are we living them, instead of just talking about them?
When I had the word open-minded standing on my profile, I got a lot of suggestive messages from men saying that they like open-minded girls and would like to get to know me closer. Sometimes it got a bit disturbing. I'm experiencing the same in reality -  having some sort of vibe of freedom seems to make me "available" for anyone to grab. And they do grab and hold on tight. Why is freedom so often mistaken (only) for free love, and by love I mean sex?


If there is such thing as "free love" in terms of casual sex, it must come with mutual respect. All freedom brings responsibilities, and seeing freedom or someone's open-mindness as an easy way to get laid is just a bit strange to me. Freedom is to be able to set your own limits, and to respect others limits that they have set for themselves (not necessarily the same kind of limits that society is setting us). I believe that all creatures are to be approached with respect and a bit of carefulness. But then again it's hard to maintain such carefulness but not turn it into something that would be isolating people from one another - I guess today's world is just so big, so full of people, so full of different norms and laws and rules how to live, ideas of what is normal and what is not, that it gets more and more difficult to find your own comfort limits and to sense how the other person has set theirs.

I can understand why "free people" are easily found attractive. Of course a certain kind of free spirit in a person is exciting, appealing and interesting. It's an offer for an adventure, without commitment. We are so damn afraid of commitment, responsibility and boundaries, as all these are seen as the same, and as the opposite of freedom. When you have boundaries, you are in a prison.
We want to be nomads, rootless, just freely floating through our lives, we want to be forever young and free. We want to live this dream and hold on to it so tightly that at some point it turns against us. The search of the freedom becomes our prison. We are not able to stop. We are not able to grow, because all the time we are running around.
Is this running after freedom, in some cases, actually just running away from ourselves?
We're running away from our own restricted minds and our own limited selfs, trying to capture the treasure of freedom in somebody else. In this other person we want to see the embodiment of freedom, because we can't find or define freedom in through ourselves.
(I know I'm generalizing a lot her, pardon me)
In conservative families, or in cultures where the women's liberties are very limited, it may be an attempt to maintain one's personal freedom to wear "western" or revealing clothes, make-up, and high heels. Then again, in a society like ours, where everything is over-sexualized and the beauty standards have become a huge industry, women rebel against that in the name of freedom, burn their bras and dress up in alternative ways, staying away from the conventional fashion magazines. And then there becomes the rebel against this, saying that we have the right to be feminine and show our bodies just as we want.
And here I am, being so different, rebelling against what people are writing in their profiles, questioning something just because it's popular.
Breaking the box, and building a new one right next to it. Labeling yourself as something else in order to remove the old label.
It seems that you are only different when you make an effort to be different.
Is the act towards freedom always rebelling against something?

I suppose that in the ideal situation, each person could define for themselves how they want to be like, regardless of the surroundings. Could we take such unlimited freedom? If we were all able to create our own reality and our own rules in our minds, could these realities be easily combined into a collective one? Do we need an authority, a law or a religion, or a "common custom" to tell us who we are, what our limits are and how we're supposed to function in this world?
I understand that individualism can go too far; one can get lost in their own freedom. If freedom equals individualism, that is. I'm not saying it does. To me freedom means a new kind of unity, real connection between people. A surrounding where everyone is respected and supported as an individual (and encouraged to find their own path), but at the same time treated as an equal member of the community.

The real challenge in life is to grow strong, but to remain open and receiving. To stay respectful to yourself and towards others, but to be open for change and questioning.

So, as far as this word "open-minded" is such a confusing one, I'm not using it anymore. What my CS profile states now is this:
Keep questioning conventional structures, push your boundaries, seek for alternatives to the standard way of living.
Stay free from forcefully fitting yourself or others under any specified roles or labels. Not as easy as it sounds like, we are all so damn stuck in our habits...
But all the rules are only in the mind; by changing the mind we can change the surroundings.

isla ihmemaassa

Eipa ole ihan yksinkertainen juttu sailyttaa terveellista, vegetaristista tai vahakulutuksista elamantapaa taalla Venajalla.

Kierran noin kymmenen ruokakauppaa, suurta ja pienta, ennen kuin onnistun loytamaan pussillisen linsseja. Sen sijaan joka ikinen kauppa on pullollaan sailykkeita, lihoja, kekseja ja viinia. Erilaisille hilloille ja marmeladeille on pienimmassakin lahikioskissa varattu yleensa vahintaan yksi kokonainen seinusta.

Tuoreiden vihanneksienkin kanssa on vahan niin ja nain; kaikki on pussitettu valmiiksi valtaviin pakkauksiin, ja pohjalle sullottu mahdollisimman paljon pilaantuneita yksiloita. Vihannesten shoppailu on tosiaan kuin ostaisi sikoja sakeissa.

Sian korvikkeita en ole juuri nahnyt kauppojen hyllyilla. Ita-Euroopasta tuttuun tapaan papusailykkeissakin on sikanautaa seassa. Epaonnistuneen eko/vegekauppojen metsastyksen jalkeen onnistun lopulta loytamaan erilaisia soijatuotteita - nimittain lihakaupasta!

Hedelmaosastolla liimaan hintalapun suoraan omenan kylkeen, kun haukankatseisen myymalanhoitajan silma valttaa. Kassalla tulee kuitenkin stoppi: myyjatar hermostuu omenastani, pudistelee paataan, repii lapun irti omenasta, pakkaa omenan muovipussiin, punnitsee sen uudelleen ja liimaa uuden hintalapun pussin kylkeen. Kaupan paallisiksi saan venajankielisen saarnan hedelmaostoksien pyhista kayttaytymissaannoista.

Paikallisten kasvissyojaystavieni viikkomenuun kuuluu mm. sellaisia ravitsevia ateriakokonaisuuksia, kuten makaronia, ketsuppia ja keitettya porkkanaa, seka paljon vaaleaa leipaa voilla ja juustolla.

Taytyy vaan totutella siihen, etta taalla kaikki on nurinkurista. Postiauto nayttaa poliisiautolta ja painvastoin, supermarkettien ruoka on kalliimpaa kuin pikkukauppojen, parhaat vegaaniruuat loytyvat lihatiskien alta. Kaiken lisaksi paahtava helle on pakottanut paivarytmin sellaiseksi, etta syon aamiaista kolmen jalkeen, ja istun yot ulkona "viileasta" 25 asteen helpotuksesta nauttien.

Индиан экспресс

Chaotic traffic. Extreme heat. Sweating. Strange food. Visiting temples. Pollution. Diarrhea.



I thought I was in Russia, not India...

another

We sit in a dusky park of lost souls and free souls in the 4am smoke,
I lay myself back and watch the obscure tree branches dancing over my head.
There is a poet and his saxophone,
there is the fiddler on the roof,
and there is smoke, everywhere smoke.
My whole life is like a strange dream, I can no longer tell when I'm awake and when I'm sleeping.
Pink moon,
we sit there until it's early instead of late,
the air is so thick that it's not clear if his eyes are closed or if they are deeply fixed on mine.

one night in

The most beautiful day.


Crowded streets of St.Petersburg in the late-summer heat. A ride on an old scooter, the breeze on your face is hot and dry, like if you were somewhere in the Middle East. Babushkas selling watermelons and stockings, street dogs laying in the shades, empty beer bottles everywhere, and girls on high heels, Russian girls with their curls and red lips, it all runs in front of your eyes like a fast film, over-exposed. Sunrays, bare skin, the heavy hot air hovering above all. Hold me tight, he says, and so I do.
Capturing these streets, this air, these skins, with old-school cameras and plaid shirts, like proper eastern hipsters, you are laughing with exitement and exhaustion.
An afternoon break with fresh mint tea. Middle and north east more and more mixed up. Shisha pipes, beetroot salad, women with their flowered scarfs, in the city of gold and rust.
In the park there is a man with his guitar, he plays two more songs just for us. An artist, he says, and then we stop an old Russian lady on her evening stroll, a real lady with a long dress and a white hat, first she wants to ignore us but then she stops, she stops and she smiles. You are so young, so young, she laughs, and she feels herself young too, after 20 years of feeling old.

Tell me about the change, I ask as we are following the river and eating our last food. We talk until there is no reason to talk more, and then we drive to the sea. It's past midnight already, but the sea is there and the air is still hot, this strange hot air together with the familiar smell of the Baltic sea, my sea. It's all like a strange dream, dogs running on water, everything blue and blurry, we sit on a tree trunk, silent. There is a temple, and the hare krishnas are still awake, they invite us in and we laugh together with them in the blurry night. Russian disco music on the backround, faraway dreams from faraway beaches, people searching for people and inside these walls people searching for the divine
We drive back to the city in silence. Drunken strangers guiding our way. Police cars, opening bridges, white nights become blue nights and finally all-day darkness, in this city of gold and rust.

I sleep.

karelian blueberries

We travel towards the north, through great forests and abandoned villages around Karelia. I breathe the fir trees and the swamps, I taste the blueberries by the road and I soak in the midnight sun. It's magical. Old women with scarves around their heads, selling berries and vegetables, dirty little food stalls, children with curious faces and muddy feet. Houses that are falling down, sceneries looking like I imagine Finland 70 years ago. This car is a time machine, and it's taking me into the unknown future through the forgotten past.

night tigers

I'm scared. I'm scared for a week straight, and I know I have to go through this in order to get the access to some kind of a next level of understanding.
I fight against my fear until I come to accept it. I realise that the best way to cope with fear is to know it as well as possible. To know the object of your fear; what it is and why it makes you feel afraid. When you know your own fear, it can't hurt you.
So I'm learning.

I understand that all my life I've been facing my fears.
I was six years old when I fell off a horse, and refused to go back to the stables. But since that I have done exactly the things that make my heart jump. I was afraid of speaking, speaking in public, afraid of the way I talk and afraid of people watching me. So I learned what it is to perform and to be watched. I was in a theater group for years.
I was clumsy, I started dance classes. It took years to get to the same level as the others, years until I felt somewhat comfortable in my body.
I was afraid of telephones. Calling strangers. I couldn't do it. So I decided that the only way to get out of it is to call as many people, as much as possible, until I'm too tired to be afraid. I worked as a salesperson through telephone, called all over Finland, it was a nightmare back then but at least I'm not afraid of phones anymore.

It's like Ronja the robber's daugther in Astrid Lindgren's book. Ronja is terrified of the forest and there are all these dangers and strange creatures trying to attack her. So her father tells her; go and learn what it is to be afraid. And she learns. She runs in the darkness, jumps over the gorges, meets the terrifying creatures face-to-face.

I guess the keypoint in facing one's fears is that it has to be voluntary. Otherwise the trauma might just get bigger. To consciously decide to learn about such deep emotion as fear, it really takes courage and when you do it, it really teaches you some great lessons.

What is the ultimate fear? Death. Losing control (of one's life, status, the current situation, posessions or relations).
I had a long discussion with a good friend about this topic. Facing the ultimate fear. She was saying that it's essential to go through it in order to gain a deeper understanding. Now I see what she meant. You can't know what life is unless you know what death is to you. You can't know your strenght unless you know your fear.
And getting to know the fear is a way to remove certain blocks in your mind (which at least in my case have been restricting my access to the deepest parts of "me" or that part of myself that is connected to the universe). The fear is there to protect you, but is it also there to protect some universal understanding?

I might be going too far, connecting the personal growth and the collective mind, but it's interesting to look at the collective consciousness as a state which has a secret door. To find this door (you may call it the door of perception, or some kind of an enlightening if you like), one must break trough their on restricted mind, and one way might very well be through fear. Is that way so many spiritual rituals are connected with fear of death?
I didn't want to make this post too rambling, and here I am already way out of the line...


This fear I was talking about in the beginning of the post. It was there for a week, until I accepted it and looked straight into its eyes.
I knew how it would be, right from the start I knew. I knew there would be a thunder, I knew there would be an awakening, and I knew there would be singing. And so there was.

Too much for a blog.

gifts

I decided to rely on the good old 30-liter backpack once again, and everytime it just amazes me how much I can fit in it. This time I needed to be prepared for anything from a huge metropol to total wilderness. A sleeping bag, mattress, tent, kettle, knife, raincoat, flashlight, food, hiking shoes, a warm sweater and two cardigans. Sandals, dress, the second biggest camera that I have, sketchbook, incence sticks. I'm just waiting for the moment when my bag falls apart. It's a miracle this hasn't happened yet. But so far I've needed every single thing I packed, and have not needed anything I don't have. Great.

Another thing that amazes me is how life really seems to give exactly what I need. Like when I had no shoes in Barcelona and refused to buy new ones, just within minutes I found a lovely pair of red sneakers, my size, my colour, abandoned on the street. There were no shoelaces, but my travelmate happened to have a pair in her pocket. She had carried them around for who knows what reason, but was now happy to give them to me.

Last week I met a girl, a hitchhiker, she came with us to the north but had nothing warm to wear so I gave her my clothes. And after a couple of days is was dressed in new clothes, clothes that were so much more beautiful than the ones I gave to the poor hitchhiker. It's like a big circle of giving and receiving, you pass something on and it will come back to you in some form at some point. Or it will go to the one who needs it the most, at least I hope so. Am I just lucky, or naive, or is life really so full of miracles as it seems to be right now?

And just yesterday I was thinking about how I need to buy new film for my camera, and was also looking at some lomography cameras and dreaming about Prague and simplicity of capturing moments. Just an hour later I met a guy who firstly gave me film (I didn't tell him I need it, he just came and offered it to me). Secondly, he told me that he works for a lomography company in Russia, "I can give you a camera if you want."
Then later that evening, I was driven around the heart of St. Petersburg with an old moped (and nearly crashed with a bus, but this was maybe not worth mentioning). I got a place to sleep, a grapefruit for dinner, I even got a home but this is too big to talk about yet.

And after just a couple of weeks of travelling, my backpack is so full of presents that soon I won't be able to close it anymore.
Gosh, I'm really trying to smile at people to give at least something in return. I really hope I'm capable of more than that. Today I was walking along Nevski Prospekt (the main street of St. Petersburg) barefoot, with a little message of bounty and simplicity in my heart.
The sad thing is that not many people accept it. They drive behind their black windows, stare at their mobile phones, and on their faces I can see a disgust towards a poor person. (Here barefooting can be really seen as a sign of poorness, not of freedom).
But some of them smile back.

First encounters

Since summer 2009 I've been trying to travel to Russia. Every time there's been something standing in the way: vegetable gardens, falling in love, tooth infections, just about anything you can think of. But I knew that it just wasn't the right time yet. Postponing plans, with Russia starting to feel more and more like an imagination land rather than something that really exists.
But it does exist, very much, as I see now.

After over a year of planning and pondering, it was simply approriate to leave as I did. On one Friday evening, all of a sudden, I decided that the time has come, so I went to get some waterproof clothes just minutes before the shops closed, packed my bag, and two hours later I was already on my way towards the mysterious East.

You might say that there were some strange demons in the way of getting to Russia. But then my rescuing angel definately came in an even stranger form. Sergey was a tattooed chain smoker and an ex hammer thrower with 200 kilos of body weight and apparently no fear of death (this I concluded based on his way of driving). I filled in my immigration card in the middle of the woods at 4.am, hands shaking from the freezing wind, and right after the border we stopped to buy two bottles of vodka. Sergey's nostalgic sigh "Ah, Russia" made me realize that in a way I had travelled further away from home than ever before.

We arrived in St. Petersburg early in the morning, and the city was greeting me with dusty rays of the rising sun. It was love at first sight.