stinesundet

//weheartit

We're all part of the same world. How could we ever take this for granted? 

The bright, pink lipstick
That you wear every single day
Leaving small pink roses on our blue kitchen-glasses
(Freaking out my brother)
Traces of you.
And your perfume
Always present in the door of our refrigerator
The beautiful yellow bottle
Misplaced amongst tomato-sauce and eggs
How you spray it on your neck every morning
Your scent filling up the room
Traces of you.
And the cigarettes you used to smoke
Thinking I didn't know, that I didn't understand
How that day when I came early home from school
You hid it behind your back
The smoke floating up towards the sky
Like your lies
Traces of you.
And your scribblings in yesterday's newspaper
Blue ink and meaningless words
Taken out of context
During hour-long phone calls to friends
Traces of you.
And how you love flowers
How you let them fill our home
In every window, and on every table
Traces of you.
And that time when you put Tabasco sauce
On every door and corner
In a desperate attempt to prevent our puppy
From chewing them to pieces
How the red stains will never come of
Traces of you.
Everywhere
Traces of you. 

//wehearit 

I'm the girl in the green jacket,
the one who's always happy, but never really is.
I'm the girl with no favourite colour,
who drinks Coke on a Monday, and have broken her front-tooth three times.
I'm the one who will find a song I love, and then listen to it a hundred times. Night and day, on endless repeat, cause it feels like no other song could ever compare, so why listen to anything else?
(right now that song is I'm allright by Stereophonics)
I'm the one who wanted to leave everything and start over, and who did, but doesn't feel any braver than I used to be.
I think that converse it the right shoe for any occasion, but I wish I had the willpower to use heals (they're too damn painful. And I guess I'm tall enough already, right?)
I'm the girl who hates the smell of a subway-restaurant more than any other smell I've ever known.
I'm afraid (of what?)
Of failing
Of never finding a dream worth fighting for
Of the future
Of the past
Of not locking my front door when I'm alone
Of waves
Of people I think are really cool
Of growing up (A life as Peter Pan would be ok)
Of losing the ones that matter
I'm not afraid
Of dying
Of heights
Of raw fish
Of opening up when the time is right
Of my emotions
Of singing in the shower 
I'm the girl who always puts things in incredibly smart places, resulting in them being lost forever.
I'm the girl who forgets her plans and deadlines, forgets words and moments, and smells, and things I wish I could remember forever (is everything I have ever forgotten as big as a house?).
I'm the girl who wears lipstick to university
I'm the girl who loved banana and caviar on my slice of bread (thanks Dad)
The one who never brings a camera anywhere, but wish I had pictures of every single moment. Even though I hate in when it's a good moment, and people suddenly puts a camera in your face, because they want the moment to last forever. By the time the picture is taken the moment is gone, and you didn't even appreciate it, cause you were to busy looking pretty, and not getting a double chin.
I'm the one who loves sleep, and used to sleep 10 hours a day, but suddenly lie awake every night, looking out my window, wanting to sleep, but has too much on my mind.
The Secret Life of Bees is my favourite book, and I've read it more than seven times. One day, when the timing's right, I'll give it to someone who matters, and they'll try to figure out all the lines and words and circles I've put in there, with many different pens and pencils, in different moments. They will probably never figure it out. 
I'm the girl who wants to write poetry on paper napkins, but never seem to find the right words.
I've always wanted to faint, and some times I wish that I could fly. 

Vinter i Brisbane. For mange tanker i hodet. Lukten av bål i gatene på kveldstid, mørket kommer (for) tidlig. På dagen står vinduene åpne, men så fort kvelden kommer krypende trekkes jakken litt tettere intill kroppen. Jeg har alltid hørt at det er våren som er årstiden for nye begynnelser, men i år ser det ut til at det er vinteren som er det. Akkurat nå føler jeg at jeg befinner meg midt mellom en slutt og en begynnelse. Jeg har kommet hjem, men ingenting er som før. Jeg går rundt i gatene jeg kjenner så godt, hvor jeg vet om hvert eneste hus og hvert eneste tre, men plutselig virker de helt ukjente for meg. Som når jeg står på buss stoppet alene og tenker at forrige gang jeg var her stod jeg ikke alene, men hadde 15 høylydte, leende ungdommer rundt meg. Familien min var på buss stoppet med meg, og vi var på vei mot nye eventyr vi bare skulle huske små usammenghengende biter av morgenen etter. Men nå må jeg altså stå der alene. De har dratt, og de kommer ikke tilbake. De har dratt tilbake til sine liv, sin hverdag, mens min hverdag må fortsette her. Og alt som er igjen etter dem er skygger av minner på hvert gatehjørne og utested, i hvert eneste rom. 

Men nye fjes dukker også opp, og jeg snakker om ting jeg aldri har snakket om før, men mennesker som ser ting fra vinkler jeg aldri har tenkt på. Jeg går rundt i nye gater, og snart vil jeg kjenne hvert eneste hus og tre her også. Og kanskje en dag, snart, slutter de gatene jeg kjenner så godt fra før å virke så tomme og fremmede. Snart fylles de med nye minner, og bilder i hodet mitt. 
Jeg går til steder jeg aldri har vært før, spiser ny mat, finner ny musikk, oppdager byen min på nytt. Tar elvefergen til skolen, sitter på den store gressplenen, men solen i ansiktet, og penn og papir i hånden, og tenker at ting ordner seg.

 













The moment brought me back to the summer I turned nine.

 A late day in August. The summer was about to end. I had pushed it in front of me all summer, and now I was left with no choice. The days were getting shorter, the water colder. I couldn't wait any longer. I remembered the feeling of butterflies waving their wings so hard they created a storm inside my stomach as I looked down on the water. I never knew ten metres was this high? I had seen the cliff from the beach hundreds of times, and it seemed high enough, it really did, but nothing like this. Why was I putting myself through this? The answer was simple, yet I had to ask it, because at that moment, nothing seemed simple. Every boy in school knew that the summer you turned nine, you had to jump off the ten-metre cliff at Green-Bay beach. A very few dared to do it the summer before; they were legends. But this was the last summer you could do it, and still call yourself a man. A few of the boys didn't, and probably never would; they chose to live as cowards. I was not a coward.

The sun was bright in my face, all the colours of the world seemed faded to white. Red turned to pink, and green to mint. It looked so beautiful and surreal. A little like the old photographs hanging on my grandma's wall, washed out by time. Not only the colours of the world were faded, but the sounds as well. I could hear the cry of a baby, as if it was a thousand miles away, and the laughter of the tiny people swimming around in the water below me. This moment, which was so defining for me, was just like any other moment to them. I felt like I was in a little world of my own. A world where everything was about to change, the hero was about to defeat the dragon. I wasn't even sure if I could give myself the title hero. I hadn't done anything heroic yet, but this was about to change. The only problem was that the sword was so heavy, the dragon too close by. 

The beach was one of those beaches with no trace of sand, not even a handful. Only rocks; big rocks, small rocks, sharp rocks, and rounded rocks. This might be why there never were any tourists around, or maybe because they didn't know of it. Usually I was very happy that there was no sand, because you didn't have to worry about getting it all over the place: in your swimwear, in your hair, in your eyes and nose and brain. You didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night, days after going to the beach, because the sand was all over your sheets. This was cleaner, easier, and more comfortable. But today, I was more worried about the whole sharp-rocks-at-the-bottom-of-the-lake than the cleanliness, and had a hard time remembering what was good about rocks. A little sand had never hurt anyone - rocks sure had. 

As I stood there, looking down at my destiny, the queue behind me was getting longer. People waited in line. I remembered the wizard novel I had been reading all summer, and how the wizard always used his magic wand to get out of trouble. I thought that now would be a perfect time to have magical powers. To disappear. The boys in the line were older than me. They jumped this cliff as if it was no more than a metre high. I wanted to remind them that this was actually ten metres, and a bit more serious than they might think. But I wouldn't dare talk to them like that, not the older boys. Actually, I wouldn't dare talking to them at all. 

I had waited long enough. It was now or never. (A part of me thought that never would be ok). I started backing a few steps away from the edge. I leapt off the cliff; there was no turning back. Do you know how people say that when you think you're about to die, you see your whole life flashing in front of you? I always thought this was nonsense, grown ups trying to be deep, talking in codes their kids were unable to understand. How would people have the time to see their whole life flashing before them in only a couple of seconds? If I should tell you about my life, it sure would take more than seconds - probably hours, and my life wasn't even that long. Nine years is nothing, compared to a life. It turned out I was wrong, 'cause as I jumped off that cliff, not knowing what would happen, when I would hit the water, if I would even survive, I could really see my life flashing before me. I could see all of the important and defining moments of my life, and even the less important ones. My life. And all of this, hanging there, between space and time, in thin air. When I've seen people jumping off this cliff before, it's over just like that, now it seemed to be taking forever.

I looked at her: the complexion of her face, the slenderness of her body. The sun in her eyes gave her a weird expression. Squinting. She seemed so grown up for sixteen. I waited for her answer; it felt like time stood still.  She pulled her jacket closer around her body, shivered. Late autumn usually had that effect on people.  For a short second, I could feel her scent in the wind, a mix of apple and honey that always reminded me of her, and of falling leaves. Something about this time of year suited her so perfectly.  She looked up, directly into my eyes, I couldn?t figure out what her expression meant.
-'... I'm sorry. But I'm busy this Saturday, sorry... And, by the way, I'm busy next weekend as well, and the one after. But thanks anyway. See you.'

I hit the surface with a big splash. The water was ice cold against my skin. It surrounded me. The sound of laughter and children playing on the beach drowned, and suddenly all sounds just disappeared, and everything was completely silent. I could feel the goosebumps spread over my body in only a second. I reached the surface, and gasped for air. 

I asked myself: what is worse - the actual jump, or the second before? 



Som noen av dere sikkert vet, gjør jeg et kurs kalt Creative Writing dette semesteret. Noen uker tilbake fikk vi i oppgave å skrive en novelle på 100 ord. Dette ble reslutatet: 

She was not about to go down that road. Not this time.
She had promised herself that (as she had a hundred times before. Not much of a promise, really? Well, this time it would be. It had to).
Her heels were hurting her feet, and the music was too loud. Why had she come here?  She didn?t know. Didn't want to find out.
The taste of rum and coke reminded her of what had once been.
Noise, then silence.

 She went home, the sun bright in her face.
Even after a long shower, she could smell him on her skin. 



Trang bil og dårlig musikk på radioen. Latter og sang. Fem gode mennesker. (De beste menneskene). Et bagasjerom stappfullt av klær, telt, mat og liggeunderlag - alt i et eneste stort kaos. Regn hver eneste dag. Sjø, land og fjell. Klissvåte, kalde telt på nettene. Ligge tett sammen for å holde varmen. Våkne midt på natten fordi det regner inn gjennom teltet. Røtter som lager hull i liggeunderlaget og gjør det umulig å finne en god stilling å sove i. To kasser øl, og en kasse cider. En kortstokk som var ny og plettfri da vi dro, men som nå forteller mer om turen enn jeg noen gang kunne beskrevet med ord. Campe på stranden, våkne til lyden av bølgene som slår mot hverandre. Lyden fyller deg, du kunne hørt på den i timesvis. Du føler deg plutselig mer i et med naturen enn du noen gang har gjort tidligere. Morgenbad og solen som blender deg i øynene (før det begynner å regne igjen). Alle klær, dyner og puter er våte, møkkete og lukter telttur. Sand i teltet. Sand på hjernen. Nye steder å se. Nye inntrykk å ta inn. Sene kvelder og tidlige morninger. 999 km lagt bak oss. Brød med potetgull til middag. Sår nakke og minner for livet. 





















 

Jeg husker da lørdag kveld betydde film, familietid, popcorn, taco til middag og pusen i armkroken. Nå betyr det sminke og kjole istedenfor pysj, vin istedenfor cola. Venner istedenfor familie. Søndag morgen betyr fyllesyke istedenfor felles frokost rundt langbordet, og lekser istedenfor filmer i sofakroken hele dagen, godt pakket inn i ullteppet. Middag betyr pasta med smør og ketshup, istedenfor Mammas hjemmelagde lapskaus. Å finne på noe med venner betyr ikke lenger å smøre verdens største matpakke og dra i stallen hele dagen for å pusse saltøy og ri seg en lang tur i skogen, eller å ha teater for foreldrene, eller film-maraton med ansiktsmasker og hemmeligheter. Nå betyr det å putte på de høye helene og dra ut å byen, danse og drikke. Lese-lekser på skolen er ikke lenger å lese ti sider i lese-løve bøkene, men heller å lese et helt stykke av Shakespeare. Livet går forbi, vi utvikler og forander oss. Ting betyr ikke lenger hva de en gang gjorde. Hva som en gang var fantasisk og storslått er nå kjedelig, hva som en gang virket utfordrende er nå lett som en lek, vi har nye utfordringer istede, langt vanskeligere. Og om noen år vil vi kanskje synes de utfordringene vi møter nå er like lette og små, som de vi nå ser tilbake på. Jeg tar meg selv i å ønske at ting var som de en gang var. Jeg vil tilbake til den tiden da å gå en tre timers tur på fjellet var som å dra på oppdagelsesferd over hele verden. Tilbake til den tiden da 15 kroner til godteri hver lørdag var en fest, og vi følte oss som konger og dronninger da vi satt der med hver vår pose salte sild. Tilbake til den tiden hvor madrasser, tepper og puter var alt som trengtes for å lage slott og pallasser, eller mulvarp-huler.
Men hvorfor bruke energi på å lengte tilbake til det som en gang var? Det var en fantastisk tid, men jeg vet jo at jeg aldri kan få den tilbake. Og om jeg kunne dratt tilbake, ville ting virket like fantastiske som jeg husker dem? Neppe. Så det er bare å fokuserer på tiden vi er i nå. Den er jo i grunnen ganske fantastisk den og, er den ikke? Kjenne hvordan det er å være på toppen av verden, hvor ingen holder deg tilbake, eller forteller deg hva du kan og ikke kan gjøre. Dette er tiden til å finne ut hva vi vil med livet, hvor vi skal, hvem vi er og hvem vi vil bli.
 Og om noen år lengter vi sikkert tilbake til denne tiden, og innser hvor naive og uvitende vi egentlig er.