The end! Summary of what books I read during the trip, and about that time I fell into the ocean with my bag.
Tag Archives: writing
I know who I am, so you don’t have to
Some do
And that’s nice
But you don’t have to
.
I used to write about it.
Now I have the words for it.
Now I don’t need to find them.
(Okay, I know you’re not supposed to explain things like that, that was just a short little text you guys should have your own interpretation of, but actually I wrote that down because I looked through this blog and I used to write these really pretentious texts (and I still do), but they were sort of poetic, my thoughts about life and whatever I was fighting myself about at the moment. I still do that. Write things in my journal, about whatever mess I’ve got going on in my head this time. The thing is, it’s always the same mess. How do I write that a million ways. No, why?)
I fall asleep at the bottom of the ocean.
Kenya Art Journal 10/13
A few journal pages at the same time, because now we come to where I didn’t put as much effort into every page. But we still have a beautiful painting by my friend Tami, and some more stories from our time in the desert.
The Weak Week
Today I woke up at six and was out the door before seven. I do like the concept of morning walks, but I don’t feel the need to prolong them, can’t let my mind sing to the beat of footsteps the way it does at night. I’m too aware. But that means I don’t need a lot of time. I walked along the bike lanes through the forest and I saw the white clouded sky and wet green trees, felt a few drops of water. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, thinking that this was the perfect prelude to a warm bath.
The thing is, I haven’t been to work since monday. I’m stressed out and have had some breakdowns over the weeks. I feel a weird mixture of feelings I haven’t quite figured out yet and maybe that bothers me the most. It’s not that I don’t like it, and I love the kids, but it’s been a bit too much and I just can’t handle it. I’ve decided that I will continue though, like it was said, until christmas.
I don’t feel strange being home, just normal again. At times I stress out because I feel like I need to use the time to do more, but I’ve still had some good days. Yesterday my friend came over and we went with our longboards out on the empty roads in the night, where there were no streetlights so everything was a grey/black blur. I felt like someone else, wearing a grey hoodie and converse. Then we went sunbathing on my driveway, like we usually do. With our longboards as pillows stars floated in and out of vision as clouds covered them and moved. As people walked by on the street we tried and failed not to laugh.
September 23rd 2016
Kenya Art Journal 7/13
The story of the small town by the Kenyan border.
Midnight Thoughts
How do I accept this? How do I find so much faith in forgiveness that I’m not even scared of sinning, making mistakes anymore. Not that I should, but maybe winning is when I’ll stop being scared that I’ll fall. Come to the psyche-challenging, all conquering notion that there’s no such thing as falling, only grace, and when will I stop worshipping what I think I deserve.
These are the midnight thoughts that creep through my brain. Either in this form, but usually behind something else.
Kenya Art Journal 6/13
The time we went to Busia. Quick bus sketch and me getting malaria.
What’s the Appropriate Truth?
I feel like I can solve situations if I just manage to figure out what to tell myself. Or what I’m already saying. Maybe that first. What subconscious thought patterns must I yell something at to make them change?
Kenya Art Journal 4/13
View from the orphanage in Nairobi, and about stars.
eirians 