Book of Days

Meaningful relationships

Thu, 28 May 2009 18:52:46 GMT

Elderly people tend to think that the only thing children need to grow up to be healthy and mentally balanced, is discipline. That is most likely because of the way they were raised. Adults equal authority and so on. That is why a teacher isn't allowed to hang out with students after the school day, and a parent shouldn't act like a friend for the child.

Why? Does it somehow reduce the authority if the adult can also be nice to chat with? Shouldn't a youngster be able to open up to, in addition to peers, to adults, too?

To me it sounds a much better way to keep the kids in line, to actually listen to them telling what's wrong rather than giving punishments that only increase the pain they feel inside.

When I grow up, were I to be a teacher or a parent or someone else with much authority, I am going to be a friend to every kid who needs one.

Ever carried the weight of another?
For how long?

Fairytale

Fri, 01 May 2009 23:10:19 GMT

Fairies do exist, I'm certain of it now. And I want to take a brief moment to tell you about this little one who was just a tad too late in the woods alone.

She was the youngest one in her family, probably feeling a bit like an outsider. She liked to wander alone, deep in her own thoughts, when the others played together closer to home. They never dared to go as far away as the little one did on a daily basis.

That day she had walked even farther than usual, and was feeling a bit tired. So she sat on a moss-covered rock and enjoyed the sun. Its light was so warm on her skin that she almost fell asleep there.

But then she realized it was already getting late. The sun was setting, and it wouldn't be long before it would be dangerously dark for a fragile creature like her. So she kissed the sun good night and rose, intending to head straight back home.

But as she was striding back home, her steps light and carefree, she suddenly heard a noise which made her freeze. The path ahead of her was still lit by sunlight, but the thick forest that she had just left behind, was getting darker and darker. And that was where the threatening sounds were coming from.

A sudden cold breeze made her shiver and she decided it would be better to run before it was too late. So she ran for her life, leaving the scary sounds behind. She had only heard stories of the nightly creatures that lived in the forest, and she certainly didn't want to come across any of those. This time she had gone too far from home, over the boundaries her parents had warned her about. And this would be the last time, if she just got home before it was too late...

Well, at least that's what I think happened as I, during my morning walk in the nearby woods, found an abandoned white scarf laying on the ground and glowing beautifully in the sun. It was made of material I'd never seen or felt before. It was soft and slippery and felt like I had water in my hands. I couldn't take it with me, though. It wasn't mine to keep. The little one was probably missing it...

I saw a dream, in which I...

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 13:38:07 GMT

...gave the finger at some idiot who was probably about to start harassing me as I was waiting for the train.

...was screaming obscenities at some other idiot who was trying to steal my purse at the same train station. In Helsinki.

...was in Helsinki to visit someone, probably a relative of mine, with my brother and we circled around the city and I spotted a botanical garden, similar to the one that's in Washington D.C. And we jumped from a roof to another. That was our way of sightseeing.

...was at school, just leaving the building after Joanna who had apparently gotten out just to grab something from her car. And as she headed back inside, I remembered that I had some unfinished business there, too, and went back after her. Time and again she turned to glance suspiciously at me, probably thinking I was following her.

...walked through the stage where something of a school play was taking place. I was looking for my lil' sister.

...was screaming at my grandma for nagging me about my nail polish. She didn't actually have anything against nail polish itself but the way it was all worn out and messy irritated her. And it irritated me that she had the guts to keep nagging about it so I screamed at her and almost tipped over the rocker she was sitting on.

So, quite a busy night.

Of revelations, confessions and other stupid actions

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 21:34:14 GMT

You really should take the time to think it through before you suddenly go and blurt everything out that you've been trying to keep inside a whole year. If there seriously is a thing you've kept to yourself for that long a time, there is probably also a reason for such secrecy. And maybe that reason is not to shock your friends too much. Or shock yourself by thinking that your secrets are in any way shocking. Well, I'm not sure what I meant by that, probably nothing much, so ignore it.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm way too open about my personal stuff. I really don't have any personal stuff. I had one piece of personal stuff, had. Don't anymore. And why? That's probably because my head was exploding when I had no one to talk about it, well, actually I did, but I also had a couple of friends with whom I couldn't discuss the matter, and that just made me... Dunno, anyway, it was an unbearable feeling. So it just somehow burst out, I told pretty much everything to everyone and, this is where I probably made the mistake of shocking too much, I even let one of my friends read the journal I've been writing for the whole year. The journal who's been my only listener about that certain thing, so it is quite practically full of it. And it makes it look like I've had absolutely no life besides that one thing. Which isn't quite true... well, it is quite true but not completely.

I just... I... I... I would like to go to bed now. Maybe tomorrow I will regret writing this, too. But that's no concern for today. Or actually it is since it's 0:28 AM already so tomorrow is today already. But anyway, I'll think about this later when I've had some sleep and probably a nightmare or two. 'Cause that's the way aha aha it usually goes.

Obsessive CENSOR disorder

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 20:41:41 GMT

I've got it really bad. Seriously. I can't be completely sane, by the looks of things. Although, by the sheer looks of things I might even be a normal person but if anyone knew what was going inside my mind as I keep glancing around... But now I'm getting ahead of myself.

And by the way, CENSOR in the heading means that I've been compelled to censor the name of the... thing I'm obsessed with. Not like I want everyone who has an Internet access to know the objects of my weird obsessions.

Aaanyway. Think about this. I can't stop thinking about her. And this isn't a crush, mind you, as the previous sentence might suggest something of that kind, but I underline that this is merely an obsession. There you have it, literally underlined.

Where was I? Oh, thinking about her as usual. I think about her at least ten times a day, and one time might prolong into an hour or two. I think about her when I wake up, I think about her when I fall asleep and she also regularly pays visits to my dreams.

But the most I think about her when I leave the house. Sometimes I leave the house just to see her. Usually I don't see her, because I don't anymore go to the place where I would have a good chance of seeing her. Nowadays my only reasons to leave the house are, for example, to go shopping (and hoping I would run into her), the library (hoping I'd catch a glimpse of her if I squinted really hard) or the groceries.

And everywhere I go I keep looking around and try to look like I'm not looking around, which isn't that easy. But I don't want my companions to wonder what I'm searching. But that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm searching, scanning my surroundings if I'd miraculously see that blonde hair somewhere. Because seeing her makes me happy. But she's never there. Which isn't that weird at all: what are the odds that she would be downtown just at the exact moment that I'm there, just the exact day I've decided to leave the house? After all, those days happen to be quite scarce.

Regardless of the odds that are obviously against me, I keep searching for her. But it might as well be that I've had my share of the sight of her.

Exchanging looks

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 10:46:59 GMT

What is there in words? Words can tell you the truth, but they can lie, just as well. Words can be a deception, they can be a betrayal, they can be a conspiracy. They can weave intricate webs of decorative sentences without any meaning. They say that's the reason why mankind is superior to any other species. Because we have a symbolic language. Because we communicate using words.

That's a huge load of crap, pardon my French.

However, it is also said, in the more poetic circles, that eyes are the mirror of the soul. Now there I can see more sense. Few people have learned to lie with their eyes. And those who have, know that it requires extreme control over your feelings. You need to convince yourself first before being able to express it to others, that you're happy when you're not, or you don't love someone when you do.

But enough with the lying, that is definitely not my point here. What I wanted to say and haven't yet come to say it, is that it is mostly a positive thing we're not able to hide our true feelings from someone who looks us deep in the eyes. This world needs a little more sincerity, a little more honesty.

A girl in the front seat just before the teacher's desk is too shy to declare aloud her enthusiasm, how interested she really is and how she would like to learn so much more. But she keeps her eyes fixed to the teacher as she prattles on about the evolution theory, and when the teacher looks down at the girl in front of her, she sees how her bright eyes glitter with thirst for knowledge. After class she asks the girl to stay, and suddenly it becomes much easier for her to speak her mind and her dreams about how she wants to become a teacher.

Her eyes blank, she would've just looked bored like everyone else and the teacher would've wondered if she's really qualified to do the job.

A man walks in the park and sees a woman sitting on a bench, eyes lowered down contemplatively. At first he sees how beautiful she is. But beautiful women are really not a scarcity, and beauty isn't a reason to talk to a stranger. He has beautiful acquaintances, even beautiful friends. A beautiful stranger is not enough to draw him to her. But as he is passing her, she suddenly looks up at him. What he sees, is the universe in her eyes. She isn't just beautiful. In fact, he doesn't even see that anymore. What he sees is a mix of emotions, a mix of fascinating characteristics, and there it is, a careful invite for him to sit down next to her. He accepts. Next year, they're married.

If she hadn't looked up, he would've remained indifferent, forgetting her in fifteen minutes.

A teenage girl is depressed because she isn't as beautiful as her Barbie doll. It's always sitting on the top shelf, looking at her mockingly with its perfect sky blue eyes. It doesn't blink. Its eyes don't glimmer. But it can talk, it's a new model. When she presses the button in its neck, it tells her they're best friends. Deceptive words. The girl hates the Barbie. One night, she grabs it and heads for the swimming pool in the back yard. Carefully, without a sound, she falls under the water, empties her lungs until she feels her back hitting the bottom. The Barbie doll she's squeezing, smiles. She doesn't. After her lungs are filled with water, her eyes close. The Barbie keeps grinning, doesn't even blink. But the girl's eyes are shut. They've got nothing else to say.

Eyes are humanity. Eyes can't be manufactured. Every doll can be equipped with a sound recording, like they really had something to say, but their eyes reveal the truth. They will never speak. There is no soul.

Look into people's souls. You never know when you'll find a kindred spirit.

Flow

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 17:59:04 GMT

I'm drunk. As a skunk. And enjoying it. I can't even think straight, let alone write properly, so pardon me for the simplicity of this text. Long, complex sentences don't come out so easily right now. But that is not what I wanted to talk about.

What I wanted to talk about was how utterly perfect my life is right now. It may not be that when I'm sober again, or definitely not when I get back home. But right now is enough for me, right now I can enjoy the perfection of this moment. I giggle, a lot, don't know why. People, who are walking with me, talk, but I'm not laughing at their jokes. I'm laughing at the complete indifference I never thought I would feel. This is kind of feeling nothing but simultaneously feeling everything.

Because even though I feel no worry, no burden on my shoulders, I do feel a great deal of other things. I feel the sun on my skin. It doesn't burn, like it did earlier, in the afternoon. It's setting now. But there's still warmth in its last rays.

I also feel the asphalt under my bare feet. It's warm, too. Everything seems to be warm, everything here wishes me welcome. I'm completely unaware of my location, but I know I'm home. I don't know where my shoes are. Probably in the closet. See, if this is my home, then I guess the closest correspondence for a closet would be the gutter. I might have paid a visit there, can't say for sure, though. At least I got up, laughing, I recall. At least I had fun. And who needs shoes, anyway, it's July and there's no shattered glass on the road. Except behind us, where I accidentally dropped a bottle of booze. Half full. That I do regret.

Back to my feelings. I feel the breeze that lifts my skirt up. Chuckling, I force it to stay down. I'm laughing so much that I'm not sure if I can keep on going. Between my bursts of laughter I try to tell that to my companions. It doesn't matter even though they ignore me, because I'm not serious. Of course I can go on. I could walk forever. Of course I don't want to stop.

We don't have a destination. We only have the road ahead us.

And it'll last as long as our feet can carry us.

My current favorite actress

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 21:21:27 GMT

is Julianne Moore. Again, I'm watching some of her interviews and cracking up.

"My son is 9 and my daughter's 4 and a half, they're big, big kids. I had a surprise the other day, because I was doing some stuff downstairs, cleaning up the dishes or something, and I said to my son, "Do me a favor, could you take your sister upstairs and play with her?" And he was like "Yeah, mommy!" and I thought that this is great, it's wonderful they can do this.
So I've been downstairs for a while, I finish myself and came up; they're really quiet. I walked into his bedroom and I said, "Hey, what are you guys doing?"
"Oh, mommy, we're googling ourselves!"
"What?!"
"So your name is J-U-L-I-A-..."
"NO NO NO NO!"
They find pictures of themselves when they google themselves. And they were in the process of googling me... You know, you never wanna google an actress. You don't know what you might find."

Check out if you're curious to know what kind of pictures there are of Julianne. Nothing under PG-13, I bet.
Anyway, here's another funny piece...

"It's interesting doing theater, because there seems to be a misunderstanding about the fourth wall. It doesn't exist. The fourth wall is supposed to be the idea that here you are on stage and there's the audience, and that there's a wall separating these two areas. I think they think that we can't hear them. That they can hear us, but we can't hear or see them. And that's a misunderstanding because yes indeed we can. And we can't help being distracted. Or sometimes it's just enjoyable, there was a guy in the front row that I liked, a few shows ago, I called him the grunter. Whenever you said something he agreed with, he'd go "uhm uhm".
And then we've got a couple of these, the hisser. When they start laughing they hiss, like "sshshshshh". So you don't know if they think it's funny or if they really just hiss. You don't know, you get distracted.
And then we had a lady I liked a lot, because this is the point where my boyfriend starts yelling at me on stage, and there's silence and she sat there, she's like "oi..." (reproachfully). I felt... validated.
We've had some problems with people eating candy, and I'm pretty sure someone brought a roll of bubble wrap to the theater the other day. I was like, "Oh my God, you have bubble wrap back there, don't you?" Pop, pop, pop, pop...
Or blowing your nose, I find that confusing, too. You're not supposed to blow your nose in public just because it's dark. And you're with a thousand other people, is that the time to blow your nose?
And then cellphones. If your phone rings once, okay, so you made a mistake, but what happens if it rings like five or six times and people ignore it? They're like "That's not my phone", "That's not my purse", "I don't know where that's coming from, uh-uh."
And there was a lady, too, whose phone went off and you just heard this: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" And then she picks up the phone and says, "I'm in a play!""

Okay, time for me to go to bed (or do something else on the computer), but you can watch the whole interview HERE.

Tears in the morning light, turning into an inner fight

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 10:46:02 GMT

I'm having an out-of-body experience. Or that's the closest descriptive word I can think of, although it is a medical term for something else than what I'm going through right now. Nevermind.

I finished reading Jostein Gaarder's Appelsiinityttö. I had tears in my eyes twice as the book was coming towards the end, which has never happened to me when reading. A letter from a late father tears the old wounds open, telling the happiest story with the most heartbreaking ending. And finally, after reading the last page, I couldn't help bursting into silent sobs that echoed in the empty house.

And the questions from the father to his son... The traditional questions about life and death got an all new meaning. Or not necessarily new, more like the old meaning got a real meaning. Everyone has heard the question "Is there life after death?" or "Would you still choose to be born, even if you knew you would die an early death?" The problem is, we have heard those questions so many times that we ignore them now, never stopping to think what they truly mean to us. Asking questions is a part of human nature, as is trying to answer them. Sadly, today we've got so much trickier questions to answer, such as "What would happen if I cloned a new mammoth population from this ancient, frozen DNA?" that no one wants to return to Level One. But honestly, is there anyone who has provided a simple answer to any of the fundamental questions of life?

I don't know many games where you can skip Level One. Or at least doing so will lead to the road of destruction on higher levels due to inadequate skills. How come we can even think of playing God if we've got no clue of his ulterior motives?

I see, but I don't understand. And I accept it.

Extreme exhaustion

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 19:06:35 GMT

Oh, the joy one can get out of the most despised sport of all times: skiing. There's no feeling that compares to the ease of sliding on hardened snow, the wind blowing you forward (it blew against me, though, but better luck next time) and the sun warming your back (which is pleasant as long as you don't have to make great physical effort; in that case the burning heat on your back is a drag). What is there not to like?

Until the dumbass friend of yours (I'm just kidding, Mayu is the best skiing mate I've ever had. Although, I usually ski alone. By the way, is 'ski' an English word? Because it sounds extremely strange. Okay, continue...) proposes you take just a tad longer route back home. "It's downhill all the way, no worries." And downhill it was. At least half of it. The other half was like mountain climbing.

Now I sound like an old complainer. The truth to be told, I enjoyed myself very much. I'm not going to circle the same route tomorrow, though; I rather stick to the even surface of the ice. I'm an even person, not an uphill-downhill-and-all-the-way-to-the-bushes person. Nevertheless, I do appreciate the exercise.

Okay, now what the hell am I doing? I was supposed to sign in to Wilma, not YouTube! Duh. Well, whatever. Sorry for that, got a bit carried away by my own stupidity.

Let's do some promotion work for change: Disney's original Freaky Friday (emphasis on original, meaning the one starred by Jodie Foster) is hilarious. I can't decide which one I like better, the new version or this. Worth watching.

Sadly, it seems like there's nothing sensible to say anymore, so so so long!

Yours truly, 2095 (by Electric Light Orchestra)

Creation

Mon, 23 Mar 2009 17:15:27 GMT

And how impossibly long it took. But before all the whining, I should probably wish you welcome. Welcome. And now, apart from impatient and infuriated, I am eager to share with you all the trouble I've been through. I stumbled upon every little phase there is in creating a new journal. It has taken about 24 hours to get this far, and I sincerely hope my interest in writing would prevail just a little bit longer than that. But what was it then that complicated the birth of my new journal so greatly?

1° The username. This journal could have come to exist yesterday if it hadn't been such a difficult task to come up with an interesting and, more importantly, available nick. My first choice, 'irisnoir', was taken of course, as was every variation of my first and middle name. So I started to leaf through the thematic vocabularies of my thesaurus, in search of fascinating words which could serve the purpose. I browsed through all the plants, flowers, shrubs and trees, occasionally coming across something that sounded nice. But all from clair-de-lune to wintergreen were reserved. Then I tried some shapes such as 'trapezium' and 'demilune'. No such luck. Finally, the list of chemical elements provided me what I was looking for. Iridium. It was a great word, most of all for its resemblance to the name 'Iris'.
Surprisingly, it was unavailable. Searching for words beginning with 'iri', I finally found something that sounded alright and hadn't already been used: iridious. An adjective that, by the definition of The Free Dictionary, means ”Of or pertaining to iridium; - applied specifically to compounds in which iridium has a low valence.”

To be honest, I really do not understand. The point is, I finally found a username.

2° The title. In the lack of ideas of my own, I looked for a song title that would work as a journal title. Book of Days is a beautiful song by Enya. But I'm still not completely satisfied with the result. It lacks originality.

3° The subtitle. Somehow it feels like the designers of this site have intentionally made this hard for unimaginative people. Unimaginative as I am, at the moment, I stole the line from another wonderful song, Her Morning Elegance by Oren Lavie.

4° The theme. As in how does my journal look. And now it looks amazing, but finding just the perfect theme from hundreds wasn't particularly easy.

5° The last and the most challenging task was to actually write this thing. It began smoothly and I was pleased with what I had typed, until I accidentally clicked myself to another website. So long, my dear entry. I returned and started typing again, until I pushed some button I probably shouldn't have and my text was gone again.

I was pretty much losing my patience, and now, as I'm writing the last sentence, I'm really glad I decided to do this with OpenOffice. Writing online is just way too risky.