Month: March, 2015

Next term: The end of insecurities

I think back on the term that has passed and think of what a fool I’ve been. How worried I have been when there really hasn’t been a need for it. I know that he likes me and that I like him and that home is always home and that I know how to study literature. Next term will be the term where insecurities must end. Believe in yourself and don’t worry as much about what other people think. Be confident in that he likes you – why else would he spend so much time with you, a large part of the day and every night?


Pores and pimples – there’s no such thing as perfection

IMG_8966_edited IMG_8970_edited IMG_8972_edited IMG_8979_edited

I have ugly days and pretty days. Moments where I feel glorious and other times when I just want to hide and let no one see me. Some days I wear a lot of make-up, others just a little. Rarely I wear none.

The things is though, that no matter how I feel about my own looks, I probably look pretty much the same to other people. My ugly days and pretty days are all in my own head and not in others’. They can think that “Oh, that’s what Rebecca looks like with eye-liner” or “Hm, she’s not wearing make-up today” but their view of what I look like probably doesn’t change when mine does.

After all, I am the one who have never actually seen myself properly – I know least what I actually look like. Photos, mirrors and reflections are all representations and the 3D me is only ever seen by others. Therefore, I am, most certainly, the worst at commenting on what I look like. And anyhow, I don’t believe that there’s such a thing as perfection.




I think that 2 weeks apart are a maximum for what is healthy. Four are therefore two too many. If you are apart for two weeks it can feel like an eternity in the beginning but before you know it one week will have passed and surviving the next doesn’t feel so difficult any more.

If you are apart for four weeks, the first week is terrible because the impact of 28 days in different places lingers over you at all times. When this week has passed you are happy that there’s 1 week less until you meet again but there are still 3 weeks to go and those 3 weeks feel like they will never never ever pass.

I miss you. I miss you so bloody much it hurts.

Lost & Found

I think I lost myself for a while. Lost in-between languages, deadlines, countries and nights out. Lost between does he like me or does he not, between happy and sad.

It’s all been about him, hasn’t it? I’ve been lying on my bed when he’s not there and I’ve forced myself to get up and be my own feminist role model. I’ve been cautious in my actions, not wanting to destroy anything between us two. I’ve stopped doing things that I like. I’ve followed his every wave even when he hasn’t been waving.

It culminated tonight. He went out for a meal with his friends from the corridor and as I am The Best at making myself sad and worried (especially when I’m stressed) I cried myself to sleep. Or to not-sleep, because I couldn’t fall asleep. I’ve always said that falling asleep has been my thing – no matter what it has never been an issue.

I cried because I’m stressed, I am homesick, I am insecure and I will miss him loads when I go back to Sweden for the Easter Holiday. I texted him but he didn’t reply. My instant response to that was “He doesn’t like me anymore” (by far the most stupid and dangerous assumption one can make while in a relationship).

I saw a picture from my home town on Instagram and started crying again.

At 2am I gave up that thing called sleep and walked to the kitchen. I had water. I spent about 7 minutes scrubbing the burned milk of the bottom of my saucepan. I got it off. I saw that the lights were on in the other kitchen and walked there after turning them off in my own. It was Aimee. She was writing her essay. She was still drunk. I’ve never really spoken to her before. We had a nice chat. O and W joined. I felt better.

At 4am I walked to his room. I knocked. He said “No”. I said “Please”. He opened. He was half asleep and more than half drunk as I crawled into bed with him. After a while I fell asleep.

He didn’t and at 6.22 I woke up again. I asked “Are you annoyed with me for coming in here?”. He said he was annoyed with me waking him up because now he couldn’t get back to sleep. I said sorry. I felt like crying again.

He said “Don’t be so sad. It’s not the worst thing you can do to someone”.

I said “I know” with tears in my voice.

He asked me what I was thinking at it all came out. Everything that is wrong. I ended it with: “It’s just that sometimes I really feel like crying even if I don’t know why. And I feel like crying even though I know I don’t have a reason to.”

“I’ve noticed that”, he said. “It reminds me a lot of how I used to be towards my first girlfriend?”


“I used to be very sad and depressed towards her. It’s like you for the first time have someone to share these things with and then you just want to let it all come out.”

What he said made me think and even though I have had people to share these things with previously I see what he means. I think I have tried to substitute him for everything that used to be familiar to me. Every sense of comfort I ever got from elsewhere, from home from the city where I live from family from friends, has now been transferred onto him. I thought: “That’s not the way to do it.”

He left the room and went to the bathroom. Said he might be sick. I stayed for a while. He came back; I left.

I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I made myself a big strong mug of morning coffee. The sun is shining beautifully outside the window. Early morning light, is there anything better? I walked to my room and smiled towards my reflection in the mirror.

I’ve got this now. I think.

I am writing this now.

I wish you could hear the birds that are singing outside my window.


The Bookshop in the Middle of Nowhere


“Don’t fucking touch me. It’s not OK!”

It’s a blur. I’m dancing. I am wearing that tight dress I bought a few weeks ago for the first time. I’ve got my heels on. I feel good.

A guy approaches. He comes closer, I move. I step up onto the little platform next to O and W and continue dancing. Suddenly I feel something touching my butt. It’s the guy I just moved away from. His sleazy hand is touching me.

I punch him hard on the arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me. It’s not OK” I shout trough the music.

I glare.

His friends and him hold up their middle fingers towards me as signs of disapproval. I angrily point back and move away. They are not worth my attention. They laugh.

I am now angry. They have no right to touch me just because I happen to look good, wear a tight dress and be a female. They definitely are NOT allowed to touch me as I have already signalled once previously that I am not interested.

It is tiresome that it always has to be this way: that every time I go out I have to fend them off. I have to tell them several times that I am not interested. I shake my head, I cross my arms in front of me. I say “No”, I say “I have a boyfriend”. Still they continue. They seek my eye, they want me to follow, they put their arm around me or their tie or try to dance with me.

Can’t I just be allowed to dance in peace? I would like to be able to go out one night and dance on my own without anyone approaching me at all. Will that ever happen, I wonder? As it is now, I think not.

Night out


A night out. In Birmingham of all places. Why? I am not entirely sure.

There’s a 40 min bus ride there and we sit next to each other. I have my hand on his thigh and strokes it. He does the same to me and I know that we both desperately just want to touch each other but won’t because we are being observed by other people from the corridor. In the seats in front of us and in the ones behind. I think that No Public Display of Affection is our tacit agreement of the relationship. The outspoken one is the boundary we made in week 9 last term: No sharing beds with people of The Opposite Sex.

In the club I make him buy me a drink. I drink it quickly and buy myself another one. IMG_0440_edited

We dance. I dance mostly with M but also a little bit with him. It is that thing with public display of affection again. He spins me around, he holds my hand but we are at a rather safe distance. Clean.

At one point he leaves the dance floor and sits in one of the sofas on the side. I sit down next to him, swing my legs across his and kiss him. At that very point I remember thinking it is the best kiss I’ve ever had and that there is nothing better than His Sweet Kisses. IMG_0433_edited

Stress, depress & PMS.

He makes me calm but sometimes oh so stressed but I have however come to the conclusion that the stress grounds itself in my own self-doubts and not in him. Last week was shit. There is no other way of summarising it. Stress, depress and PMS – more or less. Constant worrying and I just felt like crying. It all culminated on Thursday.

I woke up – I cried.

I showered – I cried.

I made tea for him and me and dropped the tea bag on the floor – I cried.

I laid on his bed with his arms around me – I cried.

And I said I felt that I was a burden  by constantly disturbing him when I know that he has a lot of work to do and he said: “Do you really think I think my maths degree is more important than you?” and I remember thinking that it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me and it felt a little bit better.

I haven’t cried since which is good I suppose.

1, 2, 3, 4. Tell me that you love me more.

Sometimes I have to remind myself to  be my own feminist role model. To say what I want to say even if it might not be what people want to hear. I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t lay face down on my bed with my head in the pillows just because he is still playing pool with The Lads or because he might go out one night without me. And just because he said this or said that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like me any more.

In short: I have to remember not to lose myself even if I’ve got him now. He is a person, I am another one and even if we are one we are still two and different and it has to remain that way.