Option A, B or C?

When she was a little girl she couldn’t wait to be a grown up. She had this perhaps not so strange idea, as many children do, that as soon as she would be 18 years old she would be a grown up. She would know all the answers, the world being right there at her feet. 

However, she had her 18th birthday, a big party and life was all good. In hindsight, on the other hand, she realises that her world have never been as confusing as it was between that day an onwards the next ten years. On the outside she was a grown up, but on the inside of her so many things still had to grow – and some hadn’t even began growing yet! Gosh, it could be so confusing at frustrating at times! With the result of tears, frustration and anxiety among all the laughter! She began asking herself questions, some questions no-one really could have an answer to as it was up to her to find the answers. 

The moment she realised she was the one who had to find the answers, she asked herself more questions such as: did she really want to know the answers? 

For a long time she decided she was not ready. She decided not to ask certain questions before she knew deep inside exactly how she would respond to the particular answers. The truth. For several years she travelled the world. Some answers came naturally along the road, however the questions she in some confusing way also was running away from, kept coming back. As well as some of the answers pushed new questions ahead – would it never end? She thought she was a fully grown person, but that was only on the outside. She realised that life was a path which made her growing while walking it. One day she admitted that it was up to her very self, that it was her choice, how to deal with the answers. The truth. 

She decided that day that there were two paths she could choose between walking while finding the answers. A) she could either let the answers she found make her life miserable, sad and angry or B) she could grow on the answers she’d find and simply accept them as part of her past. As an explanation and a final ending to an evil circle - or there would also be an option C; simply not seeking answers at all! It was all up to her.

She realised as time passed by, as she was walking the sometimes bumpy road called life, that only a few years back, if she had kept asking the questions she’d might have chosen dealing with it through option A. However, she grew some more and her own common sense told her not to ask yet, as she had to be ready. That was five years back in time. At this hour, at this very second… at this very stage of her life, she had grown to believe she could deal with the answers. 

She asked the questions she feared the most. The answers were tough, they hurt…but she also realised, with a sigh of relief; that she could live with the answers, because deep inside she knew. She’d always known parts of it. With no hesitation, she decided to go for option B – she would simply accept the answers she’d got. She was a grown person now and knew from deep inside of her that even though the answers did hurt, it would not change the circumstances, what was past would stay in the past. She smiled at herself, choosing the path of option B she’d beat her worst fears and she would continue her life as it was now without changing anything. All she needed were some answers. Some sort of explanation. Oddly, she felt content about the words that had been told her. She felt an inner peace and knew she’d made the right choice at the right time. 

Memorabilia

She dragged herself up the stairs. Her tummy was jumping up and down. She made the last step and took a deep breath. She looked into the big room with no windows, packed with boxes of all sizes. Some of those boxes were hers. From years back in time. Boxes jammed with memories. Some good. Some sad. Some embarrassing. Some she didn’t want to remember, of different reasons. The problem was not the stuff in the boxes itself, but the emotions she connected to some of those things. Let’use the box with kitchen stuff from the first time she moved from home as an example. Friends had given her all those glasses, pots and pans as gifts, but she’d hardly used it, although she needed it. She connected that to the reason why she had decided to move from home already as a sixteen year old girl. That stupid stepfather of hers. She’d ran away from home a few times, had huge fights not only with him but also her mother - because of that man. That man who did all he could to destroy her relationship with her mother. The man who lied, controlled and behaved like the perfect neighbour when being outdoors and like a devil within the house’s four walls. She’d been relieved to get away from there. She found the box, decided not to look into it, only pushed it into a free corner she named the “bin-corner” as all the put there would go straight to the junkyard. She kicked the box, and she was surprised how it made her feel. It kind of felt good kicking that box!

She found another box and opened it. The contents made her smile. Posters of her teenage idols. Well, no longer use for any of that. Her husband probably wouldn’t be too happy if she put those up around the house. Another kick towards the “bin-corner”.

The third box was full of papers. She sat down on the floor to read some of it. She had to smile at some of the letters which were from her good friends from childhood days. Some of the friends she still had in her life, who had been there for her through her ups and downs in life…just like they wrote in the letters when they were ten years old. It almost made her cry- happy tears, of course. She found some old diaries. She put her hand on a blue one as if she could feel a heart beating. She noticed it was her own heart. Was it worth opening the book? Would be worth it reading the words she’s once written in frustration. Sadness. Fear? She remembered the ‘chaos’ which had been inside of her sometimes. The ‘chaos’ she had no words for until she got twenty years older. The ‘chaos’ she thought no one would ever understand. The ‘chaos’ which made her feel so alone and sad but also scared and worried. The chaos she never told anyone about until many years later when she realised she did not have to do that struggle of her own. She was not the only one with some ‘chaos’ inside of her. Her hand was still on the blue book with flowers on it. She opened it and smiled. “I love…” she’d written with her childish handwriting as a nine year old girl. Oh, how she remembered that boy, she was sure she was going to marry him some day. Those innocent childish thoughts. It felt safe to realise she had had those as well. That the days back then had not only been all that serious. It was so easy to forget about the happy things, the little things, the funny things, and it was way too easy to hold on to the down sides. Why was that? She browsed through the book. Stopped at a page she’d been rambling down a story about a sad girl who had to watch her siblings and be strong when mum was at work in the afternoons to make sure her father wouldn’t hurt them because he was sometimes behaving really strange and sometimes very scary. It was hard to know, but the sad girl learned to read her father’s footsteps in the morning before he went to work. She would read on the walk and the way he was breathing whether it would be safe to spend the afternoon outdoors with her friends - or if she had to guard her siblings.

She knew the story was not only a story. It had been her reality. She had been that girl. Suddenly she started crying. She couldn’t stop. Her whole body was shaking. This was the reason why she had excused herself for so many years to actually clean the attic and open those boxes. The memories. The emotions. She didn’t want to reflect on the past. She didn’t want to remember some of the feelings she so often had, but never really understood – until now. Now that she was an adult, had a job, her own family and a good life. The so-called chaos inside of her was gone. She was happy and content with her life. But thinking back hurt so bad. Not all of it, of course, but some of it. She kept crying for a bit. Suddenly she threw the book away, got up on her feet, raised her head and shoulders. She found all the old boxes, decided not to look into them, put them in the “bin-corner” in quite a hurry. When she was done, she took another deep sigh, nodded her head and said out loud: “That was then, this is now!” She smiled at herself and yelled at her husband to give her a hand to free the “bin-corner” and make the car ready for a trip to the junkyard.

Trapped

Here we go again. Since I joined Facebook I have done my very best to avoid any more sites online which makes me all addicted. Of course I am talking about Twitter, and of course after five days of Easter holidays and done my very best not to be online and instead being social the more natural way…I was trapped. I was checking out my blog, to sort of update and see what to do next…then there was a link to check out Twitter. Five days with no internet and the temptation got too much of a sweetie for me…I clicked on the link…and suddenly I am a Twitter. So, here I am…once more trapped in cyberworld however somewhat relieved as Twitter is not as I expected it to be. It’s fine, don’t misunderstand me, however, it’s not about all that downloading (I think...remember, I am new to it yet and I might be wrong!) …it’s not Facebook! Twitter consists mainly of short updates and references to blogs (some which are really interesting, by the way!)…so I am quite sure I won’t be as addicted to Twitter as to certain others...however, time will show;)

Mental illness - do you care about your neighbour???

Hey guys. Earlier tonight I posted in Norwegian here on Kelitas Corner. My fingers were all so itchy and I just had so many feelings and things to say about the certain issue that I just had to “get it out”…however, in just a few hours I have received many positive comments about that certain posting as well as my dear non-Norwegian-blog-followers have been disappointed as you guys don’t understand that weird language. I am really sorry…but I am doing my best now to give you some background information on that certain posting. Please excuse my English on this one!

I woke up this morning to the horrible news that AGAIN a mentally ill person had murdered three people. There is no excuse for murdering people, however I do question not only the Norwegian way of dealing with mentally ill people, that is "the system", howver I also question myself. You. The neighbour. The parent. The teacher. The boss. “Us” who are not sick and can differ one shoe from the other. A mentally ill person often (not always, that is, but often) show irrational behaviour and it is possible to catch up on that on an early stage. I believe tragic murder cases such as this one in the Northern Norway last night, may be prevented. However, I also believe that the way the government deal with the issue of psychiatry in this country has to change…it has improve on certain areas, such as taking care of people while they need to be taken care of, not only after some very tragic incident…and it also has to be there for some time after treatment…we live in the year of 2009, the news daily debates about all sorts of issues, however mentally illness still seem to be a taboo issue… and it frightens me that many people seem to be “afraid” to care…hopefully I am all wrong about that one....

Kelita

SÅ SKJEDDE DET …IGJEN

(Sorry my dear friends & readers in Estonia, Australia, Mexico, Germany, Canada, the USA....this one is in Norwegian as I could never express myself this way in English...I promise I'll do my very best to write most in English!!)

Så våknet vi opp til det. Igjen. Jeg ble, som alltid når nyhetsoverskriftene er som i dag, fysisk kvalm. Det gjør så vondt å lese. Jeg kjenner verken gjerningsmann eller ofre, men jeg kjenner redselen og frykten på meg. Igjen har psykiatrien sviktet, tenker vi. For det er mange ofre i denne uendelig triste saken. Det er ikke bare de tre ofrene til gjerningsmannen, men også gjerningsmannen selv - samt familie og venner.

Igjen har en psykisk syk person begått brutale drap. Det er ikke første gang dette er nyhetsoverskrifter, og det vil dessverre ikke bli den siste. Jeg må spørre: hva kan gjøres for å se - eller hjelpe psykisk syke personer før det går så langt at drap blir begått? Er det bare psykiatriens feil? Man ønsker så inderlig en forklaring - og en syndebukk, og det er ikke til å legge under en stol at dette langstrakte landet vårt har en STOR jobb foran seg når det kommer til både forebygging og ettervern innenfor psykiatrien.

Det er så lett å si at vi må ta ansvar for vårt eget liv, at en selv må stå til ansvar for handlinger en gjør. Dette er også jeg enig i – men ikke uten moderasjoner. Eksempelvis har veldig mange opplevd å føle seg sliten, utafor og av den grunn kanskje har gjort irrelevante handlinger i forhold til den personen en ”egentlig” er. Jeg mener ikke at en som opplever å være litt utenfor seg selv en periode, nødvendigvis begår drap, men prøver derimot å gi et bilde av hvordan det kan føles å være i en tilstand hvor man ser betydningen av at andre stiller opp, sier i fra og tar i et tak nettopp fordi en selv ikke klarer dette på egenhånd. Tenke seg da til en psykisk ustabil person, som sannsynligvis over en periode har oppført seg på en måte hvor andre, du og jeg, merker eller kanskje tenker at personen muligens burde ha ”hjelp”. Mentalt ustabile mennesker kan si ting - og handle - på måter som du og jeg ville reagere på, det være seg at personen virker skremmende og kanskje snakker om å dø selv eller drepe andre eller ved å utagere og bli sint på hva ”vi” friske ville kalle bagateller. Det kan være småting, som over tid utvikler seg fordi ingen tar tak i personen eller problemet.

Har ikke vi som medmennesker et ansvar også? Jeg gjentar; jeg unnskylder på ingen måte drapene som har skjedd, tro du meg jeg vet litt om hva frykt innebærer, men jeg tenker at om man får en ”magefølelse” på at noe ikke er helt som det skal, selv om en ikke kan peke konkret på nøyaktig hva, burde en ikke da som medmenneske stille seg selv noen kritiske spørsmål? Jeg mener at flere av de grusomme drapene, som jeg synes skjer oftere og oftere, kunne vært unngått hvis vi som medmennesker ikke var så redde for å bry oss, si fra eller tenke oss om en ekstra gang, samtidig som at også psykiatrien gjør jobben sin og blir mye bedre på å både forebygging og ettervern.

The Pink Suitcase

You hear the word pink suitcase and let me guess...the first thing that probably comes to your mind is that I bought myself a pink suitcase (you guys who read this and know me well, however, wouldn't even imagine that I would ever do that as pink is not one of my favourite colours)....or that this is all about some girl who's got a pink suitcase...or perhaps it is about a pink suitcase that has been missing from a flight or something....you're right, it could be something like that. I am sure some woman out there has bought herself a pink suitcase today, or that someone's missing hers - or his -  for that sake. I am sure I could make up some stories like that if that was my intention...however, what I want is to tell you about is the Man with the Pink Suitcase.

It doesn't matter when it was. Or where. It happened, and it meant something to me, that is what matters to me. If you really wanna know, it was in a pretty big city one frezzy winters day. I was hurrying to get to work, like a bunch of other people. We hid our faces behind scarves, wore warm coats and hid our hands in warm woolen mittens. I suppose most people were in their own personal worlds thinking about what this day would be like and all the appointments of this and that which had to be kept. At least I was. I also recall that I was loooonging for a hot cuppa coffee, and that was my main mission for the next five minutes. 

Suddenly I was aware of two pretty young men who maybe looked kinda "worn out"...tired...wearing perhaps not the cleanest clothes one might imagine...I had seen them before. Street guys, most likely living as close to the street as one possibly can do in this supposed-to-be- rich country of mine...I had noticed them sitting silently by a corner with a cup made of cardboard wanting some coins. The young men seemed like they tried to get attention from the passers by. They looked kinda stressed. But no one stopped. Curious as I am, I stopped, because they didn't seem dangerous or scary at all. I asked what was the matter. Then I noticed a man lieing on the ground. One of the guys told me he wasn't breathing, that they needed someone to call an ambulance, but they had no money on their prepaid cards for their mobile phones to ring for. I checked the man's pulse...I couldn't feel much...I took off his scarf and anything that may help to make him breath easier...then another passers by stopped...I told him to do CPR if he knew how to as I realised I desperately needed a course to learn to do that...the man did and I managed to call for an ambulance. He got a tiny, tiny pulse...

The man's two friends thanked me and the other helper over and over for stopping, for trying to help. They began collecting the very ill man's stuff. Apparently the ill man had spent the night where he was lieing as his stuff was spread all over. That was when I noticed the Pink Suitcase. All of one man's belongings in one Pink Suitcase. There were some sorts of magazines, some clothes, a tooth brush and a charger for a mobile phone. That was all the man's belongings.

The ambulance arrived shortly after the man's two good friends had collected all of his stuff and closed the Pink Suitcase. We all made sure it came with him in the ambulance.

I don't know what happened to that man, if he is still alive to this  very day, however I do know there are many men - and women - like the Man with the Pink Suitcase and if YOU see him, say "hello" and don't be afraid to ask how he's doing.

An important realization

....it's not as serious as the heading sounds like, so don't give up reading just yet! It's not more than a few weeks back since I discovered Facebook (or decided to check out that thing I had denied for a couple of years... at least!) and suddenly I came in touch with friends of mine from all over the world. From Down Under (Australia), Germany, England, The USA...and last, but not least México. And that's where this so-called realization of mine is playing an important part. Thanks to the invention of internet, Facebook, MSN, Google etc...I can keep in touch with all these amazing people whom I have met along the road over the years and even though we haven't seen for a while, I was today invited to my friend's wedding in Mexico in a few months time. Isn't that just so cool? The conversation I had with this far far away, but close, friend of mine also brought back sooo many memories...good memories of the past nearly 13 years...it took me back the memory lane to the very first time I went abroad and put my feet in an airplane that day in August 13 years ago on my way to spend one whole year far away from my family and safe environment here in Norway as an exchange student in Mexico. 

I woke up this morning, kinda in a lousy mood as everyone can do once in a while, I guess. But I made myself get up, have the important first cuppa coffee, turned on my computer & then my dear amiga Mexicana found me and there I had this "realization" about the amazing world of internet (as long as one use it properly, that is)...and then my day turned out to be just awesome! I even decided to make my own blog...however I am not sure yet where I'll be going with it...there are plenty of good blogs out there and I didn't really plan on doing this...however, be patient with me as I am all new in this "game" and have to find my way;)