Home. Or rather, what I preferr to percieve as what used to be home...
The phrase ”Turkey is home now. This is just a visit.” started as a decisive slogan in my mind as the airport bus left Fethiye, turned into a mantra somewhere in the air between Istanbul and Copenhagen, and as I crossed the bridge over to Sweden a desperate prayer crouching in a darkened corner of my mind, ...
I do not even know why it is important. My mind is set for this to be true, but somehow I’m having difficulties convincing myself...
The first true signs of Sweden hits me as I exit the train in Malmö - A sign littered with huge capitals: NO SMOKING! And another one just beneath it: NO SKATEBOARDING!
Sweden!
The country of excessive prohibitions and vain rationality. And beyond the two signs a clean, spotless platform walked upon by the living ancestors of dead warriors, facial expressions reflecting how the cold of the North gave birth to and finally adapted to prohibition and rationality.
- The silent war within and apathy towards everything else... Every face on that platform is a cold reflection of whom I used to be and what I ran away from...
Realising this, I decide I cannot face the ghost of my former self just yet, thus I seek refuge at a friend’s house. Two days of excessive drinking, smoking and rejoicing later I have no choice but to head for my parents old farmhouse. My body is devastated after sleeping on a hard log inside a primitive sweat lodge in the middle of a mosquito-infested, drizzling cold nature reserve claimed to be the haunting grounds of local phantasms.
Whom alive could ever know the purpose of a ghost, all I know for certain they are not apathetic. But I guess I was too drunk to let them harass me, perhaps they chose other victims...
I used to believe in ghosts, now I know for a fact they exist.
Finally alone, I open the door to my parents’ house. Noone is home. And for the first time in four months I can hear my heart beat again... Sweden is cold, Sweden is silent... So very silent... A silence full of rage and despise!
There is a sadness in the walls, a weariness in the floor, a hopelessness in the beams of the roof, stalactites like sticky tar, piercing my skull, burrowing its way to my heart and soul. An angry ghost full of spite and despair.
It is the ghost of the dead person I used to be and he is beckoning me to return him to life...
How many times have I not turned apathy into action and left this place only to return?
How many times have I not succumbed to apathy yet again when returning?
Too many!
He knows it is different this time and he is furious... I am traitor and I am not welcome in this house any more. I cannot tell if it occurring in my mind or in the world or what’s really the difference between the two, all I know is that the house is shaking with anger and I shall have to face it...
Alone, scared and unyielding...
There are three beds of choice on the upper floor of my parents’ house - one for rest, one for nightmares and one for sorrow. Tonight I choose the bed of nightmares, I see no reason to postpone the inevitable... And I have a message for my nightmares: I want to tell them there’s a war out there worse than that of one man and her ego, and it is a war that must be fought and it will not sustain the weakness of the past...
Yet the next morning I awake rested, no nightmares, all silent but the birds outside the window...
The war against apathy has begun...
The phrase ”Turkey is home now. This is just a visit.” started as a decisive slogan in my mind as the airport bus left Fethiye, turned into a mantra somewhere in the air between Istanbul and Copenhagen, and as I crossed the bridge over to Sweden a desperate prayer crouching in a darkened corner of my mind, ...
I do not even know why it is important. My mind is set for this to be true, but somehow I’m having difficulties convincing myself...
The first true signs of Sweden hits me as I exit the train in Malmö - A sign littered with huge capitals: NO SMOKING! And another one just beneath it: NO SKATEBOARDING!
Sweden!
The country of excessive prohibitions and vain rationality. And beyond the two signs a clean, spotless platform walked upon by the living ancestors of dead warriors, facial expressions reflecting how the cold of the North gave birth to and finally adapted to prohibition and rationality.
- The silent war within and apathy towards everything else... Every face on that platform is a cold reflection of whom I used to be and what I ran away from...
Realising this, I decide I cannot face the ghost of my former self just yet, thus I seek refuge at a friend’s house. Two days of excessive drinking, smoking and rejoicing later I have no choice but to head for my parents old farmhouse. My body is devastated after sleeping on a hard log inside a primitive sweat lodge in the middle of a mosquito-infested, drizzling cold nature reserve claimed to be the haunting grounds of local phantasms.
Whom alive could ever know the purpose of a ghost, all I know for certain they are not apathetic. But I guess I was too drunk to let them harass me, perhaps they chose other victims...
I used to believe in ghosts, now I know for a fact they exist.
Finally alone, I open the door to my parents’ house. Noone is home. And for the first time in four months I can hear my heart beat again... Sweden is cold, Sweden is silent... So very silent... A silence full of rage and despise!
There is a sadness in the walls, a weariness in the floor, a hopelessness in the beams of the roof, stalactites like sticky tar, piercing my skull, burrowing its way to my heart and soul. An angry ghost full of spite and despair.
It is the ghost of the dead person I used to be and he is beckoning me to return him to life...
How many times have I not turned apathy into action and left this place only to return?
How many times have I not succumbed to apathy yet again when returning?
Too many!
He knows it is different this time and he is furious... I am traitor and I am not welcome in this house any more. I cannot tell if it occurring in my mind or in the world or what’s really the difference between the two, all I know is that the house is shaking with anger and I shall have to face it...
Alone, scared and unyielding...
There are three beds of choice on the upper floor of my parents’ house - one for rest, one for nightmares and one for sorrow. Tonight I choose the bed of nightmares, I see no reason to postpone the inevitable... And I have a message for my nightmares: I want to tell them there’s a war out there worse than that of one man and her ego, and it is a war that must be fought and it will not sustain the weakness of the past...
Yet the next morning I awake rested, no nightmares, all silent but the birds outside the window...
The war against apathy has begun...
