I’m back in Sweden. For about a month, with essentially no plans, aside from a couple freelance jobs and maybe some research. It’s a glorious feeling and I have been met with sunshine, warm weather, and probably too much alcohol for my jetlagged liver to handle.
It’s strange being back. Like coming home, but not. I can slide into the Swedish way of life much easier than I thought. I can sit in silence on the subway. I can avoid eye contact on the street. I can sit on a bench with my eyes closed and my head tilted to the sun. Hell, I can even throw on a halfway tight shirt and pretend that I’m not horribly uncomfortable (that being said, I cannot put on a pair of red pants. I just can’t.).
Since being back though, I’ve been inundated with feelings of familiarity. With friends, family, and the city in general. I have realized that my Swedishness sat deeper than I maybe cared to admit when I left this country a year ago. Turns out I’m surprisingly ok with that.
Of course, being ok with that has also resulted in me ingesting nearly 300 grams of extra-salted butter in a week. Which I’m not sure whether I should be proud of or be ashamed of. Either way, it was a delicious week. It has also resulted in me buying way too much filmjölk and Kalaspuffar. Which was also delicious but resulted in that distinct sugar puff scented urine. Just a lovely way to end your morning pee. It has resulted in me spending times wandering around the city. Wandering into and out of museums. Bookstores. Cafes. Bars. But most importantly, it has resulted in me visiting old friends and family. And there is really nothing I’d rather be doing this summer.
Welcome to Sweden. Again.
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