Knowing is strange. One minute you don't know, the next you do. Something or someone. Like when you start something new, be it studies or at a new job, you don't know what to expect. You can't imagine what it's going to be like. How the place is going to look. All the people you're going meet. However afterwards, it all just seems so obvious, doesn't it? You're thinking: of course these are the people, it was always going to be these people. They had to be these very people. Who else could they ever have been? 10 months ago I left for England and I didn't know what to expect. 10 days ago I went back knowing. I knew pretty much who I'd find at the reception. I knew exactly who would hand me the keys. I knew who I'd find in the kitchen. And I wasn't in a need of a map like last September. I remember what a maze the hotel was!
The Gentlemen Of The Road was a really nice, small festival. You could even see the Lewes castle proudly standing there behind the stage and I feel embarrassed only having noticed this on day two. It was all great, though while Mumford & Sons were playing I ended up standing right next to a girl with the most horrific and shivers-down-the-spine-sending, deafening scream. A really high pitch one. To make matters worse she very much enjoyed singing along and didn't seem to mind not staying anywhere near the tune, which is quite alright as long as you get the lyrics right, which she didn't do very laudably either ("rate yourself and rape yourself") so I had to squeeze my way away from her. Late in the evening the whole site turned into what seemed like a huge outdoor nightclub, everybody was dancing. That was quite cool.
Leaving part II wasn't as bad as I thought, nowhere near as bad as the first time, which took me by surprise really. In April the thought of leaving was absolutely impossible. I felt I CAN'T go. I just can't. I had to rip myself off the town, the people and the country, and it hurt. You know, like a plaster that sits on your skin perfectly and will stay put for a long time to come unless you need to get rid of it. This time me, the plaster, was starting to come off by itself. It felt like a right time to go, that I'd seen enough for now. I almost felt a circle closing. I'm happy it all left such a good taste in my mouth for I don't think that was guaranteed. It didn't feel so final, either. (I didn't even close my British bank account so maybe that's part of the reason!) I feel confident that the people I wish to keep in my life will stay there. Oh and it was nice to REALLY see the people. I felt sane again. You see, it was the same thing while I was still in England. I kept seeing old friends and acquaintances everywhere, you know, oh he used to go to the same school — wait what? I'm not in Finland! The weirdest it felt when I almost said hi to someone before realising I wasn't in the right country to do so. All in all, I had a really lovely six days. It felt like home being back. There's just this one question. When am I going to see these people again? All I know is I don't know, and it breaks my heart a little, but I'll learn to live with it knowing the day will come.
Leaving part II wasn't as bad as I thought, nowhere near as bad as the first time, which took me by surprise really. In April the thought of leaving was absolutely impossible. I felt I CAN'T go. I just can't. I had to rip myself off the town, the people and the country, and it hurt. You know, like a plaster that sits on your skin perfectly and will stay put for a long time to come unless you need to get rid of it. This time me, the plaster, was starting to come off by itself. It felt like a right time to go, that I'd seen enough for now. I almost felt a circle closing. I'm happy it all left such a good taste in my mouth for I don't think that was guaranteed. It didn't feel so final, either. (I didn't even close my British bank account so maybe that's part of the reason!) I feel confident that the people I wish to keep in my life will stay there. Oh and it was nice to REALLY see the people. I felt sane again. You see, it was the same thing while I was still in England. I kept seeing old friends and acquaintances everywhere, you know, oh he used to go to the same school — wait what? I'm not in Finland! The weirdest it felt when I almost said hi to someone before realising I wasn't in the right country to do so. All in all, I had a really lovely six days. It felt like home being back. There's just this one question. When am I going to see these people again? All I know is I don't know, and it breaks my heart a little, but I'll learn to live with it knowing the day will come.
It's been almost a year and this is about to be my last post. Probably not the last ever, cause as it turns out blogging works well for me and it will be weird not to do it, so I might start a new one. And talking of weird, it will be weird going to university after a year of not studying. Well, at least there's a compulsory exchange year waiting for me. Anyway. To finish with, I want to share a moment with you. I was coming back from the town, walking alongside the hotel building when it hit me pretty much out of the blue — I'm actually living my dream. I AM LIVING A DREAM. I've dreamed about having a place in England I can call home. I've dreamed about knowing people from all over the world. I've dreamed about living life in English. I've dreamed about seeing bands and places and now I have! I've been mistaken for English so many times it doesn't feel special anymore. I've made irreplaceable, international friends. I've seen KT Tunstall. I've Henry Hoovered more than enough. I've served countless English breakfasts. I've been to an English festival and there was no mud there. I've tried Marmite. I've been attacked by a seagull. I've become a regular of Tesco. I've become a regular of a pub. (And Boots and HMV...) I've been in England without being a tourist. I've spent hours on the train but I never got tired of the view. I've learned how to say mean things in French. I've learned how to say fuck in Polish. I've learned how to polish cutlery and glasses. I've watched the sunset on the pier. I've started drinking beer. I've tried mince pies and yuckkhhkh. And hey, I've high-fived Dan of Bastille after a fair while of chatting with him. Though I don't mean to brag. (Yes I do!!!) I've come back to Finland richer than ever. These things are part of my past and some of it, I hope, my future too. I am lucky. Remember, it's better to be grateful for all the things you've had, than to cry over things you didn't have. Please don't just pass the previous sentence by and take it for a cheesy aphorism. Mostly cause I came up with it myself. Which doesn't mean someone else hasn't come up with it as well. But I'm asking you to think about it. Really.
Thank you ever so much for reading what I've written, hearing what I've had to say. I hope my blog has accidentally inspired or encouraged someone to do this kind of thing for it's the best thing I've ever done. To be honest I'd be happy with one person. Let me know? Live and keep your eye out for a new blog!
A big fat CHEERS,
Vilma x
"We will all say goodbye
But that's alright
Happens to everyone
The alright part is a lie
But that's alright
We tell it to everyone"
- Lifetime, Jack Savoretti
