Category archive: English

2012, day 5

2012, day 5



, a photo by nakrissimo



on Flickr.

Omnomnom, hjemmelagde fiskepinner!

2012, dag 42012, day 4

2012, day 4, a photo by nakrissimo on Flickr.

Via Flickr:
Veiene er glatte nå for tida, hold deg trygg.

2012, day 4, a photo by nakrissimo on Flickr.

Via Flickr:
These are slippery roads, stay safe.

2012, day 3

2012, day 3


, a photo by nakrissimo


on Flickr.

Ice and rain…

2012, day 2

2012, day 2, a photo by nakrissimo on Flickr.

Back to work…

2012, day 1

2012, day 1, a photo by nakrissimo on Flickr.

Dear Jonah,

This video of a brave kid is doing the rounds now, this is my reply, my message to him and all others in his situation.

It gets better.

Too many are going and have been going through a too hard time in school. Too many kids are living under a too high pressure every day. This makes me sad and furious and makes me feel helpless.

Seeing you, Jonah, put into words what so many are feeling makes me want to give you a huge hug and try to convince you that it will get better. The life after school is well worth fighting for.

Take it from someone who has moved away from her home town (and, for a time, even left the country) and who felt she was going to give up several times during school: Life is worth fighting for.

You might not believe it right now, but you will meet people who will take a huge part in your life, who will see you as the great person you are. People who will recognise the strength you are showing simply by putting your face and your words and your feelings out there for everyone to see. People who will catch you when you fall and cheer you on as you reach new and even greater heights.

By admitting to yourself that the situation you are in is intolerable, you have done what I believe everyone in every similar situation to yours should. Take life into your own hands. Find the things that will make you happy – even for just a short while. Find your goals in life and start working towards them.

Because you know what? Whoever’s bullying you, they’re not worth your time. There is no reason for you to let them be right. They have no right to demean you for anything that makes you the one you are. They are not worth the energy it takes to listen to their bullshit.

You are better than that.

Lift me up (higher now, Ama)

Every now and then I decide I kinda actually like some of the music I’ve heard of a band and that I really should’ve started listening to them sooner. Moby is one of them.

It started in the record shop. I suddenly got the urge to buy a Moby album, but which one? As usual when I do this, I go for the hits and go from there later, so a best of-album it was. And then I came home. And then I turned the music on. And after a while, this song hit me like a wall of bricks.

I started dancing, singing «lift me up, lift me up, higher now Ama», turning it into somewhat of a chant. This. Is. Beautiful.

Where did all these movements come from? How did this song hit me this hard? It just came out of nowhere and I was sold. I finally found another song to fix any bad day, making me dance around my living room, dance in the shower, dance while cooking… I tried listening to the album while trying to go to sleep, but I couldn’t. As soon as this song came on, I had to dance.

After all, isn’t that what life is about? Joy so strong you can’t help but move your body? Who cares if you know how to dance or not, no one has to see you!

Plain talking – served us so well.

No excuse me while I dance all this energy off. Again.

What scares me now

This post was originally written on for my Norwegian blog, but upon request (hi, mum!), I’ve decided to translate it into English.

One man has tore a hole in my city. One man has put a huge amount of good youths in life threatening danger and killed way too many of them. One man.

One man is putting out demands of the kind you’d only think you’d find from a character in a book. One man who seems to believe that negotiations for information during questioning should happen like in the movies. One man who feels such hate for the society he grew up in, he finds it «gruesome, but necessary» to set off a bomb by the government which kills relatively few, but still too many, and then goes to the idyllic Utøya to calmly shoot and kill as many as he possibly can until someone’s able to stop him. One man who has caused so much grief in this country I doubt my heart can take much more.

This last week and a bit I’ve been on a rollercoaster of extreme emotions. I’ve been so angry I haven’t had a clue what to do. I’ve been so sad I thought I’d cry myself dry of tears, and when I thought I was finally empty, even more tears came. I’ve been so shocked that I’ve lost the ability to take action on anything at all. I’ve been so proud of so many people, I’d thought I would burst. The way so many fellow Norwegians deals with a crisis like this, the way the youths who were on Utøya have been and still are there for each other, the way the Prime Minister and the Royal Family have been behaving showing they too feel grief and are as affected by this as the rest of us, all the heroes who let go of everything they were doing to help with whatever they could. There are so many heroes from the last couple weeks now I never thought it could be possible. And on top of that, I’m proud of coming from a country where most people believe a death penalty would simply be too cheap, they would rather have him locked up for life, preferably with no access to media part from the proofs that we in spite of everything still stick together. We take care of each other. We won’t break that easily.

And then comes the thinking. This isn’t just one mans opinions. What the media says about his socalled manifesto, what flows out from his writings on certain places online, those he draws inspiration from… This isn’t just one scary grouping we need to keep our eyes on. It’s not just the anti-islam websites spewing out this crap. The scary thing is, I find, that many of his arguments might as well come from the person behind you on the bus home. Suddenly they come out of someone at this party you’re at. Someone hear them during lunch at work, other in a coffeshop from friends of friends. It may be the kind neighbour chatting to you over your nice picket fence about the solution to everything is «getting all these problem cultures out of our country». It’s the grandfather who sits in the corner at the family gathering who recieves your sweetest smiles (just to keep the family peace, mind you), even though your innards twists and turns from hearing him voice his opinions. These are opinions you’ll find in ordinary people. That’s the scary bit.

Most people won’t sit down for nine years to plan such a heinous act. Only one of about five million Norwegians did.

For my own part, I’ll admit that the thought «muslim terrorists» did strife by my head too. While people were trying to figure out what was going on, gathering every bit of news they could find about what happened, why and with/by whom, I was on my way from Oslo, sitting on a train watching Twitter and reading about all these rumours and theories. I remember saying to someone (was it my boyfriend or someone on the phone? I can’t quite remember) that this, if it in fact was a bomb, looks like bad planning. After 3pm on a Friday in a month where most of Norway’s on summer vacation in an area with mostly offices is not the place if you want a spectacular death toll. It had to be a gas explosion of some sort, an accident, I said, and a few people who hadn’t been near the blast agreed on this theory.

I found out about the shootings at Utøya about half an hour after it started. It hit me then, was this a strange coincidence? Was it someone who wantet to take advantage of the chaos in Oslo, or was there a connection? Was it really possible to get from the blast in the government district to Utøya with that much equipment during rush hour in such a short time? I guess my account for time wasn’t at its best here, but I have the chaos of getting out of town to blame, I was so delayed I simply lost track of time.

I won’t pretend I wasn’t relieved when I found out there was a Norwegian behind it all. I won’t pretend it doesn’t frighten me. The more I find out about the man and the life he used to lead, the more I recognise elements from completely ordinary people. This is a man with a lot of opinions a lot of people share with him. This is a man who shares some interests with perfectly normal people I know. This is a man who says that one of his favorite books is the same as one of my favorite books. The childhood we hear about is one several children shares. His wanting to be something is a wish many feel every day. The difference is this, that only this man has done something so drastically about it. So far.

The scary thing about this man is not the fact that he thinks it’s a fair demand to take control of this country during his trial. The scary thing is that he’s a bit like so many of us. He’s a bit like me, and he’s a bit like you.

I think it’s more important than ever to question the opinions we don’t particularily like from others. It’s important to identify the parts of ourselves we find are not good and try to do something about them. It’s important to see each others and give each other the support needed.

We are a wounded people, and in spite of what you’d think this wound has its source from within our ranks. Now it’s up to us to work on bringing these opinions out into the light and discuss them. Now is not the time for intolerance, not even towards suchs brutal thoughts. Now it’s time for meeting these opinions with questions and good arguments.

Griefstricken

I felt bad for not ever updating the English version of my blog, but after a while I decided to do that when I feel like it, just like my Norwegian blog is only updated whenever I feel like it (although, that does happen more often than here, if you’re curious and don’t understand Norwegian, try google translate on http://nakri.co.uk/ord)

I feel bad for the first post in nearly a year being about the pain I and my country are feeling, but these words needs to get out, and using my second language for it gives me the distance I need right now.

On Friday, when I came home from work, it was to the sound of something a little like thunder. At least according to my boyfriend and my housemate. We soon got calls telling us to check the Norwegian news. There’d been an explosion to our government headquarters/the headquarters of Norwegian newspaper VG. No one knew what caused it or why, but there were huge damages.

I was supposed to just come home, leave my workstuff and go straight for the trains to Hokksund, to celebrate a cousins 5th birthday, and so we did. The bus to our train came when it was supposed to, but the route was going past the hospital they were bringing all the injured to, so somewhere between my house and the train station we got delayed for about ten minutes, enough to just miss our train. No biggie, worse things were happening downtown, so I called mum to say we were going to be delayed, but I was trying to figure out the quickest route to Hokksund right now.

While on the bus, after getting the main gist going around twitter, I called my little brother to ask if this was the annual week of Utøya, or if he were coming to my aunts as well. I told him about the explosions, and we agreed that I would keep him updated, since they didn’t have that strong an internet connection on the island. He seemed slightly anxious, but as we both said, he was safe on an island in the middle of nowhere.

While trying to figure out how to get to Hokksund I got several calls from dad, my aunt and mum. My dad just wanted to make sure we were safe and thought, based on the rumours I’d managed to pick up by then that this might’ve been a propane explosion (the rumours at the time had it that the explosion was happening by the refectory of the government building). Not very unlikely, as the refectory is closed and unoccupied during July (according to twitter friends who work there). My aunt was equally relieved that we were heading out of town to my other aunt. She asked me if I knew wether my brother was in Oslo, but I told her he was safe at Utøya, so no worries there. She found the thing scary, but relieved that both me and my brother were safe, she continued to call loved ones in Oslo.

An hour after the train we were supposed to get on the train, we caught one, and I sat down to read my book while following my twitter feed with half-an eye (thank heavens for smart phones). I tried to safe power, but was ready to charge it as soon as I got to Hokksund (it is in fact smart to bring your charger when going further away than the shops – you never know what’ll happen).

When the train had reached Drammen, I got a text from my brother saying there were shooting and that he was in hiding, but scared. A couple texts went back and forth and I found out people had already been hurt, but he didn’t know how severly. I did not manage to fully believe this, so I asked friends on google talk and checked facebook/twitter for news about this. He was not joking. My little brother was in fact laying in hiding on an island fearing for his life. I was so glad to hear it from him first-hand, not having to worry if he’d been shot and being able to pull myself together before taking in the news from the regular sources.

I came to Hokksund, mum picked us up and we went to my aunt. That’s the saddest birthday party I’ve ever been to. Everyone adult were sitting staring at the news, hoping it was all a cruel dream. My cousin asked my mum why she was crying, and my mum couldn’t manage to tell the truth «I’m just a bit hurt», she said, using the Norwegian word for damage, not the internal heartbreak hurt she felt for her son, my brother. After all, the kid just turned five. She should be able to have a happy birthday, even if the world is going to the dogs.

I spent our time there religiously following twitter (I had updated both twitter and facebook as soon as I knew about my brother), I kept on telling people not to call their loved ones on Utøya, not draw attention to where the kids were hiding, not risk my brothers life.

After the first text from my brother people started asking me on all the medias they knew how to reach me on how he was, if I’d heard anything, if he was safe yet. Journalists started asking if I got put him in touch with them, and somehow Associated Press came through to me. I was so busy trying to gather all the information, I didn’t have time to react myself, or even talk about my own feelings. Letting people know all the news I could get about my brother was the most important thing.

When I got the text saying he was on a boat, I felt so relieved I really thought my heart would burst. I didn’t know whether he was unharmed, what he’d seen or anything other than the fact he had so far survived one of the worst situations I could ever imagine. I was in pain, but found it more important to paint whiskers on the cheeks of a five year old cousin wanting to be a cat. No one cared that they were painted with a blue eyeliner-pen. She and her two friends were meowing cats on the floor, we adults were just relieved that my brother was alive.

There were cake and food and drinks, but it was completely impossible to eat. I’d had strawberries for lunch, and I didn’t feel hunger or even want for anything eatable. The Associated Press came through, and their journalists were the first who properly got the wordings of my experience. They were patient, asked questions, but didn’t pry (thank you). Someone else from them called, and I gave mostly the same answers and were told to give my brother the biggest hug possible when I finally got to see him.

We went home to my mum and the cats she’s watching. It was intolerable sitting in Hokksund not knowing. I knew dad was in his car rushing to get up there, so he could care for my brother as soon as possible. We were considering trying to get up there as well, but my common sense told me there would be ambulances needing to get up there, lots of parents wanting their children back and the obvious press trying to cater for the worlds curiosity. We knew my brother were safe. My dad was on his way, he would be fine. There would be a team of people to take care of him, making sure he got what he needed, he didn’t need more family with a dire need to see he was safe. We could hold our pain and wait.

After having gone through my old closet, raiding it for clothes I’ve missed and having played with the cats and gotten in touch with friends from all over the world asking if I and my loved ones were safe and having received a phone call from my brother confirming he was safe, being taken care of and physically whole part from some bruises, I decided to take my boyfriend to my dads place and wait there to see if my brother would come home that night. With a cat-allergic boyfriend, I think that was the best place to be, no matter how you look at it.

We sat for hours waiting, until we could bear no more news. My boyfriend went to bed, my grandmother went home, and my stepmother started making the house ready for the night. After she’d gone to bed and I’d blown out the candles my dad came home. And the horrors. It was just dad, and he told of zombified youths traumatized beyond imagination telling stories I still can’t fathom. I hugged him, and we went to each our beds. I cried myself to sleep that night, for the first time in ages. I could not believe the cruelty. I could not believe the desperation coming from all channels. It was too much.

During the evening my boyfriend heard news of family members being at Utøya, not knowing how they were. He kept his worries about them from me, letting me worry about my closest. I asked my dad if he’d seen or heard anything about them, and he had only horror to tell about the one he’d heard of.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well. I hardly ate. Before breakfast I’d been contacted by more medias than I’m comfortable with, and I couldn’t care about them anymore. Dad was going back up to Sundvollen and I asked if I could join, if only to try see if I could do something – anything for my brothers and his friends. Our little sister demanded that she’d join as well, and I said I’d take care of her if need be. She needs her brother too. (Later that day she would greet the crown prince and refuse to greet the king, bringing a good round of needed laughter to us).

On our way up there I was still an information-junkie scouring twitter and facebook for any bits of news. I read blog posts written by survivors and cried. I tried to stay composed and smile and pull faces at my sister in the back seat. I let her play with my Nintendo 3DS and helped her with Zelda to keep her distracted enough.

I remember when we got close. There were blockades, but my dad just said «kin» and the police let us through. When we got to Sundvollen, I was annoyed at all the cars there, just wanting to see a parking spot sun, so we could run into the hotel. After parking the car, we went towards the hotel, but there were a crowd of journalists blocking our path. Another journalist (my dad had spoken to her the night before) barked at the others to let us through so we could find our dearest. They immediately divided, and we got into the area. There’d been press conferences that day, and I could see our grieved Prime Minister talking to someone. It’s amazing how calm everything was. Most of the rescued youths seemed to have been brought home or to hospital. The people still there were mostly the ones strong enough not to panic, just wanting to find the ones they were missing. And there were families, politicians and a huge amount of volunteers making sure everyone had whatever they needed.

When we came into the lobby, my brother called for us. I really wanted to push our sister forward, letting him hug her first, but I couldn’t help it. I was overwhelmed with emotion and was basically running. I’d never been so happy seeing that little brat. I hugged him close, held him tightly, not really wanting to let him go. My little traumatized brother. Why did he have to endure this while I was safe? Why not me instead? He’s doing so much more than me every day. He fights for our democracy every day. He’s an up and coming politician, being recognised by so many for the work he does for the Norwegian Labour Party. Why did HE have to go through this? Why?

After a while our mother came. And then the King, Queen and Crown Prince. They and the present ministers were hugging everyone who needed a hug, they were listening to the stories, they became totally human. Because that’s what we needed. I lingered in the background. It’s way more important to give attention to the poor souls who were out there. It’s more important showing praise to the rescuers who brought up so many swimming kids. There were so many saved from drowning because people in boats decided to go out there to pick them up.

My thoughts are going all over the place on this, but it needs to be written. I need to write it. I need to get it out.

After a while at Sundvollen we all went back. First to Hokkund where my boyfriend decided to catch the train back to Oslo, then to Drammen where there was another memorial. I wanted to get back to Oslo, but I knew I needed to be with friends first before being able to take the train. Well, I never got on the train. They made up a bed, and let me sleep until I woke today (Sunday). I spent the day trying to gather strength enough to go the meters over to the train station. I simply could not get on the train. I decided this really was not a big deal, and sent out a call for anyone going the same way by train or bus, so we could at least share the ride. Someone I don’t even know said they were going by car later in the evening, and if I didn’t find the strength sooner, I was welcome to join. Relief. I would get home, no matter what. And then dad called. He asked if I’d gotten home to Oslo and I just started crying. I hadn’t wanted to bother him, since he obviously had my brother to tend to, and a little daughter with lots of questions needing to be answered. I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he could take care of his grown-up daughter as well. After all, I’ve managed so much in my life, I should be able to manage this too. He was annoyed I hadn’t asked for help from him before and drove me home. I have the best dad ever.

I promised to get in touch with some kind of a crisis team (I’d already promised mum the same) but when I got home I couldn’t even find the strength to look up their number. A friend (THANK YOU) on msn asked me how I were, and I told him. He called up the national hotline telling them the really short version of my story and got a couple numbers. I got no reply. He found another, and they didn’t reply either. In the end I found the number for the emergency health care. They replied. I burst into tears with relief and had to tell them to wait a few moments.

It was so nice having someone outside this madness to talk to. Someone to pour all my thoughts and childhood memories and praise of all the heroes I see in this story and everything at. Having someone comforting me, saying I should take care of myself and those around me, take the time to let things calm down, just chatting me through my worst weekend. How I never thought I’d experience something so painful I felt my heart burst this bad. How I feel so sorry for the bastards mother, how worried I am about the fact that human people can get themselves to do this. How I worry for what will happen to these youths in a few months and hearing me urge her and the whole system to be there then, hearing her saying they’re building a system for that as we speak, even though they are focusing on the instant reactions at the moment. Just hearing a sound voice in all this. Having someone to admit I really can’t face going to work in the morning, and hearing from someone that it is perfectly ok to take a personal day, even if I’m just the sister of someone. Hearing that my reaction is understandable, and that it is ok to let it all out, hearing I can call them any time, day or night.

I am so undescribably proud of my brother. I am proud of the fact that these youths looked out for each other on the island while fearing for their lives, setting each others above themselves. I am proud of the fact that I belong to a country where the king and his family takes their time to mourn with us. I am proud of the fact that I’ve seen our king dressed down coming to Sundvollen more as a grandfather to everyone than their king. Seeing our king and queen there was comforting in the same way having my great grandfather comforting me when I fell as a child used to be. I am proud of the fact that this is possible in Norway. I am proud of the fact that our country instantly gathered to do everything possible for the victims of the bombings and the youths at Utøya.

It’s much simpler for me to dehumanize the guy who put my brother in such danger. Someone doing that cannot be proper human. I fear, though, that doing just that will let him win. He’s not a monster. He’s a very bad man, having performed monstrous actions. He’s caused a huge wound in my country and I have no respect for him. He’s still a human. I hope he’s kept away from all kinds of media, that he never gets the satisfaction of us talking about him, dissecting his manifesto in a desperate effort to understand him. I hope he only gets to know how much love there is going around now. How we are more inclined to support each other, that the society he hates so much he tried such desperate measures to destroy it has only grown stronger. How we’re looking at so much hope now. I hope he’s in pain. I found myself wishing all kinds of small irritations on him. I hope he gets a stomach ulcer, I hope he gets an infection in his toe, I hope he gets all these non-lethal pains because I don’t believe he’s capable of feeling all our actual pain. But I want him to feel it. I want him to feel the combined pain we all feel, but I don’t want him to die.

I know he should never be allowed out on the streets. At least I hope so, for his own sake. There are bound to be plenty of people reckoning the price they will pay for his life to be fully reasonable all things considered. I can’t wait until I am able to feel true indifference towards him. Right now I am just at a loss. He tried to hurt my little brother. The kid had proudly become the big sister of some 21 years ago. The kid who were either my worst enemy or my best friend. The kid I conspired to catch Santa with, but failed every year. My little baby brother.

I remember the first ultrasound image of him, how I ran into my grans workplace eager to show her how my baby brother looked like. How he only slept during his baby-hood the one time I wanted to show him to all the kids at this birthday party down the street, how he bit me once and I still have two white spots on my hand after his only two teeth. How he nearly pulled my earrings out and I am still scarred. How proud I was when I found out he were going to the same high school as me with mostly the same teachers. How proud I was when he got to be the leader of the labour partys youth faction in our home county. How proud I was hearing he got a placement in the communications department of the party he belonged to, how proud I was to hear that people in our home county can vote for him in the county AND council elections. How proud I was when he was younger and working for help to kids with emotional problems, being bullied and having mental issues, needing someone, how he was fighting for our council to keep having a place for these.

Among the youths at Utøya, there were several people like my brother. Too many of them never got to reach their full potential. Too many did not get home to their families, too many lost dear friends. These were everyday heroes working for a better Norway and a better world. Working to make this world a great place. The bastard used their concern for the government headquarters in Oslo to try gather them so he could shoot them down en masse. He used a police uniform, making these kids skittish of all people in police uniforms, especially those carrying weapons.

He made my little brother lay in hiding for an hour and a half fearing for his life. There is no way of explaining how I feel about that. I hope I never see him in real life. My brother got out safe with nothing but bruises and the memory of hearing gunshots. He was lucky enought not to see him. Not then. He heard gunfire and ran the other way. He was lucky. Too many others weren’t.

I don’t know whether I’ll be able to sleep tonight. It is four in the morning right now. In a few hours I’ll get up, call my work and check if they got my e-mail and confirm the fact that I won’t be able to work. I will go back to Hokksund again and join a memorial moment of silence there before going back to Oslo to join the people marching to mark the fact that our community still stands.

I love Oslo, the city in my heart, and I just want it to be well again. I will not let that bastard win.

And to all you who has shown concern: I remember you all, and am very grateful. All of you have helped in ways I can’t describe. You’ve let me deal with this in my own way, you’ve let me take care of what’s most important to me first, and you’ve shown me so much hospitality I can’t believe it’s even possible. You are all amazing.

Raptor haikus

In January, I was fairly active on this site called formspring. You get questions and answer the ones you want to. Kinda like an external FAQ.

This post was originally posted on my Livejournal account (it’s under a friends lock and has been since I switched my main blogging to the ones on nakri.co.uk – I usually accept new people, though.)

I should say, though, that I’m no expert when it comes to Haikus. As should probably be obvious to anyone who knows jack shit about them.

Details

Music for a starving girl

If you’re reading this, it means you know something about me. You might not know me well, but you’re still on my blog (or facebook page, since this will feed there as well). You know enough to maybe have an opinion on what kind of music you listen to that I might like. After all, something about me made you interested enough to read this.

That is all I need for you to know right now. I want your music recommendations.

I won’t tell you anything about what I like or not. I won’t tell you what kind of mood I’m looking for (I use twitter for that anyways). I just want the music you think I should listen to. You can give me a whole album or just one or two songs. You can give me youtube links, wimp links or simply add music to this spotify list. Or you can just comment with your recommendation.

If I get any particularly good music out of this, I’ll make sure to share it here.

Never could get the hang of Thursdays

photo credit: aussiegall

This is one of those days where you’re constantly reminded it’s a Thursday. It kind of takes me back to working in a food store. I remember a certain Thursday back then. Just finished Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy, and woke up from the radio warning me. There was something anal about Thursdays, and you should not do circlerelated business. Ok, then. I got out of bed too late for breakfast or anything other than getting my uniform on and run to work. In the hallway I stalled for a few minutes looking for an umbrella because my shoes were wet. No signs of rain outside, mind you. I got out eventually, with one thought stuck in my head for the day: «It’s a Thursday. Had to be a Thursday».

We’re not as superstitious as we used to.  We don’t necessarily all believe that dark power looms on Thursdays, and we don’t abhor circle-related tasks on Thursdays and we don’t go around fearing Thor. But there’s still something about this day. Something quintessentially wrong. Ohh, I know. It’s not Friday!

…wait, wait, wait… It’s Thursday? That means Friday is tomorrow!

Happy New Year!

This is a piece made for all my old and new friends, anyone in the family who might read this, past and current colleagues, people I enjoy spending time with, all of you I used to be in touch with and have been too lazy to keep up with, and just about everyone else who has ever shown an interest in me, what I do and/or what I think. Without people like you I would never have been able to muster the strength that’s brought me to where I am now, and will keep bringing me to reach all kinds of crazy destinations. I hope you have all had a great Christmas.

Photoshoot with Paulina Palian and Lisa Lindøe

A couple weeks ago I was contacted on Model Mayhem asking if I could spare some time to model the clothes of amazing polish fashion designer Paulina Palian, with Lisa Lindøe behind the camera. This sounded like a great idea, so I met up and had a fabulous day in the park wearing pretty clothes and generally having fun.

Here’s a few of the pictures taken:

Friday Inspiration: Sagmeister on the power of time off

Stefan Sagmeister is one of the designers that makes me think simply by opening his mouth. I don’t always understand his work. Sometimes I even find it frustrating, and I find it disagrees with my view of design. But when he gives talks, he’s one of the more inspiring design thinkers. His philosophy is what makes him such a great designer, I guess.

In this ted talk, he talks about taking a year off now and then to experiment and grow fond of what you do. Just what you might need on a lifeless Friday in November. And maybe especially on Friday 13th?

The fun of flowrite

I’m still way behind on nanowrimo. Closing in on 8000 words. If I make it to 10000 tonight, I bet I’ll be able to hit 20000 during the weekend, and then I should be back into a manageable state. The story is flowing well, though, so I see no problem in finding enough to say.

Right now I’m in a tiny twist. I’ve given my main character a childhood drama through a flashback, and now I’m unsure if I should just jump right back to «now», or if I should jump about halfway to show some of her actions a couple years after the trauma. I have some plans of what will happen, and I might go back to the last setting anyway. Just need to figure out if I should take a trip through now first.

Meh, I’ll work my way through today while I think, and will probably know this by the time I get home.

This might turn into something readable after all.

…or not.

Nanowrimo progress

photo credit: dunkv

I were supposed to write about 2000 words per day. This hasn’t happened.

It started promising with about 2200 words the first day, and then I got lazy. It took me until yesterday to get to 3400, and then, last night I was sitting doing a huge stretch until I managed to climb up to 5000.

Now I’m sitting here with somewhat of a story sorta planned a couple days ago, and now my main character has made herself the queen of the world and people are plotting her demise in various ways.

Ahh, the turns of stories.

The marvels of identity

photo credit: Rookuzz

As a BA(hons) Graphic Designer, I’ve spent much time drowning myself in visual identities. These can be seen everywhere. They make those brands you know so well. they make up that ‘thing’ about the girl you meet every day on the bus. They make you recognise.

These days we hear much talk of personal branding. Some people do this in a very successful manner, while others might want to reconsider theirs. There are many do’s and don’ts in all aspects of a personal branding, but what hits me as the most important is this: Be consistent.

Every time I embark on a new brief, I start with the identity of it. Without a proper foundation, you’ve got nothing. How am I going to display this to my client?

But now we come to the period that I call the battle for identity.

For anyone trying to get noticed, identity should be in focus. How do you dress yourself? What is your appearance? How does your online profiles look and do they connect? Do you want to keep certain of your fields separated? Do you have such a thorough personal visual identity, you can wear the same style to every occasion?

When you prepare for a job interview, you are often told how your clothing matters. Girls should take care too dress pretty, but not too pretty (some would say they should dress to about a 7). Be careful and show a masculine, respectable being with a feminine touch is often the expert advice. But why should you?

Always dress the part. Be it actual clothing or designing an online profile. Even facebook can be tailored.

Use a presentable profile image. Consider your options: Should you use the same image everywhere, or will your personal brand be more effective if you use some variations? Should there be a colour scheme? And how should you appear out in the real world where people can actually see you?

Where would coke be without it’s red colour and contoured bottle? Would it be as recogniseable without the characteristic logotype?

Another good example can be found in Petter Stordalen. A Norwegian entrepreneur with a huge passion for many things. On the website for his company Home Invest Group, you can see a fancy blue background image with a sun bursting out of some clouds (the site has some other interesting elements as well, and is worth playing around on). This background gives the site a characteristic feel, and can be seen on Stordalens blog and twitter profile and youtube account as well. This is a simple twist, but it makes Stordalens web presence that slight bit more visible. You don’t need to read anything on the page in order to know that the blue colour and bursting sun is him. This is a good way of capturing the value of recognition.

Many believe that a business card is the most important thing there is, when it comes to making other people remember you. Why? Is it really that necessary? My most valuable contacts are people who have noted down my twitter username after a couple beers, or people who’s written their name and number somewhere on my arm. A business card is great for its use, but it’s not necessarily right for everyone. I, for example, hold a world record in how to lose them in the shortest time possible. And still I make a living out of making those bastards.

You can draw anything into identity theory. You can talk about how you shouldn’t have gradients in logos, how you should stick to the pantone chart, how you should keep as few elements as possible, how less is more or how much emphasis you should put on each separate puzzle. But you know what? The only thing that matters is still consistency.

Here’s a mantra for you (and repeat after me, now): consistency is key.

Earlier you were supposed to keep letterheads, business cards, compliment slips, invoices and a range of branded gimmicks if you were supposed to look serious. Those days are slowly disappearing now that the internet is growing deeper and deeper into our lives. Now we add each other on linkedin and twitter when we meet, our invoices are more often digital, and we hardly ever write letters when e-mailing is faster and more convenient.

Earlier all you needed to get a decent job was a resume. This sheet of paper should include relevant information about you, your education and past experience. And that was it. Then you were encouraged to put a photo on there. Now you’re told that the employer will google you, and you should take care what you release online and where. Be on the ball and get the negative stuff removed, and make sure there is written enough positive about you and everything will be fine, they say. What’s negative and what’s positive is an individual issue. What’s important is that you take ownership of yourself, and how you look anywhere. You wouldn’t go to a job interview in your PJs, so why should you be a slob when it comes to how you look online?

The bottom line is this: You cannot get away from having a visual identity. You will show through in how you decide to portray yourself both on- and offline. How people perceive you is as simple as you taking control. You are your own personal brand.

NaNoWriMo

So, I’ve decided I’m gonna take a shot at it this year. Still not sure as to what language I’ll write in, or what I’m going to write about. It will probably be another exercise in flowrite. It’s been a while since I’ve done that.

I have several old concepts of stories I want to make, but I’m not sure where any of them will go.

But what is NaNoWriMo?
Well, it stands for National Novel Writing Month, and is held November every year. The goal is to have written a 175 page novel (about 50.000 words) from today and until midnight 30th November. For me it’s a tool in getting writing practice as well as a way of forcing through a different creativity than the one I’m using at the moment.

My biggest problem at the moment is to set my story in time and environment. Should it be steam punk? Post apocalyptic? Heavenly? Gritty? Be set in Norway? Should it be fantasy, or somewhere real? What about creatures? And what is the story going to be about?

I’ll make sure to blog my progress. If I’m satisfied, I might even publish it here.

If anyone wants to add me: I’m still nakri