‘Things in my bag’ or as I like to call it now; ‘(some of the) things that fell in the ocean.’ Also a picture of planet Earth.
Tag Archives: travel
Kenya Art Journal 2/13
About flowers and painting portraits of street kids.
Kenya Art Journal 1/13
Portrait of a girl called Lucy, and fingerprints from kids at the orphanage.
Kenya Art Journal – 0/13
This notebook has a surprisingly long story. I wanted one for years, and you can’t get them in Sweden, but I saw that they had them in a physical shop in Sarasota. And I remember thinking ‘hey, that’s where that school thing is, what if I actually go there one day and can buy one.’ And I did. I forgot about the notebook though. Until I needed a new one after a couple of months and actually found the link to the store in the old bookmarks on my computer (ah, that time before Pinterest). And I discovered that it was a 20 minute bike ride away. So I went there, it’s a GORGEOUS shop, and found a little stand with all of the notebooks from this brand. It’s weird how life works out.
And I got one. One that I brought with me to Kenya, to have as my fancy travel journal (I had a moleskine as well, for all my messy thoughts), and so I thought I’d share some pages from it over the following days.
Also, this is not a review, but let’s appreciate that this notebook literally fell into the ocean. For some unknown reason I had it, together with my bible and other notebook, in a plastic bag inside my normal bag. I really don’t know why (one of those things you can call luck or God). But when it fell in the ocean, my other notebook and bible were just a little bit damaged and this one was completely fine. Which testifies to how good it is with watercolours, you can apply as much water as you want, and the page will still lay flat.
I’m (not) sorry, but I’m just really passionate about this notebook.
(Btw, it’s this one: http://www.stillmanandbirn.com/beta.html !)
I Fell Into the Ocean
In Kenya.
One of the last days I was there.
Now the thing is, having lived without real bathrooms and beds for two months, I felt like it was okay to look forward to just relaxing in front of the computer when I got back.
But it fell into the ocean. With all my pictures from the journey, all old documents of things I’d written. And my phone fell as well. My camera, my lens, passport, notebooks, money, e-reader.. I fell into the ocean and I took my bag with me.
I felt empty. And sad, I don’t know why I’m always sad. But also changed, even now when I feel a lot better about it, I still feel different.Which is weird and pretentious, like something that would happen in a book. But I really do feel as if something inevitably changed in me.
And I like it, I feel free, but it also means blog posts will be more rare, and it annoys me to death that I can’t take photos. (So I guess I’ll have to write it).
Power
My empty cup smells like salt water, and I leave Florida soon but I haven’t written about the ocean yet. My thoughts drown before I even manage to get my feet wet. So I remind myself of the tides that have been promised me, I don’t chase the waves but are lifted by the power of the moon.
.Journal Page of the Day.2/3.
All Good Things Are Wild and Free
I stayed behind yesterday. We went downtown to have a photoshoot and I stayed when my friends went back. I walked around in that detached-from-reality kind of way and looked at how the city I stay in looks like a postcard. Clear skies and shiny metal buildings and palms and palms and palms, sun that makes your face melt off.
Then I sat down on the rocks and was happy.
And this might sound sad, but I loved going to a sea that wasn’t full of memories. In Sweden it’s tiny towns and cozy houses and driftwood, people with wrinkles too deep, an ocean that slowly breaks everything. Here everything just is. No childhood memories. Just sturdy rocks and people dancing.
The bridge before I ran over it.
The bridge after I ran over it, resting on a bench in the shade. My face was so red people gave me worried glances when they saw me.
My postcard wish is that you don’t send me home.
(Also, backstage from the photoshoot..:
wow)
Mini Moleskine
My pocket moleskine, and what I’ve filled it with so far:
Zambia Travel Diary – Last Day
2015.09.22 02.02 There’s someone screaming on the plane. Not constantly, just every now and then, but imagine a man’s voice sounding like a baby that’s almost crying. Also the movie I just watched left me with a bit of a bad feeling. I know I shouldn’t be scared, and I don’t know if it’s offensive that I am, but I decided to take a short walk and must’ve walked past where he sat so he started screaming and clawing with his hands (he sat a few seats in by the windows though) and I jumped and almost ran a few steps. Now in my seat with my heart still hammering, but it doesn’t really matter because I don’t think I could have gone to sleep anyway and now at least I’m not stuck in some middle stage.
This made me think of what a good story idea it would be to have someone mentally ill try to take control over a plane, and then make it really disturbing (Not to judge this man in question, literally don’t know anything about him), but the story idea creeps me out even more.
09.09 We’re landing. I can’t decide how much I mind. But I do want to take a walk through the forest behind my house. Just a short one. Because that’s a part of me and my childhood, but not, never, part of the frustrating feeling I want to move away from home for. (Sidenote: The 2nd Law by Muse on low volume is a very suitable background for flying today)
16.32 It wasn’t as cold as I would’ve expected when we stepped off the plane. Sweater was quite enough even though I could feel the colder air on my face, clear and crisp. It’s definitely autumn, but the leaves are still green, the sun still brings warmth to your face and the sky was blue. It could almost be a spring day, one of those early ones when you make an attempt at walking barefoot but the stones are cold under your feet. Or an early morning at a summer scout camp, or taking a break from skiing and having your body warm and the sun reflecting on the snow to melt your icy face even though the air is cold. I love these things so very deeply.
I did take a walk when I got home, even though it had started to rain and drops slid down my face. I found some colourful leaves then, that showed me that maybe this is autumn, but I don’t mind, that’s what I had expected. I am, however, gonna take a warm, long bath now. (I realise right before getting into the bathtub that my hair still smells like Zambia)
21.52 I’ve never been very patriotic. I love and very strongly dislike my country in the way you do with things that are what you are, yet so very different and they don’t understand. I love the way the world looks now, with the possibility to be international and unbound by cultures and borders, belonging everywhere and belonging nowhere, and it was first recently that I realised that regardless of the rest of my life, I will always be Swedish. It’s too late, I’ve already spent too much time here. I still try to ignore it though, maybe because most of the time I don’t even feel it. It’s like what I wrote earlier, that I don’t feel like I’m coming home, I’m just going to a different country. Lies, lies, how could I believe that it wouldn’t affect me to see it from the sky, forests and small fields surrounded by tiny red houses, like toys my brother played with when he was younger. How could I believe I wouldn’t react to the smell of it, like I’m inhaling lakes and forests, or the way everything is green green when we drive from the airport under blue sky dotted with tiny clouds, the sun shining down on my from the side window and the air bright in my lungs.
I feel like this is the thing I will never remember, and always be taken back by. I can see it, the type of life I want, filled with travelling and differences, and the way I always forget until I’m welcomed home, like the way I was welcomed home today while walking through the forest, the rain drawing tears on my cheeks like a sacrifice, like a purification, like a reminder that you’re here and you’re tiny, these forests knew you before and will bloom for many afters.
It’s a weird thing to have, such a big home.
(And I’m happy now, curled up and warm under white sheets, with the misty and dark autumn night outside. It’s different, jumping into autumn like this, because I like time to long for things, like eating chocolate and savouring each tiny bit, but now I’ve mashed it into my mouth and life is big, grander, great and waiting for me outside the door.) Goodnight.
eirians 