2011: Ring out, Wild Bells

"You're moving to Switzerland right?"
"No. Sweden."
"Oh."

Sweden doesn't hover on the consciousness of the average American. No, it's not Switzerland. Yes, it's an "sw" country in Europe with a history of neutrality, but it's still not Switzerland.

I understand the confusion and ambiguity – I certainly don't have all of my African and Asian countries down. I can't find most of them on a map, can't pronounce the majority, wouldn't recognize the name of a significant number of them. But I've never had this problem with Sweden. It has always been on the radar as the country of my father's first post.

My father was posted here in 1985, at the age of 26. Swedish has been my parents' secret language for as long as I can remember. Part of the "secret language" plan was for us children to eventually pick up the language. I suppose we weren't as bright as hoped for in that area, as the only Swedish I ever figured out was some of the numbers, (from hearing them discuss restaurant bills every time we ate out), a phrase or two ("watch out!" and "I love you"), and words my mother found funny (the full word for bra sounds like "breast holder.)

My older brother, Will, was born and experienced the luxuries of a toddling around the baby-friendly, carriage-filled city of Stockholm. Baby-friendly to an extent: my mother often recounts being nervous about finding him sucking on rocks outside around the time of the Chernobyl disaster.

When she tells this story, I imagine her as a young mother – 23 – sitting inside watching T.V. and hearing about the nuclear disaster. The radiation was spreading everywhere and – OH NO, young William is playing outside, sucking on now radiated rocks. She runs outside, scoops him up, and removes a tennisball-sized rock from his clenched fist. It is has a dark patch where the drool from his mouth has left a temporary impression.

"No William. No more rocks. Very dangerous," she tells her one-year-old.

I'm almost positive it didn't happen like this.

**

This August was my first, tangible interaction with the country of Sweden. After a few months of halfhearted attempts to learn the language via Youtube, studying its culture through blogs and The Local, I was reasonably prepared to take our relationship offline and meet face to face.

And what a face. Stockholm is unlike any capital I have ever experienced; green, fairly reasonable traffic, filled but not crowded, and dotted with sparkling lakes (now beautifully frozen). Physical attraction, check. I myself, for the first time in my Middle East dominated life, fit in physically: tall and fair with blond hair and blue eyes. No stares, no assumptions.

Now, as 2010 draws to a close, my time in Sweden follows suit. I am on the verge of accepting a contract as an English teacher in South Korea. East Asia has always been a huge question mark in my mind. The culture, food and people I've experienced from the region have always been Americanized. I'm ready to discover them for myself.

My short time in Sweden has been eventful for me personally as well as for Sweden as a country. This summer had unusually high temperatures, but by November, we had started an intense winter: December's temperatures were the coldest in 100 years. In September, the far-right, anti-immigration party won seats in Sweden's parliament for the first time in history. The Center-Right party was reelected for the first time in the past 100 years.

Also in November, Sweden accused the U.S. Embassy of spying on its people. Around the same time period, Julian Assange, editor-in-chief of Wikileaks, was dealing with charges of sexual assault on two different women in Sweden. Then, perhaps the biggest shock of the year, in December, Sweden experienced its first terrorist attack. Only the suicide bomber – a Muslim extremist – himself was killed, but it shook the nation, and brought up issues of latent discontentment among unassimilated groups of immigrants.

**

Last night, New Year's Eve, we watched on television as thousands of Swedes gathered outside at Skansen – the world's first open air museum – to celebrate the new year. There were various musical performances, and then Actor Jan Malmsjo dramatically read Tennyson's "Ring out, Wild Bells," which has been read at Skansen on New Year's Eve since 1897. Landing the job of reading this poem is kind of like being elected a Supreme Court Judge: it's your position until death. Malmsjo has been reading it since 2001. I think it's a lovely way to start a year.

Ring Out, Wild Bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light;

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more,

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.