Chapter 2: A day late

 I’m begining writing the same day as the last one. I’m listening to the Doctor Who 60th anniversary concert on YouTube, while waiting for the train to arrive. I’ve decided to do this while waiting for the train too, if I have the time for that. Theoretically, I could be back at the school, doing something productive, but I got frustrated with a Swedish course’s substantive exercises, and my own rustiness with the language. So I listened to Wonderland by Juno Dawson to it’s conclusion, and came to the station to wait for the train. It won’t be here for another half an hour or so. The trip back to Tampere is going to be longer, since I’m taking a commuter train, rather than an intercity train. So it’s going to be stopping at significantly more stations, lengthening my trip by about half an hour. Possibly even more.

There are pidgeons. It’s raining. I polished my nails between my first update and now. I feel like I’m in a Finnish domestic drama film, and I’m the main character. Bland. Flavourless. Only able to show anger or despair as emotions. It’s almost as if Finnish cinema regressed at some point in the last 40 years to the Hayes Code kinds of bland protagonists, though credit where it’s due, Finnish cinema’s characters tend to be less one-note than the Hayes code protagonists, who could be replaced by a cardboard standee of

I spent too long thinking of a generic white man, but there were too many, so I couldn’t pinpoint just a single one.

But regardless. I don’t wanna ponder on that can of worms too much. I’m currently listening to the Shepherd’s Boy. It’s beautiful. I wish I had more to say, but at the moment, I don’t feel like digging too deep into music. I’ll let that day come some other day. Same with theatre. My life is currently weighed significantly down with theatre, from a play retelling three ancient Greek tragedies, to one about four couples, whose relationships, for one reason or another have ended, suddenly re-encountering eachother, to the opening and closing ceremonies to Furnavia. Each of them are getting dangerously closer to being performed. I don’t like this.

But now I kinda wanna talk about books. When I was younger, I didn’t much care to read a lot of books. I had my video games, my TV, my reccordings of Star Wars movies that I’ve watched so many times, the tape must be wearing thin. Why would I read books? The first book I remember reading was The Lord of the Rings.

Like the whole dang thing.
At school, we had an assignment. We had to read a book of our choosing (we went to a library for this), and write a letter to one of the characters. I chose the Lord of the Rings. I wrote a letter to Gandalf the Grey, after finishing Fellowship of the Ring. I couldn’t read the whole trilogy in time, but I was enamoured, and read to my mother on the car rides when we were going anywhere. The natural follow up would be reading The Hobbit. Instead, I didn’t really read another book for a good while.

That was until the summer between primary and secondary school, when I read Dracula.

I’ve always had a fascination with horror. As long as I can remember at least. I didn’t know much about the concept, until I learned what true terror was by watching the Moomins. Moomins taught me what a vampire was, what ghosts were, and it taught me to fear the Groke more than anything. These days I find her relateable. But my first true introduction to horror was a New Year’s Eve in the mid-2000’s. The Finnish national broadcasting station, YLE, ran a marathon of classic Universal horror films, just before New Year. It started with King Kong, which I skipped. Even then, I didn’t care about monkeys, and a giant monkey film wasn’t one I was interested in. I still find King Kong dull. But afterwards, they showed Dracula, the Son of Dracula (maybe even Dracula’s Daughter, but I don’t know for sure), Frankenstein, The Bride of Frankenstein and The Son of Frankenstein.

I only saw bits of Dracula, because my parents forced me to go eat in the middle of the film (couldn’t have done that during King Kong, could they?). By the time I came from eating, Dracula had ended, and I came back just in time to see Lon Chaney Jr.’s Alucard turn into a bat. I distinctly remember the scene of the coffin burning, and Alucard being set alight in the rising sun. But Frankenstein? I saw the first film, and bits of the Bride of Frankenstein, but I couldn’t watch any further, because I was so terrified. For a long time, I had nightmares, where my brothers’ fun activities were cut short, because Boris Karlof’s imposing Creature would lumber out to do untold harm to us. I was mortified, but more fascinated by horror than ever.

So it was only natural that I wanted to read Dracula. The story was a novel experience (heh), as I was not expecting quite so many perspective shifts. I suppose I should have, the latter two Rings books were split to follow Frodo, Sam and Gollum, or the rest of the gang, and each chapter seemingly was shown from a different perspective. But the newspaper clippings, diary pages, letters, phonograms, it all made Dracula a bit harder to follow. I was able to, regardless, finish the story, and I am glad I did. It made diving back into the world of stories so much easier.
In secondary, the only book I remember reading was The Hobbit (with the illustrations of Tove Janson, that was wild), while in high school, my motivation to do anything was at an all time low. So I didn’t read a lot of things. But I did find my older brother’s copy of the Necronomicon, a collection of H.P. Lovecraft’s short stories. After asking my brother nicely, he let me read through the book, and I spent almost every night reading story after story after story. I’m so glad I quit folding the corners of books to mark where I’ve last finished, though the torn up bill wasn’t really a great bookmark either. At least the pages aren’t spoiled. Or at least more spoiled than they already were, since my brother had spilled coffee on the book, so some pages had a brown stain on the lower half.

13 o’clock. The train should be here in 15 minutes.

Lately, I’ve regained my fascination with books. I’ve primarily used my library card to the Pirkanmaa region libraries to borrow some horror books, like short story collections, or The King in Yellow, but I’ve also been using some audiobook services (primarily the Black Library app and Storytel), as well as buying brand new books, like Dracula’s Guest, or a story collection of Poe’s stories, the Goete play Faust, or… fucking Ars Goetia, I guess. My most recent stories I’ve finished are The Case of Charles Dexter Ward (H.P. Lovecraft), Carmilla (Joseph Sheridan Le Phanu [I don’t care if I spelled his name wrong]) and now Wonderland, by Juno Dawson.

Wonderland is one of those stories where it twists my stomach into knots, and smacks me upside the head with existential dread and cold, introspective emptyness. The last time something like this happened was when I listened to The Bored Gay Werewolf (not a joke) by Tony Santorella. I don’t like the feeling, but ultimately, it is good to have some reason to introspect. Usually though, I’m too scared to get into the issues I feel.

The story of Wonderland is essentially a trans girl living through a modern, fucked up retelling of Alice in Wonderland. And wouldn’t you know, the girl’s name is Alice. It’s an exploration of gender and sexuality, of identity, of inequality, and of how fucked up the class system we currently live in is. I got angry at some of the rich pricks in the story, I got scared for Alice, and scared of some of the other characters, and some descriptions of occurences hit especially deep. I won’t get too deep into it. I want you all to read it for yourselves. Or listen to it. Both work. But I know for a fact that I’m going to be buying copies of the Her Majesty’s Royal Coven series, and reading them all.

Why am I doing all this though? Reading so much, that is. It’s because I want to expand my horizons. I’m thinking of making a podcast at some point, to talk about the horror stories I consume. To justify buying more books, as moree than just a silly hobby.
The train’s here. I have to go.

The train is on the move now. I’m reminded by the view of the Vocaloid song Lagtrain. There’s barely any space on the train, and certainly no places to plug a computer charger in. I guess my rambling will come to an end at some point.

But yes, the podcast. I want to read stories, watch films, play games, delve into matters that I’ve not been able to before, living my simple, placid lifestyle. I mean… I don’t know if my life is too simple or placid. At least I’ve not made it so for myself. I know that for a fact. I guess I’m saying that I haven’t dared to dive down the rabbit hole before. In a way I’m a bit like Alice in Juno Dawson’s book. Consider that your one and only spoiler. By reading these stories that I probably wouldn’t have, had they not popped into my knowledge through Adlibris or Storytel, I’m learning more about the world of horror fiction. More about the authors, if they intended to let themselves to be known through their books. And even if they didn’t, in some cases. Looking at you, Lovecraft, you inveterate asshole.
There are children in the seats behind me. I’m glad that they’re probably looking the other way, and can’t read English, but holy hell, why can’t they shut up?

The rainy day is making everything look dreary. I like that it’s going to let mushrooms grow, I am quite fond of foraging for the fun guys, but today itself is probably going to be a living nightmare.

I have a workshift today. Festival work at Vauhti Kiihtyy -festival. Mostly just Finnish artists performing to an audience with an average age of 40+. Meaning I have to listen to the absolute worst that music has to offer. In the rain. Until midnight or 1. Gotta say, not a fan, expecially having woken up at 5, and having to go to work tomorrow morning at 10.

I should try to sleep. I know I won’t be able to.

Another cloud is cast over my head. This weekend will be my last workshift for the foreseeable future. I have a phone job interview on tuesday, but having an interview after so many ones that went nowhere is frankly cold comfort for me. Theatre and school are going to be taking up most of my time on weekdays, so that will be an automatic limiter on my possible work days. The national retirement fund organisation hasn’t come back to me on their desicion for student support. If they decline, I might be well and truly fucked. Hellfire take the fuckwits who decided to cut student support.

I think I could continue from where I left of this morning. During military service, I was functionally exempt from going to the woods for the duration of my service.

SHUT THE FUCK UP, WHY ARE THESE KIDS UNABLE TO SHUT UP

Sorry, I don’t like kids.

Anywho. Because of this, I was stuck in the barracks, mostly because I was supposed to only do stuff on the computer, and the higher ups liked me. So I got to stay in the barracks. Which had it’s ups and downs. Upsides: I didn’t have to sleep in a tent, I didn’t have to worry about fucking up my legs in those horrible boots, and I had the entire barracks to myself. Downsides: I didn’t have much to do, excercise-wise, so I got pretty out of shape, and worst of all, I was alone.

I told you about my mind, how this is like taking the lid off a boiling kettle. I didn’t have this back then, these messages of mine. And before I took my computer with me to the barracks, I had to manage with nothing. And when I have nothing occupying my mind, my mind comes up with activity to occupy itself with. And it’s favourite activity driving me to insanity. Telling me that nobody loves me. That it’s all fake, all painted on smiles, like those of a harlequin. That every time I turned my back, they were whispering horrible things about me. That even my family saw me as a disappointment. I’m still terrified that the voices might be right. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully get rid of them in the back of my head.

It was then that I started feeling a nagging feeling in the back of my head. Asking the cosmos ”Why am I here”? Not why am I on this earth, why do I have this life I was given. Why was I here in the military? Isn’t this for the manliest of men and the strongest of women? I don’t belong here! I’m a queer little nobody! A chubby nothing! It took me very little time after that to start thinking over why I really was. What I really was. At that time, I was unsure. I only knew one thing for a fact. I was not a man. I think at that time I was not yet ready to come to terms with myself. Not truly.

After military service, I started studies in the Lapland University of Applied Sciences, in the hospitality and tourism management side. That was one of the biggest wastes of time and money I’ve ever undertaken. I wanted to be a waiter or a bartender, but the Lapland UAS is so stuck in it’s specific form of Lapland Tourism that it is useless to try to learn anything else there. But it had it’s good sides.

This was the first time I got in contact with a therapist. It was functionally free for me, as a student. My takeaway was ”And it took you this long to realize you had ADHD?”. Now I’m medicated (well, I am for a while longer, I’ll have to get in contact with HSL again to get a new recipe). But during this time, I started fully realizing the truth about myself. When I started traveling in the south for some furry events, I finally realized that I was either fully a woman, or a feminine enby. I think I’m still the latter, but it’s so much easier to just answer ”I’m a girl” when someone asks.

But yeah. Three years after starting my studies there, I dropped out. I’d gotten work experience, but barely any college credit. Half a year later, I moved to Tampere, and then half a year after that, I’ve now started studies in the Haaga-Helia UAS. Again in the hospitality and tourism side, but at least I have more options. So far, I’m enjoying my time significantly more. Here’s hoping my brain still agrees me for the next three or so years.

But that is me. The mess that stands before you now here, in front of all of you to be scrutinized. What will I become? I don’t think anyone knows. Least of all me. And heaven help any of you trying to psychoanalize me. I’ll be taking a break from writing over the weekend. I have a festival to work at, and I really don’t have much time in my travels to and from there to write. Busses are less forgiving for writing than trains are.

My battery is running out. It is time for me to end this chapter of this… call for help.