WHO IS SHE???????!!!!!1111❤❤❤❤


This image (of me) could have a caption like this: “She was spotted in winter fashion (a vintage red velvet coat, H&M jumpsuit etc.) outside a cafe in her hometown, Kuopio, Finland, before Christmas, grabbing a take-away coffee before heading to model for a portrait session in a local restaurant, Memphis (now shut down, according the local rumors.) The style of this caption (above) is a recreation of the famous celeb news/rumors site, Just Jared/Just Jared Jr. 

Our time and age pushes people to attempts to reach fame. When asking teenagers what they would like to be when grown up, the answer might be “famous!” or “a celeb”. When asking what would exactly rise them to that fame, the reply might even be: “my brand”, “me”, “reality TV”, “Youtube” or “Instagram”.

Because children are the future and the next generation of leaders, this might take the world by a storm – or at least it has me shook, as the target margin would say about it. What is exactly that “brand” people are referring themselves?

When building a brand from nowhere, not necessarily equipped with any significant skill sets (unless, like, working hard on your social media creative content – and even when these boxes are ticked) – people, especially younger audiences reading this, tend to think that certain images of themselves, certain dares going viral or anything else (you name it!) might make them go big (or go home and try again).

Even for those who have succeeded in their aim to make themselves a brand, purely out of their personality, have left a trail of fake behind. Why is that? “Mommy, mommy, isn’t everything we see on TV true?” Well, you guessed the answer, it is a solid no. Making an imago for your social media account, only editing the best looking images to match and color-co-ordinate them to look pitch perfect leaves the rest of the world commenting: “How can you be so beautiful?” “Slay, queen!” and “are you even real”. One of the greatest compliments young people lust for online is: “who is she?”

That’s the point. Who is she has become more important than what she does. Who is she has become more important than is she a kind person or does she really believe she’s too good for most people under the Ks and Ms of likes, follows and comments. Whilst I really enjoy hyping the creative talents on social media and even admit to watching some reality TV time to time, I believe I just don’t buy it.

That’s also a point, right there. I should buy it. At least that’s what any annaliseamandaoliviakatrinemily and thousands+ of others online tell me to do. If I buy the items from a famed haul video, maybe I would turn into something magical like them. Maybe putting spending my coin would make me become a “who-is-she.”


Working girl

When I was a young girl, I used to fight a lot at home about my chances to become an artist when I grow up. I shouted and screamed: “I will become an artist, no matter what!” After long and hard talks about my future, I already had chosen not to change my mind. One of my favorite poets once had said that the he didn’t choose this cause, the cause chose him. I lived by on those words, like many others by him.

I was always writing even as a child. My first submissions I send in to teenage magazines with short stories in them when I was 12. They were never published, due to the lack of maturity in the content and general coherence, I guess. But I gave it a shot. Since then I have had dozens of journals to write about my daily life in, many, oh so many, blogs online and have gotten published in both e-zines and print magazines.

I guess what I wanted to say when shedding the light to my past as in becoming an artist, is that this road was never easy. First my family questioned how I would make a decent living for myself – and then I had my talents questioned by early no-reply-rejections to my writings.

But my grandmother kept me interested in language and writing. She read real books for me when I was a kid and always encouraged me to keep on typing on the computer these sad little stories I made up. I got straight A’s in essay and fiction writing and eventually also graduated from high school with almost full scores on Finnish language and literature.

Since then I applied to several universities and art schools in this northern country. I was rejected by more than 10-15 schools. To my disappointment I started to realize my drawings skills weren’t that great, never alone my painting skills, and that I didn’t (despite owning a camcorder in my late teens) couldn’t edit videos or make them really. I was only writing more poetry when I found all this out.

I moved to UK to study Performing Arts and dropped out due to the launch of my debut poetry collection. It was not reviewed too much but got me confident about the future as a poet. I no longer had to be awkward about writing because I had finally a book out there in libraries and book stores.

It took me a long time to get over being a debut poet. For years, I attempted to write new manuscripts of poetry and even typed in a novel manuscript. I found myself writing a movie script (which is now in post-production to become a film) and my new book is about to launch any week now. Despite all this I am currently aiming for a real daytime job in some organization: office work would suit me just fine and keep me going with all the routines involved in every day living.

Sometimes I let myself dream that my upcoming book’s translation to English would be accepted by some American/British publishing house, I would get to tour abroad, I would get more attention to where it always has hurt the sweetest: to my poetry. I dream about finalizing this movie, getting it to fly across the globe for festivals and screenings, and that eventually I would be able to hold a photograph/installation exhibition, on top of the one photo exhibition I had in my home village county hall a good amount of years ago.

All this shouting and screaming and wanting to be something has led me to a good start. I admit to have had taken some time – maybe more than the average artist would – to get things officially going time and time again with various projects – but I am excited to see what the future shall bring me. I bet it will be full of rejections but also great triumphs.

Now days when I don’t really meet that many artists in my every day life, I want to always remember and thank those who I have met during my journey. There are great human beings, colleagues and aspiring young people I have discussed with, collaborated with and spend some of the most beautiful nights in my entire life with. Due to the move to an another city or due to all of the moves I have made in my life, due to quitting dancing and focusing on writing, due to health issues or ending relationships, I have found only rarely these people around me. But what teenage wannabe didn’t spend their growing up years talking about indie rock, surrealism and Wittgenstein’s philosophy vs. Foucault’s?

In this time in my life I don’t shy away anymore from liking mainstream productions, pop poets or major bands. Hey, I went to a Miley concert, I went to a modeling course, I tried learning business as well, I think Harry Styles is a great inspiration as an artist for many and The Greatest Showman should have earned an Oscar. I like to think all artist, be them world famous or only little known are equal and do share the most intimate, in-depth part of the artistic process: making something from what seems to be nothing at all.


This is me cutting the edge in a vintage dress and

a Tank Girl-inspired hair cut circa 2003.

Learning a language and a culture


I decided to speak about my daytime job for the first time here in my blog. No matter I am a poet and artist, working on couple of projects in my free time, I work as a trainee (and as a director-to-be) in a immigrant group in a communal arts centre. I am codirecting the group’s studies, games and lessons with the rest of the staff.

We play games, we (try to) speak in the Finnish language and we support all each other. This doesn’t only go to the teachers or directors supporting the immigrants the group is targeted at but also we, working there, learn a lot from other cultural habits, ways of being and speaking. I have personally gotten so much out of my work days there this far, for the past couple of months, learning new things about their home countries and can also murmur a word or two of Arabic if needed.

I take it is not easy to learn one of the most difficult languages in the world. Today, for example, we discussed how laundry should be washed and what is happening in the national news. News are the way we start the day. Simple Finnish news, with simple topics and interesting takes on what goes on in Finland.

The immigrants in our group come from various backrounds, some are already advanced in the language studies and some are only learning to read and write in their adult age. This learning does consist of learning the alphabet and like in any foreign language, learning numbers, months, the days of the week, months and seasons. We discuss about future plans which all of the target group has well-thought out and we try to be there for any kind of question about how things are done in Finland – or, in sometimes, all in all, in the European cultures.

I believe the group atmosphere is very good and we are getting along just fine for the legit 4 hours we spend together in the same class every weekday. A part of the fun is that you never know what kind of mood people are on – what to expect – and what are we doing for the day.

I hope our staff efforts teach something essential and important about the way of life up here in the north and make learning the language with all it’s quirks easier in the future for these people who I smile at, speak to and work with every day. I truly believe our mission is succesful in this task and am happy to be starting to take more responsibility on the job as time goes by.



A rare glimpse of my daily life

20067438_101386667328207_753234983367213056_n.jpgI thought I’d share things about my daily life here for the 1st time. Usually I write about some special topic and avoid making self-centred rants online. But I have found myself returning to blogs which talk about shopping sheets or something else completely irrelevant just to muse myself. I like to read about the most mundane things people take time to write about. It gives me comfort.

Worlds are not changed or created in a day. Neither will every single word be immortal and form great art together with other words. Even if this would be an ideal goal – let’s face it: there’s so many little things going on all the time that there’s barely enough time to make it all happen. I am not saying working hard and pursuing your dreams wouldn’t make things happen but I am saying that there’s many very humane, small things that we like to do every day, choose to do every day and have to live with.

For an example, the following:

I like to do the laundry in the afternoons. The soft fabrics and the tide pod smell fill the tiny apartment. I like to drink soymilk and coffee from a very big beige mug and keep my journal going. It is a black faux leather covered one, which I scribble mostly about work and drinking coffee at home, whilst doing the laundry. I like to think I would go photographing more but rarely do. You know, take those snazzy pictures for the blog or update Instagram with, where I would be posing in front of beautiful local buildings, in excellent make-up and styling. I rarely do bother to take the tripod and the actual Nikon out. I would like to motivate myself to do this somehow but instead post a whole lot of #throwback-pictures that don’t even look like me anymore. I sometimes watch the shows like the Kardashians from the telly and sometimes a thriller from Netflix. I would watch more romcoms if I was alone but I live with a man who likes his movies “difficult”.

Last night I was celebrating a poet’s book launch in a restaurant. I met very interesting people in the party, talked about Hebrew and my hometown, and went for an after party with this gorgeous waitress and her friend just around the corner. I walked down the street back home without my heels on and was giddy about life. Maybe I’ve made new friends now.

Tonight I still have an intention to clean the bathroom, take a long shower and get ready for tomorrow. I just finished filing my paperwork for the next month and am just casually typing in every single thing that I have to keep in mind right now in order to make life pleasant, and easy. Tomorrow afternoon I will be going to the library to rewrite (…the stars… ehm…) my poetry for the book launching later in autumn. I also am going to work in the morning to teach Finnish culture and language to immigrants. Presumably we are reading books, playing word games and listening to some music for a couple of hours. Then I have a meeting scheduled to talk about my upcoming movie – and it’s sound edit – with my boss.

This all may be irrelevant but I thought it would be nice to know what kind of life I am living.  All of this might be soon forgotten, if read at all, but it doesn’t really matter. This makes me happy.

The red carpet to question yourself


Carpet.jpgI haven’t been blogging in a while.

New challenges career-wise are keeping me going: you know, I have those busy take away-coffee mornings and the heatwave has been a shocker now we’re back in town. I have a great opportunity to learn more to-be job on spot in work training and will be taking over the direction of the course officially later on.

I have pondered lately a lot about memory, identity and time. Big concepts. I have been thinking about the meaning of freedom and privilege, inspired yesterday by a M.I.A song Borders. The music video about the refugee crisis is thought-provoking and very inspiring. The tune has been on constant replay at the house.

I understand that my Hollywood dreams (oh!) and other nonsense in my life are the least of my worries. I mean, I should be focused only on the future of us two here in EU and not look further down the path just yet. I also should do my work here well (which I am going to do!) and get my head together to push through with all these current, concrete and solid plans about work life.

I understand that my dreams are bigger than my head but constantly going off about love, romance and self doesn’t really mean that I am taking the microphone and saying really something that matters in the long run. If I just keep thinking I should personally be a 1950’s architecture build house in the Hollywood Hills, I have gotten it all wrong.

Also other songs by M.I.A have given me a lot to think about and reflect upon as an artist. The whole AIM record I just found online 24 hours ago by chance has made me realise that my aim (…) might be a bit off. I am never going to be a Hollywood babe with fake tan, silicone body parts, doll face, nose job and a phat bank account, posing for all the hot and trendy press. That said, that is not the goal either. But what in the end is?

I cannot be a house. I cannot be something I am not. I am a wife of a refugee. I am European. I am not too young anymore, I am in my 30s. I am natural. I am blonde. I am blue-eyed. Even without a DNA test, I know my roots are in the East of Finland, and going further back the line, there might be a bit of German in me. I believe I am from a tribal culture where all the men of my dad’s family were known to be quite the drinkers. I love nature in its rawest form. I am a vegetarian but remain quite unpolitical. I don’t want children or animals in my house hold. I am agnostic gone atheist. I like to consider myself rather intellectual for my writer’s profession but am reluctant to read books. These are some of the building blocks of my identity. I am pretty plain, simple and basic now. One might even say I dress quite modest because of my husband’s worldviews.

Have I found or lost myself? I used to shave my brows and my hair off, wear showy turbans and crop tops, get multiple piercings and tattoos whenever I felt like it and generally go hitch-hiking and on the road all the time. I have never before had a real daytime job and have managed to be with a lot of toxic people in my past. Now I am just plain simple Eeva. I don’t know if that really answers any of my own questions either on my identity. This is what the essence of this post is about: who am I in the end. What makes “me” “me”?

For sure the identity of a human couldn’t be about looks or career only. The little history of my family I scratched here doesn’t reply to myself either. They are only quite empty echoes in the story. When I look in the mirror, I see myself turning my back and when I write, I’d like to disappear completely behind my words, be nowhere to be found. Yet again, I wish I would be appreciated, remembered and recognized for my artistic work. Even when talking about fame, I am ashamed to admit, I follow where it goes in the world and what happens to people who really have it. I haven’t been confronted with the topic because there’s no valid reasoning behind such issue but would love to be known.

In the end I think the main reason for that is that I wish not to be forgotten when I die. I wish my writings would enlighten a sad day for a young girl wanting so desperately to become a poet, or something like that, in its all poetic form. But to become like M.I.A, Cleo Wade or some other social made recognized artist/poet is quite unlikely to happen to me.

Plain and simple, right?



Nonsense, moonshine, acracadabra

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Disclaimer: this post is not to insult or judge anybody in their faith. This is just my simple experience in dabbling on these paranormal, psychic and supernatural terms that often than more so connect to different religions which I am none part of.

Personally I feel everybody’s entitled to a right to believe in whatever they may: as long as they are not hurting others.

The best way to approach these beliefs are from larger systems of faith, such as religions or cults with paranormal belief. In my blog post today I am talking about the connection of various belief systems and mental health. I also address the lure of these things and what they are said to be doing to you – or you could be doing with these new set of supposed paranormal skills.

In my shady and somewhat colorful past I have encountered people who believe in theosophy (in the unity of all divine equaling all religions as one), in the chakric system (evolving to magical skills such as telepathy and telekinesis), seeing auras of people and animals and channeling angels) – aside of the more commonly known religious beliefs in world religions. The little interest I had for theosophy in particular, was evoked by friends I wanted to impress and understand. These friends were both young artists at that time and dwell deep in literature, philosophy and aesthetics. My take is based on what I would now days view as a cult was brief, mainly focusing on reading and conversations. I never signed up to their groups or went to actual meetings but saw things happen in their faith and them lose their grip of the objective reality.

One of them went so crazy he believed he talked directly to God through a lamp and that wide-eyes aliens would visit his bedroom. The other one of the theosophy believer I knew  was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his early adulthood. What do these mysterious ways have to do with mental illnesses? –  One might ask. As for someone who has gone through personality disorder tests myself, for example the belief in the supernatural – or u.f.o.s and such – can be viewed as a sign of a personality disorder or even a serious mental illness.

I was never interested in these magical belief systems myself more than the philosophies behind these, rather odd beliefs. I read my Krishamurti, Gibran and googled evolving chakras for days. I do have a tendency to believe in the supernatural though, even if I would never admit that I ever did, but the thoughts of emotional vampires, soul mates and twin flames can seem quite appealing if there’s nothing else to do.

Particularly beautiful I saw the mixed occult thoughts on the twin flames. This would (in brief googling) mean two people who never had met each other necessarily in real life but share a strong emotional connection. Huh! It would mean that all your life you are connected to this one person, knowingly or not. You might feel what he/she feels and go through severe emotional conflicts with them. What’s not to like in the idea that there’s the One that simply cannot be the One? That all your life you know them in your heart and know deep down if they are for example in trouble.

Of course there’s the belief artists have had in their inspiration. Some believe they are channeling divine powers, but more so than ever, in our secular society, this has been overthrown. The mystic and the powers that one could tap when creating something new still interest people – and the general myth of the creative genius still live in the thoughts of those who don’t know much about art and artists of the contemporary world.

For me the most powerful mystic experience was reading up on Kundalini. It is said to be a evolving life force, evoked by stressful experiences, yoga or meditation. I still see myself meditating sometimes – but I am not looking for miracles of supernatural nature to happen to me. Kundalini and the Biology of Kundalini (page still found online if you bother to research) were my lifelines when I was undergoing harder times in my life. The fun part was to think that after the Redemption of the Rising Kundalini, I would be able to do more than ever before. The various states of this process lured me in their magical healing/fighting dialectics and led me to share my passionate thinking about it with others.

I hope I have never harmed anybody when thinking outside the box and leaning towards this spiritual, yet questionable paths. Now days I prefer to be grounded, down to Earth and see philosophy as an option and childlike faith only a play. I believe in my heart but more I believe in psychology and its solutions. The world has made me a realist. I might still dream or meditate but I will be ever able to move objects with the power of my mind or speak to the dead – like some of these cults, religions and spiritual systems suggest.

Their suggestions are compelling. Being a true psychic would no doubt be very cool. I just ain’t seeing it happening.


A little picturesque romance/an ode to a village I was born in

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For someone who has lived alone since being a 15-year-old kid, living with a spouse now is bliss. I simply love our general chats, about nothing important: like “hey, do you wanna eat and watch TV or should we set the table?” or “do you want anything from the shop?” These kind of chit chats keep me going. They are just as important to me in all their banality than deep conversations about Islam, Christianity, atheism, politics or anecdotes we share about our pasts.

I have lived in various cities and often we other people. Fitting in together with friends you think you know might be proven to be harder than you think. I wish I could say to my ex-flatmates that I am sorry about the crazy obsessive letters I gave him when he came home after Uni. and also I would like to apologize the obnoxiously loud indie music playing at night – and that I never learned to clean up the litter box of the kittens (that were hers when she was away).

I have lived home and abroad but remember my childhood home farm house like it would have been a real life mansion. I loved to wander from the attic to the cellar, play in the gardens and go bike around the yard with my brother. The romantic setting of a farm house grew me up to tolerate loneliness well – we were always too far away from my friends to go visit whenever. I tried living in the same village as a grown up too because the social worker pointed out my options to be staying in a homeless shelter for weeks or go directly back home to the village I was from and they’d get me a place to stay in no time.

At first I was terrified in my large vacation-home-like flat in the middle of nowhere. When I slept on the floor without furniture for the first couple of days and had old linen for curtains, ate ice cream in the middle of the night and went to the sauna often, I was scared of my memories, my dreams, my hopes and everything in between. I thought I would stay there forever and nothing would ever really change. That I wouldn’t start again. That I would settle in for good in that village with an elderly population, my mother in couple of minutes drive away from and that I would never find a real job in the city or that I would stay single for the rest of my days.

I loved living in the countryside. I rarely had friends over, my couchsurfing counterparts weren’t too impressed about the location itself. The weather was my greatest pastime and pleasure (I didn’t own a TV at that time). But I loved it there.

Little I did know though about life at that point. Eventually I met my now-husband, got engaged and decided to follow a new way of life and move out of the village that literally gave me a life of solitude. We moved because my husband wanted to be close to the city where he had grown roots in – the first city he ever stepped in Finland – and be close to his refugee friends. I had had enough of loneliness, being unemployed, living too far away from everything fun like galleries, museums, shops, cafés and such things cities provide people.

We made a move to a northern city.

Till last night (we had the Midsummer’s celebrations) I always felt I didn’t belong here. Okay, I had my troubles of finding new friends, a job and things I would need but eventually met tons of new faces, found myself to be a regular in couple of cafés and bars, said “hi” to people on the street and was finally last night astonished by the view on the 9th floor balcony we have in our tiny apartment. I can enjoy the nature and weather from standing high above the ground and live a life that involves socializing, parties and meet-ups.

I also recently found out that I will be employed to my first-ever real job in here. I will be working with immigrants and foreigners for them to learn Finnish. At first, I will be assisting the leader of the group and later on take her place in the class. It would never have happened if I stayed back in the village where there’s only farms, couple of grocery stores, a funeral office and a church. Even if sometimes I miss my productivity from the time I was literally coloring pages of my calendar out of boredom, I work even on my literature far more consistent when I sit behind a desk in the office I will be moving on next week from.

All in all, living with other people has not taught me a lot. I still would make my mistakes, get lost in waste lands, eat ice cream in the middle of the night and photograph my legs for nothing else to do when alone. I regret the things that made my flatmates cringe or cry but I don’t regret living through those times.

At some point I might have not been the best person to be around with but the strength, power and wisdom I learn from my spouse now and wish to help him learn something alike from me too give me so much more than staring at the night sky while taking the trash over the garden I tried planting trees in. I have many beautiful memories from my time living in my home village, as well as the street corners of little English towns I lived in but would not change this world to anything.

I am at my happiest right now.


A performance about a dream

On Saturday night I gave a performance about a dream. In the beginning of the show, I painted my lips read and looked in the mirror I had on hand. Then I started reading. I had rehearsed a couple of times, the rehearsals went great but the actual performance got me a bit shaky.

I read a 15-page poem for 30 minutes straight up. I stumbled upon the words a bit but overall it was a great experience. I read about a recurrent dream I have of not finding a way to return to a city in England I love/hate. I also read about why I think I have this dream: some experiences that led me up to this dream where I search for the road to the city and fail every time. I also read out loud for the first time about the singular events that took place in that city – and for the one-off nature of the performance, I won’t be opening up about them furthermore on line. I will be suggesting the rather lengthy poem to be part of my book coming out in late autumn/early winter 2018 but don’t know yet if it will fit the general look of the book at that time and place then.


I thought before the performance started that I am reading to a group of friends. Obviously, I didn’t know more than one person in the audience even if the room was full. I felt sorry for an Asian lady who had came in with a friend and only spoke English. They discussed after the performance that she didn’t understand a word. I wanted to return her money for the ticket. Maybe the sound of the foreign language was worth a while – even if for sure I would have loved her to understand. Now I have in mind that I should do a similar performance with an English translator sitting under the second spotlight.

“On night’s like these/we make history”, I read from the paper and felt like I was in the right place in the right time. I had been having dreams about a box theater solo performance since I started studying performing arts, years back. I have always wanted to give a speech, performance, poem or a monologue in front of an audience in this kind of setting. Simple, with no tricks or twists, just a single light on the stage, looking over me and my papers.

The concept was simple: it was an Oulun Ylioppilasteatteri concept of a Mystery Box. A Mystery Box performance is limited to 30 minutes or so and the audience get in for 3 euros. The audience is unaware of what is going to be happening on stage but gets a hint or a tip word from the theater beforehand. Mine was “a dream”.


Envious much?


Lately I have been talking with my girlfriends how much of an illusion social media actually is. It is obvious we only post the highlights of our days for share – and that most images are color coded, retouched and served up through filters.

But this is not the point.

I follow several social influencers that post awesome images, beautifully coherent posts and tweet poetic thoughts all through-out the day. Most of them don’t bother to follow me back. Why would they? Social media is not my profession and my feed doesn’t really stand out that much amongst Ks or Ms of followers.

That for the background and now to the actual point: I admit that I envy these beautiful, powerful, gorgeous people. I post nice things to them, try to compliment something other on each post than only looks (failing, often, I admit) and try to make a connection. I network on career sites with complete strangers and follow everyone who bothers to like my blog.

I am not talking about the nicest people here. I have no reason to envy people who comment back, engage with their audiences and live in reality, remembering they are human – not their social media profiles.

Maybe the fact that I obsess about cool profiles, makes me envy them. I know envy is such a monstrous word and concept – and I am good enough, I am fine enough to live on by without such feeling. But it gets me every time: I wish I could look like her, write like her, succeed in my career like her… Then I insert some emojis.

This is what they talk about when they say in the articles that social media can be bad for your mental health. This is exactly how I make a toxic relationship with myself when scrolling down pictures, liking them without a response or shout in the wind alone on the edge of the cliff.

There’s no reaction there on their side. They are better off: they are busy with people way more pretty, interesting and accomplished. I am standing here alone thinking I am not one of the cool girls. I cannot go sit with the cool girls. Ignorance might happen for various of reasons but when completely ignored for a long period of time despite mixed efforts to communicate nicely, I feel that I am not worthy to be their friend.

It is a crippling feeling.

Do you people suffer social media anxiety or experience that you are not invited to the party because who you are online, what you choose to show to the world and how you are getting on by?



I am very busy at the moment. I am starting a new job in the summer and I am working on the deadlines of 50 new poems for a magazine submission, editing my 115 page collection and narrowing it down, writing a prosaic monologue for a performance and a very long poem about a dream. I am also organizing (hopefully) a poetry evening to a local lounge.

So this spring/summer season is full of promises, hard work, collaborations, sweat and tears. I will be working soon enough as a Finnish teacher and will have to juggle with my daytime job and with my creative writing.

At the moment I have been thinking about why should I blog when I already have this much on my plate. As I have stated before, maybe I should stick to blogging as a tool to organize my thoughts and feelings. I couldn’t be happier when starting as a teacher for the first time in my life, starting a real job instead of some freelance commission and am happy about everything that is work-related and going on right now.

I am also in some sorts of writer’s block. I mean, I fall asleep with poems in my mind, wake up, go to the office, type them down when I can and move on. But I haven’t been working on the longer individual pieces yet. I am dangling on what to say, what can I say, what is appropriate and what is not.

There’s a lot to do.

Currently the themes of these texts vary from becoming an artist to personal experiences like dreams etc. I have so much to do! The weather is changing. I hope I can keep up with this pace for the next year or so. Hopefully I will be also performing a lot more than before, for sure you can find me in the Night of Art, 16th of Aug, 2018 in Voimala1889, Oulu at 19:00 performing with other writing women a monologue about finding.