Journal, 2004
It is Summer time. I watch it through these new large windows of mine. The sky is in motion. Sometimes very blue, sometimes too dark, sometimes a storm is performed like this one happening right now. The wind struck the trees in front of my windows, throwing the plants of the balcony upside down. I am scared that a tragedy may occur at any moment. I am concerned for the elderly people of the old people’s home on the other side of the street. A storm like this could be unbearable at that age. Everything is grey and swirling like in a tornado in front of my eyes. I ask myself with no peace to really think: are there tornados in Northern Europe? Outside there is a mass of movement, everything hits, everything twists, everything revolts. Not knowing what to do until it reaches its end and still scared that something tragic will happen, maybe the end of the world, who knows, I close the curtains, switch off the lights and sit down on the couch. Moments later, I stand up and go lay down in bed, while listening to the power of the wind and the heavy drops of rain falling as they plumb around my head. I would like to work on the computer, watch television or speak on the phone, but nothing is allowed with such a revolution. I am not going on holiday this summer, but my boyfriend will. Actually, these bright windows aren't mine. I can only look through them for the next six months. Our house is lost and this is not home, but rather a brief refuge. I am not sure if there will be a place for me one day in this country, which has somehow become also my own. The summer storm seems to come in order to awaken something – I feel the motion, but I do not identify the purpose. I am alone here, taking each time more distance from myself and venture into the hostile unknown. I sense it, as I feel the angry power of the unexpected tornado outside. Can I expect to survive?