Monday, August 27, 2012

One of the many reasons I have to take deep breaths in my own company

I still have my diary from first grade and onward. It's a yellow, sort of touristy thing, with a small lock that is absolutely useless.

The first entry goes something like: Hello, my name is Kaisa and I'm seven years old. Today is my birthday.
It's very sweet. Very odd at times. Nothing too special.


Here and there you find these corrections written with blue ink over the original writing.
Things like changing the ages if the people I'm talking about, or correcting spelling mistakes.

So. Ergo. When I got a bit older I went back to my diary, read it and corrected the mistakes I did when I was seven years old.

I'm so anal I can't even stand it.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

The concept of penpalling

I got a message from an old penpal a few days ago. Suddenly I was hit in the face with all of these memories of people I've known but never really known.
Because that's what having penpals usually means.

You start talking to them out of nowhere, you tell them your deepest darkest secrets, and then you never meet up and probably never get past the 6-months-mark of being acquaintances.

It's such a weird concept.

I was fifteen; lonely and misunderstood. I had this dream of escaping and becoming someone else. Moving to Japan. Writing a book. I talked to people who understood that. I talked to people who thought of travelling half-way across the globe as no biggie, as long as they had someone to connect with.

When I was 16 I had a friend who was around 23. He hopped on a plane from Australia and visited me on a weekend in the middle of the winter. He couldn't stand the cold and we never had anything to do, but he kept saying how much he appreciated talking to me. He seemed sad.
My parents had one rule and one rule only; Don't follow him up to his hotel room.
So of course that's where we spent all of our time.
"People don't travel to other countries just to rape people, mom!"

He visited me once more, and then on a sunday afternoon when we had to say goodbye he started crying and told me he loved me. "You don't understand," he said. "I do", I said. He held my hand and told me "Don't go".
I was 16.
I left and never contacted him again.

When I was 17 I talked to men who fancied themselves experts on human behaviour. One of them had grandiose plans of escaping the korean military and studying psychology in Canada. He loved sociopathy tests and took them over and over again to make sure he actually was cold-hearted. The other, an actual psychology student in Canada, only ever had plans of dismantling me like a special-edition-barbie. I told him his words had no effect on me, and then I took long, somber walks to try and analyze what he'd said. All he ever did was keep laughing at me, because he knew he'd won.

Not all of them were sociopaths. Not all of these acquaintances ended badly or dragged me down.
I remember having wonderful conversations. Learning. Teaching. Listening to complete strangers talk about their insecurities.

I remembered all of this when I got that email a few days ago. How the baseball cap I got as a gift once is still hanging in my closet; untouched.

I got that email a few days ago. It was made up of one sentence. I decided almost immediately that I couldn't answer it. Some things you simply have to leave in the past.

We live in a world where we tell our life stories to strangers we'll never meet, not knowing how we'll affect them in the future. It's all so simple and bizarre.
A weird concept, yes.

Friday, August 17, 2012

About the sweet taste of modern normal, and cemeteries.

I met my grand parents for the first time today. It was at the "new" cemetery in my dad's home town (village I should say. Miniscule gathering of homes in the middle of nowhere I should say). Somehow I felt I was a disappointment to them, because of the 80s punk band hair-do I was rockin. Like, had they been alive they would've frowned upon my poor choices in life.

You know there's a hair-dresser-fudged-up-my-bangs-story here, but I'm not going to tell it. Not now!!

As me and my dear father looked down at the graves of his family I suddenly realized most of them were alive during both world wars, and felt the need to express how weird that was. To me.
My father nodded and looked somewhat somber. I then came to a second realization, which was that he had been alive during the second one. This was even weirder.

"I got to experience the after-math, especially. I was... Nine or ten when I ate my first orange."

I didn't understand, really.

"Oh, but that was nothing compared to my first banana. It was so sweet, you know? Heaven."


I could've nodded here and taken in the information. Pondered about the changes in society and my own luck. But, at the mention of bananas my mind went stiff in discomfort and spelled out "c.a.r.b.s" with pure horror in the back of my head.
I then hated myself and pretended to listen to the continuing story.

Basically, I spent the day watching my father reminisce in secret sadness, while I felt lost and bewildered on roads filled with gravel instead of concrete. We entered the church where he was baptised, and the first thing I managed to do was cuss.
Good thing my dad's deaf in one ear.
Not that he would've minded. He looked so peaceful.

I'm sad that so much if my father's life has passed him by. But I'm glad I have him to teach me about the sweetness of bananas, and the calm quiet of a simpler Friday.

The end.

The people who definitely aren't ME but LOOK LIKE ME according to people other than ME.

Here we go.

Lately, people have been telling me I look like a lot of people. People that aren't me.
Let's go through a list of people that I apparently look like (other than myself, of course. I do, though, think I look somewhat like myself... from certain angles)


Florence Welch (from Florence + The Machine)

Definitely don't own that shirt, though.


Jennifer Morrison (from House M.D)

Definitely don't pose all sexy like that, though.


Jayma friggin Mays (from Glee, or some'n like that)

Definitely don't have that fab hair, though.


Kristen Connolly (from the movie I haven't seen: The Cabin in the Woods)

Definitely.... just don't, though. Right?

I look like none of these people.


Gotz tah goh cut mah bangs naow.

Friday, August 10, 2012


I would like to take a moment to look towards the FYUUTCHAHH (future, for you educated people), where the grass is neon and everyone's too hopped up on happy pills to notice that sadness still exists.
Tomorrow will be awesome. That is my motto in life. You can borrow it if you want.

My future, as I see it, will consist of the following factors:

-Extra uni studies
-Stress/panic avoidance
-Money saving
-London travelling (!!!)
-Video making
-Boyfriend loving

That last part is definitely crucial enough to make the list.

The only thing that I can't seem to make myself look forward to is reading. I wonder what has happened to me. I wonder why I can't seem to make it past the first page of all the books I pick up.
My only hope right now is Enshadowed. The book I mentioned in my last post. And when I say MY ONLY HOPE, I really, truly mean it in that Star-Wars-Dramatic kind of way. Because reading is serious business.

I filmed a video today, but am unable to edit it because of spilled-water-on-my-laptop-because-I'm-an-idiot issues. (I really should not be allowed to own anything. At all.)
I say the words sex and slut a lot in this video. That might be something to look forward to.

//Girl in need of good news

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

I am NOT Enshadowed

I've been getting too many messages asking me if I'm clinically depressed, and so I have to make sure people know: I will not be jumping from any bridges anytime soon.
This is a common factor in my life. I seem to exude som kind of natural bitterness. I cannot help it! I am far too happy in my unhappiness to stop.

Just know that through every complaint, sad comment or ominous ponder, I am smiling.
Or at least smirking.

I'm a smirker.

Want some happy news? This is coming out soon:

Saturday, August 4, 2012

This isn't angst. It's science-ish.

Here's a scenario:

You get that well known feeling of wanting to cry. Like your body and mind needs it for some reason.
I'm not an expert, but crying should have some sort of purpose. Some sort of underlying biological explanation. Something which makes it more than just a sign of being wimpy.
Anyway, you get that feeling....
But you can't do anything with it. You're stuck. You suddenly remember that this happens all the time. That you can't cry. You've lost the ability to cry.

What then?

///twenty and dry

Me and Sociopathy

When I was younger I had this idea that I might have been a sociopath. Not like today, where I joke about being a psycho because of my cronic weirdness, but genuinely, honestly, definitely thoughtful of my own maybe-sociopathy. This, because of an inherent worry that I didn't care about my friends and family enough.
That worry disappeared as I got older (and wiser) though. Somewhere along the line of growing up you realize how normal, boring and human you are; especially when you go away for a week and start bawling at the thought of not being able to see and talk to your best friend, neighbour's cat, dad, mom, brother, plant, whatever, etc..

This is all silly, of course. But it does show how extremely over-analyzing I can be.
I'm serious.
People around me should be aware. I over-analyze the shit out of people all the time. This is why I --for YEARS-- wanted to be a shrink. I thought that was my one true fate. I thought I was BORN to be a smart-ass , with heavy dark brown decor and all.

Funny enough, the people who veered me off the path of psychology were all actual sociopaths.
But that's a story for another time!

WHY am I bringing this up? (Real question: does it matter? Hm)

I googled the difference between a "psychopath" and a "sociopath", and apparently there is no REAL difference between the two, according to dictionaries. There are, though, "debates" about the small differences between them.
I was shocked to hear this. Shocked!
Somehow, the thought of being a sociopath was ok,
but if there's one thing I'm not; it's a full fledged psycho.

I just kind of feel like I want to go back in time and tell myself to google stuff properly.

This post is over.