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Sometimes I don’t want this travel life

After two years of traveling the world as much as possible while dreaming of life as a full time traveler and writing fastly growing travel blog, it’s scary to realize that in fact, you don’t want to travel. You have been running towards this magical life waiting for the perfect happiness just to see that this won’t be the right things for you. Maybe traveling isn’t the answer?

I don’t want you to understand this the wrong way. There is nothing better than sitting hours on an airplane going towards unknown, meeting strangers in hostel dorms and seeing the sunset in a new city every morning. I love traveling and I could not live without it. But there is something else that keeps me grounded.

I can’t stay at home for too long because my feet get itchy and mind starts to wander to new countries. But at the same time being in a new country for too long tires me endlessly. Waking up is hard. Let me tell you a secret: I may be staying in this amazing new country with so many places to explore but all I can think about is that I want to go back home. There are so many things to see. Maybe too much.

This may not make sense to you but for me, it’s the reality. I am lost like usually and still, I know exactly where I should go. Traveling is my thing. Definitely. But so is staying at home, sleeping long and just writing endless stories while staying in my bed from morning until I am too hungry to continue. I want both. Is it wrong of me to not want to decide?

In perfect case scenario, I would live every other month in a new city. Tourist attractions, unknown streets and writing my diary in small cozy cafes while watching the locals around me. Writing travel blog about my experiences and thoughts while experiencing all these unforgettable things. Finding new friends and meeting the ones who I have met before because of this crazy life of traveling I currently live.

But then after a month or sometimes maybe two, I would take that plane back to home. My back would be full of souvenirs and gifts for my family and friends. My blog would be still full of travel photos and stories I haven’t yet been ready to share. The first few days would just go by sleeping in my own bed and watching Netflix, relaxing and meeting friends. Then my days would be full of writing. Stories of my adventures but also about everything else. Going to seminars or attending to all kind of open university glasses.

For a month or sometimes maybe two, I would hang out back at home walking the streets I know so well. During that time I could work even more writing and maybe doing a little bit of translating to get by. My main aim, however, should be creative writing that I am even now studying. Then after that time at home, my feet would take me again to new countries and unknown places.

Being free and going where ever you want. Is that too much to ask?

With love,

Viivi who wants everything

 

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She was bird without wings

Sixteenth of December
She was bird, she was cat, she was endless sky with million bats. She lived bravely but scared of everything. Her days were full of sun and moon, sleepy days and sleepless nights. Negatives and positives circled around the body of her. A lifetime of opposites being all she got. Flying like a bird and laying down like a cat. She became everything a small girl could be and still she wasn’t quite like people believed.

She wanted to fly and fly and fly. But there was always that one risk: falling down, breaking wings. Nothing could stop her from dreaming of it. Those beautiful skies full of birds. Huge wings shaking in the wind taking them around the world again and again. She wanted to be like them, a bird with wings so strong she could keep flying and never land. But it wasn’t possible. Not every bird know how to fly. Not every bird can be on the sky. Her wings were cut off, disappeared, taken from her. She was a bird without wings doomed to live forever in the world of those going to die.

She missed the sky but she loved the ground. Sleeping through the day like cat was dream achieved. Doing nothing. Living without purpose. It was perfect until it was not. One day, two days, three days she was okay. Sleep, relax and see dreams. But days four and five and six she lost her will of being silly. Day after day it became harder and harder to stand back up and be like a bird. Sleeping like a cat not knowing about the world felt just fine. But not anyone can live that forever. You start to wonder. What if? What has she missed? Is this all I truly have? Could I have flown if I wings still had?

 

(This text was written in ten minutes without thinking anything. I did almost no editing and decided to publish it just like this. Nowadays, I call myself a writer. I even study creative writing in uni. But my problem: I write in Finnish. This blog is in English. In my opinion, it’s sometimes good to publish texts that aren’t so great or ready. Maybe in a few years, I can return to this one and see how long way I have gone with my English skills? Or so I hope…) 

With love,

Viivi Scared of Writing

 

Being Finnish

Sixth of December
Last year has been an interesting one for all the Finns. Our beloved home country Finland turns 100 years old. There have been blue colors, special events and waiting all around our country for the whole year. We have talked about it to the point that you could call it too much.

They even sold Suomi/Finland 100 bread, shampoo, toilet paper, alcohol, and rollators. Yeah, we are kind of crazy.

All this partying and celebrating ends today when it is Finland’s independence day. All the Finns (even me from New York) stay the evening in front of their TV screens watching when our president and his wife shake hands with hundreds of people. You will see all the most important Finnish celebrities but also a lot of normal Finns who got invited. Every year it is one of our biggest events but this year Finns have literally gone crazy. (Or is celebrating 100 years of independence usually this big thing?)

Happy 100 years birthday to all my fellow Finnish and Finland!

With love,

Viivi Severina

The first not a date

Fifth of December
I remember the first time someone asked me out. I was eighteen, socially awkward and had never dated anyone. Nothing has changed except my age. At that time I was attending this high school psychology summer course while he was from the Swedish course class next to ours. First time we spoke he asked if he could sit next to me and I had nothing against it.

The next two weeks went by us sitting side by side during the short breaks. I was always listening to music with one headphone on and he kept reading quickly changing books. It was nice I have to admit. I didn’t have to sit alone while everyone else had a friend with them. Then one time he asked me what music I was listening to and after that, we had small conversations every now and then.

He was odd but so was I. One of the last breaks we spent together he started reading love poems in Germany for me. It was probably a sign of interest towards me that anyone else could have seen. I didn’t.

During the last day and last break of my course, I told him that we wouldn’t see anymore. He asked me out. I had no idea that he would do it. And even now I am not sure if he truly wanted to go on date or just see me again as a friend. He asked if I would like to come to the library someday with him. Then I promised to ask him as a friend on Facebook but I never did because I forgot his name before I had time.

I still think of him sometimes even if I never felt anything special towards him. He was the first boy who asked me out –probably- and also the only boy who had asked me out for a few years. Never before had I known that anyone would truly be interested in me.

Next time or better said the next few times happened during my Japan trip. I was never sure if they were interested in me or if it was just a friendly gesture. It was never “Would you like to go out with me?” But isn’t asking someone for coffee kind of the same thing? I have no idea so I have never been sure.

After my Japan trip, it started to happen more occasionally. Not often but every now and then. I realized that when I was traveling other people would get interested in me. Maybe I looked more beautiful or free than back at home? I have no idea why but I gained more attention as a traveler and amongst foreigners than back at home in Finland.

At some point, I came to the closure that it must be that “inner beauty” people so often talk about. I look better when I am happy and free of all worries. Or maybe all those people have just been some creeps that prey on silly traveler girls?

With love,

Undateable Viivi

Poem Rant

Third of December
Last weekend was my second time on the creative writing university course I am currently attending to. The theme of this second weekend was poems. My relationship with poems could be described as awkward and almost hostile:

I hate poems. I always end up writing poems. For some odd reason, other people love the poems I write. They love the poems I don’t want to write.

Reading poems isn’t for me. I know there is a lot of people in this world who share my opinion. They think that poetry is boring, too hard to understand and not for them. Only the last claim describes me.

Poems aren’t boring. You just have to find the right ones. Even music and especially rap songs would be poems if we wrote them down and forgot the sound. And who doesn’t listen to music?

Anyone can understand poems. If you say that I am wrong, then you have never even tried. Find a poem and read it ten times. That’s it. Now you understand it. There is no one way to read poems. Everyone understand them differently depending on their own mind and life experiences. Sometimes the poets can’t even understand their own poems so you shouldn’t stress too much. Just read a poem and let your own thoughts fly.

Even if you think that the poem is deathly boring. Last weekend taught me that it is okay to hate poems. As long as you are feeling something the poems are doing their job right.

tomatoes, you know, are real
that is, if they remain tomatoes
if they try to be melons, however,
they then become fakes
though everything and everyone is real
in their own way,
it seems we always try so hard to become fakes
-Mitsuo Aida

I know I started this text by saying that I hate poems. Maybe it is a lie? My lacking English is on the way. The better way to say this may be “I hate poetry”. I am not sure. I hate poems but then again there are poems I love more than anything else. Like that Mitsuo Aida’s tomato poem above.

I first saw this poem at Mitsuo Aida museum in Tokyo, Japan. It was written in Japanese and this is just the translation. I have no idea if it is as good in Japanese but like this, it described my feeling at that time. Before going to Japan I had tried to be a melon. I applied to university, tried my best to create a normal life and just played this role of someone I was expected to be.

Then I went to Japan. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was a tomato again. I had to buy a postcard with this text in it. I think I lost it during the three months I spent in Japan but I still can’t forget this poem.

So, I don’t hate poems. Some poems touch my heart, make me smile or occasionally even laugh out loud. It’s awkward and maybe a little hostile but I love poems and writing them.

With love,

Hard To Understand Viivi

First snow blues

Second of December
First snow. I want to hate it. It means winter, coldness, wearing too many clothes all the time and never going outside. Snow means one year is coming to the end too soon. What there is not to hate? And still, I am like a kid. Running around trying to catch the snowflakes with my tongue. Everything turns white and looks so magical. People are laughing after long dark autumn and children running around making snow angels. What there is not to love? How could I hate this?

 

(This is text I wrote earlier this year during the first snow. I wanted to publish it but I just didn’t have anything else to say. So, here it is. Why do you hate and love first snow?)

With love,

Childish Viivi

 

First of December

I haven’t been busy but I have no time. Because I am some kind of stupid idiot, I have decided to study two university degrees at the same time. Why did I ever think that this would be a good idea? I study creative writing. It is my passion. It is my thing. But then I decided to continue my business studies that I declared as too simple and boring for me.

It’s partly because of money. Finland’s government helps financially those who study in “real university”. My creative writing is only an open university. A writer isn’t a job in Finland. Or so most of us seem to think. So, why I try so hard to be something not possible? Why is writing my only real passion? Even traveling seems dull and irrelevant next to days used writing never-ending stories.

I don’t have time for my blogs. Maybe trying to write three blogs wasn’t possible in the first place? All the inspiration I used to have is now written for other people who order blog articles from me. I miss writing for myself. Writing whatever I want and without worrying about grammar and being 100% correct.

This is why I am writing now. This December I will write more. After New Year I will start normal rhythm. Travel blog once a week. Random posts here whenever I want. Photos to my photo blog as often as possible.

Today is the first day of December. 24 days till Christmas. Maybe I have all the elements to do writing Chrismas calender? 24 posts. Can I do it?

With love,

Hopeful Viivi

I am struggling with procrastination

I procrastinate more than most of the people. If there is any task I have to do before an exact date, it’s 99% possibility that I won’t do it until there are about three hours left. And still, I never return anything late. And usually, my work gets praised. During high school and primary school, this worked just fine. I had a deadline for almost everything and I did well in tests without studying but now when I am officially “adult” everything is a struggle.

At mornings I know exactly what I should do during the day but when I fall asleep at night I have never done everything. With sending emails or making phone calls it gets even worse. For example, right now I have been trying to make one call to my bank for about six months. SIX MONTHS. That’s not an even bad situation in my bad case because one email has been waiting to be sent for 10 months and let’s not even speak about the emails and calls I never made.

Someone, please help me. Is there a way to get out of this endless ring?

Inspirations for today’s text was from this amazing TED Talk.
If you are like me, please watch it and tell your own experiences in the comments!

In this post series, I write 10 minutes without stopping, editing or planning anything. I just write whatever is in my mind and publish it like that. 
Expect to see more of this every Thursday!

With love,

Procrastinating Viivi

10 Minutes Thursday

I have decided to start new writing series in this lost side blog of mine. If you don’t know, I started studying creative writing in university. And if you are ever studied writing in any way you may be familiar with this technique. 10 minutes of writing without stopping to think anything at any point. You just write whatever comes to your mind without editing or deleting. So, here is my first 10 minutes of writing the flow of my thoughts.
Expect to see more of this every Thursday!

I change my mind. I change my life. I change everything every day and every moment. I am allergic to staying, being and just getting stuck. My friends work towards that one goal they want. People I knew back at my childhood and teen years have families, homes and real work. I write, I travel and I change my plans daily.

My mind is running every second of the day. What new can I do today? What new can I try now? I try to be something totally different. Too long in one place is like death sentence for me. How can some people just keep living that same old life they were “meant to live”? I have wanted to be everything from rock start to astronaut and I still do even now. I may be adult but my mind keeps dreaming about these things others call silly.

I only have this one life but my mind wants to do hundred of different things. And that’s why I write. I write to live millions of lives in one lifetime. I write to see countries that don’t even exist and to fall in love with people who would never even see me in the real life. I write about fears and winning them so I will be strong. My stories are here to make me better person who can dream and achieve those dreams one by one. Never giving up.

Most people don’t get it. I never really speak about it. What writing means for me? Why do I write? I can’t even explain it with words. Writing is the only way to speak about it. I write to create something beautiful instead of seeing this scary ugly world outside of my window. Writing is my way of escaping. It’s my way of living.

With love,

Viivi Who Writes

Whatever I fail or succeed…

I am like small kid on her first day of school. Except I am literally dying because I am so scared. 30 minutes before I have to leave. 1 hour of driving before I will be there. My stress level is out of the roof. I don’t know if this is good or bed thing. I don’t think I have been this scared of anything in long time. Especially not about starting school. Is that good or bad sign?

Today is my first day in university. Today is the day I finally start studying something I have always dreamed of but never truly believed would be possible.

Creative writing.

I am going to study creative writing. My head is screaming that this is bad idea but at the same time that this is the only right route I can take. Writing is my thing. I has always been. I was one of the last people on my class at school who learned how to read and write but after I started there was no stopping me. Being writer would be the only right job for me.

But I already know today is going to be hard. There will be other people. People who are probably better than I. People who write amazing stories, who have experience and who know what they are doing. I have just never finished books, anxiety and doubt of my own skills. It’s always as hard to show my texts for others. My first reaction is always wait for the critic. I love writing but it doesn’t mean I am good at it, right?

My heart is bounding so loudly, hands shaking and stomach hurting. It’s hard to breath and there is this never ending screaming voice in my head. I am scared. I am so scared of this evening. And still there is this stubborn kid inside of me telling how I have finally found the right way.

I would give everything to just write everyday. I would stop traveling, I would stay locked in my room for weeks, I would only eat healthy food for the rest of my life. Anything to write. Be writer.

So, wish me luck. I am going to try with all I got. Whatever I fail or succeed. Whatever my fears are trying to take me down. This is my dream and the only thing I can really do with my life.

With love,

Viivi with Dreams