Ironi med Karin

(Det här är en text jag skrev som "extra writing" när jag pluggade i Brighton. Jag kommer ofta tillbaka till den här texten när jag behöver support; dels för att minnas den underbara känslan som infann sig varje gång jag promenerade längs kusten (vilket jag gjorde flera gånger om dagen), men också för att jag är fruktansvärt nöjd med den. Eftersom det här är det mest praktiska stället jag har för att samla allt det jag skrivit som jag är nöjd med (och lite annat) får den hamna här.

Until we meet again - Karin.)

 

When walking along the seafront there are three things that foremost catches my attention. Amongst the thousands of sounds, sights, and smells, these visions cuts through the busy crowds and roaring cars into my brain, and with a surprising force they are able to take control of the confusion and chaos that mostly take place in there. It may sound like complete and utter madness (probably because that is what it is), but it has now gone many years since I first fell in love with the sea, and it is a love whose effects never fails to amaze me.

 

Firstly, I notice the sky. There is something about the sea that makes it seem endless. The horizon is simply an invisible seamline, whose secrets seduce me in a way those cheesy twenty-somethings at Toxic could only dream of. The thought of what might lure there is more intriguing, more tempting, than anything at that moment. We spend our lives worrying about that perfectly emerald green grass at the other side of the fence, when the real question is: How much bluer is the sky beyond the horizon?

 

Then my gaze turns to the crashing waves rolling in over the shoreline. What I find so comforting about them is not actually their brutal determination, nor their obvious beauty, but the fact that they never cease. For how long can something break, then instantly repair itself, only to break again? Apparently in all eternity, since waves has broken over rocks, cliffs, and beaches for as long as this planet has existed. Which, according to science, is a very, very long time. 

 

Lastly, I try to imagine how many pebbles there are along the entire beach. Usually, this is where I must pinch myself, redirect my thoughts and continue walking, because some numbers are just not graspable. It is a frustrating task, simply because it is so impossible, but a valuable lesson learned for someone who do not very easily accept defeat. However, as I proceed my walk along the seafront, most other burdens suddenly seem quite achievable. If not only because I have realised the difficulty of having too many matters in my head at the same time, then at least because the privilege of being neighbours with the ocean, if so only for a while, is altogether calming.