As a wandering traveler, I have become a little too good at making changes. I mean drastic changes, and not only that, they happen quickly. From one day to another, sometimes one hour to another I can decide on quitting a job, quitting a course, ending one relationship or another, sometimes friendships, that I realized way back in the past just took more than they gave. Usually the quick, sometimes irrational decisions, grow out from long hours of contemplation, sometimes it’s just the thrill of something new that imposes them.
Being the kind of person who tends to over explain every little thing, I’ve always wondered how and why people tend to walk away without uttering a word.
The end of another year is creeping near. It’s been a hell of a year, a hell of a ride, a rollercoaster to say the least, with overwhelming ups and downs.
This, my friends, is life. The harsh, raw, unplanned adventures that make you feel alive. The unforgettable tales you gain, the ones you choose to tell to your friends, parents, kids and grandkids.
The things you remember.
As I am trying to learn to be settled in one place, I live through my previous travels (yes, like an old lady!)
Here follows a recount of one of my mini-adventures through parts of Europe – Brighton- London – Paris – Malaga – Bristol – London – Brighton.
In this part, the focus will be on the traveling aspects, i.e. going from Brighton to London to Paris to Malaga. Parts about Malaga and returning to Britain may appear next.
Fall has been in the air here in Stockholm in the past few weeks.
There’s been many days lately when I’ve arrived at work, shouting “Fall is in the air!! I look forward to the fall.” For the most parts, my co-workers have looked at me as if I am some kind of weirdo – what Swede longs for fall? We all know too well the roughness of fall and winter, six months of pitch black darkness. At the most we’ll get a couple of hours of sunlight on a nice day.
This is not meant to be about me, but it might end up being about my life and my perspective. What other story can I tell anyway, but my own? No matter how impartial I’ll ever attempt to be, I’ll always be biased by my own personal lenses. I can only understand the world around me through my own personality. No one can ever tell a story without partly reflecting their own experiences, they are embedded in who we are and how we interpret the world around us. Thus we can never tell another story than our own. It works like projection – the only way we can understand other people is through who we are ourselves.
Heads up – this is perhaps brutally honest, and qutie personal. But it is my story, the only story I know. In the end, we might as well reveal it all. One way or another, it’ll show anyway. In the end we are all only human. Let it be.
My friend Julia and I landed late at night on 18th of August 2015. Our fourth five hours long flight was exactly that; long. It had taken us from LA and across the water over to the remote piece of land on which Hilo is located. Despite the final flight being one of the shortest, it felt the longest.
Studying abroad, third stage international student.
When having lived in the UK for four years, the time when going abroad to study as part of my degree programme had come. What motivated me to keep my grades up through the first and the second year was that I had set my mind to applying for the exchange programme as part of my university course.
Following my previous post about my one year long stay in hostels in Edinburgh (in 2011-2012), I will here write about where life took me next.
Instead of starting to write about each of my stops from the timeline I posted the other day, I am going to jump ahead and write about my experience of living in Edinburgh – in a hostel.