On frustration or Whatever happened to my part?

a meditation on possible future.

When in dessagreement with institution – leave institution.

And so, I need to start looking for a job. But what kind of job do I want to have? Or better, in what kind of labour do I want to transform into money? What kind of money do I want to earn?

I want to earn money with knitting and crocheying.

I want to earn money with writting.

I want to earn money with performing. Do I?

I want to earn money with the food I make.

I can open a petit cafe restaurant. This petit cafe would sell very good cafe, infact it would sell the best one. It would include a huge variety of tea – like rose-buds tea. And creamy hot chocolate. White, dark, milk, with lavander, chilly peppers, ginger or sea salt. I would get all these ingredients from private people from India, Shri Lanka, China, Chile, Argentina, France, Croatia – and yes, I would ship it by plane if necessary. I would also make cakes. Cakes like the fresh Apple Pie I made last night for the DancingKids. All kinds of chocolate-cherry combination cakes. Banana-sweetpotato cake.

I would put flowers on the tables, wooden tables, wooden chairs. I would also serve soup, home made soup. And quiche “Shiran”, and simple sandwiches, and salads, because Katie likes those.

If my friends would feel inspired, I would allow them to make food, too. Specially if they had recipies they simply had to share.

I would develop photographs I made when younger and hang them on the walls. Photos of the sky, photos of cities I visited. Photos of people reading, thinking, singing. Reading – I would have books lying around. Books that I read, but also books that other people read and decided to leave there so other people can read those, too. I would also make space for some arts magazines. Local and worldwide.

Wouldn’t that be a beautiful place? I would also ask friends to make pillows, cups, mugs, cutlery – all that could be made by hand – would be.

Where would this petit cafe be?

In Zagreb? Paris? NewYork? I don’t know.

Where is my place in this world? I don’t know. Because it so obviously is and is NOT here.

Tel Aviv might be a place for my cafe. Or Stockholm.

I am afraid of the local feeling. Is it that I feel that freedom comes with being recognized in the world, traveling around, not having a stable place? Is it fear of Pär not making an effort of comming to Zagreb or Tel Aviv? But whoever said that I will not be able to travel?

Who cares? I wonder. Who gives a damn, anyway?

So I will bake. And make hats.