emmalaiho.net/blog

not enough sleep (can’t). life feels small (trapped). i need more walks and cups of tea (a friend). and to eat more fruit. and laugh.

Today’s mail brought this birthday card and some lovely collagé goodies from Joleen. Thank you sweetie, I can’t wait to use them. And thank you all for your kind words..

Recently I’ve been inspired by Penelope’s posts about balancing work and taking care of herself better. Especially the one about meditation. I have my version in ballet practice. Every week, three to five times, I go through the same series of movements in the same order. Plies, tendus, jetes, ronds… In four years the easiest movements have become the most difficult. Getting better is about learning how little I really know. There are good dance days and bad. Days of good balance and perfect pirouettes, and days when you can’t even stand right. But it’s always good to be there, be present, and try. And then start again on another day.

What do you do on a day like this, when everything broken is barely held together by sellotape?

You steal your flatmates dog on the sofa to hug. Have walnut bread with marmalade, coffee and a thousanth time of amélie for breakfast.

Yesterday is a blurry nightmare. My mind on this weird survival mode making me forget things like my cash card number, and what was the film I picked up from the video store ten minutes earlier. Seeing Brokeback mountain with Kaisa, then trying to gain our composure before going to a birthday party I was not supposed to go to. (It’s better to be around your friends.)

All the snippets of last nights conversations looping in my head.

“Every little thing someone learns about me is away from me,” he says.
“And how is that working for you?” I ask.
“It’s not.”
“Change.”

Now I want to take most of it back. All I really needed yesterday was someone holding me and not letting go. And a good cry. I am so sorry.

Before this I wrote a long piece then saved it and put it away.

How can I tell this but tell this?

Yesterday Onni, our family dog, died. He had a kidney failure. It was really quick and he didn’t have to suffer. I am glad it was like this and not after a long illness. You don’t want something like that to someone you love. He was fourteen and old and tired; his fur all greyed out. He used to sleep in the crook of my feet, hog all the blanket and snore. He was grumpy and difficult. He bit most my boyfriends. To the last of his days he liked to gnaw on socks and drive me crazy by chewing the ends of usb wires. He also liked cucumber.

I will miss you baby. But I guess I am relieved.

I never thought I’d do this again.

During the years I have applied to six different schools, to nine different programs, made seven sets of preliminary assignments, sat in five entrance exams, got shortlisted two times and accepted into three schools.

Oh what fun, applying again.

It’s strange, I feel much more confident about my work and yet more vulnerable at the same time. I don’t so much believe in talent anymore, but aptitude and hard work and TIME. Which you are willing to put in if you really love what you do. Little by little you will find your own voice.
Maybe I am ready…