Super Mario and Streetfighter Ryu
Ryu: ‘what is jo då?’
Mario: ‘it’s like so and so’
Anna: ‘oh I thought it was, like, the Swedish for Master Yoda’.
Ryunosuke looks puzzled for a second; I looked at him and pouted a bit, he frowned in return and bit his lower lip. Then I said ‘Yoda, the little green creature from Star Wars!’ Ryu’s face lit suddenly: he imitated the lightsabre movement and sound and burst into a loud laughter, while Mario and I giggled endlessly.
From the minute I emailed Mario, I thought we would become good friends. I thought of sending him an email from Umeå, just to see how he’d cope with the move and all. He was so brave. He confided to me that it was his first academic post in Europe. Of course, he has been to Europe before. He loved Paris. Me and Stina went to pick him up from Gammlia. For me the memories were still vivid. Meeting Monica there in the end of the summer, my surprise when I saw her riding a bike, the beautiful silver pines and the wooden houses in Gammlia infront of a Swedish dense forest. I remember Johan coming to meet me there. After our meeting in Oxford, he promised me he’d come and help me settle. And he did indeed. My first week in Umeå I was alone, starting over again, right from scratch. It made me recall my first week in the UK.
Back then, it was Yorgos who picked me up from the airport. He was quiet and moody. I was young, only 23 years old, and starry eyed, a little scared. He opened the door of a small apartment and let me in. It was a house made for one, yet it was two of us. I placed my sword in our bedroom. He looked at me and said with a sarcastic voice: ‘this is it then, you are here. This is not how I arrived, all they did for me was showing me a room and saying: ‘there it is, goodbye now’. Back then I thought it was horrible. Now though I think that this is what happened to me on several occasions way before my first night in Liverpool. My move to Australia when I was only thirteen years old, then Rome, then Liverpool. Now Umeå.
My first impression of Umeå was anything but lukewarm. I remember waiting for the taxi the University had paid for me. The air was colder than the UK and the leaves had just started to change colour. It was the 31st of August. I remember going to ICA with Monica and her showing me around. I remember having a shower and lying in bed. My sleep was weird during the first week. I would wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming that everything outside my bedroom was covered in frost. It was a kind of dreamy, light blue frost that gave everything the impression of blacklights. I woke up and went to work. I missed Eleni so bad, and Caz and my friends in Liverpool. But then I somehow got used to being in Umeå. The Swedes were kind. Timid and funny. I liked them and they liked me, or at least I thought so.
And then it was Hector Berlioz’s The Tempest. And I held down to my thoughts and stood up and wrote. And I wrote a lot. I was happiest when writing. My inspiration was going back and forth and I could not control it. One minute I was indulging in creative writing, the other I wrote academic things. I wrote like there was no tomorrow. I wrote until I got nauseous; and I dreamt about a better future. I wanted to fall in love and I did, and then I kept on mildly questioning my feelings. I was safe within my bubble and I was happy about it. But then, a little before my 31st birthday I woke up avec le pied gauche. And I questioned myself and my feelings once again. And I wondered whether or not I will have the tendency to run away again, or if I would stay and endure the pain inside and be my own boss. And that was the point when I experienced the need to write even more, to get it out of my chest, to say goodbye to my old habits. Smoking died for me, yet two days before my birthday I went to the supermarket. I was short of cash but I bought myself dark chocolate and snuss. And I made myself a cup of tea too many and I decided to put all my thoughts in order once again.
My period came and, as usual in my late years, it gave me a massive headache. Can people fall in love and rejoice the feeling of safety rather than the pain? Or am I too simplistic to think so? And what’s with my feelings, when did I ever get to be so determined and stable? When and how did that occur? Who was to blame other than me? Strength and Honour was the moto of Orcs in World of Warcraft, and I found suddently myself swearing by it. My future was not looking gloomy as long as I trusted in me, myself and I . When I spoke to my good friend Mario from Hong Kong he smiled: ‘you are the boss’ he said. And Elin said: ‘You have the control’. Both statements I was unsure of, but I took for granted. And I moved on from these statements to a happier place. My research was waiting for me. And I was waiting for myself and myself only to take initiative on my new plans and projects. I remembered Virginia’s words: ‘what does Anna want?’ What did I want? EVERYTHING. ALL the love. ALL the strength. ALL the creative powers the gods bestowed on me. ‘Bring me more misfortunes’ I told the gods. 'I now know how to deal with them'.
