Wednesday, 9 March 2016

"a dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware..."

"I am nervous, I own, and may think myself worse than I really am... I look back upon... the ecstasies in which I have passed some days and the miseries in their turn, I wonder the more at the Beauty which has kept up the spell so fervently... Now I have had opportunities of passing nights anxious and awake I have found other thoughts intrude upon me. "If I should die," said I to myself, "I have left no immortal work behind me - nothing to make my friends proud of my memory - but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered."" 
- Keats to Fanny Brawne

The past week has been one of extreme highs and lows; spending some days curled up on the sofa, others dancing around the apartment to my newest favourite song, exploring Malmö with a dear friend, crying myself home along the dark swedish lanes, listening with wonder to the sweet birdsong in the early mornings.

 - journal entry, wednesday 9 march -
I could see a sliver of a peach-tinged sky from the gaps in the blinds this morning. The cycle to work filled me with pleasure - the sun finally breaking over parts of the hilly landscape in Sankt Hans and casting long rays over the grass; turning the silver carpet of frost to a warm gold. Waking up has been so hard of late, but the cycle almost always makes up for it.

snow in sankt hans on sunday afternoon.

 On saturday I celebrated my birthday, and had the privilege to share it with Anna by exploring Malmö, eating at Misoteket, talking about my already-arranged marriage (??), and being gifted with an beautiful handcrafted pot. I also received some beautiful cards and presents, amongst them a notepad from Eva, Nicklas, and Linus, and a whole package of things from my sister, including an exquisite little handpainted plate.

The notepad is now my new journal. With such a beautiful thing I have decided to make a wholehearted effort to work hard on this journal; rather than using up the pages documenting my existential crisis over not being an adequate writer/journaller (usually about 60% of the contents of my journals) I have decided it is time to give this one a Purpose - "to record more fully, eloquently, with purpose, and at length'. Spending so much of my degree studying Victorian literature, with its intricately detailed diary entries (whether fictional, or real) of near-transcripts of conversations and exciting daily events has somewhat spoilt me. How hard it is to recreate that, and not just scribble down the first mundane thoughts that pops into one's head and a brief overview of the day (or increasingly, week)... something that I almost unerringly end up doing. Wish me luck.

 I am so thankful for all of the people who have kept me in their minds. The song I've been dancing to this week is Ghengis Khan by Miike Snow. The video is great in every way, from the editing to the story to the dance moves (...especially the dance moves).

"You are after all 'a dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, / Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam / A body of England's... / Washed by rivers, blest by suns of home...'"
- l.g. to j.g. quoting Rupert Brooke

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