Thursday, June 28, 2007
Packing Australia, Round 2
Almost three months ago, I was packing up everything that I couldn't bear to part with, but could do without for a couple months (most of my clothes, shoes, books, and sentimental objects like letters and photos). Now it's time for round two, when I'm donating everything to charity except for the bare essentials and valuables... Hopefully it doesn't come up to more than 20 kgs! I'll be traveling with my guitar again... my poor guitar that only gets played when someone who can actually play comes over... but which I love so much that I couldn't bear to actually sell it or give to anyone.
I wish I could carry Sidhaesh like that over to the other side of the world... but I guess he's got his own studies to finish, and isn't as crazy as me when it comes to suddenly uprooting.
It seems my life is a series of sudden departures... I wish I had the time to say goodbye to people properly, but then again, maybe dragging goodbyes on really just ruins the moment? I don't know, I've never been able to follow my plans the way I've wanted to follow them.
So... Five days to go... Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday
The days are so blurred into each other at this stage that I don't know what I'm doing on what day anymore.
Packing is tough, it's final.
fon @ 9:02 AM link to post * *
Monday, June 25, 2007
8 days to go
The travel agent probably thought I was a bit nuts today... I walked in, explained the situation, said I have a funeral to attend and must be in Finland by the 6th evening or 7th early morning. And instead of me smiling when he announced that I miraculously secured the final seat, I burst out in tears. Whatever he said, it probably would have spurred the same reaction. After all, on the one hand, I've got a funeral to attend in Finland, and on the other hand, I've not got many friends that I just won't get a chance to say farewell to. Now I just got to pay the difference for the tickets.
So...
Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday....
and Wednesday I'm off.
Tomorrow evening I'll have to drop in on the Spaghetti Tree people.
Wednesday, coffee with Maddy, then Aditya, TG, Sarinda over for dinner.
Thursday? Must think of someone to see...
Friday? Dinner with Sanjeev, Sabrina, Vijay and Jeremy.
Saturday, I'll go to SAIL... and gotta have lunch with the girls. And maybe a farewell party?
Sunday? Maybe I'll shift to Sid's place.
Monday, Tuesday, cry a little...
Wednesday, fly
I won't be seeing Daeshy until December now. I hope he comes.
And well, everyone else...? Who knows when? Well, Alex has decided to come see Finland, so at least I'll see one friend very soon.
fon @ 4:52 PM link to post * *
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
grandfather
Two men and a little lady: Vaari (ie, Grandpa), Alba (my dog), and Isa (Dad)
A couple years back I wrote a story about my grandfather... it was fictional. But now I think it's an appropriate time to post it. Vaari (that's grandfather in Finnish), I'm sorry I didn't see you before you went, but I guess if it's time to go, it's time to go. Perhaps you'll visit me in my dreams. I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight!
Here's the story... this one is for you, Vaari:
My grandfather has firm hands, but they are soft and gentle. These hands taught me to drive a nail through a block of wood. They taught me to shakily wield a paintbrush, dripping in black paint. That paint-brush coloured rain-shelters for my three dogs. His hands painted loving scenes of idyllic Finland – scenes of the quiet streams and sunbathing summer forests where he was born. His hands held onto the railing as he boarded the train that bore him into Helsinki as a student, then as a working father. His hands worked for his country. His hands willingly gave of his earnings so that his nation might care for him when his hands could no longer catch him.
I called my grandfather yesterday. He was happy to hear his grand-daughter tell him of her future. My dad speaks briefly to him, loudly, because grand-father doesn’t like to use his hearing aid.
"He’s coming to your graduation party tomorrow," says my father.
My father walks briskly up the pine stairs, his eyebrows furrowed with worry. Later on, I speak to his sister. She's drunk – her small graphic design enterprise ruined by larger companies. She and her husband now take solace in state-funded wine. She sobs – "Your grandfather has cancer".
I want to look after my grandfather and hold those hands that held me as I cried many years before. My dad is shocked at my proposal. I wonder for a moment if it could be that he doesn't know yet, but the look on his face isn't one of question or surprise. His eyes are deep and sad.
My grandfather was born on a farm in rural Finland right after the First World War, during which Finland became independent. He held a gun and guarded the Finnish military hangars during the second. A country deeply proud of their underdog identity after centuries of shifting between Russian and Swedish rule, they set out to allow all the citizens an equal opportunity in education. A socialist state was born, democratic in ideal. The citizens willingly gave what they could to secure the future of the "common man".
The country was as much crafted out of envy as ideal. The Finns are deeply jealous, and jealousy inspires violence. The people of the nation inflict pain on themselves before their neighbours. My aunt once related a story to me about her own mother.
"After your father's and my mother died of cancer when I was 21, I began to search through her past. One thing that always struck me was the photos – countless black and white photos of her holding three little children and beaming. I didn't know who those children were. And I hardly ever saw her smile all my life. She was always so cold to me, and so cold to your father, too. She never was much of a mother. She never neglected us, but she was never really there. Finding those photos shocked me. I didn't recognise her as my mother in those photos. Your father doesn't know. He doesn't want to know.
"I searched through the old town records to find any other family she might have had – see, she never really spoke of her past, and we didn't think to ask. But she had a brother.
"When she married your grandfather, her brother had been married for some years and had three small children. One was five, the other three, and the youngest not yet two. His wife had been her classmate in school. Now, the family lived only two kilometres away, and regularly visited each other.
"Bad things happened when she became pregnant with your father. Her brother started seeing a mistress. A dark gypsy woman. Somehow, in his mind, he found it acceptable to live within the family. His wife was not able to accept this, and, grabbing her two older children (the youngest was asleep in the crib), she set off running to your grandfather's house.
"It was the middle of winter, and she couldn't run very fast through the deep snow. Her husband had time to find a rifle, drink several shots of vodka, hitch a horse to a sleigh and set off following her. She hadn't even gone half-way when he caught up with his wife and two screaming children. He shot them all there, loaded them into the sleigh, and rode back home. There, he went upstairs to his youngest son's room and shot him, asleep peacefully in the crib. After that, he took the whole family out to a barn in the middle of the field, and finally, shot himself, too.'
Now, my grandfather's hands are spotted with age but still soft. In his old age, nobody looks after him but his old wife. He’s a simple country man, unwilling to lock himself into the confines of the old-age provisions, desperately short of rooms and nurses, set up by the government. Even so, there is no space for a proud old man who will not ask for help, or admit that he is sick. A nurse comes once a fortnight to deliver medication.
"Your grandfather hasn't told anyone of his condition. He expects none of his relatives to look after him, and he doesn't want to impose himself on anyone in the family," my father says. "But everybody knows."
Only one year ago, he taught me the Finnish tango. He didn't let go even when my feet collapsed beneath me. He comes to my graduation party and mutters an excuse to leave shortly, rushing his goodbyes and hurrying to the car, irate. I worry that he won't make the long drive home safely.
Time passes. A whirlwind happens before my eyes. Social change happens, unhindered, yet I don't dare say anything. Nobody says anything, when the change trickles through, one grain at a time. I watch it change, yet still, I wake up surprised at the change.
When I call him, he can not hear my words. He thanks me for calling after he's managed to identify who I am only after I have repeatedly shouted my name into the phone (he still refuses to use his hearing aid) and clicks the phone down. I wonder if he simply didn’t hear me and wanted an end to the conversation.
Sometimes I speak with my grandmother, who has become quite forgetful, and complains of back and ankle pains. The nurse still comes only once a fortnight. It's been three years since anyone in the family has seen them, and they don't want visitors.
My grandfather's name means "Hope". I hold his soft hands in mine again. They are cold.
fon @ 5:04 AM link to post * *
Monday, June 18, 2007
And why shouldn't I feel upset?
With just three weeks left in Australia, I feel as though things are collapsing in a heap. There's no boom, no bang, so "there she goes folks!" (not that it's what I want)... but well... I am undecided as to whether I'm happy to be leaving or feeling nostalgic.
A week ago, when I handed in my last essay, I naturally breathed a sigh of relief, and promptly skipped off to Wollongong and Sydney for a little R&R (in the guise of a work-experience trip for my friends over in the HR side of things). But at the same time, I wasn't grinning like an idiot as I, satisfied, dumped my notes in the recycle bin. I had, at best, a lopsided kinda smile that felt like it might turn into a grimace at any moment.
I guess this is goodbye...
But why am I upset enough to be blogging about it? I guess, despite my cynicism, I at least had expected my 'knight in shining armour' to be there for me when I got back. Especially when he insisted he would. Especially... well... enough of me ranting... what's the point of caring at this stage? It's not as though I haven't done things myself in the past. I just wish I'd stop investing my faith in shaky, unproven ventures.
fon @ 8:12 PM link to post * *
Monday, June 11, 2007
The best thing I've found this year!
I have to admit, though, that I'm somewhat disappointed that I haven't grown much since I was 9... Still tiny :( Can you guess which one is me?
fon @ 7:41 AM link to post * *
Sunday, June 10, 2007
I've changed?
Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating. |
Ok... so... I took this quiz a year and a half ago, and I've apparently changed from 'the sudden departure' to 'the peach'... :P Yes, still procrastinating...
fon @ 5:34 PM link to post * *
got some air, finally... :)
I didn't do a single thing in terms of study all of yesterday, which was a long deserved and needed break... ready to tackle my last assignment now!
My beautiful student at SAIL finally turned up yesterday, and I taught her how to use e-mail! She has to travel quite a far way on her own to get to Altona, though, so I told her we'll meet half-way next Tuesday (not this coming one, cos I'll be in Wollongong)...
I deliberated in front of the heater playing puzzle bubble and surfing facebook for four hours in the afternoon... then finally decided that getting some air would be a good thing:
So... err... this is how people who have plans to change the world for the better look like, apparently... :P The best thing to do first would be to sober up, and improve ourselves?
It was such a pleasant surprise to see Sanjeev there! Sabrina's coming down to Melbourne soon, too! Yay!
The crazy host :) (a couple weeks ago his eye was still black cos he went surfing - in the middle of winter!)
What would a party be if somebody didn't pick me up? I was hijacked from the place by this gorgeous, guitar-playing half-half and taken to chapel street!
One thing I'll miss about Australia when I go... Where else in the world is a half-Thai, half-Finnish girl going to be taking a picture of a white guy, a black guy, an Indian guy whilst leaving the party with a half-Greek, half-Chinese girl and saying farewell for good to a crazy Japanese dude? If this is the trend of the world at the moment, I'm very happy with it! PEACE!
fon @ 8:13 AM link to post * *
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Still procrastinating
| Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP) |
 Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving. |
fon @ 2:42 PM link to post * *