Today it hit me that I'm leaving for Sweden in a month and have an entirely Southern Californian wardrobe (with the occasional remnant from a childhood in the Middle East.) I'm not talking fashion here, I'm talking warmth, sunshine, heat.
My current plan? Use my wardrobe as an excuse to stay indoors on horrid, freezing days. It's not that I don't like the cold – I actually really enjoy drizzly, rainy, overcast days. There's something artistic about the sky becoming moody. But I like these days to be spaced out for better appreciation. When it rained in Oman (a couple times a year during winter), teachers would let us out to go play in the rain. In high school. So yes, I prefer my chilly weather as a rare treat like sushi...not cereal.
And then I tend to try and pull the whole "mind over matter" thing and will myself not to be cold. Even if my teeth are chattering, my nose is numb, and my arm hairs look like they're about to march into battle, I will deny being cold – and in my head I'm not. I'm a little worried that if Sweden is constantly freezing (which it is – its summer temperatures are what I'm used to during winter), I will eventually have to a) confront reality and realize that I get cold or b) sink irreparably into my delusion – which I mostly wouldn't mind except I like having the option to visit reality. (Choices and all that.) Also, I might get frostbite or something.
Anyways, while I'm on the subject, Sweden is home to the world's largest (and only) ICE HOTEL. It melts and is rebuilt every year. This reminds me of Roald Dahl's description of a chocolate hotel. Or was it Paulo Coelho?
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I went to Walmart to get my passport photos done. My current passport is about two years old, but as of August I will no longer be a dependent of my father, which means I lost my diplomatic passport. And immunity. I never even got to properly exploit it. Sigh.
Anyways, the passport guy was this mid-thirties scowling fellow with wonderfully deadpan sarcasm. (Or what I seriously hope was sarcasm.)
He abruptly told me to push the hair out of my face and look up. Not up at him, but up into the air. He then told me to stop smiling because they wouldn't accept it. Naturally, the minute he told me to stop smiling, I burst into laughter, and he lowered the camera glaring at me. (Apparently it's easier for some people...). I quickly tried to straighten my face, but the corners of my mouth kept climbing, and I ended up with a really awkward "I'm trying to stop smiling and I really don't think this is that funny but I can't help it and I hope I don't look ridiculous" look on my face – while I was looking up as though I was about to be raptured. (Add that element to my expression.)
During some point of my inner struggle, and after telling me to "stop looking like a terrorist," he snapped the photo. I, of course, was a little nervous, and asked to see the image that I would be stuck with on countless voyages over the next ten years.
He told me not to worry about it because only two people would ever be seeing it; him and the airport dude. I told him that a whole ton of airport people were going to see it, and I'd really rather have a look. Reluctantly he let me glance at it for a couple of seconds.
**
I Skyped with my younger sister today, who is currently paving the way for me in Sweden. She said it was really strange to live in a place where you looked like the locals, but weren't one. Apparently she has to avoid saying "Hey" back to people because in Swedish "Hey" means "Hi" and then they assume you know the language.
After this conversation I realized that I will be experiencing a completely different cultural phenomenon in Sweden. Growing up, I always stuck out as a non-native, and there was always an immediate understanding/label based purely on my appearance. Moving to the States was strange because I looked and talked like everyone else, and the differences were all on the inside. In Europe, I will look like everyone else, but not actually be one of them.
And people think my identity issues stem from acting. :P
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I have a friend who is currently deciding between getting a subscription to Vogue or The Economist. This is why I love my friends.
**
I love the Bible. It's like Harry Potter – every time you read it, you get a million new things out of the same words. (Okay, mostly I made that comparison to scandalize my readers...) I remember in high school, trying to explain why I was trying to live by certain Biblical principles, and my friends pointing out that it was an ancient text and not applicable to modern day. I disagree. But I digress.
David never gets old to me. He spent whole life building morals and ideas for them to be shot in a minute: in that one moment he became so irrational that he simply ignored years of experience and life standards. I used to slightly judge him. David and Jonah and Gideon. I always figured that if God spoke directly into my life, there was no way I would ignore it. I also thought that I would always be perfectly logical in important situations. There were human elements that I hadn't experienced and didn't fully understand. I was young and extremely principled. I still am.
FML Friday (Yes, I realize it's Tuesday.): "Today, I was watching a movie with my sister, my roommate, and my girlfriend. Half way through the movie, my girlfriend left the room and texted me that she was breaking up with me. She then came back in the room, sat on my bed, and enjoyed the rest of the movie with us. FML"
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