What a weird feeling. Strange experience. I’m back in Stockholm, in the hippie apartment, with paintings and concrete tables everywhere. Plants and guitars. Circus lights and love. I love this apartment, and walking in I didn’t feel like it had been more then a week since I last was there. The only thing that felt weird was the dining table. It used to be so big. And now it felt so small. As an effort to beat the jetlag we decided to go for a walk up the main street. Get some fresh air to keep us from falling asleep to early. It’s interesting. Two years has passed but the first person I see on the street is the lady with the trolley. She is homeless and walks around with a trolley brimmed with god knows what. Bags and blankets. Every time I see her I wonder what she has in that trolley, and how often she goes through it. Like my dad believes that his body is a carriage, Marie- which is her name, might believe that the trolley is a part of her. She asks for money to buy food and coffee. Two years, and it’s like nothing has changed.
It’s a fun experience to go on a holiday to a place that used to be home. That feels like home in my body. My mum and dad picked us up from the airport. Dad was so excited to tell us he had bought a summer-car, so that we can go places easy when we are here. He is the one person that beats up the price rather than down. It’s a total wreck. Wholes and rust everywhere. And when he proudly shows us the car and open the trunk we see that one tire is completely flat. He brings Adrian along with him to find a gas station with a pump while mum and I are left on the airport parking. Old me would be angry, annoyed and embarrassed. But I can’t do anything but laugh and love. I love them both…so much.