froekensocker

I have been thinking about writing in english for quite a while now.

so maybe that's that. I linked this blog on effing autostraddle and all these people get to see is something written in a weird language with weird signs.

you will never read something in german here, though. it's fascinating how I, for months and months now, haven't felt safe writing in my native language. so there's that. 

I think too much in english, and then I switch to swedish.

I have foreign languages, like this one

and I have a second language, which, coincidentally, is swedish.

it's my in-between language, I will never be a native speaker, I'll never be a foreigner to this language again.

In-betweener.

in-between languages are my favourite kind of languages, I wish everyone who knows me would speak all my languages so I wouldn't have to speak in tongues to them.

it's what we say at university, after the second year or so, we speak "scandinavian". it's the moment when you,who has been learning swedish and danish, write down a norwegian word in a test. it's the moment when you say "den eneste erdbeeren", part german obviously, but still. it's the moment when that girl who has swedish as her first language suddenly starts putting danish into her speech in swedish class.

so it's an in-between time now. 

I am not even close to where I've come from in my own thoughts,

and last night I spoke sign language with a half-deaf kid in my dreams. I signed. In my dream. 

I have been trying to come home for a week now and will write more and more about my holidays in the next days and weeks, those two weeks that felt like a month and made me cry on the bus when I had gotten back to my hometown.
this trip was thought to be a healing trip and it was, kind of. it burst me into pieces and started putting them back together right around the end.

 
So the stories will follow.

About family and pool parties with siblings and the hot hot heat. dead chameleons and red hills. 

About the end of the world as we know it and an awfully wrong played scrabble game.

About leaving on a bus and riding the metro alone for the first time without freaking out,

about climbing hills and the tram and those buildings and the seaside or riverside and bridges 

and people and french and falling in love over again with a place

and then leaving once again to another place with other people and one special person to meet, among others equally so special and then leaving again for that first place and feeling at peace and at home and that last evening when she draw me that labyrinth as a riddle and sent me to bed with one question

"which player will you move first?"

and the answer in the morning: I am not going to move any of them.

Feeling free, at last, just to find a cockroach on the toilet seat.
and then the crying on the bus and now life and work and those damn old topics in my head like "women and me and how it never works out"

and if anyone at auto-effin-straddle read this I might consider writing in english more often.

off to my friend, we are going to knit together (yes) because it feels like it's autumn here.