Sitting by the fire. Have a glass of rose at hand, nice and chill. Have my toes tucked into the lambhide. I can hear the storm whipping the trees and an occasional rain blasts the terrace boards right behind me and behind the wall. It sounds as if someone is running and dancing outside. The rain comes and goes with just seconds. As if the winds throw the clouds around in such wild manner, from one side to the other, as if two beasts fight for life. Very equal fight, nobody is winning yet. Logs are slowly burning and the next moment the flames don’t know what direction to burn as the winds try to enter the room through the chimney. Oh, don’t start that chaos inside now!, I quietly whisper. I whisper it to the storm. My favourite thing ever is to follow storm and just watch. Enjoy the play of power. The best is to enjoy it by the sea. I just find a  huge rock or fallen tree to sit on and enjoy. First row seats!

I now have first row seats too. I am on the island, back home. Back in the sauna I used to live in. Back home. Back on the island. Nothing has changed since I left more than 25 years ago. Curtains are the same, couch is the same, fireplace is the same. Sounds of forest, rain, storm, all is the same. Soothing and calming. I crave this every autumn. I can’t get enough of it. Strange urge to come home fast. Drive for hours in bliss to the port and then feel the excitement growing with every minute getting closer to home on the ferry. Ferry is new. Not the right smells. That makes me sad. The old ferries had special place in my senses, all the sounds and smells. I can recognise them with closed eyes.

On the way I saw fallen trees on the highway, someone already cut them or dragged off the road. This time the storm is big, strong and going on for 4th day already. My island is without electricity now. I have missed it. I loved it when I was kid. Then we didn’t have to go to school. And the best bit was that then we made fire in the woodfed stove, to the fireplace and mom made cinnamonrolls. We could not see much in the evening with that one lousy candle in the whole kitchen so the rolls came out very “cinnamony”. We did not care much about the rolls actually. Our favourite part was to play with the dough. We snipped of a handful of dough, rolled into a ball and with all the might threw it up to the ceiling. The goal was to throw so hard that the doughball would stick strong and hang in there for as long as possible. Then we waited under the ball with mouth open so to catch the falling doughball with mouth 🙂 and eat it. Disgusting when you think about now! But it was dark and fun and we had, to moms surprise, full stomachs before any cinnamonroll was even backed! She didn’t catch us stealing the dough and never understood how it’s possible that we were full before the rolls were done. One winter when there was again no electricity and we were doing the cinnamonrolls we managed to throw a few balls to the ceiling so strong they didn’t fall back down until the next day. Let me tell you – then, in the bright morning, sun blasting through the huge wall of windows we had in the living room – we saw the balls. The dough balls. There were five balls that we had threwn and that did fall down only some time after we had gone to sleep. The balls. Not beige as you might think. They were dark brown. No, not because of cinnamon. Cinnamon is only put on to the dought once it’s rolled out on the table. Our balls had no cinnamon. That was dirt. The dirt from the ceiling. Disgusting. All the ceiling was covered with light rounds, a trail of our disgusting game. Why the ceiling was dirty? Well, we have such heating. Wooden stoves, fireplace. I don’t think we ever played this doughball again. But we have a blast when the electricity goes off during storms. Remembering the strange ways we entertained ourselves :).

So today I enjoy the trip down to memory lane. I lived here. Even if poor as fuck at that time, I truly lived here. We didn’t know any better. My home, my horses, my dog, school, sports, forests, seaside. Fireplace, candles. Beer, smoking, sauna and more sauna. Love. First love. First loves? Can there be many first loves? I think I secretly loved every day someone new. But as there was nothing coming towards me my love just faded away. Except this one. That broke me. To million pieces. I don’t think I ever gathered all the pieces…. There are many missing. Probably lost somewhere on the island, never to be found again. I can’t fix the void. It’s forever for me to carry. Was it love? No idea…. What is love? I love beer. I love music. Oh, and I love cars! Can I love a person? Or is it just mix of need, lust, fun, comfort? Just like that Apfelstrudel in the morning. And coffee with milk foam on top, and that sprinkle of cinnamon. The tastes familiar from our childhood. The smell of rain. Cotton sheets. Starting fire in the Saturday mo, because it’s cold and day off. Freshly baked bread. Smells from childhood. Is that love? Can there be loving someone whos memories, tastes, smells are nothing like yours? Smell of fear. Well, sure one who grew up in fancy rich comfy home with loving parents giving treats and being real parents will never understand the other one who had to run away from home in order to survive. Or, the one who grew up with cuddles and warmth will never understand the one who got beaten up years on daily basis while only being three years old. So, the chances are close to zero to find that perfect match. We all come from different bubbles. Some prettier, some uglier. No bubble is ever the same. Even brothers and sisters bubbles are different. Like snowflake that is said to never have repeat.

I had hope again, thought for tens and tens of times that this is it. That’s my mate for the rest of my life. So stupid! Most of the crushes didn’t even know of my excistence :). But the longest relationship is still blooming! I am my own biggest love, finally, finally I get along with myself! 

I love being alone here, by fireplace, just bedsheets around, lazy night, wild storm outside. I would like to share this with someone who understands these sounds, these smells, and treasures this being. Being, doing nothing. 

She closed her eyes and started swaying

But it’s so hard to dance that way

When it’s cold and there’s no music

oh, your old hometown’s so far away

But inside your head there’s a record that’s playing

A song called “Hold on”, hold on

Babe, you gotta hold on

Take my hand, I’m standing right there, you gotta hold on

Good night world,

XOXOX