Year: 2016

Do you see me now?

(Image source) I wanted to write something about acknowledgement, especially the importance of acknowledging other people, and of being acknowledged yourself. It’s not something we talk about a lot, perhaps because it sounds so serious, but I think most of us know the feeling. It’s like… like when you’re talking to someone, and you can tell they’re truly listening. When the cashier at the grocery store says “have a good day”, and it looks like they actually, magically mean it. It’s when you’re sleeping next to someone, and they pull you closer, without even waking up. Acknowledge (əkˈnɒlɪdʒ) 1. accept or admit the existence or truth of. 2. recognize the importance or quality of. 3. express gratitude for or appreciation of. 4. accept the validity or legitimacy of. 5. show that one has noticed or recognized (someone) 6. confirm. When you look up “acknowledgement” in a dictionary, you find some pretty strong words. Acceptance. Importance. Gratitude. To recognise, to notice, to confirm. The real beauty lies in how acknowledgement creates connection. To truly acknowledge someone, …

In the glen

(image source, edited by me) This belongs somewhere in the book I’m writing, probably about a third of the way in.  The whole thing is nowhere near ready — we’re talking years, not months away — but I wanted to give you a tiny little taste nonetheless. I hope you like it. Oh, and just a small reminder: you can subscribe to my blog via e-mail here. “Death was tired?” Eira was, too, but she could smell a story. “Well, yes.” Os stretched out and folded his hands behind his head. “Just imagine, people kept dying and dying, and everyone was carrying a life’s worth of memories and regrets and unfulfilled dreams and… heavy things. Death couldn’t let them keep all that forever, it would be cruel. But Death couldn’t shoulder everything itself either; it’s just too much for one. So Death made the Two, and gave them one half of the world each. They travel ahead of Death, picking up our burdens so we can travel on freely.” “So your lockets are..?” “Patience, remember?” …

Of course it hurts

(Image source) Some change is gradual and relatively easy to wrap your head around. You scroll through the photos on your phone, flick through an old, handwritten diary, or get a text from a former friend, and you just know that things are no longer the same. You might feel nostalgic, but when it comes down to it, you’re glad life has moved on. Other changes whip your head around with sheer force, and you have no idea how this really happened or how much it wil affect everything. It’s a slap in the face, sharp and humbling, or a dull punch strong enought to bruise, rainbow colours blossoming on your skin for weeks. It’s the kind of change that hurts. Of course it hurts when buds burst, pain for that which grows and that which envelops. Karin Boye / Translation by Jenny Nunn When you’re young, it seems like all change happens because of somebody else: parents and guardians, teachers, even older friends, and that just sucks. As a teenager, things get even more …