Travelling is daydreaming

I had a dream. Quite a long dream. It took me a month to wake up. Sometimes I have an impression that dreaming never actually ended up. I can only hear this amazing swedish girl streaming from the speakers. The feeling of being surrounded with the soft and at the same time disturbing voice calms me down. I’m reading the recipe for the tenth time. Just to make sure, you know. I can’t spoil it. I’m a perfectionist, I may exaggerate. It is a big word. Too big. Huge. But I’d like a cake to grow and grow. I can already smell yeast and this very buttery dough /The texture of yeast. You press a little bit – it crumbles immediately/ I can only remind myself of my person saying that none’s going to drop by, so we have to eat the whole cake ourselves. And we’ll become fatty girls with enormous asses. Yes.

A small shop in my neighbourhood. This lady has been working there since I can remember. She’s got the same name as I do. I enjoy these small-talks. Hi, Marysia. How are the things going? Still studying? – Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Oh, where do you take these sweet plums from? I can’t resist. And she’s smiling, advising me and always replying “See you”. And then we see each again and again.

Going back to dreaming. Dreams are good. Dreams are best. Even if they’re frightening you. There’s always some truth in them. It’s a part of you, so you can’t deny them. Mine was lovely and colorful. There were so many people. I can remember all the faces and almost all the names. We had difficulties understanding what we were being told in norwegian. The only reaction was looking at each other, laughing and converting to English. You’re not fully yourself when you’re speaking in a foreign language. You’re not that funny and spontaneous. Some things are simply not to be translated. 

A long corridor and a set of doors. All look alike. One of them open, I can see a familiar face. We smile at each other, we set up a meeting for the evening. Are we going out again? Yes, the two of us. Me and Eva – we were the toughest players! But also My Smoking Lady, the only badass companion of a cigarette. 

And there was rain, and there was sun. This hipsta, cosy café and their strong, black coffee (I think I was out of order that day). Talking and laughing about everything and nothing. Locals are a specific sort of people. Have you ever wondered why they are so cool? Me neither. But they are. The balcony-meetings are not to be forgotten. All the food that was way too expensive, but we were buying it anyway. 

The very last evenings are never ordinary ones. Sadness, a thought of losing someone/something and not being able to catch them in the nearest future. But they’ve got the sea. They’ve got a lot of water. Just sit by the sea, listen to the person talking about music, its power. See how this person is committed to the subject. 
Hug. 
Your shoulders. 
See the darkness on the horizon. It’s getting cold.

An artist. This is someone. How it is to be an artist? I’m not one. I’m only good at moving my ears, creating new words, mixing ingredients and doing funny/scary/not-to-be-controlled face expressions. I’ve heard from my friends that they were terrified when they first saw me. My face was like I don’t give a fuck about you all. But they changed their minds, I’m not that bitchy bitch, I am to be liked. I hope.

Anyway – artists. Me and Ana met ones there abroad. This abstract drawing on the wall is still in front of my eyes. A rainbow tree, in my opinion. An ice cream-like-tree, in his. Three cigarettes smoked one after another, my throat is in pain. I’m losing my voice; I can hardly hear. What do you want to dream about tonight? – To become healthy tomorrow. Yes, a power of words. And a power of hot cocoa that I missed while walking for 2 hours along almost-the-highway with my dearest Ana. This rainy country and our bad luck when it comes to the night buses. And then naked asses back home.

Ana and me. We like to cooperate. And we’re really good at it /We wrote a relation from Øyafestival. We’ve been working across the sea/ But we need a map. And one of us knows the way to Radarveien. It’s 6am when we’re reaching our destination. I’m proud of her. She’s now out there picking blueberries and baking muffins (with Ølgøl), she misses a glass of hot milk being drank every evening. We miss talking to each other, wondering how beautiful and cruel life can be. We actually don’t even need to talk to know. We eat beereals for breakfast every day.

There’s Olga on the phone. Her voice reminds me of the other night and morning in june spent in the park in front of the Opera. I’m laughing. It’s really nice to realize that your friends remember about you even when they’re far from home.

Me and Majkel, we’ve got a plan. An amazing one. We’re laughing. There are gonna be Okti and her satelites on the first page.

The cake smells. And tastes. I can comfort myself with a cup of tea and a piece of yummy stuff and things. When I meet my person in two weeks, I hope she won’t tell me that my ass is as wide as the wardrobe in my room. But some guy asked me lately if I’m not working in the mode-business. Let’s eat even more cakes and pies then!

I hope a spider will not bite me in the leg, I hope it’s gonna be fine.
Night is magical. 
I’m not lucky. I managed to notice a shooting star only once.

~ Rebeka aka Maria