noruega

There’s more Norway in my phone that I know what do to with at the moment. I had been wanting to go for a while and three men are to blame: Karl Ove Knausgård, Joachim Trier, and Edvard Munch. Thank you.

Here’s kinda what happened.

My mind went blank whilst I cruised across that one narrow fjord on a silent, electric ferry boat.

I felt a tad closer to death when my heart shrunk and hardened inside my chest once I jumped in the Olsofjord water (post sauna).

Whatever may be called spirit wanted to go home when Aurora turned stars into an underwhelming opening act.

I didn’t cry at the Munchs. They made me crazy happy.

I learned how staring out of a train window from Oslo to Bergen can turn seven hours into 10 minutes (meditation could never).

I ate a lobster and I was too chickenshit to look at it in the eyes before it became my meal.

I was intrigued by how many people asked if I was traveling alone (and questioned their intentions). I saw how POCs continue to power economies as taxi drivers, hotel room cleaners, and cashiers. I talked to them and learned some had lived there for years and didn’t have one single Norwegian friend (not for lack of trying). They all said they were grateful to the country for providing them with jobs/safety but how they will never be home. They said it’s hard to move up in any job. The veil they keep on to smile through the bullshit would drop as soon as I said, “I live in the States and I’m from Venezuela.” Then, we’d compare immigrant notes.

I became a bit obsessed with the idea of gratefulness as a way to induce passivity. I realized how “welcome” can mean so many different things to so many different people.