Of all the things I could or should do, I ended up writing here. I should be cleaning up (which I really must do before I leave), writing two essays in Swedish, planning tomorrows party. Or I could be reading (short stories by Harlan Ellison: great, unbelievably so, but best enjoyed in small portions), playing Serious Sam: The Second Encounter (just might do that later, relatively perfect as brainless entertainment goes), taking a walk (It's deadly cold outside, so no. It actually snowed today, hard), writing an email to someone (feeling too antisocial, not really feeling like contacting anyone tonight), or watching a movie (I actually have an idiotic one on pause for the fourth hour on my other computer). Instead, I'm writing nonsense here.
Actually, not just that. I'm also reading the thoughts of a young lady, that constantly seem to be surprising me. Pleasant. And reading a short story every now and then. And listening to Katie Melua (I just might graduate to Norah Jones tonight).
I'm resting. That's what all of this adds up to. For the last days I've done very little, mainly just slept and eaten. I have some tiring times behind me: exams, things to organize, guests to host (mostly pleasant things, though); and still a lot to do before I leave. I think I deserve a bit of rest.
I'm trying to change this blog into something more of a journal than a random collection of thoughts. But not only that. There will still be room for my ramblings.
sunnuntai 18. toukokuuta 2008
perjantai 25. huhtikuuta 2008
Tidbits
No longer texts today, just few things borrowed from my other blog and a few new ones:
An observation: The world never spins counterclockwise when you're drunk.
An observation on a different level: The longest journey is always homewards.
A thing to make the unbearableness of life bearable: Sleeping in a cold room wearing a pair of warm socks.
And another: Brushing your teeth while taking a shower.
What is common to both the Art of War by Sun Tzu, and the Communist Manifesto? In current editions both have introductions over two hundred pages long, while the actual text is less than sixty.
Happiness if finding a pair of clean jeans you didn't remember having.
Sleeping six hours well beats sleeping ten hours poorly.
An exchange of recipes is the duel of two cooks.
An observation: The world never spins counterclockwise when you're drunk.
An observation on a different level: The longest journey is always homewards.
A thing to make the unbearableness of life bearable: Sleeping in a cold room wearing a pair of warm socks.
And another: Brushing your teeth while taking a shower.
What is common to both the Art of War by Sun Tzu, and the Communist Manifesto? In current editions both have introductions over two hundred pages long, while the actual text is less than sixty.
Happiness if finding a pair of clean jeans you didn't remember having.
Sleeping six hours well beats sleeping ten hours poorly.
An exchange of recipes is the duel of two cooks.
maanantai 21. huhtikuuta 2008
A roadside encounter
I met myself when I was walking home the other day. There I was, sitting on a rock on the roadside, chewing a leaf of grass in the sunshine. Since we hadn't seen each other for a while, I decided to stop and chat for a moment. So, I leaned against a lamppost, put my backpack down, and stayed a while.
"So, how has life been?" I asked myself after we had acknowledged each other’s presence with an exchange of nods. "Life? Life has been good", I answered myself and spat out the leaf I was chewing. I grinned widely, and asked myself: "How could it not be? It's in the little things, babies' smiles, changing tyres, watching pretty girls walk by." I smiled back at myself, and said: "Yah, how could it not be indeed", with just a hint of weariness in my voice. I looked at myself, and indeed, I looked good, strong and healthy. And happy.
"And you? How is life? How are the big things?" I asked myself in return. "There is progress. I'm getting somewhere", I answered smiling proudly. "So it's all finally happening then", I observed, "That's good." "It is, isn't it?", I replied, my smile widening into a grin. "Yah", I said with a nod, "Has it been rough?" "Sometimes, just sometimes", I answered a bit more gravely.
"It shows, you know." I noted, and looked at myself. I was thinner, weary, tired. Driven. "I guess it does", I said. "That looks awfully heavy", I said, pointing to my backpack, "Have you been carrying it for long?" "Yeah, pretty long I guess. And it does tend to feel heavy every once in a while", I replied looking at the backpack, now seeming bigger than ever. "Why don't you leave that here, with me?" I suggested myself, "You can pick it up the next time you come this way." "I guess I will, if that's okay with you", I affirmed.
And we bid ourselves farewell, and I resumed my journey homewards with lighter steps. Looking back over my shoulder I saw myself there, going through the contents of my backpack. It didn't seem all that big anymore.
"So, how has life been?" I asked myself after we had acknowledged each other’s presence with an exchange of nods. "Life? Life has been good", I answered myself and spat out the leaf I was chewing. I grinned widely, and asked myself: "How could it not be? It's in the little things, babies' smiles, changing tyres, watching pretty girls walk by." I smiled back at myself, and said: "Yah, how could it not be indeed", with just a hint of weariness in my voice. I looked at myself, and indeed, I looked good, strong and healthy. And happy.
"And you? How is life? How are the big things?" I asked myself in return. "There is progress. I'm getting somewhere", I answered smiling proudly. "So it's all finally happening then", I observed, "That's good." "It is, isn't it?", I replied, my smile widening into a grin. "Yah", I said with a nod, "Has it been rough?" "Sometimes, just sometimes", I answered a bit more gravely.
"It shows, you know." I noted, and looked at myself. I was thinner, weary, tired. Driven. "I guess it does", I said. "That looks awfully heavy", I said, pointing to my backpack, "Have you been carrying it for long?" "Yeah, pretty long I guess. And it does tend to feel heavy every once in a while", I replied looking at the backpack, now seeming bigger than ever. "Why don't you leave that here, with me?" I suggested myself, "You can pick it up the next time you come this way." "I guess I will, if that's okay with you", I affirmed.
And we bid ourselves farewell, and I resumed my journey homewards with lighter steps. Looking back over my shoulder I saw myself there, going through the contents of my backpack. It didn't seem all that big anymore.
sunnuntai 20. huhtikuuta 2008
To kneel every day in appreciation of life.
To never cut wings from other people's dreams.
To laugh all my laughter, and to cry all my tears.
Not to give up my memories, even the painful ones.
To apologise when having done something wrong.
Never to turn away someone in true need.
To remember my own worth, and to take care of myself as well as others.
To devout my life to the service of love, beauty and truth.
Not to judge someone because of life lived.
Never to stop looking for answers.
Never to use other people only as means to an end.
To respect my fellow men, and even when they lose that respect, not deny them their humanity.
Not to leave a good word unspoken.
To let my tears flow when they must.
To remember my loved ones, and to give them my appreciation.
Not to do for others what they must do themselves, and not ask other to do what I must.
To allow no man, woman or child to come to harm when I'm able to prevent it.
Not to shield others from what they must go through.
Not to force my company on others when it is not wished.
Not to bind others against their will.
Not to allow greater good to replace kindness.
Not to betray trust given to me by others.
Not to harm another man unless in direct and clear danger.
Not to follow orders given by others without doubt.
Not to deny my fear when frightened, and not to let fear decide my actions.
To face the consequences of my actions.
To wake up to see the dawn at least once a year.
To trust others, when not given a reason for doubt.
To keep my word when able, to explain and apoligize when not.
To learn from mistakes, both my own and others.
Not to rub into the wounds of others.
To enjoy life to its fullest.
To give freely, and receive with gratitude and appreciation.
To love unconditionally, and strive to be worthy of love.
To take no loved one for granted.
To forgive errors both to myself and others.
To accept things happened, and seek to change things to come.
To laugh, sing and dance, when given the opportunity.
To bear the responsibilities I have taken upon myself.
To share my heart's desires, thoughts, joys and sorrows with others, and to allow to share theirs with me.
To never cut wings from other people's dreams.
To laugh all my laughter, and to cry all my tears.
Not to give up my memories, even the painful ones.
To apologise when having done something wrong.
Never to turn away someone in true need.
To remember my own worth, and to take care of myself as well as others.
To devout my life to the service of love, beauty and truth.
Not to judge someone because of life lived.
Never to stop looking for answers.
Never to use other people only as means to an end.
To respect my fellow men, and even when they lose that respect, not deny them their humanity.
Not to leave a good word unspoken.
To let my tears flow when they must.
To remember my loved ones, and to give them my appreciation.
Not to do for others what they must do themselves, and not ask other to do what I must.
To allow no man, woman or child to come to harm when I'm able to prevent it.
Not to shield others from what they must go through.
Not to force my company on others when it is not wished.
Not to bind others against their will.
Not to allow greater good to replace kindness.
Not to betray trust given to me by others.
Not to harm another man unless in direct and clear danger.
Not to follow orders given by others without doubt.
Not to deny my fear when frightened, and not to let fear decide my actions.
To face the consequences of my actions.
To wake up to see the dawn at least once a year.
To trust others, when not given a reason for doubt.
To keep my word when able, to explain and apoligize when not.
To learn from mistakes, both my own and others.
Not to rub into the wounds of others.
To enjoy life to its fullest.
To give freely, and receive with gratitude and appreciation.
To love unconditionally, and strive to be worthy of love.
To take no loved one for granted.
To forgive errors both to myself and others.
To accept things happened, and seek to change things to come.
To laugh, sing and dance, when given the opportunity.
To bear the responsibilities I have taken upon myself.
To share my heart's desires, thoughts, joys and sorrows with others, and to allow to share theirs with me.
tiistai 15. huhtikuuta 2008
On Arts and Crafts and Pleasure
I've spent some time thinking about the difference(s) between arts and crafts in the last year or so. A lot of it was sparked by a comment made by a Russian friend. He, being something of a music freak (and a semi-professional one, at that), said, that music doesn't have to please the listener. I replied then, that food doesn't have to please the eater. I have changed my mind since. He is correct. And my comment was false.
The difference between the two is, in most cases, that while music is a form of art, cooking is a craft (I'm aware that both of these claims can be reversed under certain conditions. There is nothing preventing one from using cooking as a form of art, or thinking about music as a craft. It's just commonly like that.) A product of a craftsman should please people using it, while artist has no such obligations.
This brings us to the question of meanings, mainly, what is the purpose of art (purpose of crafts will be taken as self-evident)? From one point of view, art should affect its audience, bring about new thoughts or feelings. Art should make people see the world in a new way, and unpleasantness, distate and even pain can be used in the process. Compared to this, craftmans work seeks to bring pleasure to its user, or to be useful. A poet can cause distress with his words, while a cook should seek to please. (From this naturally rises the viewpoint that sees arts only as crafts, seeing their purpose only in being pleasant.)
But is it really so simple? Can a craftsman cause no unpleasant feelings without it being considered a failure? I think he can. If the purpose of fine wine (I would consider wine-making a craft rather than a form of art) is to please, bitterness early on can bring out other, more pleasant flavors in the aftertaste. Or a strong, sour taste in food can heighten other flavors in the dish, making it more pleasant to the eater. So, a craftsman can use unpleasant sensations to heighten the whole experience, making it better.
But is this not what an artist does? If you consider the focus of a craftsman to be his work, could the focus of an artist be life? If unpleasant artistic experiences open new points of view to you, make you appreciate life in a different manner, only to heighten your whole experience in life, to make it better? Can we just say, that artists are craftsmen focusing on life?
Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't feel like the whole picture. But a point of view, certainly. I have intentionally avoided defining art while writing this. It's not a task I feel capable of undertaking, even though I have attempted it occasionally (to say one thing, it certainly needs a subject).
One more point to make.
Tools. Artist can hate his tools. I don't think it's possible for a craftsman. Difficult to imagine, at least. The relationship of artist to his tools and materials in far more complex than craftsmans pragmatic love (now I'm being idealistic). And artist struggles to create, while craftsman delights in it (or he should not be a craftsman). An artist can love his work, his tools, his creations. But a good craftsman has to.
The difference between the two is, in most cases, that while music is a form of art, cooking is a craft (I'm aware that both of these claims can be reversed under certain conditions. There is nothing preventing one from using cooking as a form of art, or thinking about music as a craft. It's just commonly like that.) A product of a craftsman should please people using it, while artist has no such obligations.
This brings us to the question of meanings, mainly, what is the purpose of art (purpose of crafts will be taken as self-evident)? From one point of view, art should affect its audience, bring about new thoughts or feelings. Art should make people see the world in a new way, and unpleasantness, distate and even pain can be used in the process. Compared to this, craftmans work seeks to bring pleasure to its user, or to be useful. A poet can cause distress with his words, while a cook should seek to please. (From this naturally rises the viewpoint that sees arts only as crafts, seeing their purpose only in being pleasant.)
But is it really so simple? Can a craftsman cause no unpleasant feelings without it being considered a failure? I think he can. If the purpose of fine wine (I would consider wine-making a craft rather than a form of art) is to please, bitterness early on can bring out other, more pleasant flavors in the aftertaste. Or a strong, sour taste in food can heighten other flavors in the dish, making it more pleasant to the eater. So, a craftsman can use unpleasant sensations to heighten the whole experience, making it better.
But is this not what an artist does? If you consider the focus of a craftsman to be his work, could the focus of an artist be life? If unpleasant artistic experiences open new points of view to you, make you appreciate life in a different manner, only to heighten your whole experience in life, to make it better? Can we just say, that artists are craftsmen focusing on life?
Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't feel like the whole picture. But a point of view, certainly. I have intentionally avoided defining art while writing this. It's not a task I feel capable of undertaking, even though I have attempted it occasionally (to say one thing, it certainly needs a subject).
One more point to make.
Tools. Artist can hate his tools. I don't think it's possible for a craftsman. Difficult to imagine, at least. The relationship of artist to his tools and materials in far more complex than craftsmans pragmatic love (now I'm being idealistic). And artist struggles to create, while craftsman delights in it (or he should not be a craftsman). An artist can love his work, his tools, his creations. But a good craftsman has to.
Appearing unfrightening
I don't really have any serious problems with my appearence. Rarely have I been called handsome, often open, pleasant-looking, expressive and friendly. I pay more attention to the way I look nowadays than say, few years ago. Maybe it has got something to do with lifestyle and situations. Few years ago I was going to study forever, now I'm trying to finish my studies, work close to six months a year in Moscow, and am moving forward to new things.
Now, there is one thing people universally agree on: I am not, and do not look the least bit frightening. Pretty much the very opposite. This could be surprising, considering that I am big (not tall, I'm only average height for Finnish men my age, which is 180cm (5' 11''). Heavily built) bearded, hairy guy, all which could be considered frightening. I guess it has to be in my demeanor and personality then.
My host-mother in Yaroslavl once said, that I would make a good doctor, because there is not the slightest bit of aggressiveness in me. Many people would not agree with this. I can be very assertive, and quite aggressive when I get into arguments. Still, physically aggressive I'm not, and my demeanor tends to be calm, when I'm not overtly excited.
The funny thing is, my aura of trustworthiness, non-aggression and security seems to extend both to animals, and small children. Children are rarely frightened of me, and usually grow fond of me very quickly (I remember some occasions when this has happened over ten years ago, when I was hardly a teenager).
As for animals, one example was the dog of my host-mothers, which had a somewhat traumatic history, being in the streets and with bad owners. Because of this, she was highly distrustful of men, and didn't accept them at all. Except me. Within few hours. Also seems to work with wild animals. Rabbits in Jyväskylä hardly bother to make way for me, when I find myself walking late (or very early). They wait until I get pretty close, then seem to remember, that it's polite for smaller animals to make way for the bigger, hop a bit to the side, and look at me thinking: "Well, happy now?".
Now, there is one thing people universally agree on: I am not, and do not look the least bit frightening. Pretty much the very opposite. This could be surprising, considering that I am big (not tall, I'm only average height for Finnish men my age, which is 180cm (5' 11''). Heavily built) bearded, hairy guy, all which could be considered frightening. I guess it has to be in my demeanor and personality then.
My host-mother in Yaroslavl once said, that I would make a good doctor, because there is not the slightest bit of aggressiveness in me. Many people would not agree with this. I can be very assertive, and quite aggressive when I get into arguments. Still, physically aggressive I'm not, and my demeanor tends to be calm, when I'm not overtly excited.
The funny thing is, my aura of trustworthiness, non-aggression and security seems to extend both to animals, and small children. Children are rarely frightened of me, and usually grow fond of me very quickly (I remember some occasions when this has happened over ten years ago, when I was hardly a teenager).
As for animals, one example was the dog of my host-mothers, which had a somewhat traumatic history, being in the streets and with bad owners. Because of this, she was highly distrustful of men, and didn't accept them at all. Except me. Within few hours. Also seems to work with wild animals. Rabbits in Jyväskylä hardly bother to make way for me, when I find myself walking late (or very early). They wait until I get pretty close, then seem to remember, that it's polite for smaller animals to make way for the bigger, hop a bit to the side, and look at me thinking: "Well, happy now?".
maanantai 14. huhtikuuta 2008
Some things I suck at, or positive through negations
Ever get bored with different sites asking you to list things you're really good at? Well, I have, and bored with the overly positive attitudes of those sites, decided to list things I'm really bad at, or, not-so-good things I'm really good at. So, here goes, with explanations:
Lying. I'm a terrible liar. It's not that I can't come up with good lies, or that I would lack imagination, it's just that I'm practically see-through. I can't tell a lie convincingly, unless it's at least partly true. The main problem is, that I find it really difficult to fake emotions. At least people who know me can see right through any facade I might try to maintain. You can tell when I'm not enjoying myself, and you can tell when something is bothering me. Or when I'm annoyed, pleased, or restless. The best I can do, is fake polite interest, which makes social situations far more tolerable.
Putting things back where they belong. This one is responsible for the way my apartment usually looks like. When I lose interest in something, I just usually place it on the closest available surface, be it my bed, floor, desk, or inside my wardrobe. I also immediately move on to something new, often forgetting completely where I've everything is. When I had long hair, I could brush my hair, put down the brush for ten seconds, and spend the next few minutes looking for it. Makes every day an adventure.
Not giving in to minor temptations. If I don't have a strong incentive not to (like being completely, utterly, absolutely broke), I find it very difficult not buy a book that captures my interest, or a bottle of wine that pleases me (either because of the wine, or because of the bottle, usually both). The same applies for having one more glass of wine (when I should be asleep), one more game of mahjong (when I should be working), or one more hour of sleep (well, attempted sleep. I'm a terrible sleeper).
Sleeping. I really, really suck as a sleeper. I often find it difficult to go to sleep early enough, need a quiet place to sleep in (ask my younger brother. According to him I develop supernaturally accurate hearing every day at bedtime), and even if I go to sleep late, I wake up early. The easiest way to make me furious is to prevent me from sleeping when I feel like it. Also, whenever I'm under mental or emotional stress, I react by losing sleep and the little sleep I get is restless (well, to a point. When my stress levels get high enough, I start sleeping twelve hours a day like a baby. But, by then, things are bad). I'm one of the few people I know who can accumulate sleep dept when they can sleep as long as they like.
Sometimes I'm far too good in postponing things, both in small and large scale. Or, to put it more simply, sometimes I really suck in getting things done. I guess my problem is still rather small, as I still do get all the important things done. It's more about postponing things without clear schedules, which affect only me. I do manage to fulfill my obligations, keep my promises, and finish important projects. But sometimes the dishes get to wait a bit. Or the vacuuming. Or my Swedish essays. Or calling my grandparents.
I could continue the list with some of my old favorites, like keeping my mouth shut (I used to be... a bit less considerate), actually to listening to what other people are saying or regarding every conversation as an argument (no, they still don't count points), but these are more or less in control these days (guess I've grown). Regardless, I still know how to be a complete, sarcastic asshole when I'm annoyed.
Lying. I'm a terrible liar. It's not that I can't come up with good lies, or that I would lack imagination, it's just that I'm practically see-through. I can't tell a lie convincingly, unless it's at least partly true. The main problem is, that I find it really difficult to fake emotions. At least people who know me can see right through any facade I might try to maintain. You can tell when I'm not enjoying myself, and you can tell when something is bothering me. Or when I'm annoyed, pleased, or restless. The best I can do, is fake polite interest, which makes social situations far more tolerable.
Putting things back where they belong. This one is responsible for the way my apartment usually looks like. When I lose interest in something, I just usually place it on the closest available surface, be it my bed, floor, desk, or inside my wardrobe. I also immediately move on to something new, often forgetting completely where I've everything is. When I had long hair, I could brush my hair, put down the brush for ten seconds, and spend the next few minutes looking for it. Makes every day an adventure.
Not giving in to minor temptations. If I don't have a strong incentive not to (like being completely, utterly, absolutely broke), I find it very difficult not buy a book that captures my interest, or a bottle of wine that pleases me (either because of the wine, or because of the bottle, usually both). The same applies for having one more glass of wine (when I should be asleep), one more game of mahjong (when I should be working), or one more hour of sleep (well, attempted sleep. I'm a terrible sleeper).
Sleeping. I really, really suck as a sleeper. I often find it difficult to go to sleep early enough, need a quiet place to sleep in (ask my younger brother. According to him I develop supernaturally accurate hearing every day at bedtime), and even if I go to sleep late, I wake up early. The easiest way to make me furious is to prevent me from sleeping when I feel like it. Also, whenever I'm under mental or emotional stress, I react by losing sleep and the little sleep I get is restless (well, to a point. When my stress levels get high enough, I start sleeping twelve hours a day like a baby. But, by then, things are bad). I'm one of the few people I know who can accumulate sleep dept when they can sleep as long as they like.
Sometimes I'm far too good in postponing things, both in small and large scale. Or, to put it more simply, sometimes I really suck in getting things done. I guess my problem is still rather small, as I still do get all the important things done. It's more about postponing things without clear schedules, which affect only me. I do manage to fulfill my obligations, keep my promises, and finish important projects. But sometimes the dishes get to wait a bit. Or the vacuuming. Or my Swedish essays. Or calling my grandparents.
I could continue the list with some of my old favorites, like keeping my mouth shut (I used to be... a bit less considerate), actually to listening to what other people are saying or regarding every conversation as an argument (no, they still don't count points), but these are more or less in control these days (guess I've grown). Regardless, I still know how to be a complete, sarcastic asshole when I'm annoyed.
maanantai 17. maaliskuuta 2008
(Cabin) Fever
I've been down with flu for the last two days. Almost out of nowhere (well, I just thought my muscles were tense) I got fever late Saturday night, after a full day of cooking with friends. And that's what my life has been since: these 20m2, books (can't really concentrate enough to read anything serious), films (well, Totoro demands too much concentrarion from me right now... If I don't get better soon, I'll make someone rent me a full set of romantic comedies and cartoon-based action), re-reading a webcomic (http://www.questionablecontent.net/), playing mahjong and arranging everyone else to take care of all my duties. I'm developing a bad case of cabin fever, to say the least.
Luckily (I guess), I don't have an extreme case. I clearly have fever (37,5-38,7, that's about 100-102 F), but not a very high one (which would sometimes be blissfull, sinve just half a degree more, and I would be blissfully out of it). I can breathe, quite often even through my nose. I ache, but it's mostly somewhat toleralble. Mostly, I don't feel awful unless I try to do something (like go to the bathroom).
The boredom is the worst thing. I can't really do anything (especially I can't concentrate), but I can't really sleep either. So, I have 16 hours a day of continuos stream of conciousness experience. I'm getting sick and tired of my mind.
Luckily, a lot of my friends live nearby. I can call on them for help when I need something. Like more soda, returning my entries for exams on time, getting me some fast food (thanks, Dad), and doing my job in several instances. Doubtless, there will be more. Thank you all, (some in advance).
It's nice to develop small quirks when sick. My eyes are so swollen, that I actually have epicanthal folds now, giving somewhat freaked-out asian look. Other than that (actually, that involved), being down with flu is one the most unsexy conditions on the planet (well, I guess we can blame biology for that). The only benefit is, that you get endless ammount of help out of pity (and trust me, you do look pitiful), and can get out of doing anything. Absolutely anything. Also, I guess kind of a "pitifully cute" look would be possible (I've seen it sometimes), but I don't have it.
I don't really no anymore if I have fever or not at a given time. I can feel absolutely horrible with considerabyl normal body temperature (like this morning), or I can feel pretty normal-fluish with quite a bit of fever. I was honestly surprised when I looked at the thermometer last time. This gives me two indicators of my condition, one subjective and one objective. And as long as one of them tells me I'm sick, I'm not putting my nose out of this flat. Maybe, just maybe I'll have chance of getting this thing over with in less than a week (well, if I'm not okay the after tomorrow, I'll have to skip a pre-planned ferry trip to Stockholm, which would be a shame :(...).
I allowed myself to make a quick supply run for books (from the post office) and groceries today, mostly to preserve my sanity (I could have just called Mikko). Among the books (which, once again, were in a postal sack of their own... I want mass discount!) were biographies of Lenin and Stalin, Neuromancer, Lord of the Flies, The Key of Solomon the King and the Prophet. If I start making really, really weird phone calls, just ignore me. Or if I suddenly start to change my facial hair and style...
Nah, I guess I'll stop babbling and get back to watchin War and Peace (8 hours of Russian historical epoch goodness, oh yeah!).
Luckily (I guess), I don't have an extreme case. I clearly have fever (37,5-38,7, that's about 100-102 F), but not a very high one (which would sometimes be blissfull, sinve just half a degree more, and I would be blissfully out of it). I can breathe, quite often even through my nose. I ache, but it's mostly somewhat toleralble. Mostly, I don't feel awful unless I try to do something (like go to the bathroom).
The boredom is the worst thing. I can't really do anything (especially I can't concentrate), but I can't really sleep either. So, I have 16 hours a day of continuos stream of conciousness experience. I'm getting sick and tired of my mind.
Luckily, a lot of my friends live nearby. I can call on them for help when I need something. Like more soda, returning my entries for exams on time, getting me some fast food (thanks, Dad), and doing my job in several instances. Doubtless, there will be more. Thank you all, (some in advance).
It's nice to develop small quirks when sick. My eyes are so swollen, that I actually have epicanthal folds now, giving somewhat freaked-out asian look. Other than that (actually, that involved), being down with flu is one the most unsexy conditions on the planet (well, I guess we can blame biology for that). The only benefit is, that you get endless ammount of help out of pity (and trust me, you do look pitiful), and can get out of doing anything. Absolutely anything. Also, I guess kind of a "pitifully cute" look would be possible (I've seen it sometimes), but I don't have it.
I don't really no anymore if I have fever or not at a given time. I can feel absolutely horrible with considerabyl normal body temperature (like this morning), or I can feel pretty normal-fluish with quite a bit of fever. I was honestly surprised when I looked at the thermometer last time. This gives me two indicators of my condition, one subjective and one objective. And as long as one of them tells me I'm sick, I'm not putting my nose out of this flat. Maybe, just maybe I'll have chance of getting this thing over with in less than a week (well, if I'm not okay the after tomorrow, I'll have to skip a pre-planned ferry trip to Stockholm, which would be a shame :(...).
I allowed myself to make a quick supply run for books (from the post office) and groceries today, mostly to preserve my sanity (I could have just called Mikko). Among the books (which, once again, were in a postal sack of their own... I want mass discount!) were biographies of Lenin and Stalin, Neuromancer, Lord of the Flies, The Key of Solomon the King and the Prophet. If I start making really, really weird phone calls, just ignore me. Or if I suddenly start to change my facial hair and style...
Nah, I guess I'll stop babbling and get back to watchin War and Peace (8 hours of Russian historical epoch goodness, oh yeah!).
perjantai 14. maaliskuuta 2008
Missing Russia, or the uncomplicated lightness of being
Every few weeks or so I find myself missing Russia immensely. Well, not Russia in general, but Yaroslavl'. Spending eight months somewhere is enough to make the place a permanent part of yourself. Of course, it's not the place. It's the people. The moments. Even though it has been less than a year. A year ago I was in Yaroslavl, with over two months to go, and my world breaking down around me.
A lot has happened since. It feels like a decade. It was in a different life, a previous one.
Come to think of it, there was something different living in Yaroslavl than here. Even though it was alien (and remained a bit so to the very end), there was lightness of being there. It was easier to breathe, I was more myself.
Maybe it was because I was more in touch with two essential parts of my identity there, more free of conflict. One was being a Finn. The other was being a man.
I've never felt particularly Finnish before I spent more time in Russia. In Finland I've always been the critical one, the one attacking the foundations of nationalistic identity (indeed, I still am), seeing it as built, far too powerful and undesirable. After Russia, I started calling myself a critical patriot. It might been the contrast with Russian nationalism (or patriotism), it might have been the fact that, while I'm in Finland, being Finnish is something I share with almost everyone, while in Russia it's spesific to me, a personal characteristic.
I still laugh at our national myths (which is no different from what I do to everyone else's), but maybe a bit more tolerantly. Here I'm burdened with the reality of Finns, the conservative patriots, the Russia-haters, the aimless, drunk children during the weekend (of course, this is not the whole truth. But neither are the other myths). Abroad I can take only their idea of Finns, see if I like it, and either accept it as a part of my own identity, or not. And in Russia, it's difficult not to like it.
See, regardless of how we feel towards them, they like us.
Being a man is somewhat more complicated. In Finland, I find it difficult. Demands are high, and there is really little or no room to break away from them. And even though I have never hurt a woman in purpose (physically), love children (and want to stay home looking after mine for a time. If I have them, that is), don't mind housework (well, not all of it. I'm not the world's most enthusiastic cleaner, but cooking is a love of mine, and bying groceries is an adventure, and I delight in occasionaly doing the really odd parts of cleaning), don't drink too much, or watch sports (ever, at all), I still can't shrug off the criticism.
The one thing every foreigner with a Finnish wife says, is that it is incredible how Finnish women speak of Finnish men. It's hard to find a good word there. In Russia, this is different.
Russia is no paradise either. To someone like me, it might as well become hell. It's traditional, relatively unbending, and very clear in it's gender roles. But if it fits, it's easy to just slip in. I have never felt as appreciated as a man as I felt in Yaroslavl'. And that was with no romantic tie-ins. Even though the-man-who-cooks was a wonder over there, my other attitudes were sometimes considered... crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. Like the father staying home with kids. Still, even the parts I fit gave me appreciation (as did the parts I didn't, to be honest) I've never felt before.
(Oh, and for a final touch of irony, the parts I didn't fit, but that would have been expected of me were exactly the ones considered masculine (with negative connotations) in Finland: hunting or fishing, watching sports, being a complete chauvinistic asshole.)
I don't know what there is to learn of all this. Maybe it's simply that one should always construct one's own identity, and not only take what is offered off the shelf.
A lot has happened since. It feels like a decade. It was in a different life, a previous one.
Come to think of it, there was something different living in Yaroslavl than here. Even though it was alien (and remained a bit so to the very end), there was lightness of being there. It was easier to breathe, I was more myself.
Maybe it was because I was more in touch with two essential parts of my identity there, more free of conflict. One was being a Finn. The other was being a man.
I've never felt particularly Finnish before I spent more time in Russia. In Finland I've always been the critical one, the one attacking the foundations of nationalistic identity (indeed, I still am), seeing it as built, far too powerful and undesirable. After Russia, I started calling myself a critical patriot. It might been the contrast with Russian nationalism (or patriotism), it might have been the fact that, while I'm in Finland, being Finnish is something I share with almost everyone, while in Russia it's spesific to me, a personal characteristic.
I still laugh at our national myths (which is no different from what I do to everyone else's), but maybe a bit more tolerantly. Here I'm burdened with the reality of Finns, the conservative patriots, the Russia-haters, the aimless, drunk children during the weekend (of course, this is not the whole truth. But neither are the other myths). Abroad I can take only their idea of Finns, see if I like it, and either accept it as a part of my own identity, or not. And in Russia, it's difficult not to like it.
See, regardless of how we feel towards them, they like us.
Being a man is somewhat more complicated. In Finland, I find it difficult. Demands are high, and there is really little or no room to break away from them. And even though I have never hurt a woman in purpose (physically), love children (and want to stay home looking after mine for a time. If I have them, that is), don't mind housework (well, not all of it. I'm not the world's most enthusiastic cleaner, but cooking is a love of mine, and bying groceries is an adventure, and I delight in occasionaly doing the really odd parts of cleaning), don't drink too much, or watch sports (ever, at all), I still can't shrug off the criticism.
The one thing every foreigner with a Finnish wife says, is that it is incredible how Finnish women speak of Finnish men. It's hard to find a good word there. In Russia, this is different.
Russia is no paradise either. To someone like me, it might as well become hell. It's traditional, relatively unbending, and very clear in it's gender roles. But if it fits, it's easy to just slip in. I have never felt as appreciated as a man as I felt in Yaroslavl'. And that was with no romantic tie-ins. Even though the-man-who-cooks was a wonder over there, my other attitudes were sometimes considered... crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. Like the father staying home with kids. Still, even the parts I fit gave me appreciation (as did the parts I didn't, to be honest) I've never felt before.
(Oh, and for a final touch of irony, the parts I didn't fit, but that would have been expected of me were exactly the ones considered masculine (with negative connotations) in Finland: hunting or fishing, watching sports, being a complete chauvinistic asshole.)
I don't know what there is to learn of all this. Maybe it's simply that one should always construct one's own identity, and not only take what is offered off the shelf.
Statistics of my time, or where I wake up in the morning
I had a sudden realisation while taking a shower this morning: I've become one of those people, who spend less than half of the year at home. A quick check with iCal on my laptop (no, I wasn't in the shower anymore) told me that Nov '07 - Oct '08 I have 229 realized and projected mornings, when I wake up somewhere else. And the estimate is conservative, there will propapbly be more of them.
Most of it comes from working in Moscow, of course. I worked there
for two months from November to early January (60 mornings), and will be working there from 26th of May to the end of September (estimate, projected 128 mornings). Well, that's more than half a year already.
Partly because I spend so much time abroad, our summer cottage has a relatively small number of wakings (6, all projected), and even those are only because I have a trip for robbers roast planned, and American guests coming over in May. Helsinki has become more common since I became a member of the board of Young Fedealists of Finland (and maybe my parents living there nowadays helped too). It has 9 realised and projected mornings this spring, and almost certainly more will come in the fall (not counted here).
Another larger segment comes from a planned (and pretty certain) trip to the States in October, two or three weeks it should be (counted as 14 mornings here). The rest comes from small things, like a ferry trip (2 mornings, projected), a trip to Lapland (4 mornings, realised), or just waking up in Jyväskylä somewhere else than home (6 mornings, all realised, I don't do projections with these).
And when was I supposed to write my master's thesis again?
Most of it comes from working in Moscow, of course. I worked there
for two months from November to early January (60 mornings), and will be working there from 26th of May to the end of September (estimate, projected 128 mornings). Well, that's more than half a year already.
Partly because I spend so much time abroad, our summer cottage has a relatively small number of wakings (6, all projected), and even those are only because I have a trip for robbers roast planned, and American guests coming over in May. Helsinki has become more common since I became a member of the board of Young Fedealists of Finland (and maybe my parents living there nowadays helped too). It has 9 realised and projected mornings this spring, and almost certainly more will come in the fall (not counted here).
Another larger segment comes from a planned (and pretty certain) trip to the States in October, two or three weeks it should be (counted as 14 mornings here). The rest comes from small things, like a ferry trip (2 mornings, projected), a trip to Lapland (4 mornings, realised), or just waking up in Jyväskylä somewhere else than home (6 mornings, all realised, I don't do projections with these).
And when was I supposed to write my master's thesis again?
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