06062011

The typewriter.

The title of this text is the first word that came to my mind when I started writing this and it doesn't necessarily bear any relevance to the subject I'm writing about. I also realize I haven't written anything in a week due to the excessive amount of haste I've been having. During last week I did three shifts of work and visited three different cities around Finland. Hurrying from one place to another doesn't inspire you to write but it inspires you to write afterwards.

During my last week two major things happened in my life and I'm going to write something about them to the best of my abilities.The first one dealt with genuine happiness and second one with growing up. Both happened with one of the most important people in my life.

There aren't too many things in this world that fill my heart with pure joy and set aside all the negative emotions. But when these things occur, I've learned to cherish them. The sun had been up for quite a while and it was nearing afternoon already. I sat down at a beach house with two people whom I had only recently met. They were getting to know me in their own way and I was getting to know them. I felt confident, intelligent and generally good about myself. I think they noticed that about me and reacted in kind. We chatted for quite a while and occasionally yelled for a girl to come out of the nearby forest. The girl was wondering around, not lost - or maybe in her own thoughts. She was taking photographs of the small wonders of nature. She was wearing a white pullover that didn't exactly match her petite size, gray college pants and black boots that made her look even a bit silly. 

It was mainly her mother calling out for her. Sometimes the girl heard her mother's call and sometimes she was too far (in her own thoughts) in the forest by the lake. We were about to leave, so I decided to give her a shout. She replied instantly and came hopping out of the forest. Her mother smiled at me.

There aren't too many moments in this world that fill the corners of my eyes with tears and set aside all other thoughts. But when these places come to exist, I've learned to cherish them. I was with my best friend for the whole night and we had a few glasses of wine at his place before we hit the bars. Nothing spectacular at the bars, so we decided to leave quite early. The line for the cab was enormously long, so we ended up walking back to my friend's place. My friend chose the way quite randomly and we came to parking lot, which was surrounded by a fence two and a half meters high. There was a way around it - obviously - but my friend decided that that wasn't our way. He climbed a tree near the fence and hopped over the steel grid in front of us. I had to climb the tree to get to the other side as well. We're still young but not that young. We shouldn't be climbing in trees anymore at this age. But it felt good.

A moment or a two later we were sitting on rail road tracks and I had a few tears dropping down my cheeks. The view was magnificent. The sun was setting (or was it rising?) in the horizon over the sea with us, two young boys who have known each other for more time than two people usually have the courtesy of getting to know a person, gazing widely into its depths. We walked back to his place following the railroad tracks. I don't know what my friend felt about it but for me it felt like my childhood was finally over. The last march of the child in me. Now I know that it was a milestone in my life. I'm going to work all summer and I'm going to leave on a journey around the world. I'm going to end up in business life afterwards with my studies going well enough. There's no more time for childhood. I told my friend on the railroad tracks that I'm growing up and leaving something behind now. I meant it.

The old typewriter still exists and it makes me genuinely happy. Its buttons colored in a dirty white and the black letters imprinted on them slowly fading away like a young man's childhood. Where the typewriter exists, only I know. But I can tell you, it's deep somewhere inside my thoughts where all secrets begin their journey from and where memories are stored on shelves bending under their weight.

.an old friend of the christy's.