You know this funny thing, when you’re listening to music and all of a sudden it seems like the people around you are walking almost like dancing, swaying to the rhythm of your song, even though it’s only in your iPod and they can’t hear it. .
Only Billie Holliday can help me out of the black hole I accidentally bumped over when I had to spend 4 hours in transit in Frankfurt. Transit is such an awful word! I used to love it, before, I always seized the opportunity of being on airports around so many people from different countries to act as if I was someone else. I mean think about it, you can pretend you’re just the person you want to be. …But now I stumbled over this black hole, I don’t know who I want to be. Nor do I know who I am. I want to have a whiskey with Billie. She sounds so wise, I think she could teach me a few things. .
And I get this feeling. Like when you’re in big crowds, like on a concert or in a demonstration. I always feel so lonely. There is probably a name for this, some kind of phobia, it’s just so ironic. There are all these people, angry or sad, doesn’t matter, and I just feel like the loneliest person in the world. Like realising that even though there are people around, they can’t fully understand how you feel. And then there are those days when you’re walking and people can’t see you and keep bumping into you. When I got on the plane today it happened twice. First this lady just didn’t move from the aisle when I had to pass, she was standing fixed even though I said sorry/excuse me 1 million times, she just didn’t see me (no, she wasn’t blind). And then I finally get to my seat, and this man sits in the middle while I have the window seat. When I ask him if he can get up so I can go to my seat, he just looks kind of past me, like as if there was only air. After asking him many times he gets up, very slowly as if he was surprised there was really someone there! .
In the bus to the plane I realise why it is I hate business men. It’s very crowded and two busses, the business immediately try to get on the first bus, which will probably leave first. When they can’t they get really angry and shout at the poor bus driver that is only doing his job. And then they get on the other bus, and there spread out over 2 seats so that other people have to stand because the important business man’s jacket needs a seat of it’s own. The same men of course orders at least 2 drinks (1 alcohol!) and then try to pull the “can I get the extra sandwich because I’m so important” trick that mostly works, since everyone realise what a big fuzz it’d be if they couldn’t get it. I want to be a stewardess just to be able to spit in their orange juice before serving it. .
In a few hours I’ll be in Barcelona, in my grandmother’s apartment. I’ll be staying there for 2 weeks, finishing up my very messy semester in Barcelona. For the first time in my life I’m playing with the thought that this time I might not actually make it and I feel very much like just leave it hanging. That would be the first time. If it hadn’t been for the ones who decide whether or not I should get more money for studying (thank you CSN for breathing down my neck) I think I would have quit long time ago. Now there is too much to loose on it. So I keep on doing it, taking small breaks massaging my neck and my shoulder that started hurt like never before. This isn’t what I wanted out of 2008. So I’ll just pretend that it hasn’t started yet, that this is vacuum “no time”, the time for just focusing and finishing up. 2008 will start when I land in Stockholm in exactly 2 weeks. .
So, still in transit, having my break from autocad (maybe I should see a doctor about my arm?) and then I see under the table just next to me, there is something. I bend down, and it’s money. Two bills, they’re from Argentina and probably not worth anything. One is 2 pesos the other on 10. But still it’s cool that they’re there. I’m afraid of picking them up, still having the old experience in fresh memory, but I figure that they’re not worth anything, so if I get robbed, it would only be a small sum. And anyway, I don’t have any plastic cards anymore. .
I just had an idea. I know what I would like to do. I would want to go around and collect stuff, just random things that I find in the street. Like Pippi Långstrumps character “sakletaren”. I imagine all the stories I could build of just imagining others peoples lives. (Or maybe it’s just a very good excuse to try to avoid living my own life and kind of borrowing other peoples stuff and memories.) .
With a gentle whisper, I ask Billie; what do you think? She answers; “What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours”. I lean my shin in my hand and think of it for a while. She is right. “The difference is you.” How come that when you really want that the prince on his white horse to come and rescue you, he just doesn’t come? The magic is gone and I’m on my own, as always. .
Only 1 hour left for the flight now, the area around the gate is getting fuller and fuller. I try to smell the money I found but I don’t think they smell like Argentina, just smell paper. So I put them in my book together with the photographs of the ladies with the dog that I found in the flee market. A collection of random memories, that aren’t mine. .
I’m on the plane no.2 walking down the isle crowded with Spanish people struggling to fit everything on the storage thing. I walk and I walk, I look at the ticket. It says 26A. That’s my seat. And then I come to the end of the plane, the last seat is 24 A. I just laugh. The situation is hilarious. The male steward is also smiling, he actually tries to get me a seat in business class, but fails. So, we just stay chatting in the aisle. He asks where I’m from. I answer, and he laughs and said that I’d be a good stewardess…but then he takes it back, tells me that I should be a pilot instead. “You know a lot of girls are learning to be a pilot’s now, I know a lot of women pilots.” Thank you kind steward guy, you made my day.
Only Billie Holliday can help me out of the black hole I accidentally bumped over when I had to spend 4 hours in transit in Frankfurt. Transit is such an awful word! I used to love it, before, I always seized the opportunity of being on airports around so many people from different countries to act as if I was someone else. I mean think about it, you can pretend you’re just the person you want to be. …But now I stumbled over this black hole, I don’t know who I want to be. Nor do I know who I am. I want to have a whiskey with Billie. She sounds so wise, I think she could teach me a few things. .
And I get this feeling. Like when you’re in big crowds, like on a concert or in a demonstration. I always feel so lonely. There is probably a name for this, some kind of phobia, it’s just so ironic. There are all these people, angry or sad, doesn’t matter, and I just feel like the loneliest person in the world. Like realising that even though there are people around, they can’t fully understand how you feel. And then there are those days when you’re walking and people can’t see you and keep bumping into you. When I got on the plane today it happened twice. First this lady just didn’t move from the aisle when I had to pass, she was standing fixed even though I said sorry/excuse me 1 million times, she just didn’t see me (no, she wasn’t blind). And then I finally get to my seat, and this man sits in the middle while I have the window seat. When I ask him if he can get up so I can go to my seat, he just looks kind of past me, like as if there was only air. After asking him many times he gets up, very slowly as if he was surprised there was really someone there! .
In the bus to the plane I realise why it is I hate business men. It’s very crowded and two busses, the business immediately try to get on the first bus, which will probably leave first. When they can’t they get really angry and shout at the poor bus driver that is only doing his job. And then they get on the other bus, and there spread out over 2 seats so that other people have to stand because the important business man’s jacket needs a seat of it’s own. The same men of course orders at least 2 drinks (1 alcohol!) and then try to pull the “can I get the extra sandwich because I’m so important” trick that mostly works, since everyone realise what a big fuzz it’d be if they couldn’t get it. I want to be a stewardess just to be able to spit in their orange juice before serving it. .
In a few hours I’ll be in Barcelona, in my grandmother’s apartment. I’ll be staying there for 2 weeks, finishing up my very messy semester in Barcelona. For the first time in my life I’m playing with the thought that this time I might not actually make it and I feel very much like just leave it hanging. That would be the first time. If it hadn’t been for the ones who decide whether or not I should get more money for studying (thank you CSN for breathing down my neck) I think I would have quit long time ago. Now there is too much to loose on it. So I keep on doing it, taking small breaks massaging my neck and my shoulder that started hurt like never before. This isn’t what I wanted out of 2008. So I’ll just pretend that it hasn’t started yet, that this is vacuum “no time”, the time for just focusing and finishing up. 2008 will start when I land in Stockholm in exactly 2 weeks. .
So, still in transit, having my break from autocad (maybe I should see a doctor about my arm?) and then I see under the table just next to me, there is something. I bend down, and it’s money. Two bills, they’re from Argentina and probably not worth anything. One is 2 pesos the other on 10. But still it’s cool that they’re there. I’m afraid of picking them up, still having the old experience in fresh memory, but I figure that they’re not worth anything, so if I get robbed, it would only be a small sum. And anyway, I don’t have any plastic cards anymore. .
I just had an idea. I know what I would like to do. I would want to go around and collect stuff, just random things that I find in the street. Like Pippi Långstrumps character “sakletaren”. I imagine all the stories I could build of just imagining others peoples lives. (Or maybe it’s just a very good excuse to try to avoid living my own life and kind of borrowing other peoples stuff and memories.) .
With a gentle whisper, I ask Billie; what do you think? She answers; “What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours”. I lean my shin in my hand and think of it for a while. She is right. “The difference is you.” How come that when you really want that the prince on his white horse to come and rescue you, he just doesn’t come? The magic is gone and I’m on my own, as always. .
Only 1 hour left for the flight now, the area around the gate is getting fuller and fuller. I try to smell the money I found but I don’t think they smell like Argentina, just smell paper. So I put them in my book together with the photographs of the ladies with the dog that I found in the flee market. A collection of random memories, that aren’t mine. .
I’m on the plane no.2 walking down the isle crowded with Spanish people struggling to fit everything on the storage thing. I walk and I walk, I look at the ticket. It says 26A. That’s my seat. And then I come to the end of the plane, the last seat is 24 A. I just laugh. The situation is hilarious. The male steward is also smiling, he actually tries to get me a seat in business class, but fails. So, we just stay chatting in the aisle. He asks where I’m from. I answer, and he laughs and said that I’d be a good stewardess…but then he takes it back, tells me that I should be a pilot instead. “You know a lot of girls are learning to be a pilot’s now, I know a lot of women pilots.” Thank you kind steward guy, you made my day.
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