It’s all fun and games, until it’s not.

Funny how hurt boils up all this poisonous crap inside one’s little heart. It’s a chore and a half trying to morph this into something bigger, better, something to power whatever else. One can only hope the recycling is a quick process. Why not use it as fuel? The practicalities, of course, might turn out to be a bit more complicated… but I’ll give it a good shot. Bitches be adaptable. For anything to hold fuel, however, the container has to be fixed first.

Oh whatever, life can go fuck itself for a bit now. Pardon the vulgarity, but when one gets hurt three times in a rather short period of time, it makes one a bit erm, edgy. Metaphorical punching oneself in the stomach is in order. I guess people learn from their own stupidity. It’s always good to remember that really shitty things happen for a reason, and once you’ve reached the bottom, it can only get better. One door closes, another opens and a thousand other clichés.

It’s gone really quiet all of a sudden. The silence is deafening. At least there are the halcyon skies to drown into.

But hey! Look at the sunset my new ghetto flat provides. Pardon the slant, couldn’t be arsed to straighten it.


And at least there’s music. Thank god for music. Simon darling delivered just when needed the most.


Paper trails.

En route to Vilnius and we’ve barely left Tallinn when some douche is listening to his questionable choice of music with headphones that seem to leak most of the sound externally. And he is also most definitely trying to deafen himself. Let’s hope his iPhone runs out of battery soon.
Anyway, I’m quite excited about going to Vilnius. Never been, only passed through. With Elina honeybunny there, don’t really need any more incentive.
The summer schedule at work starts in a few weeks with the first holidays, which means I will be filling in and doing the evening shift (as well). So this was just about the final call for a little downtime. Next time you see me, it’s probably September.
Mundane worries: the trouble with walking up early is that one gets hungry early as well. Eight and a half hours left.

Veritas odit moras.

The new home is fabulous to say the least. I’m definitely still in the honeymoon phase of excitement. Seeing as I am a sucker for all things sky and all things heights, I’m not sure I can get tired of the view and endless colours of fire the sunsets here provide daily. Change is good for the soul. I’ve got a whole new army of me giving me (will-)power and strength. Let’s hope this wave doesn’t push me off anytime soon.

And on a personal level things are getting crazier and crazier. Just when I thought the epitome of crazy had been reached, something completely unexpected decides to jump on board as well. Life is starting to beg for a novel to be written about it. All norms have been surpassed, and what’s happening now, is more like some crazy Hollywood blockbuster. But hey, if you buy the ticket, better enjoy the ride. Let’s see how long we can go before the defense mechanisms kick in and some other part of my brain calls for quits on the second violin situation. For now, happiness chokes the frustration.

Now listening to Mutemath – Control. “Surrendering somehow becomes so beautiful.”


It’s been so long.

I love it when situations, people, memories, and places get their own soundtracks. Those classic “our song” moments (eugh, cheesy) are soundtracks in sync. But anyway, in reality it’s just another little layer of emotions. And music does, indeed, make life so much better. So, I am super content I got to roam around Helsinki with a shared little secret in my ear. Silly self-explanatory smirk on my face, the arctic gale didn’t even seem so bad. Spring came early this year, and despite the weather changing, the spring has decided to stay. For now. One may or may not be speaking in riddles. Snicker snicker. It’s been too long since I last paid attention to this properly.

Helsinki was as lovely as expected. My heart wants to burst with happiness. When all shits on this planet hit the fan, I think of the wonderful people around me, and realise that I must have done something right along the way. How else would I have earned this army of sweethearts? Seeing my dearest ones loved and happy is the best thing ever. And yeah, have I mentioned I love-love-love Helsinki? My beautiful escape.

The problem with Helsinki is that one needs to take the boat there, though. And one should never take the Saturday morning boat. It’s a workout for tolerance, but demographically definitely a fascinating observation. Until the “DJ” comes on, and starts rocking out disco tunes from 70s and 80s (while mumbling into the microphone in between tracks; sound levels of course completely messed up, so everything starts with the speakers imploding a little – saying stuff like “yeaah, this is a sweet track, one of my favourites”), and the half past drunk tourists find their courage to hover on the dance floor a little. And the second leg of the trouble is the journey back. The homecoming boat wasn’t as festive as the Saturday morning one, but an exercise for one’s poker face. There’s always that one crazy person (not sure if actually a bit on the funky side, or just delirious, or maybe both?) that takes the dance floor and shouts his or her approval towards the people entertaining the indifferent commuting crowd. And then they hear their favourite ever song and then there’s no stopping. And then why not smear some lipstick all over one’s own face and even hair? Anyway. It’s always one hell of a ride. But maybe I’m too narrow-minded. Need more yolo.

I’ll go put out some fire now. With gasoline.

Oh, and watch this. This dog definitely knows how to yolo.


Jetlag is the hot topic of travelling and mostly discussed in the context of long haul flights. Yes, completely reversing day and night is a tricky business, but when one takes on a longer trip, one normally accounts for that, too. For me the smaller time differences do the worst damage. I’ve just got back from London, which is two hours behind. And I can tell I’m going to be staring at the walls-ceiling for the next two hours, which means getting two hours less sleep. And work tomorrow. This is going to be fairly unpleasant.

But London was oh-so-necessary again. The past almost two weeks have been a rollercoaster of all sorts. I’m sure there’s a diagnosis for what I’ve been doing. I seem to plan my life so that I can run along a sine/cosine graph. I’m gasping for air in equal horror and excitement, feeling the most alive at that fraction of a second of suffocation.

I’ve talked about this with several people who make their living by making other people’s lives better with their creations in them. It seems to be the standard that the most complicated states of existence bring about the greatest creative flow. I think I experienced the same in London this time. In my own little microcosm, I outdid myself. The bar has been pushed higher. The final product will follow soon.

And now a little cryptic meditation. Fear is a strange thing, it makes people make decisions full of fear. At the very moment it might seem like a good idea, but how can people live with themselves with a whole closet full of ‘what if’ skeletons shadowing every step? I’m not even sure if it’s sheer cowardice or self-deception. But when has anyone ever really managed to fool themselves? The world would be a much more exciting – but also at times more difficult – place if people had courage to look themselves in the eye and be wholeheartedly truthful with themselves. Only then can honesty with others follow. And if you’re not honest, what are you? I’ve come to this point with a little help from some people who are much better at the introspection thing, and have thought me a lot about how to push your own thought so that they actually flow freer. Of course the trouble is that when you free yourself, the amount of information-feelings-thoughts to process grows exponentially (as a tangent, if I may get all trigonometric again). Only half-processing one’s own shiz, the outcome can never be fully satisfying. But yeah, I can understand the scariness of truth. It’s not called the inconvenient truth for no reason. But what do we want more? Complacency in our comfort zone, or a clear conscience and a peace of mind, regardless of the nature of the conclusion?

I vote for honesty. I vote for feeling alive in all forms.

Now listening to ‘Tangle’ by The Hics.


The raw beauty of fear.

I’m going to have to give you boys and girls, and other forms of existence a disclaimer before you continue reading this yet another ramble of mine. This metaphorical brain splatter is going to be vague, inconsistent, and probably a bit weird and might leave you all ‘wtf is she on about’. Sorry about that. I need to process some trains of thought that are racing through my brain cells and making me crawl up the wall (metaphorically again, of course). No better place to store any intracranial implosions than the beautiful, safe space of the internets.

So anyway, I’ve been riding the old introspection wave for a while now. Bitches be ponderin’. Along have come some epic life decisions, which are too early to talk about (don’t want to jinx anything). And of course, when one makes big plans, life makes other plans. And to be fair, I am open to all sorts of manipulations. Whatever this eventually means. That’s how life on this planet rolls. Anyhow. The decisions are as scary as they are exciting. But as tradition has it, no decisions come without baggage.

I like my baggage in the form of skeletons, demons, fear, excitement, foolish purpose, and insecurity (in no specific order). But what I’ve noticed is that while I’m freaking out on the inside, this internal burn of a burn is actually a really nicely raw and honest feeling. How fucked up is it that you have to be at the brink of maddness to feel inexplicably alive and *here*. In this masochistic and mentally unhealthy way I’m enjoying whatever this is. I have no idea where I will be or what I will be a year from now. Maybe I’ll be just here. That’s fine, too. But my lord, I feel alive. And I am so scared.

I’m sure there’s a diagnosis for this.

Quarter of a century.

I dig my toes into the sand, the ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn across a blue blanket. I lean against the wind, pretend that I am weightless, and in this moment I am happy. I wish you were here. I wish you were. I wish.

It’s been a while since I last really listened to Incubus. Perhaps it would be a bit weird if I listened to the exact same music I did 10 years ago? (Editor’s note: the first paragraph was the starting lyrics of Incubus – Wish You Were Here, not some resurfacing teenage angst.)

Birthdays are wonderful in many ways. The main niceness about them is getting mauled by all the lovely people and getting so many hugs. Today did not turn out to be as glamorous as perhaps the 25th would require, but geez, being a grown up, birthdays do lose their magic. This is not to say I do not appreciate the lovely wishes. If all these happies actually went into action, I would not have to worry about the next three quarter centuries. I bow to you, my dear ones. You really make it worthwhile. Don’t mean to get all soppy now, but you do. I love you, my people.

When big numbers hit, one sometimes gets overcome by random introspection, so that happened today, too. I’ve possibly got the craziest and one of the most important years ahead of me. I’ve fixated some ideas that might bite me in the arse, and I’ve somehow got the feeling of this year being … significant. In whatever way possible. I don’t know. So let this be a mental note of me thinking to myself “something is up”. Let’s look back in a year and see what happened.

It’s a mix of sadness and anticipation that introduces yet another spin around the Sun in my life. Where the sadness comes from, I don’t know either. Ok fine, I’ll admit it. I would quite like it if I wasn’t alone typing this. *Slips out in embarrassment.*

I’d rather swim to the moon.

“So you’d know I exist.”

When I make a very conscious and weighed decision of not pursuing music as a career choice in the end of 10th grade, I also almost completely eliminated music from my life, and only left the fraction of listening to it. With a few exceptions. The why and how of my decision is a pit of demons and skeletons, so I’m not going into great length to explain it.

But recently I’ve started to feel a growing urge of having to open my mouth again. I need to sing. I want to sing. Something wants to get out. This morning when I woke up and saw snow falling from the sky which I’d already donated to the spring in my heart. (That’s actually a funny story, because when I was little, I’d always thought I was born in the spring, not even sure how or why, because 3rd March has always been very wintery as far as I remember… And then one day I came to the harsh realisation that spring officially starts 18 days after my eyes saw the light of the world for the fist time. Anyway, this year it was getting pretty promising – no snow, +8 degrees in February! I thought I’m finally getting my spring birthday… and then. Sodding snow. Oh well. Can’t have it all. Maybe now I’ll get to ski instead.)

But yeah, the singing thing happened. Poor neighbours. Although my voice is supremely rusty and untrained at the moment, my session early Sunday morning isn’t probably what they had in mind. Also, Estonian is by far the most beautiful language to sing in. Followed by Portuguese, French and English.

Now I need to pin down what’s behind this now uncontrollable *need* to sing. A dear colleague said singing comes in when words fall short. Melodies add extra depth to an emotion. I completely agree.

While the singing part is wonderful, I’ve actually been all teared up this morning. Some silly relief and deep, physical feeling, right in my core, of this being right. There’s the ‘other’ side, too. Which is all complicated. The most complicated I’ve ever managed to stir up. At least I can laugh at myself. Laughter is the best defence. Let’s now hope the shield is sufficiently resistant.

The quote in the title of this post is from a song that was in the competition for representing Estonia at the Eurovision song contest. They didn’t win. Funnily enough, I never liked the song that much. But I woke up this morning with this stuck in my head. Uncontrollably. Sometimes I think my brains have a life of their own, completely detatched from what my consciousness and Self think they know.


It’s always better.

It’s always better when the sun is out.

No two ways about it.

Especially when you’re delirious with exhaustion.

Although it is super weird we’re getting proper British spring weather in February. It creeps me out a little, but seeing as my (cross-country) skiing career failed miserably, because of the weather, of course, I don’t mind moving onto the spring. When I was little I’d always thought I’m a spring child, as in born in the spring. I think it was when I was officially a fully grown adult that I realised 3rd March being very much in the winter. Maybe now that I’m turning page 25 soon, I can once have a proper spring birthday?

Yesterday was our Independence Day. Happy 96th birthday, beloved Estonia of mine. But I’ll meditate on what exactly happened yesterday when I can tell night from day again, up from down, and don’t try to write phonetically (in Estonian)… A very bad inconvenience for someone who makes their living as an editor/journalist. Sigh.