Magic made visible

Yesterday I was in Porvoo, a small coastal town in Souther Finland, founded in the 14th century. It is one of our biggest tourist attractions and I definitely understand why; the historical parts of the city are very beautiful and well-preserved (despite the city being burned down a few times, both by accident and on purpose); the church is one of Finland’s finest; the little villages around are very attractive as well as the nature just outside the city centre. To me Porvoo is much more than that – I spent there a lot of time as a child since my grandmother lives there and my family from her side is from that area. Grandmother’s place was basically my second home for a few years when my mother had a three-shift job in Helsinki. We still visit granny and the lovely Porvoo frequently and I’m always more than happy to go there.

Enough with the introduction.

Yesterday we spent most of the time walking around the old town, dropping by little shops and booths in the marketplace. Right next to the river running through the city there was a wonderful shop located in an old shed. It was something in between a museum and a second-hand shop and the things in there were fantastic: old furniture, paintings, tableware, books, everything. Many amazing things there were that caught my attention but one item I really fell in love with. It was a small painting that sort of seemed to be made of gypsum or something like that but I’m not sure – shamefully I know nothing about art nor materials used to create it. However, the surface of the painting was rough, three-dimensional-looking and very lively. In the picture there was a girl sitting in fetal position facing right, her head bowed, her face buried in her hands. It seemed as if she was sitting on water, her robe becoming one with the waves, her hair flying in the wind. The picture was white with the palest touch of blue in the water, slightest blush in her skin. How beautiful it was! It was utterly ethereal, delicate and enchanting, when I first saw it I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Had it been just a little cheaper I would have bought it without hesitation. Luckily the kind shop owner told me I could take a picture of it which I gladly did – a picture I won’t post here. It would feel unfair, not knowing who the artist was and so on. I’ve described that wonderful thing as well as I can and yet I feel I’ve said nothing at all. Perhaps that is the very core of beauty.

Ash and flow

Yesterday we (’we’ being my mother, my aunt and I) spent the entire day cleaning up the ruins of our summer house. Basically that meant sifting through a huge pile of coal and ash trying to separate all the metal, combustible waste and asbestos (it was an old house, thus the asbestos). In some very odd way I rather enjoyed the work; the weather was nice, the lake was beautiful and I didn’t even mind all the ash eating into my skin, clothes and lungs.  However, the best part of the day followed after the scouring. (Yes, I’m using the word ’scour’ intentionally.)

Swimming. That was the one thing that really made my day and actually was the very best thing about the whole summer thus far. Yesterday was the first time I’ve been to the lake this year and despite the sentimental undertone I swear there is no other lake like that one. There is something deeply soothing and enchanting about that place and it always gives me an extraordinary feeling I’ve never felt in any other place. I’m not really capable of explaining how I feel when rowing or swimming in that lake or just sitting on the rocks and looking over the water. It’s a weird mixture of happiness, tranquility, energy, wistfulness and something I have no word for.

I reached that feeling again yesterday evening as I was floating with my eyes closed and arms stretched, just listening to the water. All of a sudden I felt as if there were no thoughts left in my head, something that is really alien to me. I was either perfectly aware or not aware at all. (Even though the logical impossibility of that slightly annoys me; sometimes I have odd feelings that are complete opposites and yet precisely similar at the same time, I have no idea how to make that understandable. It sort of feels like having two things so far from each other that they actually start to seem close. I don’t know, I guess I’m not making any sense – and perhaps it’s not even necessary to.)

I think I'll add some pictures later once I manage to get them out of my camera (which not playing nicely with the computer at the moment).

Fear to fail

The text you’re about to read is neither more nor less than a pointless lamentation about things that don’t really matter. That is to say, I recommend you to find some other activity than reading my ramblings to spend this fabulous Sunday afternoon.

I have a bad habit of clinging to all kinds of things that tend to be essentially impossible or the very least improbable to ever happen in this beautiful universe of ours. Frankly there are not too many things I want; moneywise I have enough to get by and I’m happy with that, I don’t need more. When it comes to other things such as my inevitable future as a lonely wolf or a mad cat lady – well, that image grew roots in my nervous system so long ago that I accepted it and even learned to like it in some curious way. I don’t really care to bother my brain with such things. There are other things far more puzzling – and frustrating.

My greatest – and probably silliest – fear is that I’ll never get things done. I tend to be slightly ambitious whether it is about studying or other things I wish to be good at. I hate to do things sloppily and superficially, whatever it is I’m doing I want to do it properly. The frustration arises when I realise that my mere will to do things well is not enough to actually make things happen. Perhaps the fear is first and foremost about not being good enough, something I really can’t stand. It’s not just about studying and learning; it’s also about certain silly dreams (or actually one particular dream) I’ve had since I was little and can’t let go despite being totally incapable of making them real. The very point is that the things I want are the kind of things that don’t depend on luck, circumstances or other variables. Therefore this rambling comes down to one conclusion I’m about to face once again:

I suck. Majorly. Again.

Did I make any sense? Guess I didn’t.

A few words about something much more fascinating than the self-pity-oriented whining above: last week I took a late night walk and enjoyed a wonderful, foggy midnight moment. The air was really fresh and clear and to my great pleasure I saw several bats flying back and forth, probably trying to find dinner (or perhaps it was breakfast for them). I find bats really cool and cute with their beautifully shaped wings and furry bodies, such fascinating creatures of the night they are.

I know the picture is crappy but believe me, it is a bat.