Stockholm is dark and busy. Street noise everywhere, nothing like the more peaceful Helsinki. I'm spending time in cafés, aiming to work but being distracted by interesting people living their own complex lives. Opposite of me sits a slender young girl with wild short blonde hair, legs pulled up on the seat. She's on the phone but not talking, instead softly crying and sniffing. Her boyfriend sits right beside her, but is listening to music and making his homework.
At a table to the side sits a French girl with dark brown dreadlocks, wearing clear framed glasses. Her clothes are pastelle-coloured and she's spending hours going through Google Docs comments and discussions. She definitely looks like Dr. Liet-Kynes from the recent Dune film.
The boyfriend of the slender girl is comforting her now, tenderly holding her slim frame and drying her tears. The girl is fidgeting with her nails while staring into an endless abyss.
Days in winter in the Nordics feel short. Life blurs together, unless I make a conscious effort to observe and not get pulled into mental tunnels. It feels easy to keep my head ducked and get through winter quickly, but that is akin to an uninteresting life. I am sometimes struggling to experience excitement. I might have developed an allergy for winter.