On Doing Things And Being Weird

There’s one thing Harry Potter and I have in common: we both hate the summer holidays. In my case, the reason is not that I have to return to my horrible muggle family (my family is actually very awesome), but because I cannot deal with too much free time. I’m one of those people who needs structure, routine and a familiar schedule, which is why I completely freak out when I have eight long weeks ahead of me with nothing to do. And this doesn’t just go for the summer holidays; any period of free time longer than three days makes me feel miserable. So much so, that in High School, every Friday afternoon before the bell announced the start of another week or so without classes, my teacher would say: “Alright everyone, have a great holiday! And Hilde, good luck, I feel for you.” The other kids thought this was a joke, but it honestly wasn’t, because more than once, I had called up that teacher during his vacation*, in utter misery, to ask for extra homework, because I felt like I was going insane. I know that’s weird. Trust me, I know. I’m starting to think that telling you all this was a big mistake. You are probably thinking I’m a total freak, but brace yourself, it’s getting worse. 

Okay, so, flash forward to my first year of university. The first great thing was that my university doesn’t have any holidays, except for a couple of days with Christmas and of course the dreaded eight weeks of summer. Luckily for me, we have no such thing as spring break and the like. The other great thing was that my first year was extremely busy. I had classes on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays; I worked at a High School on Wednesdays; I worked at a restaurant on Saturdays; I did evening classes in music twice a week, I volunteered at the community centre on Friday evenings and got driving lessons somewhere in between. On top of that, I found the time to do my homework, write stories and teach myself to play guitar. I really liked doing all those things and I was feeling great. I’m not trying to impress you or anything, I’m just illustrating the point that doing many things makes me feel good.

Inevitably, that year came to an end and I got around going insane by asking my boss at the restaurant to expand my contract for the summer. He agreed and I spent my entire holiday working full time in the kitchen, slaving like a house elf, with the exception of a few days off to fly to Liverpool and go to a football match. As summers go, this was a pretty good one.

With the start of the next year of university came some changes: The classes were reduced to just four a week, on two separate days; the funds at the High School I worked got cut and I couldn’t work there anymore; the busy season in the restaurant was over, so I was back to working just Saturdays and I passed my driver’s test, which meant I didn’t have to take lessons anymore. This was bad news. I was occupied just three days out of the week and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wasn’t forced to do anything and I couldn’t bring myself to work (or get out of bed, for that matter). I got behind on university work, I pretty much quit writing and I completely lost it. Again, I know this is weird. Most people seem to like time off, but I was pretty miserable during the last six months or so. I felt motivationless, energyless and I just generally wasn’t a lot of fun to be around. My friends kept asking what was wrong with me, my teachers asked why I wasn’t showing up to classes and my parents wanted to know why never moved and just laid on the couch scrolling down Tumblr.

So, I thought I should take some action and I did the only thing I could think of: I called my High School teacher and asked for extra homework. He was kind of surprised, but glad to help as always and he offered me a volunteer position. I’ll be working with him twice a week at the High School he was transferred to, starting next week. This is the awesomest I’ve felt in months.

***

*Note: This teacher (“Teacher” is not his proper title. His proper title is “Hero”.) was completely cool with that. He was my mentor and I took all of his classes (which added up to twelve hours a week), so he pretty much knew what I’m like.   

On a Train

Trains are quiet, if you are lucky enough to sit in a car that is mostly empty with people who like to mind their own business. Most of the time you can barely even feel the tracks that fly by underneath you. Their sound is heightened only when someone opens the doors leading to the space connecting the car to another. The apparent silence is almost intoxicating to me - I can feel my thoughts jumping around, but they are not stuck in what ever it is that worries me at home, it makes me feel better.

I spend a lot of time on a train when I can tear myself away from my university life and my exhaustion. It’s when I go visit my father, who lives almost across the country. I used to despise it, the traveling. Seven hours is a long time to sit still even if you have books or a paper and a pen with you. In the end, all you have is your thoughts, which tend to start lingering on the subject of your numb ass after an hour of sitting. But I like to think I have found a certain balance to this. I am writing this as I am sitting on a train, two hours into the journey. Yes, my butt is numb, but I don’t feel too dismayed about it. Maybe a bit. But I’m focusing on other things on the side.

When you go on a train across the country, you end up seeing quite a bit of Finland in one sitting. Most of what I see is familiar to me - they look like the kind of landscape I’m used to. Small towns with wooden churches that are clearly visible all the way to the train station, fields after fields, pine forests, birch trees. Then there are the old run down houses, built to the model of the houses the government once provided the nation’s soldiers, returning from war. I find that no matter where you go, you see those exact same houses, and they do have the tendency to bore me. Sometimes they even annoy me as I see their worn down facades and yards, overpowered by unkempt flora during the summer. But sometimes I see a bit of history. I wonder if they are inhabited when they seem so worn out, I wonder who takes care of them - or who neglects them. I wonder how it came to this.

During the winter, everything is covered by a thick layer of blinding white snow. Unkempt yards become hidden and the fields look more like white oceans, dotted with islands of forests. I want to go for a swim. But then my mind goes back to my numb ass and the fact that the seat table in this particular seat can’t fit all the way down without cutting into my stomach. I don't know if it's broken or if they really expect people to be so skinny and short. *Twiddles with the table* God damn table, making it harder for me to internet...

Here, have a song that has the word train in it: