That which matters more than "where":

When you have decided,
When you have nowhere to go,
When you have nowhere to stay,
When you have nothing,
When you lose everything?

When you stop breathing,
When your dreams end,
When your mind is broken,
When your blood is taken,
When you love no more,
When your eyes lose their shine,
When your heart breaks?

When you go cold,
When you are burned,
When you are set at sea,
When you are sent into space,
When you are fed to the beasts,
When you are buried in the ground?

When does a human die?

When does the soul leave?

One thing I do know for sure,
One soul left today.

Tongue

Orenmanieyo - It's been a long time!

My Korean is progressing, if not at all at the pace it would with actual real lessons. Self-learning does appeal to me in many ways, though. The optimal would perhaps be to just know someone personally to ask if you have questions.

Anyway, I do love languages. I had my sights on something like Japanese or Arabic before, but I like Korean better and better, even disregarding the fluff. I love the sounds and the way people look when they speak it and the way it makes perfect sense even thinking through the filter of western grammars once you cut through the initial layer of prejudice. I'm not going to pretend it's easy, but what language is, really? One of the hardest part is how f***ing fast they talk natively. I mean, French doesn't stand a chance. Another complicating factor is that I briefly studied Japanese not long ago, and tend to mix up words sometimes. Not because they sound alike, because they don't. I actually have no idea why. I guess they have similar base sounds or something.

Having listened to, say, the same song in both Korean and Japanese, though, I can officially state that Korean is a much more beautiful language. And whether or not it could prove useful to me I will learn it. And when I know enough to survive (vague term, right? but I know what I mean, you I don't bother about) I will go to Korea. Maybe find my family? Maybe.

So Little Time To Think

I was packing for a week-long trip knowing I'd spend hours on end on a variety of trains and busses, some of them alone. I like traveling alone. Anyway, the first things I packed was my PSP, the iRiver, my math-book and another book although after some consideration of weight I left that one at home. But why is it that I pack all those things before considering what clothes to wear, even before I check if I have cash in my wallet? Not because I'm a tech-freak. But because in my head is the idea that "what if you'll get bored on the bus/train" and that idea apparently is so loathesome I have to guard myself from it before I put on my glasses for the day. Insane, isn't it? Because when this comes to that, I like being bored. Being bored means forcing my brain to think, come up with new ideas and solutions, going over things I otherwise shy away from. That's why trains and busses are awesome.

My brother, who's grown up even deeper into the internet-generation than me, brings his MP3 to the bathroom. I'm not quite that far gone, but the thought has fluttered over my head once or twice. He SMS:es practically until he falls asleep. He claims it's because he get's bored otherwise. I wonder then, when does he think? When does he turn all other senses off and just let his mind fly?

What kind of world are we creating where boredome and time for thought and inflection are things that must be fought with every last ounce of electronics we can muster?

Worldly comments

In other news: North Korea has agreed to allow nuclear inspections, which means the US no longer automatically considers them terrorists. Yay.

In less globaly and politically relevant news: Swedish Idol for the first time sports a participant of Asian descent who can. actually. sing. Wow. I was just starting to wonder if Asians were too smart and stuck up to sing.

Gaming comments: I've been playing a lot of different PSP games lately. FF:Crisis Core is, of course, a favorite and, thankfully, everything but a disappointment. But I actually want to bring some attention to a game I did not expect to enjoy; The Godfather. I mean, what could have been another horrible transportation from movie to handheld game turned out not only keeping the original's manlyness and tone, but also having excellent gameplay and lots of value. Tumbs up for EA.

Reflection... inflection?

I actually had to buy a new headset to get Skype working. So to not let my money go to waste, sms me your Skypes, everyone :P The idea was to cut cellphone bills and get away from MSN... although I've noticed that if MSN cuts my computer speed by half, Skype cuts internet speed by three quarters... you win some and lose some.

What else... I'm looking for an education that would take me to Uppsala, since I have two friendly friends who also want to go whom I could share apartment with, and since I made a plan... actually, let's talk about the plan.

Did everyone read Loverboy's post about being out of balance? My instinctive question was, how? How get back into balance? Do you know what brought you out of it? If so, do you know how to get it back? I've been out of balance for about five years. So what is balance, really?

I don't have any answers, do I ever have? But I started out at the question, what is most important in life? What could you absolutely not do without? What is the thing you would never give up, even if you had a gun to your head? Or to your loved ones' heads? I went through a whole lot of things; love, home, material possessions versus spiritual, survival versus ideals, but my final answer ended on respect. If someone held a gun to your head, would you still respect yourself if you gave in? If the answer is yes, if you have good reason, if you can live with it, then okay, give whatever up. To look at the other angle, can you live without the respect of the people around you? I'm not asking, can you survive. Live. So; cred, simply.

Step two. If respect is the all-time star of the game, the player you can't be without on the field, then logic says you have to do everything you can to get him on that field and keep him there. How? So list number two was born. The list of what I theoretically must have to have respect, well, two lists, one for self-respect the other for the outside, although I soon came to the conclusion that if the self-respect quota is filled, most of the outside follows per automatic.

And, finally, one of the posts on that list was, having my own place. Supporting myself too, but further down the list. Having my own place, space... simply somewhere where I call the shots, where I don't have to ask mom if I can take the last apple and don't have to explain why I'm not there at dinner. It sounds trivial, but I suppose it's like a symbol somehow. Independence, maybe. Or the satisfaction of knowing that I can. That I can survive without someone doing my dishes and telling me to vacuum.

So... Uppsala. The first step towards a better me. Are you guys still reading? Okay, then just stop me before I completely embarrass myself :D See ya around!

Whistles and Warnings

Watched my brother's hockey game today. I like hockey. There's something distinctly manly about it that other sports (specifically soccer) lack. ^^ Even as I say so I keep sitting there crossing my fingers hoping no one will provoke someone else into starting a fight; it somehow ruins that perfect manliness. Hm, and I guess handball is manly too.

Just at the end of the game some idiot dude (my father chose to call him "ADHD-case", but I shall keep that as a quote only to preserve this blog's political correctness...) decided that crosschecking my brother in the back while he held the puck would be a good idea. Then he decided that continuing to crosscheck him sixteen times, moving him forcibly from the area of the goal all the way until my brother fell and hit his head in the rink side was another great idea. I cannot describe the roars of protest from the stands and bench, but even as it was painfully obvious (even the other team's supporters were yelling) it took five minutes of arguing before the guy was shown off the ice. I seldom see my father angry anymore, and I've never seen him, y'know, rightfully angry. I got to see a little glimpse of what would happen if someone purposefully hurt me or my brother for real. That's also manly. My brother, on the other hand, was probably the calmest person in the hall. He didn't get hurt either. Just stood up and went to his spot on the bench from which he watched the ensuing chaos as the judges tried to sort out who to punish, since several of his teammates had decided revenge was on the menu. I must respect that.

Watching hockey on this level, compared to Elitserien or NHL is fun in another way. For one you get to see drop dead serious eighteen-year-olds acting all tough only to stumble over their own feet and go headfirst into the ice, and then remarkably stand up as if nothing happened and continue to chase the puck. You also get to see goalkeepers who, when they think no one's looking, push their own goal out of place to get an end to the other teams offense. And then, after the whistle's blown, take a look over their shoulder and bump it back into place. No one saw that, right? Or when two players collide in a mess of arms and legs and skates, get untangled and skate away, only to discover when they try to play that their sticks mysteriously have changed size... and color.

Gotta love warning tags. I found this text on the back of a children's book from McDonald's (it measures about 25x15 cm): Keep out of reach for children under 36 months since small parts may pose choking hazards. Which part of that made sense?

This Is Not The Weirdest I Have Posted Here

How big is the dick of a sibirian tiger?