I´m out in my hut behind the apple tree in the back garden. Sun is shining, sky is blue, the birds are apparently about to return from Africa and the other nice warm places they have spent the winter…(lucky featherbeings)…
And me, I have just said goodbye to one of the best best friends in my life. She´s just been here to visit me Thursdag ´till Sunday. Haven´t seen her since autumn 2013. We used to live together in the nineties in Bergen, work together, party together and grieve together… It is always heart shattering for me to part with her again after having had the gift of spending time together…
So I´m sitting here in my ListeningHut, and Marianne Faithfull is on my minidisc stereo, a mixtape of my favourite tracks which I used to listen to a lot when I lived in Bergen, the tape was made in… 1999? I think so.
I moved to Bergen, west coast of Norway, when I was 20, to go to university and study social sciences. I grew up in a fishing town 3 hours´ drive further down the west coast. I never felt at home in that town. People were either into drinking or the bible when we got to our teens. And I was into soccer and pianoplaying.
But in Bergen I felt at home. Living together with other students, sharing a house… wonderful years. 15 years all in all.
Although within that periode I also had a house in Wales for six years, as my main home base. And I lived a year in Bahrain, and a winter in Lysoysund, further north on the Norwegian coast. Spent some months in Stavanger as well, on the coast, south of where I grew up.
All this was because I met a Brit and fell in love with him in 1993.
He was a quality control man in the oil industry. So I would go and be with him where he was working. And we´d spend time at home together on Anglesey in Wales when he was between contracts.
But still, in between all the travelling and living in different places, I would go back to Bergen and pass another exam. I have finished every exam I have started to read for. I have a bachelor degree with two extra semesters added on. Because the subjects interested me, and it was financially possible to read on, on lower degree level. So I have a good width to my subjects of study.
I have not moved on to a Masterdegree. At least not yet. I can do one in either social anthropology or media science. But. Work is scarce in these fields, I will have to invent my own job so to speak, tell the potential employers what they can use me for… sell myself… which doesn´t feel tempting. Right now at least.
Also, the passing of exams is very hard work. And even more so when you have children. Not that easy to concentrate for hours or days on end, then.
Plus, I´m not as patient as I was, with the scientific code demands, the dry way of writing, building your thesis in an almost mathematically strict way for it to pass as valid science…
I deeply cherish what I learnt in University, it has a profound impact on my thinking and I would not want to be without that knowledge.
But now I am developing other sides to myself, the sides where my 6.sense gets to stand at the steering wheel… studying to be a vocal sound therapist… it makes me feel extremely happy and satisfied. I know for sure that I am doing exactly what is right for me, with this education. It is such a tremendous and liberating feeling.
Vocal sound therapy. And blogging. These two things lift my heart. Fill me with passion and joy. Finally I feel certain of a direction. Great relief, as all my life I have been sitting writing poems like this one:
Survival of a Misfit
What and how to do on earth, you´d think we would have known from birth! Searching for my occupation, giving love and exhaltation.
Reading, writing, song and dance, always been a true romance,
so I will just carry on enjoying them until I´m gone.
Endless Eneergy, please do show, me just where I have to go,
to make some money for my living, balance taking with the giving,
can´t see why I should be pooor financially for ever more!
all my life I have been writing texts about that issue. Finding my purpose, my path, the certainty of how I can be of service to the light.
And now I feel it. It´s still fresh. It happened at my course in January. (It´s described in the post My SoundHealer Inauguration).
The Migrator Me.
I love to travel. I will tell you later about my year in Bahrain, and my years in Wales. I guess I´m an anthropologist at heart. Curious about people´s social ways and their…thoughts about the meaning of life…
In Bergen I had friends from many countries. International students. Growing up in Haugesund and Karmøy I was the leader of a local goup of Sos Racism. We held evening meetings with the asylum seeker women, for example, locking the door and drawing the curtains before they took their abayas off (veils), and the newborns where put to sleep on the pool table once they had been fed, and us girls cooked something tasty together in the kitchen, then afterwards they taught us their traditional dances, and sat telling dirty jokes!! I´m not kidding, these Arab ladies were great personalities, wonderful company, I was only 18-19 years of age but I did not feel looked down upon for being younger… I guess I will have to write about my Sos Racism work in a seperate post…
Yes I always felt attracted to people from other countries. My first boyfriend was from Kosovo, ex Jugoslavia. The men I have lived with have been from the U.K., Holland and now Denmark.
So I am a migrator. I felt at home in Bergen. And I feel at home here on Fanoe where I live now. I feel comfortable most places. Because I like exploring the unknown, and I am aware that home is where the heart is, which I feel free to interpret into meaning my heart is within myself. I am at home inside myself. Where ever I journey, I´m always at home.
Like a turtle. Or a snail. No. Not that slow moving. Haha… and I don´t need a shell, a shelter, house, to have my home with me where I go. My body is my temple, isn´t that what they say? My body is my house. My space ship.
So I feel safe in the unknown, trusting in trust like I blogged about the other day. (In Trust I Trust). And I feel curious, love to explore and learn, increase my understanding.
But what is the cost of being a migrator?
It is the saying good bye. To people dear. Living without regular contact with those I used to spend a lot of time with. Those who know me well, those who have stood by me in times of crises. Who have shared my happiest moments. Who have held me as I cried, and allowed me to hold them in their pain. The ones I have sat talking about life with through long nightly hours, sitting mirroring eachother, together gaining insight, finding out the best way to move forward in a situation in which one feels stuck…
I do miss my family in Norway. Especially the children. I grew up close to a lot of cousins and aunts and uncles…
My pillars in life from my childhood are mostly dead.
My grand dad whome I spent the days with instead of kindergarten until almost age 6, him and grandma lived upstairs from us, and I would be at home with him whilst my parents and grandma went to work… He died in 1995.
And my great grandma on my mother´s side. Died age 96 in 1999.
As a kid I used to go visit old people in my neighbourhood a lot. I adopted myself an extra pair of grandparents too. I didn´t connect very well with children. I preferred old people. With gentle smiles and plenty of time for listening conversations, teaching me to do cross word puzzles, and asking me if I wanted half an orange with a lump of brown sugar stuck into the middle of the sun coloured, juicy fruit…
They are all gone. As is my sweet darling motherinlaw.
And my wise, warm hearted father.
I still have lovely family members. Whome I love dearly. And they showed up 14 here to visit me last Summer and to celebrate my mom´s round birthday… how moving is that. It really touched me deeply. They rented two summerhouses and we just hung out for a week. Including my grandmother, in a wheelchair after her cancer treatment… I am so lucky to have them. It is truely a blessing to be born into a loving family. I probably owe them my ability to trust in trust. My openness, my feeling safe and at home inside myself. My curiousity and will to explore the unknown.
The cost of being a migrator.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Which is a saying that pisses me off. How much absence is healthy?! I miss the people from Norway. My family and my friends. Because I have had two children with such little time between, I have not been able to go visit much. Some of my closest friends I have not seen since 2011!!
I think that one of the absolute worst destinies one can have, is to be a refugee. To be forced by war or famine to leave your homeland and your beloveds, your everything, behind, and run away to survive. End up somewhere alien, cold, not understanding the language, feeling they don´t understand you, feeling maybe they really don´t care about even getting to know you…
Trying to find your feet in a brand new culture where everything works differently to what you know. At the same time as you have traumatic recent experiences in your soul, and you worry about the people still left at home, you call them there is no answer, and you know that all you really want is to go back and you can not go there because you will go to jail and be tortured if you show your face there… … …
Can it even be imagined?
I have sat with asylum seekers, listening to their stories and their worries. One young man from Romania set fire to himself one day, outside the asylum centre. I was there. I was interviewed on the radio about it afterwards… he was hospitalized. Good looking young lad in a leather jacket. Alex. He recovered. And he was sent back to Romania. No mercy.
I do miss Norway´s mountains. The woods. And talking my mother tongue without having to think before forming my expression.
To come home to my mother´s for christmas and share that life long ritual of traditional christmas meals… Imagine if Norway was a country run by fascists and I had escaped and I could never return. To MY country!!
Refugee. A victim of other people´s cruelty. Even if the reason is famine, this is still because of people´s cruelty. Someone is not sharing. Our earth has got plenty of food for all of us. Seeing famine victims makes me ashamed to be a westerner. If we cared. They would not starve. It is as simple as that. We fail them. The richest people on the planet rule the economy. They are called leaders of the first world. Well. Empathywise the west is most certainly not the first. Every day we throw away thousands of tons of food. And millions of people on this same little planet, die of starvation.
Where is the solidarity within the human nation.
The Migrator Me.
Has just waved goodbye yet again to my soul sister friend from Bergen.
Friday we sat in the local bar here, listening to a jam session, whilst eating sushi that we picked up from the tiny sushi place down the street here…
It was a fantastic night out. Next time I go to that bar, it will hold the memory of our time together there. The memory. Past tense. While I can only look forward to next time I´m in her presence.
Now by now. One here at the time. Such is the rhythm of the dance of life.
I have friends on Fanoe too. I have a couple of people I can talk openly with, about the challenges of everyday life. Thank goodness. I really need to have close friends to be heart to heart with. Of course I have my husband. But I need friends too. Who can see things from different angles.
I love being a migrator. Love that I have been allowed to live in Wales and in Lysoysund and in Bahrain. And that I have several places where I feel I come home when I go there.
And I love the fact that the place where I now live, I feel better than ever before. This little island of Fanoe is very both exciting and soothing to me, on many different levels. (I have written about it in other posts, especially in The Incredibles on Fanoe).
More than anything, I am sincerely extremely grateful for not being a refugee. A forced migrator, not able to return to one´s land and beloveds.
Yes the cost of my migrating is to miss people and places that I love. But I can go visit. Even move back there if I want to.
That is a freedom of movement which I don´t want to see taken away from me.
Well. Now this migrator feels to leave this pc in this little hut behind and migrate into the sunshine outside, joining the migrating birds and tell them I´m so happy to see them again. Soon I will hang my hammock up again. And lie listen to their chirps and joyful sounding tunes.
Spring is such a hopeful time.
I wish my brothers and sisters luck with their springtimes around our globe.
May Peace and Freedom be given to each one of us soon.