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.

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!

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.

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.