Mt Everest is 8,848 m high, the Mariana trench is 10,994 m deep. Does that mean that our frame of reference is higher than it is low? Or is the depths by which we can sink simply lower than the heights by…
Four walls and a window to the soul
Grey clouds hangs heavy over a Stockholm that is buzzing not out of excitement, but out of necessity. For those that hurriedly head between the metro to the store to back home again, the wind tucks in hair and open…
Prototypes and Archetypes: what does it mean to have a type?
Earlier today I was having a video chat with Daffodil and out of nowhere she tells me she is looking forward to meet my “guy”. Not having one, she is referring to any future lover and telling me he must…
Mufasa fell to his death: thoughts on pain and sorrow
It is entirely by accident that my bench in the sun is situated at an animal graveyard. But it provides a sort of appropriate absurdity that it is in between the beloved remains of what once were parakeets and kittens…
…and a world held its breath
The rapid spread of covid-19 got the whole world standing on their toes. And what is the health hazard for hundreds of thousands, is the economic collapse of hundreds of millions. Everything postponed, everything cancelled. People losing their jobs. Local…
Sea of Secrets
The mist rolls in like a wave, without warning and as inescapable as breathing. In the cold air, an airborne sea of water droplets form a unity solely enabled through complete separation; particles prohibited to fuse into drops too heavy…
Sunyata
The past few week, maybe months, I have been increasingly fascinated by the concept of dissolving one’s own individuality. Similarly to how a stone on the beach gets softer and more uniform with repeated caresses from sand and waves. Hard…
Not quite right
Sometimes things need to be said, only there is no elegant way of doing it. You struggle with words that does not seem quite right and when it all comes down to it, people hear what you say not what…
The mystery of the missing socks: a sort of love story for the misfits
We have all been there. Laundry has been done, and after tirelessly matching all the socks, only two are left and they clearly do not to belong together. It makes no sense, yet it happens all the time. Anne was…
At a cafe in Jodhpur, India
The sun sets in a blaze of passionate orange that within minutes turns into the violent passion of purple. Me and Daffodil are in Jodhpur, India, and after one of those perfect days