Karoline's Blog, Written Words

Hvorfor snakker vi ikke om mig?

“Hvorfor snakket vi ikke om mig” af Flæs på Teatret Ved Sorte Hest er et af de mest ægte og spot on stykker jeg længe har set!

Med skuespillerne Mette Søndergaard Nielsen og Sofie Lund Kaufmanas som de eneste på scenen, fremstiller de vores virkelige jeg som satiriske karakter vi alle kan grine af og nikke genkendende til. De fortæller os sandheden om vores forfærdelige selvcentreret hverdag. Deres observationer sætter spørgsmålstegn ved hele vores væremåde i hverdagen og får en til at tænke en ekstra gang over vores opførsel!

Stykket har kun 2 skuespillere som gør det absolut vidunderligt! Det handler om vores generation eller bare vores hverdag og hvor meget lort vi egentlig lukker ud og hvor lidt vi tænker over konsekvenserne. Stykket fangede alle de rette elementer og var simpelhent spot on!

Vi lytter for at svare
Vi taler konstant for at få opmærksomhed.
Vi tænker slet ikke og lukker alt ud vi kan få lov til.

“Hej mor, kan jeg lide hummus? Giv mig et kald”

Et af deres sketchers går på den måde vi piger snakker til hinanden. “Er du stoppet i fitness?” “Har du fået et job endnu!” Vi spørger ikke længere ud fra interesse, men derimod for at se hvor meget bedre vi er end de andre. For at bekræfte, at vi har mere styr på livet end dem, er tyndere eller lykkeligere. Vi bruger ikke tid med vores venner fordi vi kan lide det, men derimod fordi vi føler vi burde. For hvis man er alene er man ensom. Det er sådan vi er opdraget.

Inden showet startede sad jeg og observerede publikum. Foran mig sad tre venner der ihærdigt forsøgte at tage det perfekte selfie til Instagram. Det gik tydeligvis ikke så godt for telefonen gik på tur for at finde den helt rigtige vinkel. I deres ivrighed efter at få billedet, var de ved at slå den udstrakte arm ind i menneskerne foran. “Mig mig mig”. Med et spejl konstant foran os, er det klar at det er alt vi ser.

“Hej mor, burde jeg lave spagetti i aften? Ring til mig!”

Vi griner af sandheden og genkendeligheden. Vi peger på vores venner og udråber “omg det er så meget dig HAHAHA”. Men er det ikke trist? At vi er blevet en generation der ikke kan se ud over vores egen næsetip. At vi ikke kan glæde andre mennesker uden at ville dele det til Gud og hver en mand. “Se jeg købte en gave til hende, se jeg passer mine brødre, se jeg har lavet mad.”

Jeg peger ikke fingre, for jeg er ikke en dag bedre. For her sidder jeg og skriver om MIN oplevelse og får mig selv til at fremstå utrolig kulturel og opmærksom. Næ nej. Jeg er et barn af den sorte selfie sky med Snap, Insta og Face. Holder altid alle opdateret på mig. Men hey hvorfor snakker vi nu om mig? Det skulle jo handle om stykket.

En af de bedste sketches var Facebook fødselsdagen. Vi kender det alle. Hilsenerne ruller ind hele dagen og så er det pludselig slut. 100 hilsener ud af 1300 venner! Hva’ f***??? Vi er ligeglade med andres fødselsdage. Indtil det er vores egen. “Hvordan kunne du glemme den! Du ved det er 3 dage før Sofies og 7 dage efter Peters!!”

Jeg vil ikke røbe hele showet her, men jeg håber virkelig det vil blive forlænget for jeg føler det er et must for alle at se dette show og nikke genkendende. Grine af de falske samtaler vi har og konkurrencer vi holder ubevidst med vores såkaldte venner. Alle de små ting vi siger for at få os selv til at se bedre ud foran andre. Vi kravler op på toppen af menneskerne for at få mest muligt lys på os og glemmer at kigge ned.

“Mig, mig, mig”.

Jeg tror ihvertfald at det har bekræftet min tanke om hvor vi er på vej hen. Og jeg bryder mig ikke om det. Læg mærke til hvor mange gange jeg nævnte migselv i de sætninger… skræmmende. Så måske burde vi prøve at tale med folk som i gamle dage og rent faktisk bryde os om vores venner og ikke bare have dem for at få et godt selfie til Insta. Vi har jo alle brug for en fotograf når vi står ved en flot udsigt….

Poetry, Written Words

Too much

When there’s too much, I give up.
When all seems lost, I just want to sleep.
When all is right, it falls apart the minute it’s gone.
I put too much on the table and end up with nothing in my hands.

All these thoughts and pressures help nobody but the stress-minions in my body.
They grow stronger for every minute, trying to make it all okay.
Trying to become the person the world is telling me to be.
Clever, smart, brilliant, unique, thin and special.
All in one day.
All in one hour.

But it’s too much.
So I give up.

I stop trying for either way I know I will fail.
Know I can’t do it all in one day.
So why even try.

It’s all too much.

Travel Blog, Written Words

Wanderlust

Being wanderlust is a wonderful feeling. Except when it's not! When you're constantly planning your next get away, never truly settling down or touching the ground, then it can be hard.

I grew up with traveling. My parents would often drag me out of school for a month or two just so we could go explore the world. And what a world! I learned quickly that there was too much to see in a lifetime. So it became my duty and mission to visit it all! I couldn't wait.

When I turned 16 I started traveling to different countries alone. Always searching a new high, a new view or a new culture became an addiction and I could never get enough.
I would be thinking about my next vacation while still being in on. Looking at the Coliseum and dreaming of Manchu Picchu. Thinking there must be better things out there. Bigger!
I wanted to know it all and see it all!

But traveling can become a problem as well. As soon as I learned that traveling could be used as an excuse I went all in.

Everything could be excused for a vacation. I would be dating a guy, but always holding a bit back because I knew a trip to Vietnam was around the corner. I would skip school and say I learned way more English by drinking in Irish pubs than I would in class. I would tell my teachers it was relevant and that it was my job.

What a beautiful excuse. The best one. It's my job.
The one thing we all want to use as our excuse. "I have to do it".

But always running off to a new place and never really getting to know the people can be hard too. You never truly feel at home and the excitement that once filled your body is now just a longing to tell your friends "yeah I've been there".

Nobody want to hear my stories anymore. Nobody reacts when I tell them I'm going to Napoli to live with a strange guy and his family. They've heard it all before. Seen my pictures.

But I don't do it for them. I wish I did for then I could stop now. But it's like a never ending train with no stops. It's just going and going and sometimes I'm unsure where on this earth I am.

France? Estonia? Australia? Who knows?

So will this craze ever stop. Will I ever want to settle down and stay in one place for more than 5 months… will I ever feel at home?

I don't have the answer? Maybe I can find it in Nepal… 😉

Poetry, Written Words

That time of the month

It’s that time of the month
when nothing seems to go my way

When my hopes and dreams
seem further away than before

When the light is broken
and darkness surrounds me

It’s that time of the month
when getting up is harder
than falling asleep

When one word
can turn into tears
and one problem 
turn to a million

I see no end to this
but know it will be over
before the week ends

I see no solution
but know possibilities 
and happiness
awaits in the morning

That time will pass soon
this time will be great
and control will be in my reach
once more

Poetry, Written Words

Mirror

A mirror is like looking into a persons soul.
Their expression when they find one, will tell you everything you need to know.
Their mood, happiness and feelings, are measured by how that person in the mirror stares back at them. Are they happy? Sad? Fat? Thin?
A lot can be said about that person. A lot of words can be screamed. Not nice, not useful. Anything goes.

When I look into the mirror I stare. I stare for minutes, sometimes for hours. I look for answers. If the mirror can't tell me what's wrong, then no one can. If the mirror can't make me smile, then no one can.

I have tried loving it. Hating it. Breaking it.. but they're everywhere. Glass, water, reflections. They follow me around.
Look here, look there, I'm back again. Love me, notice me, look at me.

And I do. I go back every time hoping something has changed. Hoping something is new and better. But it never is. I guess I'll just have to live with it and smile back. Hoping.

It will all be okay.

Karoline's Blog, Written Words

I need a scratch map of the countries I’ve kissed

I have a things for foreigners. It’s a thing. It’s a fact. Let’s not dwell on it and start calling each other names. I know I’m not the only one. I just really don’t see what’s so special or fun about being with someone from your own country. I mean, they look like you, grew up like yo and know the same cultural references and traditions as you.

Nah, not for me. I like a little action. A bit excitement. Someone who can surprise me and say stuff like: “No we don’t use Christmas trees for Christmas haha. We use this plant.” See, that would be fun! I could learn something new about the world and broaden my horizon.

I absolutely love talking about Denmark. Everybody who’s met me while I’m abroad would know this. And deep down I think people like to hear about our silly popstars and weird food fetishes. Maybe they don’t, but I love telling them about it anyway. And I get so fascinated to hear someone else talk with such passion about their home country. So why shouldn’t I find someone to tell me about it.

So what is it about these foreigners lips that draw me closer to them each and every time. Is it the accent? The language? The looks? Who knows.

If we’re being really honest, it might just be because they’re far away and I know it won’t last for long. That way I can’t get my heart broken… Just kidding. It will happen either way.  It might even be worse this way.
Side note: A positive thing is that you’ll never bump into him while drunk or on your way home from the gym, because he’s so far away. And isn’t that a great thing!

I know I’ll end up with someone from another country. It’s going to be difficult and stupid but I have a feeling that’s how it’ll be. And I can’t do anything about it.

 

 

 

Karoline's Blog, Written Words

Clubbing frees your soul

Going into the place, I had forgotten what I was getting into. Where I was going. The bouncers lifts the velvet string that gives me acces to the wonder of this place.

I hand over my jacket to the 18 year old cloak-check girl, wondering how many of the bartenders she has kissed. The music is bouncing from the other room, readying me for the purpose of the night. I look down my dress. A simple high necked flower dress and high plump heels. The kind of clothes, I would wear on a monday, but the heavy load of make-up, makes viewers sure it’s the weekend. My eyelids feel heavy with the 5 layers of black mascara, put on to impress the men in the room.

The doors open up and I walk confidently like a gazelle into the zoo we call a nightclub.  My eyes flicker from side to side. I am the princess, he is the prince. Only here are no princes, only loud music and smoke making my eyes cry. There is no sincerity, only shouting words and cheap drinks. We all walk naked with clothes on, trying to steal someones attention, if only for a few hours. We’re all pretending to be something we’re not. Single, a smoker, a dancer, adventurous. We’re all trying on a life, that doesn’t quite fit, but we have to squeeze into it anyway.

I’ve seen this. Believed it. Loved it. Lived it. I was them. My eyes were closed as I kissed a new victim of my empty stare, name to be forgotten in the morning or never heard. Never cared about it, just did it, because it’s part of our normality in this society of alcoholics and social animals. We love to pretend and fake and repeat weekend after weekend.

Is it really that bad? Are we really so miserable. No. We’re numb. We numb ourselves with vodka shots, so we forget the pain we feel deep down. Heartbreak, lonesome, caught in a moment, unhappy. We’re all trying to tell ourselves we’re fine. We all feel free and happy while dancing to the top 20 charts till 4 am.
In the morning we know what we are. We know how we truly feel. But gosh, it just feels so great at that moment in time. That moment when we shake our heads to the rhythm in time with our heartbeats, reminding us we’re alive and happy. Those times when we lock eyes with something real and start to believe again. When we are moved by emotions or actions, that has nothing to do with this moment.

Clubbing is terrible and great. It’s amazing.

You just have to close your eyes and numb your brain.