Meeting her again
There’s a side of me that I sometimes miss. Or perhaps more accurately, a part of me that doesn’t get fed very often these days.
During my last few years in Sweden I was a university student, and so were most of my friends. I know this isn’t true for everyone, but within my circle enjoying school — especially at that level — was very much a thing. We were curious. Hungry to learn. Interested in exploring the world from an academic point of view.
Back then we often had long conversations — sometimes deep, sometimes intricate, but always meaningful. We looked at life from different perspectives, shared our thoughts openly, and welcomed the ideas of others.
Reading was also a natural part of our lives. My tiny apartment was filled with books, and I rarely left the house without one in my bag. Diving into literature — well-written pieces that sparked something inside — brought an immense sense of meaning to my life.
Every now and then we treated ourselves to the theatre. I still remember the first play I ever saw. It left me completely speechless, moved to the very core of my being. I would even call it a sacred experience.
Today my life looks very different.
I live in Thailand, on a tropical island surrounded by nature, with the sun almost always wrapped around us. I get to serve what feels like my true purpose while raising a little family. In many ways it’s a dream. I feel lucky, grateful, deeply rich in the life I have created here.
And truly — I wouldn’t want to change a thing.
But that part of me — I’m not even sure what to call her — sometimes makes herself known.
Sometimes I feel her when I come across a photo from Sweden: the city bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the air cool, the scents familiar.
Sometimes she appears while I’m reading, when carefully chosen words awaken a quiet hunger for more.
And sometimes it happens through language. Speaking Swedish rather than English comes with a surprising ease. In my everyday life I mostly think, write, dream and speak in English. But when I switch — when a friend from home is visiting, or during a phone call — something shifts. I notice myself becoming slightly sharper, a bit more poetic, maybe even funnier.
I sometimes wonder if this side of me is becoming more audible now simply because I’m ready to meet her again.
For the past six years much of my attention has gone toward work and, above all, motherhood. I’ve never really felt that I lost myself — something I know can happen when life changes so dramatically — but I do recognize that priorities shift along the way. They have to, in order for life to work.
Still, a small part of me longs for the things that once nourished this other side.
’m not entirely sure how to give myself more of that here. This island offers so much — an abundance, really — but I’m unlikely to stumble upon the kind of bookshop where I once browsed for hours, or the theatre plays that moved me so deeply.
Perhaps my next trip to Sweden simply needs to happen sooner than planned.
Or perhaps this is simply a gentle reminder that certain parts of us never disappear. They wait quietly, patient and unchanged, until we are ready to meet them again.
