I was born and raised in a part of the world where we broke down our year by school terms, rainy, cold and dry/hot seasons. To others, planting, weeding and harvesting periods. So when, I moved to this part of the world, I was forced to take on a new way of describing my year. Autumn, Winter, Spring and Summer – I arrived on a dark, snowing november
night afternoon *it may as well have been the winter solstice* These times of the year mean different things to different people. I realize that it has taken me quite sometime to arrive at a personal definition of seasons, devoid of external influences. The coming to life of everything in the spring, the warmth and summer solstices or crimson beauty the autumn brings and the exotics of the snow, the November darkness still puzzles me. I find that I am terribly influenced by other people’s definitions and their adjectives surrounding what these foreign seasons mean to them. Yes, they are still very foreign.
Something is native because we are born of it, everything we do is very interconnected to our place(s) of origin, the days we modelled clay and made toy cars from used cloth hangers or dolls from old torn woolen sweaters, or filled Coca-Cola bottles with a mixture of water and soil *industriousness* The foods that define our cultural orientation, the trees we climbed or didn’t and what they mean to us. Music and how it has taken shape in our lives. Going back to my topic of nativeness and foreignness, it is therefore due to reasons such as this that I from time to time get lost in conversations, I am unable to connect present symbols to a past I was not a part of.
Something, annoying and a little funny occurred in my apartment block early this week. Lately, it seems we have acquired a new tenant who seems to be very generous with things loud. I tend to think he lives in the shower because he sometimes outsings the music he’s playing *I believe this only happens in a shower environment* basically his is the epicenter of our recent woes. As much as I welcome occasional breaks from this very revered Finnish silence, am on the verge of signing the petition that is doing rounds. Can’t stand the bass anymore nor the distasteful babble i am being subjected to – no, my walls are not wafer thin, this is just a raucous breed. So, Mr Jukebox decided to take generous to another level. I was convinced that he may have thrown a pre-christmas party because everything was a notch higher plus there was another distinctively high-pitched voice backing up his rusty singing. I was getting agitated by the moment. Petition signed! No amount of plugging my ears or suffocating myself in my covers was working, never mind that this was Tuesday night – of all days!
All of a sudden the music died and i was relieved, idiots must have eaten their speakers, or maybe the men in blue intervened. I have never been so wrong. With the same suddenness, an eruption of yelling and screaming descended upon us. The obscenities, let’s just say am glad I have no children. Then came the slamming of doors and the stern threat of ‘am gone for good’ I was watching from my door peephole. ¨Yes, get gone! back to wherever it is that you came from¨ I almost yelled back. Mr. Jukebox actually has a partner,*eyebrows raised* i was certain he was the young, carefree kind. Well, the lady *I am been very kind* painted a very bleak picture.
Silence reigned, for at least 1,2,3…….10 minutes, then the doors slammed and she was back, this time round, amidst her berating, reminded him that were it not for the weather conditions, that would have been the last he’d have seen of her.
Winter, a spousal fight and an involuntary rapprochement – a new meaning