with my head in the clouds

FINAL WARNING

2011-03-20T18:42:00.000+02:00

My blog has moved here. No more posts on With My Head in the Clouds. x

calling all followers!

2011-02-25T14:38:00.000+02:00

Just in case you missed my previous post, I've now shut down this blog. Find my current blog here.

a final goodbye...

2011-02-17T16:35:00.004+02:00

... to this blog.

Yes, the time has come.

But fear not, dear friends. This blog contains two years' worth of my drabbles, and I will not throw all that to waste. So once I post this entry I'll put up a header directing you to my new blog. Then I'll turn off comments (so all your shock should be expressed at my new blog instead of being posted here). This blog will remain online for the unforeseeable future, as a bit of a nostalgia kick for me, mainly.

Why a new blog, you ask. Quite simply because I feel as though I'm dragging along two years of my past every time I post here. I need a change. (More reasons in the first post at my new blog.)

I look forward to seeing you at Everything Brighter!

x and forever yours, Iida

valentine

2011-02-09T20:30:00.000+02:00

Some Valentine's Day musings. A few days ahead, because that's the way my brain works.

Picture by the wonderful Caitlin McGauley.

more heartaches

2011-02-06T19:40:00.011+02:00

My favourite albums of 2010.

Anna Puu: Sahara
Antti Autio Trio: Vieraita kankaita (EP)
Belle and Sebastian: Write about Love
Corinne Bailey Rae: The Sea
LCD Soundsystem: This Is Happening
Minä ja Ville Ahonen: Minä ja Ville Ahonen
Nouvelle Vague: Couleurs sur Paris
Pariisin kevät: Astronautti
She & Him: Volume Two
Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross: The Social Network
Vampire Weekend: Contra

midnight

2011-02-06T19:39:00.000+02:00

Something scribbled into my notebook last night.

a visual letter / a wordless promise

2011-02-04T09:00:00.000+02:00

Click pictures for sources.

storytelling

2011-02-02T10:00:00.001+02:00

I dreamt of a house last night, a house with paned windows and tiny stairways and shadows slowdancing on the floor. I knew I was dreaming but it felt like a home.

I've been reading Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino. This is the final passage I read last night before falling asleep:

Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.

Click pictures for sources.

a thank you note

2011-02-01T20:05:00.003+02:00

Dear February,

Thank you for finally being here. (And what a way to arrive!)

x, Iida

Click picture for source.

three heartbreaks

2011-02-01T15:11:00.004+02:00

The three films I enjoyed most in 2010. Heartbreaking, sad-making, thought-provoking. Ultimately rewarding, as the best films are.

What were your favourites?

Click posters for respective trailers.

almost every night

2011-01-31T11:00:00.000+02:00

This is what my dreams look like.

Click picture for source.

transparency

2011-01-30T10:03:00.000+02:00

Click pictures for sources.

friday already

2011-01-28T09:47:00.003+02:00

The week has rushed too fast for me to keep up. It's been sunny and brash, the snow a bright blue blanket over the trees outside my window. If you tilt your head way back and only look at the wide expanse of sky, it could almost be September, with leaves carpeting the ground.

Lately I've been writing essays and watching films. (I'm all geared up for the Oscars, I love awards season with passion.) I've been planning birthday brunches for February, poring over maps of Paris, visiting my psychologist again, dreaming of biking around Helsinki. I like this busy existence, it allows me to feel accomplished every day.

Have a nice weekend! Mine will be full of woollen clothes and fingerless gloves to stave off the cold, of tea and conversation. What will you be doing?

Click picture for link.

these things i do

2011-01-24T19:13:00.002+02:00

Over Christmas my hands regained their former softness and cut-free, bruise-free state. I didn’t think much about sailing. (That is to say, I could spend a few hours at a time without thinking about something sailing-related.)

A few nights spent tying knots and pulling ropes and the thoughts have come rushing back.

I recite litanies of sails, ropes, maneuvers and knots during class, writing them into the margins of my notes. I plan budgets for next summer’s Tall Ships’ Races. I lie in bed at night and feel the waves tossing me around.

My hands will get frost-bitten, rough, dry, dirty, occasionally bloody. And my room will smell of tar. (Actually, it already does, permanently.) My clothes, hair, skin will smell of tar. And I will love it.

And yet the sea around Helsinki is still frozen. The entire Baltic seems to be frozen. No hopes of going to sea for months. And still I plow my way through the snow to the pier twice a week just to spend hours in the belly of a ship, freezing cold and tired and, occasionally, miserable. Just to learn how to sail better.

And every day I feel lucky to be able to do all this.

Click picture for source.

houses & streets

2011-01-22T17:59:00.003+02:00

Click photo for source.

wednesday

2011-01-19T21:23:00.003+02:00

Today I felt like writing instead of typing.

in the folds of winter

2011-01-16T19:41:00.002+02:00

Dreaming of summer. Of thin cotton and light shoes. Of fresh flowers and slanted sunlight. And the sea. Always the sea.

Click pictures for sources.

a poem

2011-01-10T21:21:00.004+02:00

So as it happens I won the first prize in my school's annual poetry competition a few days before Christmas. I was pretty shocked and felt like any allusion to my poem on my blog would be gloating, so I kept quiet about it. But now I've deflated my head a bit and thought you might as well get to see it.

The poem was originally written in Finnish, but I've had to translate it to English to showcase it to all my foreign friends. I'm not too fond of the English translation, it's got quite a few lines that I could've done better. But I didn't want to change it too much. The theme for the competition was ikävä, which translates to missing someone.

lähdettyäsi tapetoin huoneemme kartoilla

ja tein katosta taivaankannen

illalla katson kaupunkeja

piirrän reittejä ovelta aina vastapäiseen nurkkaan asti

osunko koskaan sinuun?

pukeudun vaatteisiisi, nyt kun et ole

punaraitainen paita ja minulle liian pitkät housut

leikkasin hiuksenikin keittiösaksilla

lähetän puolestasi tekstiviestejä,

joissa sanot olevasi kipeä

et juuri nyt voi tavata ketään, mutta soitellaan!

ja välillä melkein unohdan, että olet poissa

lähdettyäsi tapetoin huoneemme kartoilla,

tein katostamme taivaankannen

vaikeinta on nukkua

illalla katson tähtikuvioita ja etsin

***

after you left I wallpapered our room with maps
and had the stars take over the ceiling

at night I look at the cities
and draw routes from the door all the way to the opposite corner
do I ever touch you?

I wear your clothes, now that you are not
a shirt with red and white stripes, trousers far too long for me
I cut my hair with the scissors in the kitchen drawer

I send text messages from your phone
in them you tell people you are ill
you can't meet up with anyone right now, but let's be in touch!

and sometimes I almost forget you are gone

after you left I wallpapered our room with maps,
had the stars take over our ceiling

sleeping is more difficult than anything
at night I look at the constellations and search

navy blue against the snow

2011-01-09T19:18:00.004+02:00

I was supposed to write a lengthy post on bilinguality and learning languages - something scaled down from an essay I'm doing for school. But then all that ferocious typing got me exhausted and I decided to leave it for another day and post some wintry pictures instead. Happy Sunday!

e.e. cummings

2011-01-05T21:09:00.001+02:00

if everything happens that can’t be done
(and anything’s righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there’s nothing as something as one

one hasn’t a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don’t grow)
one’s anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one’s everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there’s somebody calling who’s we

we’re everything brighter than even the sun
(we’re everything greater
than books
might mean)
we’re everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we’re alive)
we’re wonderful one times one

first days

2011-01-05T20:00:00.004+02:00

Happy 2011 everyone! (I still feel as though getting used to writing 2011 instead of 2010 is far too difficult a task.)

I hate New Year's Eve with notorious passion. Something about it - the rowdy celebrations and gushing sentimentality for the past year - just seems unnecessary and sad-making. So by now I've learnt to skip the celebrations, skip the sentimentality, and just drink tea and listen to nice music with nice people and forget all about the change going on.

But January 1st is a completely different thing. On the first day of the year, everything feels fresh, like an old soft shirt after a wash and tumble-dry.

Click pictures for sources.

fox

2010-12-18T10:10:00.000+02:00

Foxes are beginning to rival penguins as my favourite animal, mostly due to these wonderful pictures by Melinda Josie and Valerie Vulpes, respectively.

stopping by woods on a snowy evening

2010-12-17T23:04:00.004+02:00

I know this is a poem we've all read too many times. But I've recently rekindled my love for Robert Frost and this really is too exquisite for words.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

(Robert Frost, 1923)

Click pictures for sources.

pictures i never took

2010-12-16T20:24:00.003+02:00

Yesterday I left my Leica home because my canvas bag is reaching breaking point and something had to go. And oh how I regretted not having a camera with me. The light was beautiful, you see, and there was so much to be photographed.

Every time I glanced out of a window during class, I could see men shovelling snow off the roofs of tall stone buildings. They attach themselves to the crest of the roof with a safety wire and slide down the steep slope to the very edge. It's cold enough for the snow to be powdery, drifting off the roofs in lazy currents, meandering with the wind. The pale daylight and the silver snow, the sharp silhouettes of workers.

(Somehow I feel like I'd love that job. I am hugely attracted to heights these days. As always, I blame tall ships.)

farewell to the oxford comma

2010-12-12T19:50:00.005+02:00

English punctuation is completely ridiculous. You know why?

There are no rules.

Way back when we learnt punctuation in school, Finnish classes focused on the rules. This clause requires a comma, this one doesn't. Simple, once you learnt it.

English class? After teaching us the few bare necessities of where you absolutely need a comma, the teacher went, "Other than that, use commas where there would be a natural pause in speech."

That was it.

And oh how I longed for rules. I longed for distinction, for correctness that I couldn't find anywhere.

So when I learnt of the Oxford comma, my heart skipped a beat out of excitement. Finally, something I could use and be proud of. I could tell my friends, "Oh, this is how it should be done, didn't you know?"

After years of punctual Oxford comma-ing, all the way through Vampire Weekend's questioning ("Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?") and deftly avoiding comma misplacement when switching to Finnish (an Oxford comma in a Finnish sentence would be incorrect grammar), I am now forced to come to conclusion of it being, quite simply, outdated.

All because of Stephen Fry. Because if Stephen Fry, whom I consider quite possibly the most educated and trustworthy yet practical user of the English language, calls the usage of Oxford commas "archaic", I'll be damned to be spotted using one.

So it is time to bid farewell to you, my friend. It's been a good few years. I will always cherish you, I'm sure, and I know I will continue to emit happy sighs upon seeing you used correctly. Times do change, as does punctuation. I thank you for giving my life a sense of order during all these years, and I bid you a long and happy retirement.

Click picture for link.

christmas lights

2010-12-06T12:34:00.004+02:00

I woke up today to find my windows half obscured by the snow on the windowpanes. Our house looks like it's been laced with icing and sugar.

No school today (because today is the Finnish Independence Day), so I'm going ice skating with some friends. Ice skating this early in December! This winter is truly incredible.

Click pictures for sources.

thank you notes

2010-12-04T12:32:00.003+02:00

Dear Tea,

Thank you for continuously being so incredibly perfect for any occasion, any season. (Especially this one.) There's nothing better than watching the snowflakes and drinking tea.

x, Iida

Dear Vladimir Nabokov,

Thank you for writing in a way that makes me feel alive more intensely and acutely than anything else. Thank you for reminding me of what Russia was like before. Thank you for writing sentences that haunt me in my dreams.

Love always,
Iida

Dear Well-Written Short Stories,

Thank you for existing and being the most perfect form of prose. Thank you for being beautiful and elusive and compact and heart-shatteringly eloquent.

Love,
Iida

Click pictures for sources.

december

2010-12-01T19:04:00.006+02:00

Exam week is finally over and done with and I have so many plans and things to do and I'm so so so happy.

I have so many things to tell you, I don't know where to start.

But maybe I could tell you about this café near my school that my friends and I have recently begun frequenting.

Maybe I could tell you about all the writing I've been doing lately.

Maybe I could tell you about how happy Christmas lights make me.

Maybe I could tell you this might have been the first November I can remember I've spent without feeling blue all the time.

Click pictures for sources.

armchairs

2010-11-25T16:08:00.004+02:00

"I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs
And I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair"

(Andrew Bird: Armchairs)

Pictures from Graphic Photons.

just thought you might like to know

2010-11-24T19:42:00.003+02:00

I'm in the middle of a snowstorm right now. (Well, a small-scale snowstorm, but still.) I love it.

Everything's quiet but for the humming of the wind. And I know when I go outside tomorrow morning, the world will be clean and silent and somehow pure. Piles of pale powdery snow to sink my feet into. I'll bundle up into my huge winter coat and listen to soft jazzy songs on the train.

I love the way my windowpanes are piled with snow, I love the icicles hanging from the roof. I wish winters were always like this.

Click picture for source.

a few muddled-up thoughts on adulthood

2010-11-18T20:03:00.003+02:00

I'm turning eighteen in February. Which is kind of scary. In Finland, turning eighteen is a big deal. Driving, voting, drinking, smoking - I'll be able to do it all legally. In the eyes of society, I'll be an adult.

But the thing is, I don't feel like an adult at all.

I don't feel responsible in the slightest. I feel like I'm still cocooned at home and in school, protected, safe. And I like that safety.

Of course I want to get my own place and go to uni and do and be and live. But every now and then I feel I'd just like to be a kid, not expected to manage on my own.

(Though, admittedly, some changes will be welcome. Like being allowed to get tipsy on Champagne. On that note, did I mention my mother is taking me to Paris for my birthday? I'm beyond excited!)

Painting by Casey O'Connell.

the real life of sebastian knight

2010-11-11T10:00:00.001+02:00

"Life with you was lovely - and when I say lovely, I mean doves and lilies, and velvet and that soft pink ‘v’ in the middle and the way your tongue curved up to the long, lingering ‘l.’ Our life together was alliterative, and when I think of all the little things which will die, now that we cannot share them, I feel as if we were dead too."

(Vladimir Nabokov: The Real Life of Sebastian Knight)

first snowfall

2010-11-09T21:49:00.003+02:00

It snowed today, and miraculously, the flakes didn't melt as soon as they hit the ground. Our house looks like it's made of gingerbread and white icing.

And all this snow is making me buy Christmas presents and think of baking gingerbread. It's making me light candles and watch Love Actually. It's making me dig out that same old jazzy Christmas record by Ella Fitzgerald, the one I listen to every December.

Except it's not December yet. I feel cheated somehow. I don't even have winter boots yet, or mittens. Since when have we had a white November?

Sometimes I think I'll never grow up. When it comes to Christmas, I am the biggest kid in existence.

Click picture for source.

the english patient

2010-11-09T09:00:00.001+02:00

"I promised to tell you how one falls in love."

(Michael Ondaatje: The English Patient)

ink

2010-11-08T06:00:00.002+02:00

I like drawing pictures onto my forearms and the insides of my wrists. Sometimes I wonder whether I should get something tattooed. I'm scared of my inconsistency and the permanence of ink that goes deeper than the first layers of skin.

Click pictures for sources.

november

2010-11-07T10:00:00.000+02:00

There is a reason for my recent absence: I received a place in a training programme on a tall ship here in Helsinki. And it takes up a lot of my time and even more of my energy. (But to be quite honest, I don't mind, as long as I get to sail.)

School is also keeping me busy. There's a history course about both World Wars. There's developmental psychology. There's cultural geography. There's talk about the western culture and how (and why) it dominates the world today. There's talk about society and how it works. And there are quite a few languages as well.

In between all that and learning all those ropes, I'm kept rather busy. (And still, I don't really mind, as long as it's interesting.)

Click picture for source.

shake, spear

2010-11-06T13:46:00.004+02:00

We are such stuff
as dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

(The Tempest)

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

(Hamlet)

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies.

(Sonnet CXXXVIII)

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

(Romeo and Juliet)

book of lists

2010-11-06T13:20:00.003+02:00

Lists by Mia Nolting.

why we write

2010-10-23T09:09:00.000+03:00

"A writer writes not because he is educated but because he is driven by the need to communicate. Behind the need to communicate is the need to share. Behind the need to share is the need to be understood. The writer wants to be understood much more than he wants to be respected or praised or even loved."

Leo Rosten

a thought for a friday

2010-10-22T11:11:00.000+03:00

"I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited."

Jorge Luis Borges

Click photo for source.

tea; an autumnal rant

2010-10-21T10:10:00.001+03:00

Autumn is cold and windy, and I've been down with the flu for a few days now. So my tea consuming has upped itself to about six cups a day.

I'm very picky with teas, but the perfect cup will make me ridiculously happy. (It really is insane, isn't it, how miraculously content a cup of hot water with some leaves stuck in it for taste will make you.) Usually I just grab some tea leaves and let them soak in a cup, but sometimes I treat myself to a pot of tea. Our tea pot was bought in Chinatown, New York City, a heavy and beautiful thing with an elegant little spout. Tea somehow tastes even better when it's poured out of a teapot.

I love Rooibos infusions with passion, although I know they're not actually tea at all. But here again flavours are questionable - often entirely too sweet, try-too-hard. Rooibos is brilliant because it can't be brewed too strong, so even the most deliberate and prolonged soaking won't render it undrinkable. I've been severely traumatised by bitter, midnight-black tea in England.

My absolute favourite is green jasmine tea. Green jasmine tea instantly makes me feel better, quite literally like a better human being. It's my ultimate comfort tea. It makes things clear and calm, makes me slow down and think that maybe, just maybe, things aren't as bad as I thought they were. Green jasmine tea smells of autumn leaves and firewood, of rainy Saturday afternoons spent in cafés with a good book.

When it comes to the classics, I'm even pickier than usual. Earl Grey - just the thought of it makes me grimace. I'm partial to Darjeeling, because of its mild taste and the way its name rolls off my tongue. Darjeeling must come with milk, and milk should be poured in after the tea. I don't care if that's the wrong way of doing things. I enjoy watching the milk clouding the surface of the liquid.

And then there's good old English Breakfast. English Breakfast makes me think of sailing. Quick breaks in between climbing and cleaning, leaning against the railing, the air salty and windy, a hot mug of tea cradled between my hands. Scalding hot and strong, without milk. The press of porcelain on my bottom lip, the tentative first sip. Warmth spreading from my stomach to the very tips of my fingers.

Click pictures for sources.

how i want to live

2010-10-20T18:43:00.003+03:00

In a warehouse converted into a home. With massive windows that make it draughty in the winter, so I'll wear woollen socks and jumpers and scarves. I'll have a typewriter and a record player, a little darkroom hidden in a corner. And a giant rackety bookshelf, covering an entire wall, so I'll never run out of space for books.

Click picture for source.

if nobody speaks of remarkable things

2010-10-20T17:25:00.005+03:00

When I borrowed Jon McGregor's novel If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things from the library across the street from my school, I leafed through it and found this library receipt stuck between the pages, with a late-night message written in blue ballpoint on the back.

Like a little sign. A bit of an omen.

(And I'm really not big on signs and omens, I notice them and discard them without a second thought, unwavering in my condemnation of silly false hopes.)

But this one I didn't want to let slip by, this one I wanted to believe in.

Typical, isn't it. The only omen I want to hold on to is the promise of a good book.

And I was right to believe in it, for once. The promise held, all through the 275 pages, becoming more and more meaningful with each sturdily fragile, perfect sentence.

So a thanks goes to whoever wrote that tiny note, whoever placed it between the pages and returned the book to the library, maybe wondering whether it would still be there for the next reader, wondering whether it would be left in place.

It will. I'll return the book to the library tomorrow, and whoever borrows it next will find this note, and a new one, in between the pages.

thank you notes

2010-10-11T20:51:00.003+03:00

Dear Elliott Erwitt,
Thank you for taking such incredible pictures. I had never appreciated you enough, but I ran across a postcard of this picture in the Kiasma shop the other day and fell in love.
x, Iida

Dear BBC,
Thank you for being such firm believers in making all the Jane Austen novels into TV series every few years, and for being so good at it. Nobody does it quite as well as you do. I appreciate it. A lot.
x, Iida

Dear jasmine tea,
Thank you for being the most perfect flavour of green tea I've ever tasted. During these cold months you are the most comforting of drinks. My books and I love your company.
x, Iida

Dear hilarious 80's power ballads,
Thank you for making me laugh every time. And for being so utterly pompous I feel like it's perfectly acceptable to lip sync along and strike dramatic poses, whatever the situation.
x, Iida

(By the by, I snagged the idea for this post from Leah, the thank you note aficionado.)

never let me go

2010-10-09T20:38:00.002+03:00

Never Let Me Go is an incredible novel by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's now been made into a film, and judging by the trailer (and how much it makes me cry every time), I can safely say I need to see it.

the pretty girl

2010-10-05T15:14:00.003+03:00

That's the girl I'm going to be one day: the pretty one who hangs around town equipped with a book and a camera. And flower-patterned tights, if I could bring myself to break my colour scheme of black, white, and blue.

a visual ode for striped shirts

2010-10-05T15:00:00.003+03:00

Click pictures for sources.

from paris to new york

2010-10-03T11:00:00.000+03:00

It's a lovely Sunday but I'm listening to Paris Nights / New York Mornings by Corinne Bailey Rae and wishing I were somewhere far away.

a few things

2010-10-02T18:44:00.003+03:00

Rooibos tea and The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Today my mother and I found me the perfect dress for my school dance in February. A beautiful black 50's number with a nipped waist and high neckline and low-cut back and a skirt that requires a surprising amount of room. It amazes me how easy it is to feel beautiful when wearing the right dress.

There was mist all over the yellow and orange treetops this morning. For whatever reason I've started waking up at reasonable hours even on Saturdays. I wonder.

I've been taking a lot of photos and going to the library almost every day. So many books to read.

the english patient

2010-09-26T17:44:00.006+03:00

Her mouth leans against the bare arm of her shoulder. She smells her skin, the familiarity of it. One's own taste and flavour. She remembers when she had first grown aware of it, somewhere in her teens - it seemed a place rather than a time - kissing her forearm to practise kissing, smelling her wrist or bending down to her thigh. Breathing into her own cupped hands so breath would bounce back towards her nose.

Michael Ondaatje: The English Patient

thank you notes

2010-09-26T16:35:00.005+03:00

Dear Buskers on the Corner of Sokos Yesterday Evening,
Thank you for being the most amazing street performers I've seen. Ever. There were two of you but your simple drums/sax jazz duo made over fifty people stop and listen. I stayed for almost two hours and only had a few coins to give you. You made me happier than I've been for too long a time. Oh, an additional thank you to the guy in the audience who did his spontaneous break dance act to your music.
x, Iida

Dear Cute Librarian I Keep Running into,
Thank you for having such a nice smile and complimenting me on my choice in literature. And for ignoring my library fines every time.
x, Iida

Dear September,
Thank you for being so wonderful this year. I spent another roll of film on you yesterday, I just couldn't resist. Thank you for the rain, and for the warmth, and for that certain shimmer in the air every morning. You're making me fall in love with this city all over again.
x, Iida

Dear Upcoming French Exam,
Thank you for giving me an excellent reason to listen to French music. I'm learning my vocabulary, verb conjugations, and chansons.
Bisous, Iida

les amours imaginaires

2010-09-21T14:25:00.004+03:00

It's again time for the Helsinki International Film Festival, which means I have been spending obscene amounts of money on going to the cinema. So far, my favourite is Les Amours Imaginaires (the English title is Heartbeats).

I could rattle on and on about how I've never seen a film more visually stunning as this one, or about how the director/producer/writer, Xavier Dolan, is only 21 years old and clearly insanely talented (he plays one of the lead roles as well). But I'll just stick to saying it's one of the best movies I've ever seen. A brilliant, observant, ironic, beautiful, sensitive film about being young and hopelessly in love. And I wish someone wrote a book based on it.

books galore

2010-09-20T16:51:00.006+03:00

I dream of a library like that.

Currently on my bedside table:

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor
The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak

And some poetry by Sappho, Catullus, Pablo Neruda, and Ema Saikoo. A bit of a poetry phase going on. What are you reading?

caturday

2010-09-18T11:54:00.006+03:00

I had a Russian Blue cat named Frodo when I was younger. Someday I plan to have plenty more cats named after book characters. I'd love a cat named Ponyboy. I could have the whole Outsiders trio: Ponyboy, Sodapop, and Darry.

Or my favourite Austen heroes: Mr Darcy and Mr Knightley.

Or maybe I could go crazy and have the entire Glass family. Seymour, Buddy, Walter, Waker, Boo Boo, Zooey, and Franny.

I could go the tragic female figures route: Juliet, Lolita, Anna Karenina, Daisy Buchanan.

Or maybe I could name my cats after writers. I've always thought Kafka would make an excellent name for a slinky black cat. Fitzgerald would be wonderful as well. And Baudelaire would be cat-name perfection, he wrote so much about cats after all.

Also suited for the mysterious and insolent nature of cats: Sylvia, Virginia, Jane, Doris. And a little kitten with sad, wise eyes called Anne Frank.

What would you name your cat? (Or, if you have cats, what are they called?)

on blogging, and my head-over-heels love for it

2010-09-18T11:15:00.005+03:00

I'm back, after an unplanned 22-day blogging hiatus!

Yes, 22 days. That's the longest I've gone without posting, readers, and I intend to keep it that way.

So what's my excuse?

I don't have one, really. School, stress, a mysterious listlesness that couldn't be stilled by writing. Maybe all three combined? For the first time since I started this blog, I didn't feel like blogging. At all.

But I've been expecting this to happen, at some point. So I just thought, okay, I won't think about my blog. No planning of posts, no thinking of which pictures to use, none of that. I'll just give myself a break. At some point, I knew I would gravitate back to posting. Because, quite simply, I love blogging. In a ridiculous, schoolgirl, head-over-heels kind of way.

And so here I am. Cue back-to-normal posting.

And it feels so good to be blogging again.

terminally ambivalent over you

2010-08-26T20:58:00.006+03:00

Something I wrote today:

I want to tattoo your name onto my skin. I want to cover my knees, my stomach and neck and lips and eyelids with you. I want to carry you with me wherever I go, I want to look into the mirror and see you written on my face. (Because it’s true, you have written me, scribbled all over my senses with your smile and your collarbones and your quiet dreams.)

I want people to stare at my marked skin. I want little children to point and grumpy old grannies to glower, and I will bask in their stares like in a warm bath. Because it's not me they're looking at, it's us. And I will need nothing but to know you are with me. I will need nothing if you believe in me.

Click picture for link.

things

2010-08-25T21:14:00.003+03:00

It rained today, small streams running down the side of the road by my school. We crowded beneath my umbrella and tried to leap over the puddles while crossing the road. (Which, surprisingly, is kind of useless if there's water up to your ankles anyway.)

I've missed rain like that, sudden and brief and utterly drenching. When the sun came out moments later (and made us feel like idiots, why did we have to go outside during the four minutes of apocalypse), the city looked prepared for autumn. No more longing for summer. No more pining.

As early as it is to say this, winter is on its way.

And for once that doesn't feel opressing.

Click on picture for source.

monday cravings

2010-08-23T18:53:00.004+03:00

Songs that I have a worse-than-bad addiction for. A small playlist, if you like. To brighten your Monday.

1. Sara Bareilles: Single Ladies (Beyoncé Cover)

2. The Maccabees: First Love

3. Noah and the Whale: 5 Years' Time

4. Animal Collective: My Girls

how i want to live

2010-08-22T21:33:00.002+03:00

"What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction."

Chuck Palahniuk: Choke

Click pictures for sources.

sundays

2010-08-22T18:13:00.004+03:00

I went back to school last Monday. Since then my life has returned to being hectic and stressful. But it's still as much fun as ever. There are tons of courses: a lot of writing, philosophy, and languages. There are friends, old and new. There are jazz clubs to attend, darkening nights to watch. Autumn is creeping upon us and mornings are sharp and cold.

And, possibly because of the comeback of early wake-up calls, I'm endlessly attracted to pictures of sleep.

Click picture for source.

missed connections

2010-08-19T22:02:00.002+03:00

It's a lovely blog, and if you haven't visited it, please do.

ebejeebies

2010-08-15T17:33:00.003+03:00

Love poems by Andre Jordan.

a song for sunday

2010-08-15T17:27:00.001+03:00

Toothpaste Kisses by the Maccabees, for my last day of summer holiday.

Have a sublime Sunday!

where i've been and what i've been doing

2010-08-14T11:00:00.002+03:00

Okay, almost done with the reminiscing, I swear. But first, some pictures. From Denmark, where my friend V and I spent some time before stepping on board our little tall ship and becoming all sailor-ly.

I'm the blonde, the V's the brunette.

(I know a lot of you have been asking for pictures of me, so here you go! I haven't been opposed to posting pictures of myself before this, it's just that there rarely are any pictures of me, because I'm usually the one behind the camera. But for once I've been displaying my awkward face on the other side of the lens.)

stripes

2010-08-13T12:59:00.002+03:00

I've become obsessed with striped shirts. (Just ask any of my friends, they'll tell you.) I can't think of anything more beautiful than a striped shirt with sleeves long enough to brush the ground. All those stripes!

Picture by Marc Johns.

something familiar

2010-08-13T12:23:00.003+03:00

A poem. It's been too long since I last wrote something without thinking too much about it.

Inspired by this song.

some watermelon & the sea

2010-08-13T00:31:00.003+03:00

I've been away and I've been busy. But now I'm back: school on Monday. I've got a precious few days of summer left.

It's been a good summer. Lots of sea and friends and hands to hold and parks to loiter in. Lots of sunshine and then those sudden bursts of rain. And sunsets.

And lots of ice cream and watermelon.

Click pictures for sources.

on memories and coming back

2010-08-04T23:16:00.005+03:00

It's strange to be home again.

It's strange: after a few days of sleeping, of vague and dispirited memory-lingering, to turn to those unpacked bags lying on the floor, open them, and breathe in the smell of travel. To close your eyes and cling to that shirt or cardigan, breathe in deep to drown yourself in the scent of the past. For the briefest moment it feels like you haven't returned at all.

And then you open your eyes and sigh and get back to life, lifting the burden of moving on onto your shoulders and feeling normalcy rush in between you and your memories.

And the odd thing is this. The more you talk about the places and the people and everything that happened, the further they retreat. They become stories, fables, something you can't quite grasp because, after all, there are no words for your experiences. There are no words for the exquisite imperfections of real life.

And the best memories are like wounds you don't want to heal.

Click picture for source.

sailing

2010-08-01T21:20:00.006+03:00

"If a man must be obsessed by something,
I suppose a boat is as good as anything,
perhaps a bit better than most.
A small sailing craft is not only beautiful,
it is seductive and full of strange promise and the hint of trouble."

(E.B. White: The Sea and the Wind that Blows)

Just replace "small sailing craft" with "square-rigged tall ship" and we're good to go.

And yes, the ship up there is the one I sailed. Click the picture to find out more.

home

2010-08-01T21:00:00.003+03:00

I'm home, after what has quite probably been the best trip of my life. I can't begin to explain everything, let's just say I've lost my heart to tall ships and all I can think of is when can I go sailing again.

And now I'm home. I can't believe it, I don't want to believe it. But I know I have to. I go back to school in two weeks. Normal life will commence.

Only what's the point of normal life if one could be sailing?

When I was younger my mother used to say that when you miss something or someone, you just know that you care. And that caring is a good thing. So that makes missing things a good thing, I suppose. At least it's necessary. A necessary sadness.

goodbye

2010-07-19T13:59:00.001+03:00

I'm off! Wish me luck.

See you in August, have a great few weeks!

we are actually going

2010-07-17T18:02:00.003+03:00

On Monday I shall embark on a voyage with my friend Vilma. Her parents will drive us through Sweden and Denmark over the course of a few days. When we reach Aalborg, which is on the Northern coast of Denmark, Vilma and I will get on board a tall ship and sail her to Kristiansand, Norway over the course of nine days. It's all a part of the Tall Ships' Races.

And I can't believe we're actually going.

I can't wait to be on board a tall ship again, I can't wait to feel the lulling sway of the waves, I can't wait to see the water break into a spray against the hull of the ship, I can't wait to be climbing to the top of a mast to watch a sunset. I. Can't. Wait. There's this restless energy in my body, I just want to be going already.

Click pictures for sources.

reading lolita in tehran

2010-07-15T23:20:00.002+03:00

This is kind of relevant in my life right now:

"You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place, I told him, like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again."

(Azar Nafisi: Reading Lolita in Tehran)

the girl with short hair

2010-07-13T17:46:00.003+03:00

I know. I've been moaning for long hair for a long time. Well, now that my hair has grown well past my shoulders, I'm probably having it cut today.

To a pixie/boy-style/Peter Pan length. Or whatever you want to call it.

Yes, I know. I'm fickle.

But I find myself rather enjoying my fickle-ness.

(But I can still back out, right? If I get terribly scared?)

Click picture for source.

heat

2010-07-13T17:24:00.002+03:00

May I just say this: it is so hot. The upstairs of our house is unbearable, mainly because of the black tin roof. I've opened every window in this house, but that just results in a scorching breeze. I'm just sitting around downstairs, reading and drinking glass after glass of water.

So on Sunday I was at a festival. Belle & Sebastian were wonderful, and Regina Spektor is still on my mind. Her concert was so emotionally charged, it's appeared in my dreams several times since.

And then Spain won the World Cup and I'm still too euporic about it for my own good. Okay, I won't start talking about football. Not after my previous post.

Let's just say I'm very happy in several ways and very sad in some. And I wish I knew what to do with myself.

Click pictures for sources.

this

2010-07-10T23:39:00.001+03:00

Found here.

evenings

2010-07-10T23:21:00.002+03:00

I've been away for a while. But now I'm back home.

I've fallen in love with the light of a summer evening. From a golden mist to a piercing sunset, to the blue dew of night.

Tomorrow I'll be going to a festival in Turku with some friends. Regina Spektor and Belle & Sebastian are performing. I'm so excited, because Regina and her music have been very important to me for a very long time. But this also means I'll miss the World Cup final. I'll be mentally chanting Qué viva España for the entire day, though. I am so nervous.

Click pictures for sources.

how i want to live

2010-07-06T01:13:00.002+03:00

Like this. In the infinite blue hours of the night. By the sea. With the people that matter.

Click picture for source.

a letter to the spanish language

2010-07-04T17:29:00.003+03:00

I am falling in love with you.

I don’t know why. I don’t know what makes you so different from every other language I’m studying.

Maybe it’s the way I don’t need to use personal pronouns to specify the subject of a sentence. Maybe it’s the way you sound gentle and fierce at the same time. Maybe it’s the way I can rattle off verb conjugations like a poem, an incantation. (Estoy estás está estamos estáis están. Duermo duermes duerme dormimos dormís duermen. Quiero quieres quiere queremos queréis quieren.)

All I know is that I have this mad urge to learn more words, more expressions, more grammar. I want to feel your soft r’s and strong j’s pour out of my mouth with the uncanny speed of a native speaker. I want more more more.

So yeah. I just thought you should know.

Click picture for source.

sunday

2010-07-04T14:00:00.003+03:00

Today is incredibly warm and sunny and I've just had breakfast and now I'm going to go outside and read Consolation by Anna Gavalda - which is an excellent book by the way - and listen to the breeze.

Click pictures for sources.

how i want to live

2010-07-02T00:17:00.003+03:00

I'm constantly stumbling upon these wonderful photographs that make me dream of a different way of living.

It's not that I'm not happy living the way I am living. I am.

But I still dream. Of a place to call my own, of a person to call my own. Of a life of my own.

Click pictures for sources.

how i want to live

2010-07-01T00:40:00.004+03:00

There.

Right there. In an infinite starry night.

As always, click picture for source.

summer days / summer nights

2010-06-30T22:42:00.005+03:00

Lately it seems I only arrive home after sunset.

I've been sitting in parks and on docks, photographing my friends and the sea.

I've been listening to Arcade Fire outside the concert area because my student budget didn't allow me to buy tickets.

I've been watching too much football.

I've been out dancing in the rain. I've been holding hands. I've been riding my bike home during the warm morning hours when the sun paints everything golden.

(I don't have any pictures of all this yet, I haven't had my rolls of film developed, but these should give you a general idea.)

And I can't believe June has already slipped by. In a few weeks' time I'll be sailing the North Sea. What are you doing in July?

Click pictures for sources.

how i want to live

2010-06-29T15:10:00.005+03:00

An apartment in Barcelona, with a balcony overlooking the city, and peonies on the windowsill. Bookstores and cafés and parks nearby. I'd bike around the city and study and visit museums and cook dinner for my friends and watch the sunsets. During weekends we'd drive out to a little village nearby, where we'd tan during the day and dance all night.

Click pictures for sources.

shades of grey

2010-06-25T16:54:00.003+03:00

I'm not going to lie, I'm so nervous for the Spain - Chile match tonight that I'm practically unable to do anything. Except bite my nails and surf football blogs.

So here are some pictures that calm me down, a bit.

Have a great weekend!

Click pictures for sources.

a midsummer night's dream

2010-06-24T22:56:00.003+03:00

Midsummer is here again.

I'm kind of confused about everything. But the sun is setting right now and my window is open and I can hear the wind. And I don't want to need anything more than this moment.

(But I do, I always do.)

Click pictures for sources.

that feeling

2010-06-21T20:31:00.005+03:00

"And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer."

(F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby)

Click pictures for sources.

dreams

2010-06-20T22:30:00.006+03:00

My weekend was all friends and happiness. How was yours?

I can only marvel at how a morning built on dreams and yesterday's smoke can feel this new. Our hair is still soft from the rain that arrived from the sea in a stinging mist as we listened to the waves at the harbour after midnight. And today we woke up to the yawning of the trams on the street below, and to the way the wind tossed around the maple's branches and played the Japanese wind chime.

We went outside without bothering to dress our bare feet, holding our bowls of muesli in our hands. You blew blue smoke at the blue sky. The house across the street was bright in the sunlight, like an egg yolk, or a child's chewed-up pencil.

Click picture for source.

letters

2010-06-18T13:24:00.007+03:00

My desk at work has two posters hung on the wall next to it. A map of Helsinki and the Cyrillic alphabet. I have no idea why they're there. But the Cyrillic letters make me want to learn Russian.

(I might have a bit of an issue with learning languages. I encounter a beautiful language and I get obsessed with it. Sign language, Arabic, Latin, Portuguese, Italian, Hebrew, Japanese, and now Russian... I'd want to learn them all. I have something of a collector's mania.)

happiness

2010-06-17T21:54:00.005+03:00

There's this constant feeling of light, happy pressure beneath my ribs. Like wings. Feathery little wings that make me feel like I could fly.

Every time I take that damn train home after another perfect day, I just look at the sky and the trees and feel like I could just take off, soar over everything just because there's so much feeling inside me.

Stephen Chbosky writes about feeling infinite. And this is just how it feels. It feels like something you have to share, something you have to get out of your system. I feel like running and yelling and laughing and rolling around in that inviting emerald grass beneath my window.

There's too much perfection in my world, it catches my breath and almost makes me cry. Please let me never forget how this feels.

First photo via Sabino. Second, click for link. Third unknown.

plaits

2010-06-17T15:47:00.003+03:00

I constantly feel like I'm underachieving. I feel like I don't have enough to do, enough things to keep my mind and hands occupied. I'm finally on holiday, and now I feel miserable because I have too much free time. I'm ridiculous.

So, to keep myself busy, I'm learning how to make a French plait that'd actually look nice. (The reason I don't know how to do this is that I've only had long hair for a few months. And generally I pin it up in a bun. Plaits are surprisingly difficult!)

Click photos for sources.

volver

2010-06-14T21:32:00.003+03:00

I had a most wonderful week, simply incredible. I feel loved and happy and tired.

And now there's work to be done and summer to be enjoyed. Over the next few weeks you'll find me in various parks and cafés. I'll be sitting on trams and trains and the metro. I'll be at sea. I'll be on adventures.

There's also football to be watched.

Most people are astonished when they hear I'm a massive football fan at heart. But I am. International competitions make me go crazy. So I am in love with this time of year. I love the fact that wherever I go, football is being shoved in my face. Knowing that the whole world is watching these matches as one is such a powerful feeling.

And as for whose side I'm on? Easy. ¡Viva España!

Click pictures for sources.

translucent days

2010-06-04T22:04:00.003+03:00

Today was the last day of school. Tomorrow morning we'll have our spring ceremony and then I'll be off. I'll begin my summer with a week at Prometheus camp as an instructor. Until then!

I still can't believe I'm on summer holiday. Ten weeks of freedom.

Picture via Chris Chambers.

and yet

2010-06-01T21:43:00.006+03:00

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

(Robert Frost)

I don't know where I'm taking this blog anymore. But there are so many beautiful pictures out there and I like making stories out of them. I know I could call myself repetitive (third post in a row featuring three pictures and little text content), but this is what I want to do.

Oh, and you might want to listen to this because it's more perfect than I thought any song could ever be.

First two pictures, click for sources. Third via Lolita.

busy

2010-05-31T20:43:00.003+03:00

The final days of exam week are slipping by. Spanish tomorrow, then Philosophy, then I'll be done. On Saturday we have the spring ceremonies, after that it's beautiful freedom for ten weeks.

I'm so busy. I'm wishing I could sleep for a few days in a cabin with some friends. And after that we could go on a couple of adventures. That'd be nice.

Click first two pictures for sources. Third via Sabino.

summer skin

2010-05-30T18:30:00.005+03:00

One of the things I like about summer is that you can hold hands and know it's not just because of the cold.

Click pictures for sources.

life of pi

2010-05-29T21:50:00.003+03:00

Life of Pi by Yann Martel is an incredible novel. And he strikes that chord in me so effortlessly:

My greatest wish - other than salvation - was to have a book.

And that's all I have to say today.

Picture via Sabino.

spring in black and white

2010-05-26T20:43:00.003+03:00

Outside it's rainy and cold but luckily I've got photographic evidence that proves it's not always like this.

And of course I have my friends to thank for being so obliging whenever I get my camera out and jump around like a maniac, snapping away. (And for being so photogenic, the bastards.)

reflections

2010-05-24T20:47:00.005+03:00

Change of weather, change of heart. That's how it's traditionally been with me. But right now, though our days of sunshine have changed to unacceptable amounts of wind and rain, I find myself being rather, well, happy.

This is so new for me. This consistently feeling okay. Every now and then I have to stop and think about it. Just quietly appreciate the feeling.

This is so new to me. Glancing at my reflection in a store window and feeling my eyes widen as I realise: I look happy.

It's funny. I almost didn't recognise myself.

Click picture for source.

the great gatsby

2010-05-23T13:08:00.005+03:00

Possibly my favourite two sentences of all time. For the past four years I've been reading this over and over again. If only I could one day write something half as exquisite.

The beginning of Chapter Three from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. I could dissect it to bits and explain just why I love it so much... But I don't think that's necessary.

There was music from my neighbour's house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.

Pictures are screen caps from the film An Education.