My backpack was heavy, but I could lift it and push along with my own momentum,
with my sturdy and stubborn sense of adrenaline
Everyone told me, "This is really heavy,"
as if they were trying to warn me.
But, I wouldn't have packed it if I didn't know I could handle it on my own.
Here I am now in Oslo, my intended destination for so long now.
And, what will I do here?
Slow down a bit, I think.
And, what have I been doing?
Speedily moving along.
{There is a statue of a tiger outside of Oslo's Central Station,
perhaps the thing I can relate to the best in this city so far.}
I've stayed with some great hosts lately.
I've also walked straight into a big rock concert
in Christiania, without paying, without knowing it was going to happen.
(That's a bit of a longer and more beautiful story than I'm writing here,
for now, check out: Kaizers Orchestra )
Then, I stayed with probably the most eccentric
boy in Gothenburg, Sweden,
a skinny story-teller with insomnia and a heart condition,
who made me tartex sandwiches,
and took me all over town,
and taught to me that not all Scandinavians are cold and dull,
and that Jens Lekman has a small penis
(although I'm still not certain over the validity of that last statement).
I drank a very small amount of beer and wine this past week,
for the first time in a long time...
but mostly just to be polite, and
which helped me to re-learn that alcohol is still pointless for me.
I much prefer tea, any day.
I finally gave Nelson the tea that I bought for him in a special shop
one day in Guilin, China,
which feels so far away from me now.
And he showed me that he does save the things I've given him,
including all the packaging and envelopes and little notes on wrapping papers...
despite the fact that he's moved around a lot, in the meanwhile,
everything is perfectly intact.
And, I'm sleeping on the couch here,
which feels a bit surreal to me,
since I can't clearly remember the last time I've literally slept on a couch,
itself, by myself,
rather than being invited into (or given my own) bed.
Traveling alone has seldom been lonely for me.
And everyone I meet has an urge to take care of me
and share so much with me.
I appreciate all of it.
I try to give back as much as I take;
I'm still trying to find a good balance.
But, this lifestyle feels so natural to me.
It feels so right to be on the road again.
It feels so good every time I stop a vehicle with my thumb;
there's something so perfectly thrilling
about knowing I have the freedom to go anywhere, any time I chose to.
It's good to know that my sense of self-navigation is doing well.
It's good to know that I can get to the places that I've been meaning to go to;
that they're not out of reach.
It's also good for me to see and learn about little things:
the view from the mirrors on the side of a truck,
the growth and decay of cities and societies,
a few new words in various languages,
universal expressions,
knowing how to approach anyone,
where the highways begin and end,
how people and landscapes change over time and pressure,
different foods and flavors,
different theories about living and dying,
how swiftly one can cross borders,
how to remodel the concept of personal ownership,
how much more durable I am than my luggage,
the way the trees grow here and there,
the way strangers relate to each other around the world,
the way politicians can point without pointing,
the way doors open and close,
and
the things that are important to me:
fresh air, clean drinking water, daylight, warmth, the sounds I've been hearing, my rain boots, extra pairs of socks, art, creation, thought, laughing, conversations, reading mails from friends, stretching, fruit juice and good tea, surprises, being able to create, feeling like I mean something to the people I've met, and feeling as if the things I'm doing are worthwhile.
with love, as always,
Amylin
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