From the kind my grandma used to tell me.
When I was a kid, I used to beg her to tell me stories 3 times a day. The more magic, the better. Sometimes I would ask her to repeat some story and every time she would change something in it, so I had to turn back and correct her to the point, where I was the one to end up telling the story.
I’ve always been like that. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I listen carefully, I memorize and then I’m not pleased, when someone changes something.
Sometimes I don’t like the story at all, so I give up on it half way through and continue it the way I want. And then everything is perfect and I can go to sleep. Every single night, my 4 year old self would come out and demand me to tell a story. Then I hear my grandmother’s voice in the back round, full with tenderness and wisdom and she always asks the same thing: “How many dragons must the prince fight this time, before getting the princess?”. I go to lands of fire and ice, witches and warlocks, hobbits and trolls, werewolves and fairies. And my world is beautiful. The prince is often a complete retard, but the princess is always magnificent. With long blond hair, blue eyes, dashing eye lashes, smile that darkens the sun, waistline that would make every living woman jealous, soft hands and white skin, going pink from the cold wind outside. Ah, she’s a beauty!
My princess is shy and doesn’t talk much. She’s not social and she’s afraid of people. She’s a misanthrope. She likes to knit, she has no sense of humor, but she sings to the birds and she likes watering plants. All she does is sit in her tower, waiting for the prince to come. She’s stupid.
And the prince is sleeping with dragons, instead of fighting them, his magical thread always leads him to the princess, but he always goes backwards, cause he doesn’t want to meet her. Idiot. He doesn’t know that she’s his one true love or whatever. The story never gets the happy ending, cause I fall asleep before I can puzzle the parts in the right way. It takes too much time. When I was little, it was enough to say that they would later on live in a big white castle with many people being happy for them. But now I spot so much holes in my scenarios and how can I not, I was 5 years old, when I made them up…with the help of my grandma.
My reality couldn’t be any further from this bullshit. Seriously. And still, it’s a metaphor for something. I don’t know. I’m not sure.
My day has been weird. The English was fun, Lexi was amusing, I liked it. That’s about it with the nice part. The wanhat practices were a fail. I failed on so many levels, I will never be able to dance. Ever. Henkka kept saying that I stink as if I didn’t know. Thank you, cap’n obvious! And what’s his business looking at me anyway? Doesn’t he have someone to dance with or something? Someone to show off his amazing skills at? 😀 Ugh. I stepped on höylä’s feet at least 3 times and thank god for Aatos and Antti to save the day once or twice. Just……..why am I so dorky?
Talked to Lexi again about the latin roots, half way through the way to school, then he had to go back and I went and caught my bus. Whoopty-fucking-doo.
(Johanna, Joel, Jamppa, Henkka)
//Stef – Bye