Number Two.

I've started to dream in Swedish. Well, I've started to dream about Sweden. You know how your dreams are often linked to your everyday life so the people, places and events that surround you on a regular basis become like some sort of subconscious cushion to your dreamworld? Maybe that's just for me, but it took a while to stop dreaming about Montreal. And it was always the same dream; it's the day before I leave and I have nothing done. Nothing packed, in boxes or dealt with at all. I look around and start to freak out as I realize the amount of work I have to do and then a friend turns to me and says, "don't worry Jess, you'll get it all done". And then I suddenly wake up in a panic that was all too reminiscent of the final two weeks before my departure. I think, 'oh yeah, I already did that'. I guess they were more like night[stress]mares, now that I think about it.

But back to the point - I'm starting to have new dreams. Dreams about the streets and the tram, the sea and the graveyard behind my apartment. These are the things that I have been getting to know the most within my world here and they are beginning to stick. I feel as though I am slowly differentiating past from present. At least in my subconscious. Some people don't even remember their dreams, but I do. and I'm lucky. So I try to pay special attention to them even if they're not anything exciting. This is why I am writing about them now... they mean something important.

My dreams tell me that I'm adapting to life in Sweden. And with such adaptation come people, friends, and a familiarity of a place you once felt you could never know. You begin to recognize and understand certain things that were just a scramble a couple of weeks ago; words, signs, people... which way's north and which way's south. It begins to make sense and thus your life does as well. It is slow but it is happening. I can only be excited to see what form it continues to take on.

˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚

I have found a particular affinity for the sea. I live only about 10 minutes from Salthomen, which is one of the harbours here in Gothenburg. From there you can catch ferries that will take you out to little islands called the archipelago's... captivating little islands. One of the larger ones, Styrsö,  has sheep that live on it who seem to be content with their usual routine of being photographed while eating grass and shrubs. It is a wonderful place and I am there about once a week, exploring different islands, always with camera in hand.

It being my first time across the Atlantic, I think there's a certain feeling of connection when at the shore. As far away as I may be, the ocean still connects us all, and when I'm there I feel close to home. In fact, closer to myself, which is as 'home' as I'll ever be.

Thank you ocean, thank you sea,

thank you dreams that come to me.

Number One.

This is a first for me - writing in a blog. When I write it's usually not for others to see so I admit that I'm slightly nervous about it all. However I think that it will serve as a good way for those who want to, to stay connected with 'where I'm at' (in every sense of the meaning). It's good for parents who seem to never hear enough from me, and it's good for friends and family with whom it always seems difficult to stay in touch with. Not because we're not close, but just because we're too far. The love though... the love is always there. Right here with me.

Around this time 2 weeks ago, I left Montreal. I remember feeling like I couldn't complete a full thought. It was like I was entirely shutting down and becoming numb. To put it simply, I guess you could say I was in shock. After almost eight months of planning this crazy adventure the day was finally there that I was supposed actually do it. I was leaving Montreal. My home, my friends, my life. Of course when you're planning a trip it's always about going somewhere, but on the day it happens it becomes leaving. I know that's rather simplistic, but trust me, the feeling is intense. Especially when Hudson Mohawke's 'Star Crackout' comes on the stereo right before you are to say your final goodbyes. Holy heaviness. Wow.

Now, don't get me wrong. Perhaps I'm making it sounds like I didn't want to go. But I did and I'm glad I did. It's just the initial experience of it. Saying goodbye. I'm going to be gone for almost a year and so inevitably I'm also saying goodbye to a part of myself that I will be leaving behind forever. And, to be honest, that's the good part. I love my life and I love it being in Montreal, however I needed something to change, as we all do every now and then. So I made it happen.

First, there was New York City. My period of Limbo. I drove there with a gentleman named Renato who asked me to read his poetry. His words, which mostly pertained to love or loss of love, were novice in form but deep in heart. I found it beautiful that he would share these things with me and I interpreted it as a good omen for the year to come. He was the first person I had met on this new adventure and he opened up to me in a way most would not upon first encounter. Simplistic again, yet it made me feel good about myself. So, thanks Renato.

I stayed with my friend Andrea in Brooklyn. Seeing her was interesting as we were both flying out of New York the next day. She was returning to Montreal after a summer internship at some fancy-shmancy fashion firm, and I to Scandinavia. Different scenarios, however we were both in transition and both nervous for the next day. I think we took comfort in each other, and I was happy to have created a bond with her we had never had before. Much love to Andrea. It was a blast.

I had heard that it was around $60 to get to JFK airport from Brooklyn so I posted an ad on craigslist hoping that someone would take my $30 offer to drive me there. Luckily, there was Michelle. Her alias as FloraZul, she responded to my ad saying that she would love to take me but that I also had to throw in an almond snickers bar to sweeten the deal. I thought that was the best reply ever, and so the next day we met in Williamsburg. Driving over bridges and highways, Michelle talked to me about the history of Brooklyn and what it means to her. We discussed photography and how it will play in to my time away. It was so special and yet again, I couldn't believe the openness of a stranger. Another good omen. When we arrived at JFK she got out to help me with my bags and then gave me a big hug. She held out her hand and gave me a little key chain flashlight and said, "to help you light your way". Amazing. Amazing Michelle.

There is so much more I could write about the journey out here. The flight, the kid who kicked the back of my chair for 6 hours, the cavity search (just kidding...ha!), the lost baggage (not kidding...but returned in the end) but we've all been there before. That 24 hour period between leaving Montreal and getting here, that was something special. A lovely limbo.

So now I'm in Sweden.

Next chapter begins...

Migrant Defined.

"Migration is the regular seasonal journey undertaken by many species. Movements include those made in response to changes in ________. These are usually essential or take one in only a good direction, and are termed variously as drifting, reinventing, waking or living. Migration is marked by its intuitive seasonality. In contrast, those that are non-migratory are said to be resident or sedentary. Here is, but one of many, long-distance migrants."