You’d think I would have time to update during Christmas, considering how seldom I update even when there isn’t anything else going on in particular, but for once, I feel as if I might be in a slightly… divulgatory mood.
Spending the holidays with family is something most of us take for granted, but I’ve realised recently how dear it has become to me these past few years. Since meeting my boyfriend I’ve spent the winter holidays away from my own family twice already, but somehow, it almost feels as if all that’s happened is that my family has grown larger. I no longer feel uncomfortable in the presence of his mother and father, his grandparents and his brother, in fact I feel as much at home here as I ever have in my own parents’ house.
Good food, good company and most of all, lots and lots of love and figurative warmth (because, in all honesty, this house is cold as a penguin’s bottom) is what we can enjoy.

I hope the few people who might come across this blog and who might, by chance, actually bother to read through my nonsense, take the opportunity to just look around at those they have nearest, the people they care about, the people you love. Give them the time of day, not just once or twice a year, but as often as you can, to just talk and listen to one another.

You never know how many many more days you’ll be able to enjoy their company.

A love-story.

I haven’t posted anything about it before, but I need to get i out of my system: One of my cousins has been in a very unhealthy relationship until quite recently. She’s waved a red danger-flag in the air for a couple of years, but because she didn’t have the courage at the time to break off the relationship, it seemed like most of our relatives had sort of… given up on the situation.
Though I had known about her troubles for a while, she would never speak ill of her boyfriend to me until about two months ago, when she called me, crying, and asked me where I was. At the time I was visiting a good friend of mine to help her with some schoolwork, but at both my friend and cousin have known each other for a good number of years, I suggested she come over as well.
Meeting her at the nearby bus-stop, she immediately hugged me, her entire body shaking, and not because of the cold outside, but because of fear and the constant sobs wracking her entire frame.
Now, there are two things you need to know about my cousin, the first is the fact that she’s hardly ever cried in front of me, and when she has it’s been out of sadness, the second is the fact that she, unlike myself, is a very kind person, timid and sweet. She’s never been in a fight, she’s never had to shout out that something isn’t okay, because she’s lived a somewhat normal life. Unfortunately, because of this, she hasn’t built up that sense of self-confidence that would allow her to just say “This isn’t alright, this isn’t good for me”.
For about an hour, an hour and a half, she sat and cried with my friend and I, not talking much, but to tell me, for the first time, in all honesty, how unhappy she had been and how things had gone up and down constantly over the course of those years. That was probably the first time in many years that I felt she put her trust completely in me and it felt like I was finally part of her life again.
It wasn’t more than two weeks after that, thankfully, that she finally broke off everything, moved out of the house where she was staying with her boyfriend and came to my parents, asking if she could rent out the room in the attic. When I heard it, I almost cried. I was so impossibly proud of her, and I still am as I watch her looking for a new apartment, where she can start over and build up her life rather than spending it catering to the needs of someone who would never reciprocate.
I think everyone knows someone who is on a relationship that they feel isn’t right and I also think that, although you shouldn’t give upon trying to help, you shouldn’t try to force the person in question to break it off. If we try to force a victim away from an abuser, whether it’s physical or psychological abuse, they will cling to the last shreds of hope and naivety that exists in their life rather than accept your opinion right away. The only thing to do is to give help and slowly work with them in a way that they can realise, on their own, that they have to do something about the situation.
As I said, I’m impossibly proud of my cousin for her ability to finally shatter her illusion and start to rebuild herself. We’re hardier than most would imagine.

A hate-story

Now for the negative bit. I realised not more than a couple of days ago how much I dislike some of my relatives. First off you’ll need to know a little bit about my family. My family-tree is huge, I really do mean that. I have cousins all over the place, several aunts and uncles on both my mother and my father’s side. Unfortunately I don’t know much about my father’s parents, but I do know a lot about my mother’s parents… My grandmother on my mother’s side is a hopelessly bitter alcoholic who verbally abuses anyone with close relations to my mother because of her own fixed ideas about how things should be. My father’s parents died when I was little, too little to remember them, actually, my grandfather on my mothers side also died without me having ever even met the man (though from what my mother has told me, he wasn’t someone worth meeting anyway) but my grandmother on my mother’s side is alive and kicking… for better or worse.
Now, it seems like her bitterness has been passed on to another of my cousins, a ma in his late thirties whom I’ve always cherished dearly. My respect for him has plummeted this past year, however. Mostly because of how he manipulates his mother and his younger sister to take care of his son as often as he can (this despite the fact that his sister has a daughter of her own as well as an adopted son from her husband’s previous relationship) and when they don’t comply to his will he will call them disloyal and selfish. Not okay. I don’t have much hope for his girlfriend either, for that matter.

Now, this man has his son a few days every other week, but apparently this is soooooo tiring that he has to pawn the poor kid off on someone else while he and his girlfriend spend “quiet evenings at home” which they obviously can’t do on the weeks that the child isn’t there (go figure).
Somehow this just sickens me.

I could go on and on about this kind of behaviour, but seeing as I’m getting tired, I’ll let you know more as the situation unfolds.

In other news, I might be moving within a few months time and, if I’m lucky enough, I might also get a new job quite soon. This might be a good way of balancing up all the negativity I’ve felt lately.

Well, excuse my ramblings, once again. ‘Til next time.

Though I haven’t really been writing much of anything lately, I’m pleased to say that a good friend of mine, Richelle (Fondly called Rachel by close companions) had a fantastic storyline that she wanted to get down on paper and so she gave me the chance to start on it. The story is called One Chance, One Word and the first few pages are available to read right here.

Though it’s far from finished, this new story had a plot that has kept me amused and, though we’re still working hard at perfecting the characters, we’re getting there.

That’s all from me for now. Will be posting more tomorrow. <3

Today, I read an interesting article about a man here in Sweden who had compared a certain religion to something the world sees as an evil. He was immediately labeled an intolerant being and cast into the spotlight of the media, the media in this case being one of Sweden’s, or at least Gothenburg’s, worst newspapers and therefore held no objectivity to the situation at all.

In todays world it seems this word is thrown around almost as if it might be some new cultural fad. but how can we really define it? Wikipedia defines intolerance as “Intolerance is an antonym to ‘toleration’. The term may refer to one of the following; Medical/biological conditions or social/psychological/political“, but somehow, it seems that anything an be classified as intolerance these days.
Any form of criticism towards anyone, any single person, any religion, any group of people is now referred to as intolerance, even though it may in fact be something as simple as a comment, thrown into the wind just to get it out of one’s system.

Though I myself do not condone fascism, racism or anything of the like, I am not surprised, with the current state my country is in that these issues are brought up, time and time again. Yes, there are neo-nazis in my country, yes there are racists, yes there are fascists, and of course there are people who are on a constant mission to combat these people, whether it be on a political level, or on the streets, but when a man expresses a simple opinion, whether it be verbal, or online, such as I’m doing now, somehow I feel he’s entitled to that opinion. yes, he may have chosen his words somewhat unwisely, but I still feel that he didn’t make such an enormous mistake as the media would like us to believe.

I’m not going to put a link for this article on my blog because I don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to this little “scandal” as some are calling it.

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When we speak of religion, we always seem to focus on two of the largest, or at least two of the loudest in the world, Christianity and Islam. They are both horrifyingly alike one another (and no, by this, I don’t mean that the people who practice these religions are in any way bad, though the people who knock on doors at five in the morning, asking if I’ve found Jesus should be punched in the face) but for some reason, only a handful of those who are faithful believers and followers seem to realise this.
I’ve met my fair share of Muslims, and my fair share of Christians and as far as I’ve been able to tell, the only differences between them are the names for their deity.
I realise that I’m rambling, and yes, I do that a lot, but I really needed to get it out of my head today. Besides, I’m trying to update a little so that, even though I am uncannily boring, at least I can try to seem as if I’m not.

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In other news, the election here in Sweden is nearing and I’m still quite torn. All of the different political parties seem to lie just as much as the next and, though I was quite sure I’d be voting for our Pirate Party, I’m no longer certain if that’s really the best idea. Yes, most of their ideas are ideas I can agree with, but on the whole, it seems like the party itself had been hijacked by right-wing idiots who have only half a brain and can’t even use the normal ten percent of it.
A negative outlook on this election for me, at least, I can only hope that, if not else, our nation will once again fall out of the hands of the right-wing government. I do so hate conservative fools who would rather sacrifice progress for tradition.

That’s all for me this time. Have a good one! <3

We’re obsessed with them, whether we’re speaking statistics or something as simple and crude as money, the human mind is obsessed with numbers. But within this mess of oddities, this dull repetition of enormous figures, I have found my favourites.

The number Three, rounded and simple, rolling off the tongue in all the languages I can say it in.

The number Five, which appearance-wise is close to Three, is also rounded, but there is an edge to it that makes it seem a little more rough.

The number Seven, for the many stories and myths woven around it.

The number Nine for its grandness, the curves of it making it seem like something forbidden.

And finally…

The number Twelve, a most underappreciated figure, from what I’ve seen and heard, but it holds a harshness that is hard to find in any other number, I believe.

Now, this might seem like insane rambling to you, but for me, numbers are important. They tell me not only what order things should be in, the age of an acquaintance, or what worth has been given to an object. They fascinate me in a manner I cannot and will not even try to explain. But as you sit there, muttering to yourself about how idiotic it is to look for emotions, expressions and beauty in numbers, do ask yourself if there is a figure you prefer before all others. Think of why it is that you prefer it. Has it anything to do with the mythology you learned of as a child, has it anything to do with your appreciation for monetary worth, or is it simply a number that makes you feel safe, or one you think looks particularly appealing to draw.
There are a great many ways to come up with one’s own answer, so do give it a try.

As for me, I’m going to rest my weary head before I ramble on any further.

Good night to you all.