Att pressa kreativitet genom en igenstockad tesil

Brigit's flame skrivarcommunity, september, vecka 1. "Mud".

Swedish melancholy

It’s like a wasteland. Like the perfect picture of nothing at all. That beautiful Swedish melancholy where you’re not supposed to be better than anybody else. We all think it, but nobody says it, for fear of sticking out. Of course I’m better. Of course you’re better. Our worlds evolve around ourselves; we are the most important people in our lives. Internationally, people see us as gray, cold, uncompassionate, but hard working. Hard working, yet we don’t let ourselves roll around in our success, show pride of what we’ve accomplished. Is that really the picture we want to give of our people?

We are internationally successful, sure. We all speak English, yes. But we aren’t friendly, lets’ not kid ourselves. We envy each other’s success, we gloat, we tease, and we bring our neighbours down. How can I not be anxious here? How can I not fear being too good at anything?

It’s fall here now. It’s cold, and the uncharacteristical warmth my countrymen are filled with during our few weeks of summer is as good as forgotten. The leaves are yellow, going brown. The sky is gray and the winds are cold. The ground is still green, but soon the fall rains will make my boots squash mud, as I trample on towards another hard working winter. Staying sane by the dream of those few summer weeks, when I’m not embarrassed by my people.

PS: Jag är inte fullt såhär bitter. Kreativiteten går på sparlåga och det gör mig allmänt irriterad på det mesta.