As always, I’m behind in my schedule. I have baked and made sauces and a salad all morning, and I still have to shower, pack up my things and then finally I will hopefully have time to take a nap, before I have to leave for the New Year’s dinner at about five. Busy busy. But, traditions are traditions. Here is my list of 2013’s best.

Best and most listened to song was, without question, Cabin down below by The Royal Concept. In October, I could go for walks, listening to it on repeat, over and over and over. Those light piano chords and heavy percussion, I can’t seem to get enough of them. And the saxophone solo, it just grows and grows and grows.

The best book I read is a trickier question. To be honest, I haven’t really read anything that sticks out. Plenty of good books, but not really any uniquely amazing ones (even though the total of 30 read books this year is the lowest ever since I started keeping lists in 2004). And I can’t keep on nagging about the greatness of Catherynne M. Valente. So, in lack of anything else, I say The Lover’s Dictionary  by David Levithan. It was really sweet.

Movie isn’t easy, either. I can’t honestly remember seeing a single good movie this year – but maybe I just have a short memory. So, I only have my saved cinema tickets to go on, and from them, Iron Man 3 was the best. Just because I adore Robert Downey Jr.

Times have changed, though. Now, maybe the more accurate thing to list would be the best, most enjoyed TV show of the year. I watch so much shit, but there are a couple of real high quality shows I follow too. The highlight of this Christmas was the Christmas special of Call the Midwife, a BBC costume drama set in the 1950’s East End of London, following a group of young midwives and the families that they help. It is a great show, sweet and sincere, and my favorite of all the shows I’ve watched this year.

Finally, the best photo wasn’t hard to choose. It might not be the one with the highest artistic qualities, and since it was taken by self-timer, one could even question if I took it myself. But, still, it’s the photograph that sticks to my mind, the one I think will be most remembered in years to come. That sunny day at the Belgrade fort, after Hanna and Kirke had just made nice after an entire morning of them fighting. Such a lovely memento of the high point, my stay in Belgrade (with Hanna and Kirke, Ana’s wedding, the incredible hospitality), of my all through awesome trip across Europe.

I also found a folder with pictures from the tour I took Max (Münich) and Shelayne (Vancouver) on in April, the couchsurfers I took in just after coming back home from Liberia, because Max wrote such an awesome, from-geographer-to-fellow-geographer couch request that I simply could not refuse them. They turned out to be the greatest surfers ever, both Lina and I completely adored them, and this summer I stayed with Max in Münich. Not surprisingly enough, he was also, like, the best host too. Incredible person. Really.

But on this tour that I took them on, after just having met them at the university tube station, I took them to Södermalm and we saw some lovely street art, that both I and Max photographed, but that I then completely forgot about in the middle of the thesis panic, and only rediscovered now.

 

The tape was actually an almost one meter wide styrofoam piece glued to the underside of a bridge. And humörkaos translates to something like mood chaos. Which felt kind of suitable then, considering the state I was in due to the thesis pressure.

Well, we do have some nice street art in Stockholm too.

While making the covers for the mix-CDs, I’ve had to go through tons of photographs. I take so many pictures, and then I forget that I ever took them – but now I was reminded of how many incredible things that I’ve experienced during the last four years, and how many great photos that I’ve taken (or been in). It’s fun to look at, and remember.

Like this. Isn’t it just weird, how a thing like that can grow in the middle of the stone desert of Namibia.

While snow storms are raging in Stockholm. Old oak by Stockholm University main campus. I wish we could have another winter like 2010-11. Now, it’s barely even fall-cold.

Isn’t this incredible, so green and, ah, intense? Taken by Hanna in Redwood National Park, California, last year.

This is what I should have given my mom for her birthday, nice and big in a pretty frame, something for her to take with her to Liberia, to show all her important friends over there: “this is me and my daughter Katja, when we roadtriped down the coast of California”.

At the Uppsala University botanical garden, a completely forgotten winter day outing from a year ago.

And in the mess of writing my bachelor’s thesis, I completely forgot to even go through and delete the crappy pictures taken during the early spring of this year. Like the tens I had taken of the chocolate semlor that me and Natalia made.

Or the mostly blurry ones from my birthday dinner. (Happy Frida, Natalia and Hannes.)

Ah, well, I’m a helpless nostalgic (sweating in Monrovia). But what I’ve realized is: I should really start taking more pictures of people, especially when I’m traveling. All the incredible and amazing people that I’ve happened upon in North America, Liberia and Europe, couchsurfing or on trains, I only have pictures of from afar, or not at all. I should start asking for a photo, not think that it’s embarrassing. It’s so nice to remember with, afterwards.

Another thing that I’ve been doing during my Christmas of isolation, is finishing up the yearly mix-CD covers. You see, I’m the nostalgic listmaker type, and one of all symptoms of this condition is that I make a mix-CD every year with the songs that I’ve listened to during the year. I started with this in 2004, the first year we had a computer with the possibility to burn CDs. On that first CD, I have golden nuggets like “You are the light” by Jens Lekman, “Are you gonna be my girl?” by Jet and “God only knows” by the Beach Boys, and the cover made up of photos from our ninth grade class trip to Greece, “my” pony Ofelia and New York street art.

The last couple of years, I haven’t had time to do the covers properly. I’ve burned the CDs, but then thought ‘I’ll do the cover later, in the summer, sometime when I have time to spare’. Well, that never happened. Coverless yearly mixes from 2010 and on. About time that I took care of it!

With highlights such as Miike Snow’s “Animal”, Robyn’s “Dancing on my own” and Elias and the Wizzkid’s “Waste of time”.

Including pieces like “Emmylou” by First Aid Kit, “Someone like you” by Adele and “Shake it out” by Florence + the Machine

Containing the songs “Inte vackrast i världen” by Emil Jensen, “Higher numbers, longer names” by the Torn ACLs and “I love it” by Icona Pop, among others.

This year, most of the songs are from this fall. I haven’t listened to music this much for years. I think. So many great songs have been released. Like “Hold on, we’re going home” by Drake, “Cabin down below” by the Royal Concept and “Hädanefter” by Veronica Maggio.

It feels great, being done. Now I have a nice, complete collection to reminisce to.

I read my first book by Bodil Malmsten in 2006. I can’t say that her texts were what made me decide to start a blog, but she was definitely in the mix of all the influences that finally made me take the step. Inspired by Bodil, and the newness of it all, I launched into a winter and spring of intense, voluminous blog post writing – a period only barely surpassed in volume by the three travel writing episodes that I’ve had (from Bolivia, North America and Europe, respectively).

Ever since that spring, when I’ve not been on the road, I’ve never really managed to muster  up that energy again. I’ve had university and all the intellectual drainage that that entails – I’ve simply prioritized other things.

I’ve not read Bodil Malmsten either. She started annoying me a little, her anger and irritation, the very statement-like way of her writing. Also, once I’d read all her blog and essay books, going on to her novels and poetry didn’t really tempt me. I moved on to new literary discoveries.

Some time ago, though, I went to the library to browse the shelves (an activity that always gives me so much pleasure), and found a new blog book of hers. I decided to borrow it. What a reawakening! I could still see those flaws, they were not gone, but not having read her for such a long time made me enjoy the good parts way more than the bad parts annoyed me. It is easy reading, but smart, and in no way simple. It is concise, prosaic and detailed. She has the ability to make you feel you know her, with very few words. It is brilliant, and I love it.

In “Och en månad går fortare nu än ett hjärtslag”, she writes:

But I am not going anywhere, I am going to write.

Why I write, I do not know more now than when I learned how to write, I suffer when I write but if I don’t write I suffer even more. When I write I have writing panic, when I don’t write the life panic roams freely.

The writing is somewhere to go to, I feel more at home by a keyboard and a screen than anywhere else.

And it makes me think, considering the amounts of text that I’ve been producing these last two months, that maybe I’m the same. I’m not saying that I’ve been happier, not by far, but there has been a feeling of contentment lately. A feeling of relief.

I’m rarely as content and my heart rarely as light as when I’ve just finished a blog post. Finishing a paper for university is not at all the same, because once turned in, I start worrying about what I forgot to include, and journal writing is just a way to gather my thoughts.

No, blog writing and exercise+sauna. Those are my feel-good-activities.

And Bodil Malmsten is now (again) the writer that I’ve read the largest number of books by: a total of 14. That’s four more than by the writer that comes in on second place, Tove Jansson.

I don’t think I’ve ever knitted as much as I’ve done this past fall. So much so that knitting in class is probably the thing that I’m most known for at the SRC. They all love me for it (I think), except for Phil, who never misses an opportunity to call me a grandma.

Photo taken by Jessica at our first master’s potluck at the center.

It’s a way to relax. To get all the rioting thoughts in my head to fall into line, or at least shut them off for a moment. I’ve almost developed an addiction. I now feel wrong, just sitting. Hands idle.

I’ve produced quite many pieces, too. I finished a sweater. Two pairs of mittens. Two baby hats. At least eight potholders.

I also did some spur of the moment shopping in a hobby store and ended up becoming a mass producer of plastic bead earrings. Sitting with tweezers, placing the tiny beads in the right pattern can be really nerve-wrecking – and exhilarating! No one is safe from my homemade gifts.

Add to that all the toffee wraps that I wrote on – my right index finger is a complete mess! When I massage the knuckle, it’s as if something is pulling on the nerves in the entire finger. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it is really uncomfortable. What if all this handicraft has harmed my right index finger in some incurable way? I really need to re-think this old-school house-wife addiction of mine.

One of the things I’ve done lately, especially during this Christmas holiday, is going through what my grandpa left us. An entire house, full of stuff. Cheap, worn things as well as old, high-quality heirlooms. The things have been equally distributed to the two children and four grandchildren and yesterday, I finally found places to store all the fine china and nice linen that I had been chosen to pass on.

All these golden-edged tea cups and silver cutlery, I really don’t know when to use.

Or, maybe this will give me the perfect opportunity to host that high tea party that I’ve been talking about for years. Yes! That is what I shall do. High tea at Katja’s. Menu:  tea, lemon and honey, freshly baked scones, at least four different kinds of marmalade, clotted cream and butter. Oh, I’m so excited!

Here in Sweden, we celebrate Christmas on the 24th. Being the child of “broken home”, I’ve always spent my Christmases going from party to party, in order to celebrate with all my families.

This year, though, my family is spread out all over the world. I have a mom in Liberia, an aunt in South Africa, a cousin in Kenya, a bunch of relatives in Finland, another cousin due to celebrate with his girlfriend’s family up north and another aunt sick after having just come home from a trip to Cap Verde, and all my grandparents are now dead. Accordingly, my Christmas celebrations this year became both different and much more low-key than usual.

I ate brunch with dad, step-mom and brother. Rice porridge, of course, and I got the almond. Then home, to finish up the last cooking, after which I jumped on the bus to auntie Sinikka’s house.

The streets were so calm and dark. Weird in a way. The bus driver was a sikh.

At Sinikka’s, we had a lovely Christmas dinner, me, auntie, cousin Elmer and second cousin Jani, with everything that it entails for a Finnish-Swedish family: two different potato, one turnip and one carrot gratin, salted salmon, ham (that I didn’t eat), pickled herring, Karelian pasties with egg butter, beetroot salad, mustard sauce, bread and strong cheese, glögg, julmust and schnapps. For desert: my last minute ginger bread mousse, Finnish Christmas pastries and homemade candy. It was nice. Calm. So unlike most other Christmases that I’ve had.

I left pretty early, to make it to the good bus, and ended up watching Awkward., a corny MTV produced (I remember the days when they only showed music videos…), American high school TV show and eating some more, in the lonely apartment. It was a nice Christmas Eve.

And it just hit me: Possibly the first ever Christmas that I haven’t spent with my mother. Or wait, there was that one Christmas in South Africa that I spent with dad and his part of the family. Oh, well, I guess this Christmas wasn’t a first after all…

These last couple of years, there’s been a slow increase of racist rhetoric in Stockholm and in Sweden. Three and a half years ago, the “immigration skeptical” party the Sweden Democrats got voted into parliament, and ever since media has been in this very polarized state, where SD has been criticized one day, only to grow in popularity the next due to people seeing them as ‘martyrs’. For some reason, the fact that one of their top politicians picks up an iron pipe outside a McDonald’s after a night out, and starts threatening one of the most famous Swedish young stand-up comedians (who happens to have Kurdish heritage), doesn’t seem to bother people. Or that countless of both their national and municipal representatives have both written and said things that are creepily reminiscent of neo-Nazi vocabulary. There seems to be a shift happening, all over Europe really, and it is very very hard to figure out what to do about it.

I think, on a personal level, it is important to take a stand. And show others that you have.

Two weeks ago, on Sunday, there was a rally at the Kärrtorp square, only two tube stops from where I live, against racism. Some neo-Nazis had been spraying swastikas on locker doors and walls in the local high school and other places, and a group of parents had invited to this rally to show that the neo-Nazis weren’t the only ones with an opinion. A couple hundred people gathered at the square, both youths and families with prams – but in the middle of the rally, about 40 neo-Nazis stormed into the square and attacked the protesters with rocks and firecrackers. The police was in no way prepared, and for a while total chaos filled the square. Amazingly enough, though, eventually the protesters managed to chase the neo-Nazis off the square and into the forest. 27 people were arrested, of which 26 were part of the neo-Nazi group. I wasn’t there myself, but this is what I’ve been told by people that were there and heard on the news, and I’ve also seen some recordings on the internet. It’s incredible, to see on the blurry phone recording, how the panicking rally crowd go from screams to forming a tight group and chasing the attackers off, shouting “No racists on our streets”. It makes it so clear, just how much strength there is in numbers.

The following week, last Sunday, there was a new demonstration, a protest against what happened during the first rally, starting at Kärrtorp’s square and ending at the Kärrtorp soccer field.

There is only one stop between Skarpnäck and Kärrtorp, and Skarpnäck is the first stop on the line, but still the tube was full 15 minutes to 12. On a Sunday. And when we reached Kärrtorp, getting of the tube and out from the platform became a serious issue. There were so many people wanting to reach Kärrtorp square.

The entire road from Kärrtorp to the soccer field (less than one kilometer) was packed with people, me and Lina accidentally ran into Stefan Löfven (leader of the Social Democrats) and the sun was shining.

So many people, showing that they did not agree with what the neo-Nazis represented, gathered in one place. It was incredible, that energy! At the soccer field, a stage had been raised and there were speeches and music (so many Swedish artists, who could easily sell out medium-sized concert venues, singing songs to support the cause). Jonas Hassen Khemiri, one of my favorite authors and playwrights, was there, standing about 10 meters from where I was jumping around to Hoffmaestro. I also met dad and a bunch of mom’s Skarpnäck friends and Bengan and Victor and saw even more people, old high school classmates and long-lost teenage acquaintances and ex-fellow choir singers.

Everyone was there, two days before Christmas, in the cold. In Kärrtorp, which is an insignificant suburb on the shortest of the tube lines, 20 minutes from the city center. Young, old, children and their parents, people you would not normally expect to see in a demonstration. More than SIXTEEN THOUSAND, showing the world that we did NOT agree with what the racists and neo-Nazis were trying to turn our neighborhood into.

That rush. Of so many people, showing that they care. It sends a clear message. It gave me hope. In nine months, we have national elections in Sweden. I hope this huge turn-up of people will be an indication of the diminishing power of racist and anti-immigration ideologies in Swedish politics.

I’m a crazy person, I think we’ve already established that. One of the things that make me go completely off the rail is baking and cooking. Once I’ve started, I can’t stop – even if it means cooking 10 liters of rice porridge that will be enough for more than 100 Karelian pasties, or wrapping toffees until three in the morning. I seem to have no limits. I suspect it will be the end of me, some day. This Christmas, I feel as if my fingers have been constantly sticky.

Toffee fresh from the stove. One of only two batches that actually turned out all right this year. My head must have been somewhere else, and the toffee must have felt it and decided to go too soft or too hard just to punish me. Toffee is like a spoiled child. 

Wrapping can be a nightmare. I’ve decided to hand-write the flavor of the toffee on every paper, to give the toffees a personal touch (I’m such a STUBBORN IDIOT), and that takes forever.

But they’re nice, when they’re done.

I also made Finnish Christmas pastries – they’re almost impossible to fail with. But so important, for that Christmasy feeling. This is the first year that I’ve made them by myself, without mom fussing around in the kitchen, barely helping at all. It felt kind of weird.

I baked bread, so full of nuts and seeds and dried fruit that there’s barely any bread in it. 

This white chocolate covered brittle is my cousin Elmer’s favorite. There are few people who enjoy anything as much as he enjoys these. So of course I had to make them for him, despite me being short on time.

I’ve also tried tons of new recipes: a frozen breakfast smoothie, home-made muesli and galettes. AND, I’ve discovered the most amazing thing: polenta! I found a bag of it while re-organizing the cupboard, it’s something that my mom left behind and I haven’t known what to do with. So now, I googled recipes with it and tried out one of polenta patties. And god, it’s the perfect thing for a vegetarian! You just boil the thing in broth, spice it or add whatever you want (like cheese or herbs), pour the polenta into a cup and let it sit over night. The polenta will cool into a pretty solid and cohesive cylinder, which can then be cut up into patties. I grilled them in the oven, which was great, but I can only imagine what a wonderful thing this new discovery will be in the summer, when dad starts up the BBQ at the cottage. I’ll teach him to make these, and then I won’t have to eat grilled haloumi every night. I’m SO excited!