torstai 15. marraskuuta 2018

If I was to write fiction...

Lyhyestä virsi kaunis: tässä teille välillä kirjoittamaani fiktiota. Tällä kertaa in English. Olen pantannut tätä tekstiä pitkään tekemättä sille mitään, vaikka minun piti. Ehkä antamalla sen tänne saisin itsestäni irti sen verran, että tekisin tähän ne muutokset, jotka aioin tehdä. Ehkä joku uskaltaa mielipiteensäkin sanoa? Onhan nämä omat tuotokset niitä "omia lapsia", jotka pelosta vapisten laskee maailmalle, mutta toisin kuin lasten kohdalla, tulevista teksteistä toivoo tulevan parempia. :D Lapsethan ovat siis täydellisen ihania juuri sellaisina persoonina kuin ovat. 

Eipä kai tässä sen enempää esittelyjä kaivata. Tiedoksenne saatettakoon vain, että tämä teksti on tuotettu englannin kielen aineopinnoissa eräällä kurssilla. Tekstiä työstettiin hyvin eri tavalla, kuin itse normaalisti työskentelen. Tässä käytetiin mm. parityöskentelyä ja edettiin eri tavalla vaiheittain. Hyvähän se on kirjoittajan välillä kokeilla erilaista toimintatapaa. Maybe?

Lukekaa, kommentoikaa. Rohkeasti vaan. :) Olisi oikeasti kiva kuulla, mitä ajatuksia ja tuntemuksia teksti herättää, jos minkäänlaisia. :D

   Tsemppiä loppuviikkoon toivotellen, Tiina

  _________________________________________________________


Silenced hearts

A light thump broke the heavy silence of the forest. Tom bent over to collect the stone he had just dropped on the dry moss. The stone was cold in his hand. A welcome change in the sleepy warmth of the day. But he didn’t stop to enjoy it. The stone was carried over to an old spruce. Under its squeaky branches were already dozens of stones. Some different than others, some alike. They simply lay there as if someone had just dropped them there and forgotten all about them.
              Tom placed the stone among others and turned away. He followed the path that winded among the trees. His gait was neither fast nor slow. It was automatic, just leading him from one place to another. The forest around him was so much alive: birds singing to warn each other about the boy walking by, squirrels running up and down the tree trunks, flowers blooming and spreading their enchanting scent all around. The whole world seemed to be full of vivid colours and life. There was life even in the ones that just stood still.
              Tom continued his steady walk. One step after another. Left. Right. Left. Right. His face looked gray and in shadows even when sun shone on it. His clothes were all covered with dirt. He wore a gray coat even though the day was the warmest day yet that summer. But he didn’t sweat. Nor did he seem to be cold. He was. Plain and simple.
              Nothing changed in the boy’s expression when he reached his destination: a little gray cottage in a small clearing. The door was open, the windows blurry. Even the grass around the cottage seemed less green there than on the other side of the small road that led from the door into the forest. Tom sat down on the steps. If it had been like someone had switched him off, it would have been a change at least. But Tom, he continued existing.
              “Where were you all this time?” asked a man leaning against the wall. The man looked very short at first glance, but when he straightened himself, one could see that he was of average height. His age was difficult to guess since his face was as much in shadows as Tom’s. Shadows that were not cast by the shining sun.
              Tom lifted his gaze into the man’s eyes. “In the forest.”
              The man frowned and looked at Tom helplessly. It had been long since they had had a real conversation. It was as if he had needed physical strength to pull out the words from himself. Only a few days ago he wouldn’t have bothered. Now he had no choice. The roles for both him and Tom had switched.
              “You left so early.” the man started. Tom didn’t answer.
              “When I woke up, you were already gone.” Tom no longer looked at him. His gaze seemed to have turned to his own self. The man knew that look all too well.
              “Tom. I’m talking to you.” He continued, getting a little angry.
              “Yes, you are.”
              “Son!”
              “Merely stating a fact.”
              Tom glanced at his father, who now stood with his mouth open, gazing at his son as if he had punched him in the stomach. As if there was no air left in his lungs. Tom had lost interest in him. He stood up and placed his hands in the cozy pockets of his worn out coat.
              “May I go now?”
              “What? But… Where? Why?”
              Annoyance lifted Tom’s shoulders near his ears.
              “Into the forest”, was his answer. He turned his back to his father and headed back into the green lap of the trees, his gait as calm as ever. His father leaned back against the wall and shrunk into a gray invisible creature.
              “I made soup.” He mentioned to the fading sight of his son. It was his apology to his son, to himself. To the one that had left them.
              “I made soup.”

What’s your name? Do you live somewhere near? Can I get you back home?
              Tom’s gray eyes were fixed on a petite violet growing in a tiny spot that was not covered with stones. The brave plant beamed happiness, but Tom didn’t really see it. The soft female voice echoed in his head. It bounced in his heart, drummed its walls. He didn’t know whether he wanted to hear it or not. If he could only hear that voice and not the other that was risen from his memories.
It was a good day, Tom. It really was. At a day like this I believe I can be happy again.
              Happy again. Happy again. I can be happy again.
              “No. Please don’t. Don’t be happy. Just don’t.”
              Tom’s dirty little face was striped with crystal clear tears. The stones glistened in the mellow light as if trying to comfort him. Tom sat there, his chin resting against his knees. He didn’t really feel the tears. Not on his skin. He felt them tear up the wall that he had been building for weeks now. He couldn’t let that wall fall down. Not now. Not ever.
              “No.” He wiped the tears with angry movements. With a swift sweep of his hand he pushed over a small tower of stones. His face looked hard and all too experienced. His eyes sparkled with ice cold fire. He reached his hand to rip the mocking flower from its roots. He would do it! Then suddenly all expression disappeared from his face. He looked at the flower that shivered in front of him. He touched its delicate petals with his fingertips. Still here. It was still here.
              Tom stood up and left the old spruce. Now he walked slowly. Like an old man whose feet ache after a long day’s walk. But it wasn’t his feet that were aching and heavy and slow. It was his heart. His young heart that pumped blood into his vital veins. A heart that remembers when the mind doesn’t want to, is the heaviest kind of heart.

              For a few weeks Tom, who now lived with only his father, had had to be the adult in the house. He had taken care of them both. A little boy who knew more than he understood. He had collected wood and kept the cottage warm for them to live in. He had cooked meals the best he could and cleaned the house so that his father didn't need to lift his finger. For Tom knew that his father was not able to do all those daily things. He was so afraid of living that Tom believed that he hadn't even noticed that Tom's mother had left. She really had left them. She was not coming back.
              Tom didn't even remember a time when they had been a normal family. As long as he could remember his father had been afraid of things. Afraid of everything. At first Tom's mom had explained that his father was sick. But when it only got worse and weeks became months, Tom didn't believe it any more. It was no sickness. It was a permanent condition. For him those two were different things. They could not be the same. To a sickness there could be a cure. He did not see any cure for his dad.
              Still, life had been good when his mother had been there to take care of him. There had been colour. There had been light. Even song on a good day. What was there now for him? Gray shadows and dull twilight. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere.
              Tom sat down on a flat stone near a small creek. It was a peaceful place. For a normal little boy it would be a happy place. A place for splashing and screaming, jumping and giggling. It should have been that for Tom too.
              Tom took of his shoes and looked at his dirty socks. When had he changed them? He didn't remember. His mom would have told him to change them. Immediately. Tom saw the stains on them. He saw them. Black and brown spots and stripes, and when he tilted his ankle a little, he saw blueberry stains on his sole. He stared at one dark blue spot. It was colour after all. On his dirty gray sock. Like a sign of hope. How silly.
              Tom placed his feet in the creek and let the water flush them. It felt good and calming. Like a mother's touch. A sad smile rose on his face and for the first time in ages he really saw what was around him. He saw the long trees that were humming around him. The blue sky that covered everything like a soft blanket. Yellow and red flowers that made the air smell fresh and full in the same time. It really was a beautiful summer day. On a day like this one could believe that happiness was still achievable. Perhaps.
              Tom touched the surface of the water with his right hand. The water made him feel something. At least something. He took water in his hands and washed his face. He felt it wash away some of his weariness. It rinsed away the shadows and the sunshine reached his skin again. He felt its warmth. It almost felt good.
              Tom didn't notice that he was being watched. A woman riding a stallion, black as the deepest shadows, had come near him. The woman had stopped his horse behind some tall pine trees and was now wondering whether she should approach the child or not. When she just sat there on her horse and hesitated, the boy started singing. It was an old song. A forgotten one. Sad but hopefull. The still air scattered his voice into small pieces that reached the woman's heart. They worked as a key to her lonely soul. How comforting that felt. How right and yet strange.
              The woman carefully dismounted her horse. Yet for another minute she waited, unsure of how to proceed. Her palms sweated inside her riding gloves. She had to take them of and swipe her palms on her breeches. It was something that she seldom did. A fine lady like her never sweated and never ever swiped her hands on her clothes. But she didn't think of herself as a fine lady there. Not now, not in the woods with her horse and the boy. She was nowhere. She was no one, at least no one she knew anymore.
              She took a tight grip of her horse's reins and started to approach the boy. He seemed to be at the end of the song. Its melody seemed to be fading as the child's voice as well. Some separate sounds and words. Pieces of a completed puzzle torn apart and thrown in the air. The boy sat still and lifted his face towards the sky. He closed his eyes and smiled faintly. The woman felt the sight of that little smile warm her heart. She had almost reached the boy when he opened his eyes and looked straight at her. The smile was no longer there, but neither was sadness in his eyes. Maybe that was improvement, she just didn't know whether she had anything to do with it.
              “Oh”, was everything the boy said. The expression revealed no emotions, no thoughts. He didn't seem to be surprised nor annoyed any more than happy. It was a statement. He was pointing out a fact.
              “Yes.”
              For several minutes those were the only words they said to each other. The boy turned his gaze from her eyes and studied her appearance. She was like a delicate rose in a royal garden. Fresh and vigorous. It was obvious that she had been riding for a while already. The horse's clean coat was wet with sweat on the side of its neck and as polished as the lady looked some hair had escaped from the disciplined bun and touched her cheek. She was smiling just a little but the smile still reached her eyes. A trimmed garden rose never looked as warmhearted.
              “I was dipping my feet in the water. It feels nice.” said Tom smiling. The reserved adult in him was gone and he sounded like a small boy that he was after all.
              “I'm sure it does. It looks really refreshing.”
              “You should try it too. You can sit next to me, the stone is big enough for two.”
              The invitation was made on a whim and it was sincere. The woman could not resist such a request. She had to embrace this opportunity. It were moments like these that she had been missing for years. So she bent down and took off her boots and her socks. Tom waved his legs and little drops of water glittered in the air. It was magical.
              “I'm Charlotte.”
              “I know. You told me, remember?”
              Charlotte's smile showed how pleased she was to hear that. The boy had seemed so lost and extremely sad when she had met him for the first time that it had broke her heart when she had thought it could not be broken anymore. For her it was a small miracle to know that the boy had been able to remember. There was the possibility that she had meant something for him.
              Charlotte carefully dipped her toes in the water. It felt cool but not cold. She placed her feet under the surface next to the boy's. How small his feet seemed. How young was he actually?
              “Heavenly”, said Charlotte and smiled at Tom. Tom grinned, which felt odd since he hadn't done it in weeks, maybe not in months. He splattered some more water and bursted into laughter. The sound of that scared him at first but when Charlotte started laughing as well he felt more secure. They laughed together and the sun shone and water glistened. For a little moment there was joy in their life. It lasted as long as the sunshine.
              The laughter died when clouds hid the sun. Wind blew through the forest and made the water ripple. Tom fell back into his usual silence. He lifted his feet from the creek, took his wet socks off and put his shoes on. He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. The child in him had silenced. The moment was gone. It had changed nothing, not really. But it had been beautiful. It had encouraged him.
              “I have to go home now”, Tom said and looked at Charlotte. It was as if he wanted to apologize. Charlotte felt her heart ache. This child was not hers and could never be.
              “I understand”, she answered and stood up too. Her boots lay in the grass and she was still holding her socks in her hand. She had never felt more naked than at that moment. The good manners could not help her there.
              “Maybe we get to see each other sometimes in the forest like this.”
              “Perhaps. I don't know.”
              “I know I would like that. I hope that if I happen to bump into you you won't run away.”
              “I won't”, Tom promised and took one last look at Charlotte. Then he turned away and walked quickly towards the treeline.
              “I wish you all the best”, said Charlotte. The boy didn't turn. He knew that he was a little rude now but he couldn't stop. He needed his strength for something else.
              Charlotte stood there when the sun peeked behind the clouds. She stood there when the birds started singing. She stood there holding her socks and seeing nothing, feeling absolutely nothing. It had been a beatifull dream, just not for her.

              Tom's father was inside the cottage eating cold soup. Tom suddenly felt shy when he entered the room. He went to the cupboard and took a plate and a spoon. He scooped some soup into his plate and started eating. The soup would have tasted better if it had been warm but it filled his stomach anyhow. After they had finished their meal they sat there in complete silence looking at their hands. It was a huge distance between them. They were two broken souls left alone together. Gray characters with similar looks. Dust coloured hair and gray eyes. The same lonely look in their eyes. The same surrendered posture. Were they willing to give up now? To admit that they had both given up a long time ago?
              “Son.”
              “Dad.”
              “I was worried you would not come back.”
              Tom looked like he was about to stand up. But he didn't. He swallowed tears that were climbing up his throat. It was not time for them yet.
              “She said that she can be happy again”, Tom nearly whispered. Once again there was silence between them. Tom's father sighed heavily. He put his hands on the table and stood up like a much older man, supporting his weight on his hands. He stood there a moment, gathering himself. Then he walked determinately to the other side of the table. He sat down next to his son, took his hand into his and squeezed gently. It was the warmest touch Tom had felt since her mother had left.
              “If she could be happy again, why did she leave?” Tom asked, tears running down his cheeks.
              His father looked crushed. It hurt him to see the boy like that. This was a conversation they should have had weeks ago.
              “I guess that was the reason why she left.” A hint of warmth was visible in his voice.
              “She just couldn't be happy here. With me. And she loved you so much that she had to give you an explanation, even if it was an unclear one.”
              “Why didn't she take me with her?” asked Tom and the anger that he hadn't known he felt broke his voice.
              “I guess she loved me too”, his father answered and smiled tiredly.
              Tom cried silent tears. He had shrunk into a little child, younger than his years. His father took him clumsily into his lap and rocked him humming meaningless words. For himself. For his son.
              They sat like that until Tom's tears dried and his sobs faded. The day had turned into night. It was silent outside and moths had started to gather against the window. Tom felt exhausted. He hold onto his dad until his arms were aching. And still he kept holding on. He could not let go.
              Tom's father stood up. For the first time in ages he felt strong. He was the one carrying his son into bed. He would be the one for Tom. He had to. He needed to. He wanted to.
              Tom felt so sleepy but he fought against it. He suddenly felt so scared. He had to be sure.
              “Dad. Don't go.”
              “I won't. I'm here son. I'm right here. Sleep well, child. Dad is here.”
              Tom's fear shrunk until it disappeared entirely. He was almost asleep when he had to say something. Just one more thing.
              “Will she come back?”
              Several competing emotions choked his father. But there was only one answer that was ok.
              “She might. She just might.”
              Tom fell asleep with a lightened heart.
              Good. Good.
             


 

perjantai 12. lokakuuta 2018

Pitäisikö jokaisen olla luonnonsuojelija?

Tiedättekös, minä en ymmärrä kissanvihaajia. Enkä koiranvihaajia. Enkä lastenvihaajia. Ymmärrän, jos joku ei pidä kissoista, koirista tai lapsista. Mutta miksi vihata? Minkä ihmeen takia kuluttaa energiaansa johonkin sellaiseen? Halusit tai et, kissoilla, koirilla ja lapsilla on aivan yhtä suuri oikeus olla täällä kuin sinulla. Ja jos et pidä edellä mainituista, ei sinun tarvitse niitä hankkia. Se ei silti oikeuta sinua tekemään niille pahaa. On järkyttävää, että eläimiin kohdistuneet raakuudet ovat lisääntyneet. Mikä järki on viskellä kadun varsille rotanmyrkkyä sisältäviä lihapullia? Viskellä kissanpentuja autosta? Aivan, ei siinä ole järkeä. Myös luonnon eläimillä on yhtä suuri oikeus olla täällä kuin meillä. Jos et halua, älä osallistu niistä huolehtimiseen, mutta älä myöskään aiheuta niille aiheetonta kärsimystä. 

 


Mutta entäs ne ihmiset, jotka sanovat, etteivät pidä luonnosta? Minun korviini se kuulostaa todella kummalliselta. Joo, minä olen niitä ihmisiä, jotka viihtyvät metsässä ihan keskellä sitä luontoa. Saan nyt asua maalla, ja tänäkin aamuna kuuntelin ihastuneena korpin ääntelyä. Katsoin sen lentelyä lahden yli. Nautin luonnon tarjoamista väreistä, tuoksuista ja äänistä. Ymmärrän sen, etteivät kaikki pidä metsässä liikkumisesta. Kaikkien ei tarvitse pitää sienestämisestä tai marjojen poimimisesta. Jos joku juoksee mieluummin juoksumatolla kuin poluilla, niin siitä vaan. Kyllä meitä mahtuu tänne monenlaista kulkijaa.



Mutta ettei pitäisi luonnosta? Mitä on luonto? Se on elämää ympärillämme. Missä pääset pakoon sitä? Jos et pidä luonnosta, etkö pidä puistoista kaupungissa? Kadunvarsien lehmuksista? Kukista? Vaikka et haluaisi itsellesi niitä hoidettavaksi, haluaisitko elää maailmassa, jossa niitä ei olisi ollenkaan? Kai tiedät, ettei sellainen maailma ole mahdollinen? Tai jos olisi, ei siellä olisi sijaa ihmisellekään.



Ihminenkin on osa luontoa. Ja luonto on paljon muutakin kuin metsä. Sitä olen yrittänyt oppilailleni opettajan urani aikana selittää. Jos oppilaat eivät välitä, miten metsämme voivat, ymmärtävät he kuitenkin asian yleensä viimeistään siinä kohtaa, kun puhutaan uimarannoista. Niin, nekin ovat osa luontoa. Ei ole sama, jättääkö roskia metsään. Ei ole sama, heittääkö ES-tölkin pellolle. Me emme voi hengittää ilman luontoa. Jos haluamme elää ja voida hyvin tällä pallolla, meidän pitää pitää siitä huolta.



Joten kyllä. Jokaisen pitäisi olla luonnonsuojelija. Jos et tee sitä luonnon takia, tee se itsesi takia. Sinäkin olet osa luontoa. Koska sinäkin hengität. Ei sinun tarvitse ryhtyä vegaaniksi tai lahjoittaa jokaiselle mahdolliselle ympäristöjärjestölle. Jospa aloittaisit siitä, että pitäisit huolen siitä, että sinun roskasi päätyvät roskakoriin. Jospa kotona kierrättäisit. Meillä Suomessa se on nykyään kuitenkin aika helppoa. Ja tiedätkö, jos tarvitset siinä apua, luulen, että aika moni on valmis auttamaan. Niin, ja älä kohtele kaltoin eläimiä. Sen ei luulisi olevan vaikeaa.

keskiviikko 12. syyskuuta 2018

My search is over

Olin jokseenkin varma, että edellisestä postauksestani olisi kulunut enemmänkin aikaa, mutta vielä tämän vuoden tammikuussa olen tänne julkaissut tekstiä. Onhan siitä vierähtänyt aikaa, muttei sentään vuotta, vaikka siltä se tuntuu. Jotta pääsen nopeasti asiaan, josta haluan tänään kirjoittaa (koska.), niin kerron vain hyvin lyhyesti, mitä tällä välin on tapahtunut. Töitä oli keväällä paljon palkkatyön ja opiskelun merkeissä, mikä johti lopulta unettomuuteen ja 2,5 viikon sairaslomaan. Tuo herätys oli tarpeen, sillä sain korjattua tärkeysjärjestystäni oikeampaan suuntaan. Hoidin kuitenkin työni kunnialla loppuun, ainakin omasta mielestäni, ja kesäkuussa sain paperit suoritetuista englannin kielen aineopinnoista. Kolme vuotta kestänyt hikoilu kokoaikatyön, opiskelun ja yh-äitiyden parissa oli päättynyt. Kesäkuussa muutimme lasten kanssa Savonlinnasta takaisin Pohjois-Karjalaan, samassa kuussa menin myös kihloihin. Elokuussa Liia aloitti eka luokan, ja viime viikolla menin elämäni miehen kanssa naimisiin. Ammatillisesti olen juuri nyt hukassa, mutta muuten olen löytänyt kotiin. Tilinpäätös: reippaasti plussan puolella.


Yllättääkö, että haluan puhua rakkaudesta? Niinpä. Vielä yksi teksti rakkaudesta. Onhan siitä jo kirjoitettu ihan älyttömästi. Minä itsekin olen jo aiheelle omistanut blogikirjoituksen joskus. Tai useamminkin. Ja tässä sitä taas ollaan. Kirjoitan tätä tekstiä, sillä olen oivaltanut jotain. Tai ehkä pikemminkin oppinut pukemaan tuntemukset sanoiksi. Oivallus saattoi tapahtua jo aiemmin. Ehkä kasvoin siihen viime vuosien aikana.

Aivan ensimmäiseksi haluan sanoa, että mielestäni sanonta "rakkaus on sokea" on täyttä paskaa. "Mutta rakastuneena sitä ei ehkä huomaa niitä toisen huonoja puolia tai ei halua kiinnittää niihin huomiota, että onhan se sillä tavalla sokeaa." Juu. Mutta rakastuminen ja rakastaminen ovat kaksi eri asiaa. Rakastuminen voi syventyä rakkaudeksi. Rakastava voi rakastua kumppaniinsa uudelleen. Joka tapauksessa rakastuminen on enemmän hetken huumaa kuin rakastaminen, joka vaatii tietoisempaa toimintaa. Rakastaminen on tahtotila. Kun rakastaa jota kuta, hyväksyy hänet sellaisena, kuin hän on. Kun rakastaa, katsoo toista ja näkee hänet. Näkee hänen hyvät ja kauniit puolensa, mutta myös ne virheet ja rosot, joita hänessä on. Näkee ja hyväksyy. Rakastaa silti. Jos tietoisesti sulkee silmänsä toisen huonoilta puolilta, ei halua katsoa niitä, onko se rakastamista? Kärjistettynähän se on sitä, kun jää väkivaltaiseen suhteeseen, koska "rakastaa" toista. Väärin. Ei siihen suhteeseen rakkaudesta jää. Ehkä sitä jää pelosta tai riippuvuuden takia. Ihminen voi addiktoitua niin monenlaisiin asioihin. 

Rakkaus näkee. Kukaan meistähän ei ole täydellinen. Jokaisella on omat pelkonsa ja koettelemuksensa, itsensä ja muiden kanssa. Se on rakkautta, kun toinen näkee minussa ne puolet, joista en itsessäni pidä. Näkee ja haluaa silti herätä joka aamu viereltäni. Enkä nyt puhu ulkoisista ominaisuuksista, vaan luoteen "heikkouksista". Minä rakastan miestäni, koska hän on rosoinen. Jos hän olisi täydellinen, hän ei olisi todellinen. Minä en halua herätä tästä jonain aamuna ja todeta kaiken olleen vain ihanaa unta. Minä haluan riidellä ja sopia, haluan kantaa huolta yhdessä ja iloita, kun sen aika on. Minä haluan hänen rinnallaan kasvaa ihmisenä. Haluan oppia tuntemaan entistä paremmin itseni ja hänet. Mekin riitelemme, usein täysin typeristä asioista, mutta emme mene koskaan nukkumaan vihaisina. Me puhumme asiat selviksi, vaikka se tarkoittaisi vähän lyhyempiä yöunia. Me myönnämme omat virheemme, vaikka se onkin joskus karvas kalkki nieltäväksi. Arvostan suuresti sitä, että hänkin yrittää kasvaa vielä paremmaksi ihmiseksi. Me olemme tiimi.

Minä toivoin rinnalleni ihmistä, jonka kanssa kokisin olevani tasavertainen. Jolle uskallan puhua, silloinkin, kun vähän hävettää omat ajatukseni ja reaktioni. (Viehän se vähän aikaa, ennen kuin saan asian kakaistua ulos, mutta kuitenkin.) En myöskään halua, ettei kumppanini uskaltaisi puhua minulle. Hänen harteilleen ei tule sellaista taakkaa, jota en olisi valmis hänen kanssaan jakamaan. Vaikka olenkin herkkä, olen silti vahva. Hänen rinnallaan vielä vahvempi. 

Me emme ole kaikesta samaa mieltä. Me emme ole samanlaisia. Olen itse ajatellut sen niin, että kumppaneiden välillä täytyy olla vähän kitkaa. Jos tarttumapintaa ei ole, olisi liian helppoa luistaa erilleen. Kitka pitää kappaleet yhdessä. Mutta liian suuri kitka aiheuttaisi vakavia säröjä kappaleisiin. Me emme ole samanlaisia, mutta riittävän samankaltaisia. Olemme myös riittävän erilaisia. Olemme yhtä ja kuitenkin erilliset. Yhdessä enemmän kuin osiemme summa. Yksi plus yksi, jotain muuta kuin kaksi. 

Rakkaani. Sinä sovit minulle. Tiedän, että seisoisit rinnallani taistelussa. Et jättäisi minua taistelemaan yksin, muttet myöskään työntäisi minua syrjään. Sinä hyväksyt minun jokaisen puoleni. Sen naisellisen, joka tykkää pukeutua mekkoihin ja korkokenkiin. Sen "poikatytön", joka ei välitä ulkonäöstään, kun heiluttaa kirvestä suuremmalla innolla kuin taidolla. Sen kilpailuviettisen, joka toisaalta ei anna periksi ja toisaalta vähättelee itseään, ettei tuleva mahdollinen tappio kirvelisi niin kovasti. Sen itsevarmuutta uhkuvan tyypin, joka hymyillen kuvailee itseään keräilyharvinaisuudeksi. Sen herkkiksen, joka itkee Late Lammas -elokuvaa katsoessaan. Eikä siinä vielä kaikki, mutta riittää tältä erää. You get the point. Sinun kanssasi saan itkeä ja nauraa, pelleillä ja keskustella vakavia. Kanssasi elämä ei ole mustavalkoista, vaan siitä löytyy kaikki sateenkaaren värit ja enemmän. Ja mikä oikeastaan tärkeintä, sinäkin sitoudut. Et vain antamalla minulle sormuksen. Sehän on pelkkä symboli. Kyse on kaikesta siitä, mitä se tarkoittaa. Elämää. Se tarkoittaa elämää. Tässä on perustukset, joiden varaan me rakennamme kotimme.

Kiitos, kun avasit sydämesi minulle. Kiitos, kun sinäkin uskalsit. Kaiken kokemamme jälkeen ja ansiosta olemme tässä. Sinä ja minä. Antaa tulla lunta tupaan, kyllä me yhdessä lapioimme sen pihalle.

Sinun, nyt ja huomenna,

  Tiina

(Kuva: Pauli Järviluoto Photography. Suosittelemme. 5/5.)

P.S. Sanotaan niinkin, ettei se vaihtamalla parane. Totta, jos et katso peiliin ja mieti, miksi se ei toiminut. Jos uskallat katsoa kunnolla, voit oppia jotain itsestäsi. Jos vielä käytät tätä oppimaasi seuraavalla kerralla, vaihtamalla paranee.