In Annailo's mind…
There are days when everything goes in one direction; straight down into the sticky mud you have to crawl your way through. Because you created it and you are the one to blame for it, even if you will never admit it to neither yourself or others. While other days you fly among stars and moons, and you think you are on top of the universe, and that you will stay there like a pin in a finger. But the finger bleeds and you happen to hate blood so being a pin was not that much fun after all.
Days when you want to scream out to the world and hit the first and best person you meet, to get it all out of your system. And if that person then complains about it, you will hit him again and say: “Sorry mister, life hurts in case you haven’t noticed, so what do you want me to do about it?”
And days when you are buried under diapers and moss and boxes with old transcriptions. And work. Work and work, and you get lost in it. You stop living and you forget to breathe and sleep and you, you don’t see it. You have turned blind in front of the moving screen and lost the color of your eyes. And you need someone to tell you “no one loves me” just to make sure you have not forgotten about a certain someone out there somewhere. And this someone probably doesn’t even realize that it isn’t possible to forget, that you remember even when you don’t give a sound for a week or two or three, when this someone is still there waiting for you – if maybe not patient.
Not to forget the days when you are excited over a photo you made of a toy placed on a plate with porridge, you find it to be the most brilliant photograph through all times and you need someone to tell you just how brilliant it is. And how brilliant you are, and what you get is a script of good advices and a note saying you should send 10 more by the end of the day.
Or you have a story to share about a homeless man who offered you his shoes on your way home from work, a story that turned into five pages about thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of a life time is nothing, a pure nothing – except for those you see it.
Those days when you are jumping up and down in frustration, and what you need is a story about why Hans can’t receive his emails just because it makes you laugh. It isn’t funny. In a way it is deadly serious, but you laugh anyway – and you are allowed to.
Days when you get caught up in life, for good or bad, and all you really need is someone writing something on the side of it, something out of the blue, or out of the grey or out of sense. But you realize at one point that it made sense after all, because of this someone who wrote it. A pain in the ass but then you happen to like pain, because pain is just a sign that you are still alive, still walking, still here.
Something honnost and something faithful in a world that has turned into something fake, something blury, something… something. Days long as a painful year. Days short as a passing moment. Those days we’ve had, and then some. And each day you were there with me.
We saved the days and we saved the moments, in files and folders, with three back ups just to be sure that we wouldn’t miss it. And then we would sleep, and then complain about being hungry – and then write about it and maybe laugh between a photo-presentation we created of it all, with pictures. Do not forget the pictures! It wouldn’t be, and never will be, understood by anyone else than those two someones we are.
If you were walking down a crowdy street, and someone stopped you to tell you about Hungarian music, what would you do? My advice: Shake your head and walk on. Then go home and write this someone a letter. It might happen to be a someone you don’t want to spend another passing day without.
For Eneh
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