Category Archive

The following is a list of all entries from the English category.

Just a Memory

So I was back in Helsinki in December and I noticed there were a lot of small changes in the city. In a way, I felt really jealous and hurt because I didn’t know of those changes. Then I played around with that thought – I was jealous since Helsinki wasn’t mine anymore. Like it had been a lover and then nothing.

Helsinki is the guy you date in your early twenties. He’s a good kisser but he’s always in a hurry. He’ll make plans with you and always show up late – but with a very good, sincere, excuse.

Helsinki is the woman you meet in a gay bar dancing to Tegan and Sara. She’s your very first … in many ways. First same sex kiss, the first person to teach you the world is more colorful than black and white. And, most of all, she’s the first one to show you we’re all a little bit broken inside, we are all fallible and flawed. Helsinki is the woman in your bed in the dead of the night talking about monsters and hope.

Helsinki is the cobblestone streets around Senaatintori where you’ve sworn you’ll never wear high heels ever again. It’s the drunken homeless man asking money “for a cardigan fund for the sailors drowned in the sea”. It’s the tired smile shared with a stranger 7:30 am on a Monday morning in tram 10.

Helsinki is that one man who’s just a casual thing; friends with benefits, but who you’ll always be a little bit of in love with. Helsinki is the guy you’ll learn to let go.

Helsinki is the day after a rainstorm. It’s a safe harbor for dead umbrellas. Helsinki is an old lover who still knows their way around your skin and lips. It’s a friend, a cup of coffee and it’s a home. But most of all, Helsinki is a memory.

My Helsinki is just a memory.

 Helsinki Cathedral



There’s Art in Letting Go

There’s art in letting go

It’s not easy to take a stand and stop caring when every fiber in your body screams the opposite

There’s art in letting go

Accepting the truth – your truth – is a long and painful trip from point A to Happy

There’s art in letting go

Learning how to breathe again will make you feel like you’re trying to gasp air in the bottom of Marinara Trench

There’s art in letting go

But then something magical happens; life gets easier.


To My Best Friend

I love you

Yes, you read that right

I love you

No, I don’t want to get married to you

I don’t want babies or a house or three cats with you

This is just perfect

Your arms are always open

There’s warmth in your smile

You didn’t laugh at me that one time 4 am you caught me crying over a John Green book

Every time I get my heart broken, you stock up on ice cream and let me eat most of it

Every time I come to your place crying, you just hug me tight

I’ll probably have never the courage to say these things to you aloud

Because that would make me anxious (more than usually) and probably give you a panic attack and we’d stop speaking and the world would end

But know this, I love you

This is just enough

What We Were

Since I moved to Stockholm, I’ve been taking some time from writing. Yesterday, it came back to me and now I feel like sharing something.

We were what we were

We consumed time like it was nothing 

As if it was only pennies from a piggy bank we thought we’d never need again

But pennies don’t last forever and time flies by so fast

Now I walk alone looking for pennies on the cobblestone paths in the old town

I need to replace what I gave away 


Punctuation marks. Hot pink.

To me you were always this sweet pink question mark.

A wildcard that was safe to keep in my pocket.

First you found someone new, your blue comma.

And when that sentence ended, I was already happily snuggling with a new purple exclamation mark.

A new paragraph began; you told me I was a pink question mark. Hot pink.

But we never found the same page; we weren’t typed onto the same line as we hoped.

Now you have your yellow dash and I’m in an ellipsis being shipped to another book.

Maybe I’ll still keep my sweet pink question mark and place it on a happy page.



A glass full of cold yogurt stared mercilessly at a mug full of hot coffee.

‘When did it become like this? You lose your warmth and with that, you become unwanted, cold. And I, I lose my cool, I’ll become warm and undesirable. When did it become like this?’

Scar comparing

That night on your couch.

That night we compared our time faded battle wounds.

That night we took our clothes off arguing over who has the biggest and baddest scars.

That night we laughed when we realized we were half naked.

That night we just had to watch the Guy Ritchie movie.

That night we realized we had a better scar comparing moment than the men in RocknRolla.