Delhi

Delhi smells like chlorine and dust. Like summer beside the swimming pool.

It feels ancient, yet childlike. The massive trees lining motorways and roads, the battered auto-rickshaws, the thin stray dogs, street vendors, makeshift huts and women in bright saris. There is a constant fog in the air, not all unpleasant as it makes the city seem suspended in a dreamy, mirage-like state. The tops of skyscrapers dissolve into the air, the sun sifts through a grey cloud and burns orange and hazy. 

Yet, it isn't as chaotic as I expected it to be. It feels hectic, but manageable. When you enter some of the serene, beautiful green areas it seems fake, because if you peek over to the other side of the wall you will see trash and bare earth. Contrasts are vivid and I am yet to make up my mind as to how to take it all.

I know it's over, still I cling

At dinner. We are talking and everything's fine, but then I say something about him being cheap, just a throwaway comment meant as a joke, but he gets angry. That's the thing. When there's something bubbling underneath the surface, something neither one of us wants to discuss, a comment like that is taken seriously and the night is ruined. There is no more food on our plates, in fact the plates are gone. We are waiting for dessert. We sit in silence while others dine and talk and are supposedly having a great time. We sulk, he bites his fingers – a sight I have become slowly disgusted by. It is just like everyone says: the little habits your loved one has, the things you find so endearing at first, become annoying after time. His nail biting. There are other things but I can’t remember them right now, I am too conscious of the oppressing silence. I imagine the waiters watching us, whispering.

‘Well, this is awkward.’ I say.

‘Yup.’ He says and continues to bite down on his nails. They are already short and the ends of his fingers look like swollen cupcakes bursting over the edges.

‘Just hold my hand so we don’t look like we’re on a disastrous first date.’

He looks dubious for a moment but I know he will give in, in situations like these he always does.

He slams his hand over mine on the table. The ends of his fingers are wet. Then we stare out the window and presumably look like two people very much in love who don’t need to say anything to each other, sharing a comfortable silence.

Is it the sea you hear in me

Some things. Fragments. 

The dead plant outside my window sounds like mice when it scratches against the glass. The sky is a purple haze. I am grateful for Sundays. When all I need to do is listen to music loud, sing along louder and get some writing done. And drink some coffee in my chilly room to keep warm. 

I need to find more good poets to read. I like Sylvia Plath. All that talk about water and ocean and moon. I am obsessed with the sea. And stars and constellations.

Thistle and Weeds

I feel like I've just been to heaven and back. It's funny how happy small things can make you if you let them. As soon as I entered the Hill Garden after slipping my way down a soggy, muddy pathway, there was an overwhelming sense of calm. The green hills were bathed in the parallel sunlight of the afternoon and there was a sweet smell hanging in the air. It has been dubbed the Secret Garden, but I wasn't alone treading its paths. Mostly it was couples and tourists, from which I am neither. I wasn't the only loner though. There was a gray-haired lady who after seeing me taking pictures, approached me to tell me about a spot I mustn't miss. Down a slope there was a tree heavy with yellow blossoms, and she told me it was her favourite place in the park.

I like places like this best off-season. Cold and wet and deserted. And there are still plants and flowers that you don't know the name of, pushing their way through the ground and up. 

Bring me photographs and souvenirs

Pastel Christmas

No sight of red and green in rainy Porvoo. Instead there were pastel blues and pinks. A spot of yellow. Cobbled streets that we imagine to be deadly when frozen over, but for now, almost safe even in heels. I found a wonderful mint green, embroidered morning jacket to go perfectly with the colour scheme of the city - will introduce you in due course. For now, I am content sitting on the sofa with a pile of chocolates and watching the lights on the Christmas tree. It might be what us Finns call a 'black Christmas' with no snow on the ground, but I am grateful for the mild temperatures this brings. I can enjoy a leisurely walk in the woods in my UK winter gear. The forest is so quiet after rain, mushy and wet, and you can hardly hear your own footsteps on the soggy moss - perfect for daydreaming and reflecting.