I finally found a reason to keep a diary.

It's called a £404 flight from Helsinki to Bangkok on a cold February morning, a £45 flight from Bangkok to Denpasar and a 90 minute drive from the airport to a remote location. God knows what after that. And the four months preceding it; a nine-to-five job, dullness and bad lipstick.

Photos, useless sentences, enough to suffocate you, whatever; you know the deal. surfingissin.blogspot.com.

Barcelona, Zaragoza, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Biarritz, Nice, Torino, Lyon and I'm hooked to this. Tomorrow: train from Lyon Part-Dieu to Paris.

My red notebook is filling up with notes from cities that pass faster than I would hope, with names of people I'll probably never meet. My mind's filling up with images of faces I don't want to forget, moments racing in a car down the narrow streets of Nice, miniature love stories on Boulevard Victor Hugo and feeling blue on the way to the next city.

The rhythm of leaving is catching up on the soles of my shoes; it was hard at first but it gets easier. Letting go is becoming more bearable. Even if there are moments when you doubt it, your next great encounter is on its way: down the street, on the morning train, in a city three hours away. You lose your faith, but you get back on your feet; the possibilities make travelling so addicting.

I don't have the time to take any pictures, neither would I want to. I want everyone to stay bright in my memory, not as fading colours in a picture book. Change is always constant and pictures could slow it down, but I don't want to risk losing the moment.

I won't be updating this blog anymore, since it doesn't feel important anymore. I've seen and learnt so much, I've experienced feelings so precious I don't know how to share them, how to put them into words so that they could be translated in the right way.

I'm off to Paris. There's still so much to see, so many people to meet, so many things to learn.

Near King's cross, last autumn, snapped by Milla

Helsinki has indeed made me laugh and cry and yell and scream. I haven't escaped from rainy nights or silent moments, but I've gotten bits and bobs here and there that could be mistaken for small adventures; walking in the rain at 4am to hop into a car that was made decades before I was born and meeting a parisian boy with whom I talked politics and all kinds of nonsense while struggling to find the right words.

I can't put this into words so I'll turn it into a list: Barcelona, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Bordeaux, Lyon, Nice, Marseille, the scary unknown for a month and hearts racing.

I'll be saying my I miss yous tomorrow, the last ones at the airport on Thursday, but I know some of them will get stuck in my throat. I'll be leaving unfinished things behind, like I always do. One day I'll learn to leave properly.

When I come back it'll almost be Autumn and things will have changed but not very much after all. Perhaps I will have changed. But not that much after all.

Eight days until my plane takes off from Helsinki-Vantaa. My last Helsinki-days so far have included cigarettes, cheap clothes, Hämeentie in both directions and a constant need to push some people away while pulling others closer.

I'm hoping Helsinki will bring me enough heartache and misery and overwhelming feelings in the eight days to come so that I won't miss it too much during my time away.

I can't get any sleep so I'm staying awake.

Home again, maps in front of me, calls to make, jobs to seek, tickets to buy, things to do.

I have a week of lazing around, swimming in a river and drinking too much sugary apple cider behind me; a couple of quite busy weeks ahead of me.

Summer's hasting on and I'm trying to keep my calm.

A quick pit-stop home before continuing this trip of mine.

Since leaving Helsinki on Monday afternoon I've realized that I actually don't like Suede very much, that my confusion isn't going nowhere quick, that I'm huge on procrastination and postponing decision-making, that I'm a bit scared of what's to come and that if my face was a bit finer and my body a bit slimmer I'd be a portrait craché of my mother in the beginning of the 80's. Right down to the bright coral bikini tops and distressed denim.

Dis-moi ce que tu penses de ma vie, de mon adolescence, Sébiastien Tellier's been echoing in my head for the whole day.

I'm going to take a time-out from this life of mine, first 500 km away from Helsinki, then switching to a location 120 km away. Feels good to let things go for a week, I'm especially looking forward to the 120 km one: a good road trip and a few laughs.

Running for the thrill of it, I suppose.

And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born in /
Then it's time to go /
And define your destination /
There's so many different places to call home

Definitely feeling like a tourist here sometimes. Not always in a bad way, certainly not when sitting on waterfronts and lazing the day away.

I'm selling my stuff (well, not that stuff...) down at Valtteri in the morning, come see a tired and weary me and finance my future travels!

I wish I had some pictures of the past days. How come the first days of Summer are always so chaotic? If I had it all on Polaroids, I would have pictures of drunken blurs, foul-tasting vodka, misunderstandings and me being an idiot towards people for whom I care very much.

But I would also have pictures of champagne bottles, fresh grass, slow moments on Vuorikatu with danes I had just met, walking barefoot and slipping on pieces of glass, hands running over the notches in spines, not worrying about the aftermath and soft hotel corridor carpets.

The first proper Summer nights are here and I'm relieved.

I bleached and cut my hair and bought Paris from a clothing store for 18€.

Actual footage of my four-hour sleep-habitus. Nothing beats ice-cold water, a size too big 80's shorts (hey, it's a pair of Lees) and tangly hair, eh?

Summer begun yesterday night, a long long way from home, when the night fell over fields and wooden houses and cider tasted a bit foul. Someone from the past reminded me of what I could've turned into if I hadn't been careful and unluckily lucky. New people reminded me that people that are interesting but not exhausting exist, I had forgotten it in the midst of all the tangles.

During the small hours I realized there actually are times when there is no direction home. While walking on the train tracks I counted all the good things to come and all the good things I've already got.

I'm listening to Paul Simon and eighties classics, feels good to be here, feels good to get going again tomorrow.

+ going to get some take away-thai from Kallio! Things couldn't look much higher up. Oh the simple joys of life.

Since today has mainly consisted of studying, being a walking and breathing nervous breakdown and listening to british new wave while dancing in my room alone in skimpy shorts and a cropped t-shirt (talk about being inspired by unimportant 80's teenage movies), I promise to drink a glass of wine or two or three or four tomorrow night. Saturdays were made for that. Especially those that remind you of real Summer Saturdays. I hope tomorrow night will, this rain is making everything ten times duller.

Goodnight everyone. If I weren't an atheist, I'd say God bless you.

Late Spring in the suburbs, concrete, Bob Dylan turning 70 and me staying 19, yacht owner's jacket and australian boots, occasionally feeling quite lovesick, tight jeans and studying in neo-renaissance libraries.

I rediscovered Charles Bukowski today at the library while trying to take a break from payne fund-studies analysis, he's breathtaking.

Saturday nights were made for kissing to be clever, weekdays for regretting it and avoiding awkward invites for lunch in the city.

Dress-size projects should be changed to stress-size projects, it looks like I'm prone to stress about anything and everything.

I spend money on clothes and things that make me feel like the stereotype of a rich finnish swede boy's girlfriend who spends summers on a huge yacht enjoying life (think white, stripes, healthy hair, tan, fit legs, short skirts, champagne and the sea).

I feel stressed out but quite serene. If I were to quote a very tired and cliché'd line I'd say youth knows no pain.

Things to enjoy: bleaching too-short shorts on a dirty floor (splashing chlorine on your bare legs - not so enjoyable), getting all giddy about original 80's vinyl records, getting complimented (although "You're looking better than ever" could sometimes be classified as a reverse compliment...), planning on how to spend massive amounts of money, tanning, attempts at dropping dress sizes, leftover häagen dazs in the freezer.

Everything feels temporary here. Everything feels temporary and, at the same time, somehow neatly planned. The city's choking me, taking everything that I've had and giving me Spring dust in exchange.

I want real people, not chatting on the phone without ever genuinely meeting or worse, endless conversations via the Internet. I want to see and feel who I'm sharing my thoughts with, I want real people and it is not to be compromised; I need the warmth, the moments in cafés or parks or by the sea.

If I feel something, I want to feel it all, not just any halfway feelings and if tears ensue, I want them to be real ones and I want them to come as an overwhelming stream. If I encounter pain, I want it to be a struggle, not a mere ache and if there's happiness, I want it to be the crushingly amazing.

Until now, all talk of freedom has been talk of if ever and when and sometime soon. In 46 days I'll be officially free. What follows that, is a vast pile of roads to choose. By then I'll have enough money to buy tickets to anywhere I want to, by then I'll have a stronger mind and a stronger body.

After that comes the great unknown. I'm ready to go but I'm beginning slowly.

Tomorrow is such a beautiful word.

I daydream about Paris-Sorbonne whenever the city I'm in tastes like dust and bones. I regret not taking the steps needed to alter this situation, I regret it every morning. No amount of sunshine is going to change that.

Since I last posted anything here I've ended a relationship, almost finished with all of my responsibilities, started cramming for university and started drawing lines on maps to see which way to go in Summer. My dry cider consumption has gone a bit up, and I've made a promise to do something exciting and special each and every weekend from now on, now that I'm free. I'm trying not to fall for the worst things and people there is, this time around.

Right now I'm going through a mental cleanse in the middle of nowhere in Lapland. It does good to try to figure out exactly what you want.

Things are going good (although I'm still looking for someone a bit more special to watch Twin Peaks with).

Summer goosebumps and dirty skin.

I'm trying to learn how to make people miss me. It's starting to take its toll on me.

Life lately:

Being busy, laughing more, crying more, either overeating or not eating at all, visits to cities I'm beginning to know, driving on empty streets at night, bleaching my hair again, being stressed out, lazy mornings and brighter days. I most certainly won't ever be completely at peace but I think I might be sincerely happy now.