Write about your first computer.
Warning; very off-topic, with details and some opinions
For some reason I’m in a dark mood in the bright February morning light of day.
Yes, my father bought me my first laptop. It was in white colour. I was playing Sims games on it, I did family research any time of day or night, or in Midnight sun season. It was my own personal world, my PC friend of the late 2000s youth experience in a kind of medium-large size Northern Norwegian town.
It was the best gift I had gotten from him, yet he didn’t listen when I tried to hear him.
I see you, that little boy in the cold
world, they were not kind to you
at all, so wicked names
and very cruel games,
the racist violence, injustice, dyslexia
and turning to the drinks
and the other intoxicated states
medication, and the dark side
I understand all too well, but
I see you,
I see right through to you
and I wish
you could see me too
There is this situation here of who is Norwegian and not, I grew up with non-European refugee best friends around that helped me feel like I belong. Someone cared. This was in the 2000s.
In the 1970s? Not so. These evil youths did every possible cruel things to him, because he wasn’t like them. They chased him, they beat him, they lied about him to teachers and school didn’t hear him at all. I don’t care at all it’s over 50 years ago, he was a little innocent boy doing no harm, no wrong. He could draw with both hands. He rescued kittens and he was deeply curious about the world. A true Pisces, creative even through everything. It was wrong what happened to him. No one ever deserves a peed-in gym bag. Especially not a seven year old boy. Full stop.
And you know what? It wasn’t him who told me this, because they broke him. He found relief in the form of beverages and couldn’t be my father I needed then. They broke me too, even though I wasn’t there to protect him. Faen altså, det er et mørkt kapittel her i nord for kun 50 år siden. And then in 2009 I knew what the xenophobia really was like, completely by surprise someone used that word toward me directly. I struggled to believe it first, then it landed where it had to.
Did I mention I’m in a dark mood?
But now we have the situation that we have to prove our identity with different criteria that are not clear and not ethical from the perspective of most of us. I’m not only Norwegian and I’m not Sámi enough for the identity police. And as I say often I’m a proud Kven.
My roots go back many centuries in far-Northern Finland, traced to 1600s. I know a little bit of Finnish and Northern Sámi language because I love learning languages especially the ones my ancestors knew as home talk since time began.
Rambling today, but the day is still young. Things change, life is wonderful in a literal sense. Not pure good as in nothing is wrong, but fascinating and worth the time here.
Just one more, I said
Walking up hills
Uphill battle, ancestors struggle
Heavy backpack, full of wonder
Strength and determination
Gets me through
Sometimes I write things. A couple of times it maybe makes sense. Sometimes it’s hard. Always it’s real.
Thank you for visiting, fellow terrestrial beings of this age ❤
Northern experience 