personal-reflections

Every day I travel the veins of Oslo, carrying me from the quiet outskirts into the thrumming heart of this city. My city. Today, with the promise of warmth a cruel joke on the nibbling 4-degree wind outside, I decided to spend my commute dwelling on my favourite spots in this landscape; the ones that spark joy even when joy doesn't spark me. I must admit that my enthusiasm for them doesn't shine too brightly this morning. Perhaps it's the weather, or the cryptic news article staring blankly at me from the screen, an empty canvas disguised as information—more emptiness to fill the already overflowing void.

The first place that comes to mind is our local café, affectionately known among residents as the beating heart of our community. Its charismatic décor usually invites the warmth of sunflower fields into my mundane greys. However, as I gaze out of the train window at monotonous landscapes blighted by the bitter cold, I am compelled to acknowledge that today my heart isn't in it. The café may echo with laughter and the comforting hum of espresso machines, but I wouldn't be able to hear the melody through my melancholy today.

Then there's the library. An island of knowledge in the grey swirling sea of the city. Rows upon rows of carefully lined books, their spines rigid from a mixture of age and reverence, their wisdom ready to be devoured by avid minds. Yet the thought of perusing those aisles today seems as uninspiring as the troublesome HTML tag staring at me from my device's screen.

Despite the brooding clouds, the Botanical Gardens usually bring a smile to my face. Bursting with vibrant greens and reds, the symphony of colours is a painter's dream. The songbird's melodies cradle the morning chill, forcing a bloom despite the cold. However, today, the blooms appear to be frozen in time, the songs echo in forgotten corners. It seems my misery extends further than my own atmosphere, infecting even the most resilient flora.

The final stop of this gloom-filled tour—my university. Oslo's intellectual workshop, usually gilded with hope and ambition, appears joylessly grey, matching the sombre winter sky. The frigid hands of the oslofjord weave a palpable dread into the morning fog, rendering the familiar structures foreign.

These places, my favourite corners of this cold, dreary city, are today nothing more than bricks and mortar, concrete and rust. They are just as cold and undulating as the 4-degree air outside.

Our emotional landscapes paint the physical ones. After all, the lens we view our cities through is in us, more than any external influence. Just like this uninformative news article, my city today is a void—an HTML tag without content. Perhaps the morning frosts will thaw and give way to the sun soon, until then, I remain in this weighted blanket of numbness.

Tags: Oslo emotional landscapes personal reflections

On the damp morning, with a comforting 16°C outside, my nose was pressed against the cold glass window pane of the train that relentlessly carried me to the heart of Oslo. My heart, however, remained outside, immersed in the ethereal beauty of the Norwegian landscape blurring past me. The chill stalked inside from the edges of my seat, condensing my breath on the glass, and my heart contracted against a certain mournful feeling of disconnect.

Nature, this morning, was a melancholic orchestra. The hues of greens, stitched with dark earthy tones, greeted my eyes as they clung onto every tree, every ripple on the water bodies, the gentle sway of the meadow under the slight brush of breeze. A symphony in motion, captured in fleeting glances from a moving train.

Yet the faint inkling of sadness stemmed from a realization to which many are blind, the painful truth that the love for nature that once was, is now buried under urban jungles of concrete. We, as a society, are increasingly distancing ourselves from nature's embrace, causing profound harm both to our planet and our own well-being.

I dream of a world where the love for nature isn't a holiday excursion, it's a way of life. Where every embrace of a tree's bark under your fingertips, every whisper of wind playing with your hair, every fragrance of the dew-kissed grass on a foggy morning, brings you closer to nature's nurturing heart. The primal love – simple, pure, ethereal. Because as much as we need nature, nature needs us too.

To stride forward in progress without forgetting the tendrils of roots grounding us, is a balance that seems all but forgotten. The ominous statistics, stark images of melting glaciers, and news of species dwindling to extinction are harsh reminders of our failure to maintain this equilibrium. Every beautiful bloom or bird song at dawn is not a privilege to be taken for granted but a gift to be treasured.

The forlorn melodies of nature that my heart echoes this morning are a plea, a call to action. It is time to rekindle the inherent love for nature we all carry. It's our duty to teach our young ones that caring for Mother Earth isn't just a task but an honor. Let's open the world’s eyes to the beauty of nature and the need to protect and cherish it.

I alight from the train with the sighing noises fading behind me, and the distant silhouettes still painting bittersweet yearnings in my heart. With every word I pen in this post, I aim to serve as a voice - a voice of nature, a voice of responsibility.

And just as the sun finally peeks above the horizon, I am filled with a hopeful melancholy, of shared love being the buoy to keep us afloat. So let's rise with the dawn, hand-in-hand, rooted deeply and reaching for the light, inculcating the love for nature — one heart at a time. For even the smallest of steps, the faintest of whispers raises a voice for nature loud and clear for the world to hear. Because, ultimately, our survival is intertwined with nature's flourish.

Tags: nature appreciation environmental conservation personal reflections

As the train begins its usual journey from home to the heart of Oslo, I'm jolted from my sleepy lethargy by an announcement over the radio. The sentencing hearing in Donald Trump's hush-money case, an incessant chatter in the media land, practically incessant, has been postponed. The protagonist in the courtroom drama, his lawyer Michael Cohen, pleaded guilty in 2018 to payment of $130,000 in hush-money to a once famed porn actress, though our erstwhile POTUS denies involvement.

The train casts a shadow over the glossy surface of the fjord, whispering tales of deceit and evasion. Guilty or not, this brings me to the thought of the immeasurable significance we attach to our relationships, the lies we tell for their preservation, a tragic comedy in its own right. And maybe, it's time to encounter parallels in an unlikely arena – female friendships.

As the train hums its near silent lullaby, trudging along the railway tracks with a forlorn rhythm, the importance of history seems more profound. The history shared among women, how it shapes us, elevates us and at times, breaks us. With the temperature outside locked at a chilly 14 degrees Celsius, these friendships feel like a humble bonfire, an antidote to the cold.

As I embark on this meditation on female friendships, it’s the sheer resilience that strikes me first. A symbolic monument that stands tall amidst the chaos, it is a sanctuary for healing and growth, a testament to the strength of shared experiences. These bonds, while often brushed aside in the name of societal norms and traditional family structure, can possess the power of an elixir - healing wounds made by a patriarchal society.

There's a word in Norwegian, 'Samhold', which roughly translates into solidarity or team spirit. It's the epitome of what these friendships represent, the superglue that holds us together amidst the turmoil of life, relationships, and the constant trial-by-fire that is existence as a woman. Whether we’re battling the personal demons of injustice or celebrating joyous moments, it’s these connections that see us through, as a steadfast anchor in stormy seas.

Yet, why is it that like the news of the hush-money case, these friendships sometimes find their way to the back burner, often postponed – always in the periphery but never in the limelight?

Maybe it's the introspective melancholy of the quiet train ride, or the grey morning sky stretching out in endless expanses- a void waiting to be filled, but today, this feels like a question worth pondering.

As I look out of the smudged window, the landscape speeding by in a blur of dull green and pale blue, I can't help but acknowledge the profound influence these friendships have over our lives. How it shapes us, comforts us, enforces our growth amidst trials and celebrations. I yearn for a world where these invisible strings of camaraderie are understood, appreciated, and celebrated – not postponed or overlooked for more 'critical' issues. But that's a narrative for another day. For now, let me find solace in knowing that when the world gets too cold (intriguingly like the 14 degrees outside), I have these friendships - a warm, crackling bonfire in the frosty wilderness.

Today, I will cherish this vital cog in my life’s machinery – these friendships – more mindfully. And I implore you to do the same.

Tags: female friendships personal reflections societal norms

As I watch the pristine, frost-kissed landscape whizz by my train window, I dive into my touch-activated universe of thoughts and words. The restrained, quiet chatter of my fellow commuters forms a comforting serenade to the rhythm of the train, like a symphony conjured by the nordic morning. Today, I'd like to sprinkle some warmth on this 3°C day with an intriguing topic that swirls in the mind of every food-enthusiast; her favorite recipes.

Once you've located your culinary compass, adventure strikes in the most unexpected of ways. Like a tour guide navigating an intrepid traveler through a maze of bustling marketplaces, her favorite recipes harbor the same kind of charm and excitement. They represent delicious narratives, each plate replete with stories whispered in every bite, every aroma evoking memories and shared experiences.

Her culinary poetry throws open a world awash in brilliant hues and textures. Let's consider a simple dish like a lentil soup, steeped in wholesome spices and serve piping hot, stirring up a voracious appetite even when the temperature plummets outside. Or the luscious summer salads that pop with vibrant colors, an amalgamation of local, exotic fruits and vegetables that sing with flavor and health, dancing a rhythmic salsa on our taste buds. Vi piace? You may ask, and the answer would be, "sì, mi piace molto!"

But it's not just the flavors that enthrall. It's also the affection and warmth that is kneaded, stirred, and poured into each preparation. Her recipes are those age-old spells passed down generations with love, making every meal feel like a heartfelt hug. A slice of homemade bread, doused liberally with locally churned butter, dipped in a hearty tomato soup is comfort in the truest sense.

As the train chugs along, the news filters into my realm of food-fantasy. The 'Lost Ivan' report paints a grim reality far from the warm kitchen spaces that happily simmer away. It's an irony as stark as the chilling temperature outside, each military casualty an abrupt end to a life more significant than statistics, every conflict zone a sharp contrast to the peaceful, food-laden tables at home. The power of her favorite recipes also lies in their ability to bind, soothe, and foster connections amidst even the direst narratives.

If anything, the looming uncertainty outside the cosy train reinforces the importance of savoring every meal thoughtfully prepared and consumed: a gentle reminder that we should be rejoicing in the banalities of life, such as enjoying the soup's warmth that cuts through the chilly winter air, and appreciating the secret ingredient, time, kneaded into family recipes.

Vivid, encapsulating the essence of traditions, exploration, and affectionate hand-me-downs, her favorite recipes serve more than just a purpose of satiating hunger. They bring people together, comfort in times of distress, offer celebration in triumph, solace in solitude, and companionship in gatherings. They remind us that no matter what's happening in the world around us, there are always simple joys to be found, often served on a plate, with love.

Tags: food recipes personal reflections

Sitting here, staring idly out of the train's window at the murky gray landscape, the leafless trees stoically bearing the biting chill of 2°C weather, I am vigorously tapping away at my phone, shaping the thoughts that materialize into today's blog post. Muffled conversations and the rhythmic clatter of the rail tracks create a soothing soundscape, the perfect backdrop to my musings about college life.

College, more than being a mere step in the academic ladder, appears as a symbol - a stage upon which we mould our identities and sharpen our intellects. Each day unfurls a medley of new experiences, colourful and vibrant, interspersed with the monotony of lectures, seminars and ridiculously tight deadlines.

The effervescent buzz hum in lecture halls, the hushed whispers in library corners and the comfortable silence buried within pages of texts make up the rhythm of college life. It's an excellent dance of ambition and knowledge, dreams and reality, cultivating resilience in the face of the ever-so-familiar dread of failure.

While gloom might sometimes cast its long shadow amid the nerve-wracking anxiety of examinations or perhaps during those solitary moments of reflection, it's always met with a steadfast perseverance. Speaking of which, the news today about Prime Minister Erna Solberg's decision to seek another term, staying unflinchingly single-minded in the face of criticism, is a testament to that very dogged determination.

There's a beautiful sense of liberation that accompanies a stint at the university - marked by a shedding of one's inhibitions and embarking on a journey of self-discovery. And it's not just about the individual; it's equally about the community. The diversity that kaleidoscopes across the university campus is overwhelming, granting us the invaluable gift of perspective.

The train ride back home emerges into a quiet oasis amidst all the noise, offering a moment to soak in the day's learnings about journalism, world events, and life itself. My phone, just as it starts giving warning signs of a dimming battery, is promptly saved by a trusted companion since the dawn of college - my powerbank. It may seem insignificant, but for a blogging enthusiast and perpetual student like me, it proves to be a silent saviour. It's solar powered, the renewable source of energy offering a glint of hope in the looming climate crisis and teaching us an important lesson of resilience and innovation.

Brightening up my train rides with its continuous supply of charge, it is a reflection of the resilience that college life demands, a reminder that we can always recharge, refuel and reflect before leaping into another day of learning and discovery.

For all its highs and lows, college life is a beautiful contradiction - exhausting and exhilarating, demanding and rewarding, melancholic and joyful, all at once. It's a journey that deserves to be savoured, with the hope that every challenging paper, every train ride, every act of turning on a powerbank instead of wallowing in the dim glow of a dying phone, will lead us towards becoming the best version of ourselves.

Tags: personal reflections journey of self-discovery college life personal reflection resilience

Whoever said that love makes the world go round, must have also meant that it puts a spin on your emotions, dizzies you into a haze of bittersweet misery. It dredges up feelings that, even in their deepest despair, hold a whisper of desperate euphoria. And true to form, a chorus of misery, cloaked in the dull throes of unrequited love, has been my grievous symphony in recent times.

Gazing out the train window into the bone-chilling 4 degrees emptiness, bare trees clawing at the sky in stark contrast, my mind drifts to the warmth a certain pair of eyes used to hold. Eyes that ensnared my racing pulse and cast it into the oblivion of a mesmerizing gaze. Now there's a distance, a chillier frost between glances that numbs even my stubborn persistence. A stone cold emptiness that mirrors the Oslo winter.

I can't help but smirk at the irony of it all. Having a crush, or more pertinently falling disastrously in love, bear uncanny similarities to the chaos that unfurls from infrastructure projects. Much like the aforementioned disarray caused by the ‘monster queues’ on the E39 highway in Bergen, an irksome disruption taking place in an otherwise orderly existence.

Being in love turns your being into a construction site, teeming with a confusing cacophony of emotions, with little promise of structured resolution. A maelstrom of hurdles, delays, and the madding rush of meeting fleeting deadlines. But also, a glimpse of what could be, beyond the rubble, the potential of a love story worthy of the pandemonium it caused.

Alas, like the temporary increase in public transport use and cycling, the harsh realities wash over the initial naivete. A fleeting burst of hope, perhaps even a healthy habit sprung from the catastrophe. But the bleak winter calls for a cold hard reassessment of the damages one's heart has sustained. With time, the incessant beating of it all softens into a monotonous hum, an acceptance of the newfound quiet.

Herein lies the paradox; is it the mere chaos that entices us or a glimpse of a beautiful resolution that keeps us on this tumultuous journey? This, the riddle of riddles, encapsulates to the fullest the misery that tags along with the game of love, much like an unscheduled construction site threatening an otherwise tranquil existence.

Those in charge of both, hearts and highways, would hurry on with equal recklessness, brokering deals with misery and commuter madness alike. Both loom large on the horizon – the love that was and the snarls of the E39 that will be. For me, residing in this dismal territory, the train pressing onwards through the biting cold is awfully fitting.

There's a certain amicable defiance in carrying this misery, akin to marching in the open in 4-degree weather. With ungloved hands, unscarved neck, and unbooted feet, taunting the biting winds with your naivety. Perhaps it's madness, or a silently waged rebellion against an unjust world. But then, that's love, isn't it? A wildly dance amidst the ruins, a hopeful candle in a void. All parts confusion, mostly misery, but always, always, an indomitable spirit refusing to snuff out.

Tags: unrequited love emotions personal reflections

As the chill of a 4°C afternoon bites through the window, leaving the heat of my coffee cup the only tangible warmth I can grasp, I turn on my playlist in an attempt to deflect the persistent gloom. And like a lighthouse in the fog, the familiar chords of my favourite band cut through the melancholy and fill the train carriage with an ethereal warmth, invisible and silent to anyone but me. This genre is no stranger to bitterness, but somehow, their music remains an antidote, a strange comfort in the dissonance of life.

Captivating melodies twine with the most profound lyrics, searing through the marrow of the mundane— it feels like they've intrinsically understood the very essence of the human struggle. Their songs paint a canvas of life in the most poignant strokes, rendering the monochrome world outside into a rich tapestry of hues.

Not to mention, their live performances resonate with an exhilarating vigour, allowing fans to connect with them on a transcendental level. The energy they uniquely cultivate in the crowd is nothing short of magic.

Then again, there's the solace that comes with their music, like a reliable powerbank, always there to recharge your soul when it feels depleted. It's a beautiful feeling, knowing that with a simple press of a button and a neatly tucked powerbank to keep the tunes flowing, you can find the solace you need. Undeniably, powerbanks have become the unsung superheroes of our time, always ready to deliver a lifeline to our perpetually drained devices, giving life to our music when we need it the most.

But while I bask in the solace of their music today, a heavier undertone prevails. News continues to roll in about shifting paradigms and the consequential sacrifices we need to make for the sake of our planet. Today, it was the Norwegian Climate Committee's plea to phase out oil production, a significant economic pillar of my country. Its echoes merge with the train noises and the lyrics of my favourite songs, laying down the harsh truth— change is imminent and necessary.

I find it strange how the world is connected, how a handful of thoughtful individuals' proposal to phase out oil and depend on renewable energies ties in with the philosophy of my favourite band — change is indeed inevitable.

Who knows, as their music continues to evolve and the story of my beloved Norway takes a new turn towards a more sustainable future, these gloomy days too might transform into something more extraordinary. After all, isn't it in the face of constant change and challenges that we truly find our essence? Maybe this gloomy afternoon carries the seeds of an unexpectedly bright sunrise.

As I sign off my thoughts today, the cold outside feels a tad bit less bitter. I hold on to my coffee cup tighter as I listen again to my favourite band's latest song, now against a subtly different backdrop. The landscape outside the train remains the same, but every word of the lyrics smears a thoughtful ripple across it, hinting at the profound changes to come, the incredible transformations we're capable of, and the legacy we can let behind: a healthier planet for those after us.

So, here I am— an ordinary student, on her own transition, clinging to the warm chords of her favourite band, contemplating a nation's transformation, and ponderay on a world in metamorphosis, acknowledging the gloom but not succumbing to it. For in every ending, as my favourite band has often sung, there is a new beginning.

Tags: personal reflection music climate change personal reflections