My sanctuary

I’m sitting under the heat-lamps in the glassed room outside my cousin’s house. It’s getting dark, but the sky is still blue so you can just make out the line of trees behind the lake. There are mosquitos buzzing around me, so I have to stop the writing to wave them off from time to time. I am slightly allergic to the bites, you see, so one on my wrist can make the whole itchy for a week.
The whole family is gathered around me, laughing and playing UNO, all while eating the cake I threw together because I had some raspberry-frosting over from the cupcakes I made yesterday.
There is a sense of calm in the chaos. While the youngest of us, my cousin and brother, are taking UNO very seriously, my mom and aunt are mostly laughing and enjoying themselves. The older cousin, feeling very adult at the age of seventeen, is sitting with his two friends at the end of the table, they too munching away on the cake. It’s calm. And loud.
I haven’t been back here for a while, out in the forest with my family. School came in the way, as it has been doing for everything the last year or so. Coming here always makes me feel at home, though I have never spent more than a few weeks here a year. It is so very nice and calm here. We are, in my opinion, in the middle of nowhere. The closest city, which is not a city I have been told, but a community, can be walked through in nothing more than a song or two and everything is surrounded by trees and more trees.
I was just interrupted by my brother proudly exclaiming that he has been cheating for some time now. Oh, what a little mongrel. Back to the story.
Since I live in the big city, coming here is always such a change. We went to the cinema last week and we had to drive for 45 minutes. It barely takes 45 minutes door to door back home. It is very nice to be so isolated though. I have internet, which keeps me sane, and I have my books, which keep me happy. It is, in my mind, the perfect holiday after a year of crying over IB and then two months of hard work. It is, in fact, exactly what I need.
The game goes on. The cousin and his friends have joined, blending into the group as everybody seems to be doing in such close-knit communities on the country. They’re laughing and teasing each other almost to the limit (the girl did storm out in an outrage concerning her snoring at one point) but the warmth remains, and it’s not all from the lamps.
As I sit here with my computer in front of me, typing away, I feel like I am nothing but an observer, like I am not apart of the group. Of course, I could jump right with with just a few words or a smile, but I feel more comfortable this way. Outside. On my own. Observing people in their right element. I think that might be both the writer and the photographer in me: Always wanting to see, without getting involved. It can also come from years of being to afraid to leave the background, and of not really being allowed.
I do like it here though. Behind the shield of my computer. It is a very nice, and safe, place to be.
Just like with this place in the forest. It’s outside the real world, outside reality. It is a safe place in a world where you are expected to achieve every single second of the day. Where there are plans and commitments. I miss the big city at times, just as I miss being involved with reality at times, but it is very nice sitting here. Outside the group, outside the world, and just breathe.
Just breathe.

#YAsaves.

If you live on the internet, as so many of us do, it is very likely that you have read the article from the Wall Street Journal that has been circulating the past few days. If you have not heard about it, the article in question was about Young Adult fiction and how it is 'depraving' and "hideously distorted portrayals of what life is." If you did read the article (or did so after reading this) you probably understand that it is wrong on so many levels, but it's not really what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about the part YA played in my life, and how the 'dark and depraved' literature is in fact so much more. So many wonderful and beautiful things have already been said but I thought I would offer my two cents to this whole discussion.
Warning for personal thoughts and whatnot. This affected me on a pretty personal level, and I'm going to express many thoughts I don't think I have really told anyone.

I was pretty shy and awkward when I was younger. As I became a teenager, I was actually pretty deep in social phobia to be honest, though I do not like to admit it. I had trouble making friends because I did not, and I really mean not, like to talk to people. I avoided it at any cost. It could do go days when I barely even said a word in school, even though I was rarely all alone. I was quiet, not because I did not have anything to say, but because I simply didn't dare. I convinced myself I preferred being alone. It was fine that I rarely did anything with friends. It was okay listening to them talking about matters I cared about, but didn't dare voice my opinion. So I told myself.
This whole social incompetence came both from shyness, but also from the belief that I was different. It had a lot to do with my hand, something I've talked a lot about on this blog before, so I shall not bring it up again. Basically, I was pretty sad and hid within myself.

But when I went home, when I was all alone, a bit sad, I read. I read everything I could get my hands on. My mom has always loved to read, so I never had any problems finding more books to read. I did not just read YA fiction, I read novels meant for adults as well. I read Joyce Carol Oates, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Diana Gabaldon. I read Meg Cabot and Maureen Johnson, J.K Rowling and Terry Brooks. I read because reading made me happy. I read because when I was completely engrossed in a novel, I could forget about how sad I was. I could forget about how bad it felt when people made plans in front of me, but did not include me. I could forget about how the girl who had been my best friend for years, suddenly ignored me because in her eyes I wasn't 'cool enough'. I could forget about my own sadness.

I read so much, and every novel I read introduced me to another, and that one to another. Reading broadened my mind in so many eyes. I learnt about other cultures, became interested in other languages, and most importantly, it made me look at the world differently. Then, I was introduced to Nerdfighteria and my whole life changed. I found that I could make friends by just being me. I became apart of a youtube channel where we discussed novels. Not that much discussing was actually done, but I opened up and grew. I read John Green's novels, books that are dark and wonderful in their own special way. I found that YA literature was much larger and so much more beautiful than I had previously thought.

I have read dark novels. I have read stories about people on top of the world, and those who are being crushed under it. Has it changed me? Has it defined me as a person? Oh yes. So much. Do I regret it?

Not for one second.

Literature, especially YA literature which is so easy to identify with, made me who I am today, dark and cute stuff alike and I would not go back to that scared little girl, no matter what.

Whenever people say that literature hurts, I just want to punch someone. As Maureen Johnson was tweeting at the most, someone sent her this picture. I just want those book banners and the 'upset moms' to look at this picture and realize what it stands for.
Literature helps us all grow in every direction.

My favorite part of this though, was the tweet someone went Maureen received. It was from Euranna317 and it said "What I love about that pic is that if the kid can show enough others what he's seen, eventually they'll pull down that wall."

I would like to think that if enough people of our generation read, we might not build the same wall for future generations.

To be reading has defined my (albeit short) life, but it doesn't end there. While reading helped for the moment, I also found something that will help in the future. By going through author after author, I found something so important. I found a passion. I began writing. And then I didn't stop. Writing is now so important to me, I don't know what I would do if I was not constantly thinking about it. It is what I want to do for the rest of my life, no matter if I make a living our of it or not. What genre would I like to write in, you may ask, and, shocker here, I want to write young adult fiction.

Without literature and the world it introduced me to, I do not know how I had survived high school. I might not have been here. Without literature, I would not know what to study at university. I don't even know if I would have wanted to continue studying.

 Literature, especially YA fiction, saved me, like it saved so many, from falling into despair. I owe every single author found in my room, so much. I would not trade a single read for for anything. 

Blood, sweat and tears, it's finally over.

As many of you know (or as two of you know, depending on how many people actually read this blog) I finished the IB program ten days ago. On Wednesday I will graduate for real, and my time as an IB diploma student will be over.
It is truly strange to sit down in front of the computer when I get home and not study. The pressure to study these last six months has really gotten to me, I think it has gotten to all of us. Sleep is probably what has been affected the most. I know that "we can sleep after IB" had become a regular expression among us as the exams got closer. Now that it is all over, and has been over for several days, there is still that anxiety attacking me when I go to bed and realize I have not studied for tomorrow.
I have been in school full-time for twelve years. Thirteen if you count the "six-year school" but honestly, all we did was play with plastic dinosaurs, sang songs and re-enacted the Lion King in the pillow room, so perhaps it should be counted among the kindergarten years instead.
But twelve years. I admit the first few were not always about studying, but it was still school. You had to get up early in the morning, go away to an institution you definitely loathed certain days and you have to learn. Oh the learning. Now I cherish every new piece of information about the world, but at ten? I couldn't care less about what happened if you divided 33. (to be honest, math has never been that high up on the priority list. Though I have gotten quite better at division since then.) I always liked the books though. The getting lost in other worlds. The cozying down under the covers on a rainy (or sunny) day and just read.
I always did like learning to a certain extent (IB has forever ruined that expression for me.) I was is somewhat of a know-it-all, so I loved arguing with people. And I was always right. Always. Never wrong. Always right.
I am going off to University of course. If things go my way, I will be sitting in Scotland next September, reading a book of my literature list and enjoying the finer things in life. And by finer, I mean IB all over again. Only worse. But before all of this, I am taking a year off. I think it's good to take a year off, especially after IB. It's so different from the Swedish system in thinking and in tempo. When all my friends complained about only have a week to write a paper, I was at home trying to write the one we had been given today. Due tomorrow. It was fun though, I won't deny it. I have met some wonderful people I know I will continue to be friends with for a long while and I've learnt a lot. Not just about history or maths, but about my own strengths  and weaknesses. Though so very cliched, I have climbed out of the shell I was in, and now I can actually talk to strangers. Who would have thought that could be possible.
It is just so strange, that after three years of hard-core studying, I will do nothing for a whole year. I will be working of course, but there will be no essays to write. To seminars to get ready for. No tests to study for, no syllabuses to read and definitely no CAS hours to complete. I'll be free.
After a life that has been defined by school for twelve years, I will be able to pick up a good book of my own choosing (no more Prep in my house) and just read. I will be able to make plans without the constant "oh, I have to study!"I will be able to sleep for a whole night.
There you have it. My end of school post. I don't really know how I feel about it. Of course it is not really the end, as uni is just over a year away, but it's the end here. I will most likely never study in Sweden again.

I'm Sarah and I am done.

Morning ramble.

Well, hello. Look who is here.

I am writing this post because I am bored, not ready to do homework before school and there is a man ripping up our kitchen floor. I don't really want to go downstairs. Stuff keeps crashing...

Anywho, I am stressed and tired (and I probably SHOULD study before I leave for school) yet I have not yet reached the panic state I should be in. I guess that will kick in after the weekend when I am down to five days before my Visual Arts exhibition. Oh my.

That was all for me I think, I am now going to get dressed and avoid the wrecker of floors before running out of the house. A ride to school is amazing, and guess what? Sweden has some sun today.

Just a little something.

And what a failure BEDA was for me. Such a gigantic failure. But no more of that.

Instead I would like to talk about two things; the first one being Scandinavians in your pants, which is a Youtube channel I used to be a part of. Now it's time for a new generation to take our place, but so far we have only found three girls. Tuesday and Thursday our still available, and if you live in Scandinavia and is interested, or know someone who is interested, please contact the channel. Having a full week would be nice.

The second thing I wanted to mention is a website called the Nerfighter Gazette. It's an online magazine my good friend Bekah started, and lately not much has happened. If you want to bee a writer all you need to do is to go here, (Also known as the "Write for NFG"-button) and sign up! It's really easy. And if you wish to recommend the website via twitter, please send me or Bekah a little notice, so we can thank you.

That was all. I am going to go back to being very lazy now.

Blog Everyday in August #8 - I am in Norway

The reason I didn't blog yesterday was because I went to Norway. Now, you might say: "But didn't you have time to write even a short little post?"

The answer is no. I didn't even unpack my computer.

But I am now going to tell you what I did yesterday and how much fun it waaas.

First I got up way too early. This might have had something to do with the fact that I was up all night talking to friends. Might be connected..

But 6.30 is early in my mind. I managed to leave my bed with sheer willpower, and then I went to the train station.

I was really surprised that so many people were out and about. Yes, it was 7.30, but it was a Saturday.. I assumed people would be in bed just like I wanted to be. Obviously I was wrong

Then came the six hour train ride.

Normally I like riding the train, and I usually relax quite a lot. But I was sitting next to the most annoying man in the history of the world. He was constantly talking to his daughter and wife who were sitting on the seat in front of us. Then, of course, he managed to splash me with his bubbly water.

I was not amused.

A woman sitting on the other side of the aisle asked me if I could help her off with her bag, since she had her dog to take care of as well. I assumed this meant that I would just carry it down the stairs tat we were sitting right next to. Then just as the train was stopping, a voice over the speaker tells us that the platform is really short, and that we can only get off on the first two wagons.

We were sitting in the other end of the train.

So I had to run through the entire train with her bag, which was really really heavy. And when I did manage to get her bag off the train, I had to go back to my seat. On my way back there my skirt got caught in a broken chair and it's not completely ruined.

Worst train trip ever.

But then I actually got to Oslo, and then everything got better. We left my heavy bag in a locker and then walked around in the city. Before this though, we walked to the top of the opera building which is absolutely gorgeous.

We met up with Ingvild's friend, who was also called Ingvild, and then walked up to Litteraturhuset where the Harry and the potters show was.

And the show was awesome. It really was. The brothers might not be the best singers, but they put on an amazing show. They're so lively!

We then went to eat, caught a bus back to Ingvild's house, and talked forever and then we fell asleep.

This post has no grammar. I no longer care. AWESOME.

If we can we'll see Kristin today, and... yes. Bye.

The Thought of the Day: I am sleepy. This is all. Also, Swedish is weird.

Blog Everyday in August #6 - A short and hurried update.

I almost forgot to blog!

I am leaving for Oslo in, oh, 8 hours and 38 minutes, so I have been doing absolutely nothing of worth today. No, that's not true, I did the dishes. Can I get a good daughter score for that? A golden star?

The only things I have left to pack are my books, but they shouldn't be too hard to collect.

As a little update of the day: I am very jealous of the people at Summer in the City. I had a blast last year, though it might have been mostly because of Shannon and Lucy. I will be seeing Lucy on my London trip, many woohoo's for that.

I also went shopping, and buying pants sucks since I am still overweight. But I did buy some and they do look pretty, so I am going to stop complaining, and continue with my excercise when I get back from Norway.

I did buy a bra with is AWESOME. It actually fits, and that is something I've had a big problem with. Big is the keyword here. It has the unfortunate color bright pink, but it fits so well, and is also quite comfortable, so I have decided not to care.

It was also very cheap.

Now I am going to try to sleep before the train. I have to get up in little over six hours, which is no fun, but I am guessing Ingvild will make up for it.

The Things of the Day: I AM GOING TO OSLO TOMORROW. I'm excited. I will also go see Harry and the potters with Ingvild, but I am much more excited about seeing her.

Blog Everyday in August #5 - Some thoughts on writing.

I honestly don't know how I am going to keep up with posting a blog every day this month. Especially since I seem to be writing these post way after midnight. I guess I can't continue with that when school starts (19 days, but who is counting?) but I am just too wired to write during the day. This might also be why I still haven't finished my novel.

Of course it might have something to do with the fact that I have my narrator and her boyfriend in a cellar with a crazy murderer and a whole lot of blood.

But no biggie.

Maybe that is the topic of today's (tonight's) post. WRITING.

Also known as "Why the hell haven't you finished your novel yet, you idiot?" You choose.

I love writing. I still can't really define why, for I just start blabbering about creating new worlds and giving birth to characters, but that is really it. I have a vivid imagination, and I'm always making something up. Even though I haven't written much lately, there is a constant flow of stories in my head. I have so much I want to write down, but due to a current decrease in confidence when it comes to my "talent" I just haven't.

This is truly one of my biggest problems: I keep doubting myself.

These stories, they're so vidid in my mind, so alive. When I put them down to paper (or in this case hard-drive) it seems so lacking. I can't portray my heroines fears without making her sounds like a fluffy lady, or I can't properly describe the scenes to make them as impressing as they are when I imagine them.

I guess it just takes much training. But training takes time and I won't have that when school starts this year.

But sometimes I am on a flow. Those who know how it is to be on a flow... Oh, dear. The words just pour out of your hands and somehow, like magic, align on paper the way you want them to. The characters have chemistry, the scenes are amazing and the plot, oh the plot, is without holes.

It's truly marvelous. And then you get stuck again.

I suppose that is one of the most wonderful things though. Sitting down by the computer after a long dry-spell and finding that you suddenly have inspiration. Oh, I love it.

My novel though, it has reached a stop.

I started it during NaNoWriMo 2009, and when November was over, I simply didn't have time to look at it for months. When I well did, I realized it was nowhere near completion and began writing like crazy. Now, nine months later, I'm at 80 thousand words and I hate about 70 thousand of them.

It is too silly.

But I shall, in the few days between my Oslo trip and London trip, try to look at it, and maybe, if possible, get my characters out of the hole alive.

To be honest though, right now I just feel like killing them all.

The Thing of the Day: I definitely just made chocolate balls with pear-sugar and caramel sprinkles.

Blog Everyday in August #4 - I love libraries.

I don't know what it is, but whenever I step into a library I feel excited. It might be because it is filled with so much wonder and amazement. So many worlds, and characters and rooms and events. I just feel at home.

Every single book is like a window to a different world, and we've all felt like escaping one time or another, haven't we?

Recently I complained about having to pay for reserving books at my local library. The ones I have outside of stockholm is a branch os different ones, so you can easily ask them to send it to the one nearest you. But last year they started charging for this, and my library reserving went way down.

But a few days ago, after complaining, I realized what an idiot I was.

Libraries do amazing things. They offer the chance of reading to people who might not afford it otherwise. Personally, I think that is one of the best things you can do in today's society when children spend most of their time playing video-games. (This is something I too enjoy a great deal, but reading is important.)

So, after thinking this through, and counting the amount of books I have borrowed from libraries during my short time here on earth, 10 SEK per reserved book is worth it. I don't mind giving money to the library. In fact, I wouldn't even mind just giving them some money once in a while. They're doing a great job.

If only they would expand the English section a little bit, and I might move in there.

The Thing of the Day: The books I got from the Library this time was 'From a Buick 8' by Stephen King (A re-read because I loved it, and it was a while ago since I read it), 'Rebel Angels' by Libba Bray (because I rather liked the first novel and should finish the series before school starts) and 'Wicked Lovely" by Melissa Marr (I usually don't pick up books by people I have never heard of, nor ben recommended to read, but this looked quite nice.)

Blog Everyday in August #3 - A bit about school

Here we go, it's just the third of August, and I have already missed a day. I apologize, and if I feel like it I'll make it up to you by blogging in September, but we'll see how much I have to deal with in school. IB doesn't really give you time to rest on the last year. At all.

Is it strange that I look forward to starting school again? I think it's the fact that it is actually my last year, that makes it so exciting. I'll be graduating next year. Graduating. I'm turning 18 in just a few weeks. I'm flabbergasted. But that isn't actually what I was going to talk about.

I'm now about to start my last year of IB. Since we in Sweden have a very different school system for the ones IB is based on, we got an extra. This is also because Swedish "gymnasium" is three years, and the B diploma programme is only two. But it is also very good, because Ib has a very high tempo and demands a lot from its students. It means that you can decide to leave the school, and star another program that suits you better.
Frankly, I just like to complain about doing three years of IB.

But I do miss it. Sure, this is the last and most demanding year, but I think if I just put more effort in it, it will go quite well. Sure, we have a lot of stuff to do, things I haven't actually started yet, but I like it. I really do. I like learning in general. Just finding things out, things I never though I would know.

Take history, for example. I love history, for it explains how the world looks today. It's so important to look back, to understand, and to refrain from repeating some things. Looking at old alliances and enemies, gives you a take on why the world looks the way it does today. And I think it is simply fascinating.

Then Biology. I never thought I'd know the things I do, never. But it is, for lack of words, awesome.

The fact that I now have amazing friends isn't all that bad either.

As a matter of fact, it's quite a difference from how it used to be. I didn't really have that many friends two years ago. The people I went to school with, I knew, and I spent time with them IN school, but we weren't friends. We didn't invite each other out after school.

Now it's different. And as someone who has gone through the experiment of having no friends, they do mean a lot to me.

As crazy as they are.

So, yes, school. Only 21 days left, and I still have time for two trips before it starts. First I'll be off to Oslo, to see a friend. We'll be going to the Harry and the Potter show as well. Be sure to check my channel, for Ingvild and I will be crazy and making videos.

Then, on the 16th, I'll be going to London again, and I am looking forward to seeing lovely Lucy again.

I think that was it for now. I promised Ingvild to vlog today, and I shall, as soon as the sun goes up anyway. If you're interested, it will be upload here.

Random thing of the day: I just made way too many pancakes, and I have to say... I am becoming quite an excellent pancake cook.

Blog everyday August #1 - Nothing to say

So, my first post here in August didn't really turn out the way I wanted it to. First of all... It's no longer the first here in Sweden. Second of all.. I honestly don't have anything to say. This, of course, is so easily fixed.

Blogspot doesn't even acknowledge that I am living in Sweden, and will be posting this on the first. Technically. I like technically. So, hello past. It's nice to meet you. Again.

Second, I always say I have nothing to write about then and then thousand words later I've bored you to death. It's quite fascinating really, this habit of mine. And something I must work on.

So, I am here writing again, so soon after my last post, because of Becky. She said she was doing Blog Everyday August, and I kind of wanted to join in. And here I am. Writing. Blabbing away. Type, type, type.
This is going to be an excellent month.

I honestly don't have anything important to mention, so I am simply going to tell you random things. Like for example, today my friend virtually yelled at me (again) for not having seen The Dark Knight. As I am both a movie nerd and a comics nerd, this astonishes me as well. Also, Heath Ledger? As the Joker? One of my favorite villains ever? Yes. I am amazed.
But this means I need to go into the city and get myself a dvd.

This, is annoying.

Mostly I think it's because I won't actually get there. If I don't HAVE to be anywhere, it is not very likely that I will actually get dressed. When I'm home alone and free, I basically only go outside to walk the dog. Walking the dog clothes, are not actually proper out in public clothes.
Not at all.

Of course, I have to now. Otherwise she'll yell at me for real when I see her.
That was all for this first post. Told you I didn't have anything to say.

London countdown: 14 days.

A post about my hand.

"But it's hard to miss them, right?" Usually people ask, but you didn't. Still, I figured you were probably wondering. You'd be surprised how many people just walk right up and ask, point-blank, like they're asking what time it is."
"That's rude," I said.
"Mmm-hmm," Monica agreed, stubbing her cigarette out in the windowsill.
Kristy shrugged. "Really, I kind of prefer it. I mean, it's better than just staring and acting like you're not. Kids are the best. They just look right at me and say, "What's wrong with your face?" I like that. Get it out in the open. I mean, shit, it's not like it isn't anyway. That's on reason to why I dress up sp much, you know, because people are already staring. Might as well give them a show. You know?"

This quote is from a novel by Sarah Dessen, an author who recently made it into my top authors list. It is about a girl names Kristy, and her scars from a car-crash she was in as a kid, and how she isn't ashamed of it.
For those who know me, you might understand just how I relate to this. For those who don't know me, here's a clarification.

I was born with a condition, you might call it. A problem, indeed. I am lacking finger on my left hand, as if the production just slowed down and then stopped when the mighty little midgets in my mom's stomach was creating my hand. I have my wrist left, and I don't think I can tell you just how grateful I am for this. During the 18 years of which I have been roaming this planet, I have learnt to do pretty much everything you can do, even if it might be a little different. And as upset, angry and sad, I become, there is always that little voice deep inside wich assures me it could have been worse.

When I was younger mom used to drag me to these dysmelia get-togethers. We'd eat hot-dogs, play brännboll - a game somewhat related to softball and baseball - while our parents sat on blankets discussing things we knew nothing about. Some of these children, all capable happy children, were so much worse off than I was. They'd be missing arms from their elbows, or even from their shoulders. some missed legs, some were in wheelchairs and some were missing both legs and arms.
But we laughed. And I always felt guilt when I cried, because when one considers it, I am lucky.

It wasn't until later years, long after I had given up on these meetings, that we hadn't just been going for my benefit. As a kid, I had no idea how difficult this was for my mom. She has always loved me, always taken care of me, letting me go my own paths. Some parents faced with the problem that having a child with dysmelia might have done things differently than my mom did. They might have hidden me, might have tried to ignore it, or worse, making a show of it. But now my mom. Instead he encouraged me. And I guess I was quite a little dare-devil as a child.

Every decently sized playground used to have these climbing walls. Now when I am older I always look at them, wondering how I could have thought them so tall back then, but as a kid, they're huge. And to me, they were taller than ever. But, my friend climbed, and so did the other children. Who says I can't climb a stupid wall? And I did. I climbed the wall. I climbed pretty much everything that was climbable. Just because I could.

But back to my mom. I am so grateful that she treated me like she did. I have never been ashamed of my hand. Sure, sometimes I look at people's perfect hands and I curse them all. But I am not ashamed. I have never hidden my hand from view because I don't want people to react, and that is all thank to my mom. She made sure I was comfortable with it. And I should be. I mean, this is me. I can't change this. Of course I hate it, I'd give anything to have two proper hands, but I don't spend every single wake moment thinking about it. Just some dark lonely nights.

Now and again we get a letter about a new event, and I always refuse them. But sometimes I think I would like to go, just because I want to talk to the parents of small children, I want to tell them how it is going to be. Because, frankly, it's going to suck. Their child will have days where they can think of nothing else, when they curse the world for being unfair, and when nothing seems bright. There will be times when they think this will ruin their future, when they think no one will hire them, when they think no will love them.
But if they help their child accept this, if they help them achieve things, if they let their children show off their arms or legs, it will not last long. When the nights over, they'll go back to laughing with their friends and climbing those walls. They will.

I chose to write this because the quote just got to me. Especially the kids part. I work in the movie-store at the moment, so there is much interaction with children and they often do just that. "What happened with you hand?".
The first few times it was awkward. Most people don't notice, and I had to talk about it with customers lining up. But after a while, the words just flow out.
There was this one girl once whom I noticed staring. After a while she asked the question, and when I had explained, she turned her big eyes up to meet mine and asked me if it hurt. I assured her that it didn't, and after a few apologetic words from her mom, they were on their way, leaving me to deal with other customers.

But I remembered her, and it does hurt. Not physically, but it hurts. At some times I feel like crying, locking my door, and just pretend that is isn't real. I can't even begin to count the times I have dreamt that my hands was real, only to wake up to reality. And it hurts. God dammit, it hurts so badly, I feel like dying.
But then it doesn't. I don't even think of it at times. My friends forget it. Actually, they forget it so often, I am now convinced that it doesn't define me. I am what I am, hand or no hand.

And I always will be.

So, this was my long, pity post for this time. I don't really know what I was planning to accomplish with it, but maybe I just needed to write it down. Maybe I just needed to let it out.
And too all people out there with disability of some sort: Do Not Despair. You can do amazing things. You can climb your walls. I know I can.

And with only one hand, I was still one of the first people in my class, to learn how to tie my shoes. Beat that.

What IS experience?

My dream in life is to become a published author. No, technically that's not true, though it does play in. I want someone to read my work not because they love me, and want to see what I have accomplished, but just because they want to. I want them to read it not caring about me.

I want them to read it for the words.

Of course I know this is a very common dream, and one that not many ever live through. But dreams are quite hard to just put out. I'll keep working, even when I hate it so much I feel like just deleting all of it.The reason I am starting like this, is because I have been reading a lot about "experience" lately. About how old one much be to be able to write anything of value. Apparently I am too young for this.

Personally I don't think there is an age-limit for creativity. Some of the things children have told me, things they make up as we are talking, are much better, and much wilder, than what some adults could make up. It's the ones who never lose their childish side that can do the best.But yes. One does have to have experience to write something good.

Children may be thinking of great things, but can they properly describe people? Know how relationships work? What do they know of death, and of life? It's difficult.

I am seventeen years old. I turn eighteen in three months. Have I too little experience of the real world to write a good story? Have I not seen enough? Have I not gone through hell long enough to tell you about it? What do I need?

I've experienced loss. I've gone through dramas, and heartache. Joy and fear. I know what it is like to feel all alone in the whole wide world, and realize that you actually are. I've experienced love, and what it is like to be humiliated. I've woken up day not wanting to rise because I just can't face a day.

I've been bullied, loved and hated. I've cried, laughed and fainted.

How is this not enough experience? How old do I have to be, to be old enough?

Spring

Dear readers.

For the last months Sweden has been covered in snow. Mountains of white crap that has been moved from the streets are everywhere. Still, even now.
But it's melting now.

Of course, the last time we said that spring was closing on us, it started snowing again, so maybe I shouldn't jinx it.

Now it seems as if we're on the right track, though, so I will do nothing but home.

I have been writing in Swedish these last days. For those who know me, you are aware of the fact that I feel more comfortable when writing in English for some reason. Even though it's not my native language I have found that I prefer to write in it.
But since I decided to enter a short-story competition. I need to write a fantasy story between 5000 and 40,000 characters (without the blanks) and send it to them before March 31st.

I don't know what hopes I have on this story. Everytime I start writing on it, I automatically think of it in English but the concept doesn't work when I switch language. It's rather awful I believe. However, I can't know.

Now I should get back to writing on it, so I have it ready on time.
Sarah

New Theme

How do you all like my new theme, dear readers? I find it quite suiting.

It's very me.


Sarah

London calling.

Oh dear readers,

In only HOURS (16.5 hours, if one want to be exact) my friend Ellen and I will be leaving this dreadful country. Right now the weather is simply awful: There's mist, snow, and a very low temperature.
But, in a mere 16.something hours, I shall be on a plane heading for London. Now, I know London isn't very far from here, and to be honest we share some of this weather. But when we have been dealing with temperatures of -25 (Monday Morning) they've have +9.

Going to school that day was not something I wanted to do very much.

So far we haven't planned all too much. One day we will be going to the middle of nowhere to see John Barrowman (yes, I am still fan-girling). Ellen is a bit upset about this fact, but I am going shopping with her, so there we go.

I also managed to slip in a trip to the Who Shop here, but she then countered me with the London Dungeon.... This means I will be scared shitless, but at least I will have my nerdy apparel when doing it.

I'm pretty excited about all this (couldn't you tell?) for as fun as it was the last time, during Sitc, I never really got the change to just stroll around London. This will be a whole lot more museums, theatres and maybe even a signed John Barrowman CD. (Hopefully accompanied by a picture)

Now I am just waiting for Ellen to arrive, she'll be here in an hour or so, and THEN I will wait for the morning. AND THEN, we're off.

I really hope I shall be able to see Lucy again when I am there! I miss her lots, and it would be great to just take a coffee or something, catch up and such.

Also, I must share this webcomic I have been reading non-stop the last couple of days. It's called Questionable Content and it one of the most hilarious and wonderful things I have read in a while. It's very fun to go back to the first one and see how he has evolved, as well read the little snippets of his life by the end of each comic.
I am on 700 now, and have even more left. Better get to it!

Have a wonderful week.

Birthday parties

Hello dear readers,

My friends and I love birthday parties. We always try to plan a surprise one, though we have done so many now that they are hardly a surprise anymore. If it's your birthday, something will happen.
One of my friends, Amanda, turned 18 yesterday. Yes, her birthday is on the 14th of february, but she doesn't like us to linger on that so let's move on.

She turned 18, and we decided to take her bowling, as well as buy her some... Well, let's call them adult gifts.

We had a great time, even though it was pretty obvious that something was going on. She finished earliest of us all, and still we told her to stay here, no explanation given. She ten waited two hours for the last one to finish school, and then we simple dragged her away.

Not quiet as well done as Sara's birthday party.

Then we contacted her parents, asked them to leave a key so we could get in their house. They were away on a baptism, so we knew we had lots of time. We decorated the living-room with balloon and all that stuff you bring out when there's a party. When we came home we hid behind a counter, and sang Don't Stop Believing in Glee style, as that is the version she loves the best.

It was wonderful.

However, it seems as if all of my friends are turning eighteen and I will be left behind. Saras and Sara are our 93's so I will still have a year on them, but my birthday isn't until september, far after the rest.
But, lucy for me, it's one day BEFORE the election, which means I get to vote!

It's not that I want to go out an party, for as all you readers might have guessed, I am not really a party girl. But I am still left behind. And mesa don't like it.

Sarah

Worldsuck

I know, dear readers, I am about to hit you with yet another depressing post. But that is what I am here for, and now I have warned you. You are, of course, free to leave and go on with your perfect lives. If not, then be my guest and keep reading.

Sometimes it's the small things in life that makes you cry. I am not saying that the big things don't hurt, for they do. Of course they do, and they can alter your life in ways no one ever thought possible. I am not ignoring the big things. I promise you. But the little things often get pushed out of the way because, hey, you're not suffering as much as the people in Haiti are.
Obviously, I am not.

But what if you feel bad? That won't go away just because you have a bed to sleep in and food on the table. Life is supposed to be so much more than that, and dammit, I want more.
I don't want to wake up and wish I didn't have to face another day. I don't want to go to bed with a headache because I was fighting with my brother again.

I want to be happy, but I am just to damn negative to be that.

I am always the one to tells people to get over it. Be happy. If you try, then you will succeed. And you cannot fail until you have tried. But what about me?
Why do I not follow the advice I keep throwing at others? Why am I allowed to hurt inside when I tell other to simply stop whining.

I am a terrible person, that's why.

It's easier to tell other what to do. It's easier to tell them to get over it because it's not you. It's not I who is crying on the inside, not about that. But I know. I know it hurts.
I know.

So, wat I am trying to say is that life kind of sucks. But we all need to get back up on that bucking horse, and just grab the reins and go. Don't care about the people hurting you, and the tears you need to shed. Don't bother with the idiots and bad days. If you want, you can conquer all that, and you can be happy.
It's just a really long ride.

But you can make it.

I have a sadface today.

I've been thinking a lot about my hand these past couple of weeks, and how much it has stopped me from achieving things in life. It's made me stay on the sidelines instead of leading the pack. It has made me afraid of being who I am pretty sure I could be.

Though I am often held back by it, I think it has made me more of a fighter. I've had to struggle for things in life. For the small things. And the big things.

When I was a kid the playgrounds were all about the big scary climbing wall. You've all seen it. When we look at it now, we laugh and wonder why we ever thought it was so important to reach the top. But it was something we had to fight for. Some of us never got past the first step. Some of us got caught in the middle and some of us reached the top.

Mom used to say that it didn't matter if I reached the top. And to her it didn't. She still loved me. But I think I had to prove to myself, and everybody else, that I could. I could climb that wall, hand or no hand.

And I did. I climbed. And I won.

It was a great accomplishment for me. These days things are harder.

I've always been taught by my parents never to be ashamed of my dysmelia, and that I don't need to hide it. I haven't, but it's still always on my mind and subconsciously, it scares me. I am afraid.

I admit it. Because of this, I have given up things in life. I've been hiding. I've stepped off the ledge when all I should have done was to jump out and hope that my wings will carry me. But I haven't. Maybe I will soon. I've already started to trust and believe in myself more this last couple of years.

But I am only jumping a few feet. Nothing more.

I know my handicap is very simple, and I am lucky. I've got my wrist left, something I have had so much use of. I don't feel lucky most of the time though. I feel angry and sad. This isn't easy, and no one really deserves this.

This is such a depressing post, but I just need to get it out every other month or so. Usually I keep it all inside, until I burst out into a fit of tears.

I guess I just hate it sometimes. I hate it so much

2010, or as I like to call it, 7625.

To be honest, dear readers, I really don't know why there is such a big excitement about the new year. We're just celebrating a random amount of years.

If you're Christian and think that I am just a big bowl of evil at the moment, even you have to agree with that Jesus was not born 2010 years ago. The count started a long time after he died. So why is this number so great?

What is so special about 2010? It's not as if we celebrate the birth of earth. That happened many, many billions years ago. We're not celebrating the birth if home sapiens.

We are celebrating a random year. If you want to start your own, this might as well be year 52. Or 5691. It's up to you.

What many also fail to remember is that this new year isn't for all. The Chinese for example, their new year starts in february.

So, I have no point with this post. I just don't understand it.

Sarah,