Hemma från Sydafrika

Hemma från Sydafrika

Kliver av arlanda express som att jag är så mycket lättare än 40kg väskor. Tror aldrig jag varit gladare i att komma hem, och det säger något efter detta magiska liv med många äventyr fram o tillbaka. Hoppar av tåget ut i kylan i en röd satinkimono som jag försöker övertyga alla blickar visst passar svensk vinter. Hoppar in mot spottkoppen med en rygga på magen, en på ryggen, en väska i handen. Lättare än nånsin. Det ni ✨Hemma, slask o allt, hemma, barrskogar, hemma, espresso house, hemma, familjen o djuren, hemma, staden. Stockholm. Hemma. This land of my roots and heart I’m back.

Spring 2015

My heart aches as it tries to wrap itself around it all; all the moments of magic shared with beautiful strangers never met again, how it felt right then beating, how it intensified with a glorious sip of coffee and skipped a beat sensing a soul sister smile, riding tightly knit, rebelliously together on a bike across the rice fields and glimpses of a boundless blue Indian Ocean calling us home.Because what do you do with moments so deeply engraved in your soul, so infinitely containing everything that you came here to witness and create? It’s almost too much. It’s almost too much to handle. Too much for this little heart of mine to carry. And somewhere, it breaks. It breaks in tiny cracks all around it, gradually, perpetually, when it is time again. Months later. But you know, as our dear friend Leonard Cohen also witnessed, to break and to be broken is to let the light in. Let the light in as you hold tight the darkness still, thanking it for what it taught you.