The lord of the herrings: The return of the Queen

There I sat drinking champagne on the airplane,

Saying goodbye to friends, China and Beijing,

Wondering, pondering, in pain, stark insane.

There, in my head, words, had I made the right choice?

A silence, and in drunken silence I sat,

For no boy, no drink, no noise could drown that voice. 

In southern Sweden. Smell of rain, and of spring, even though it’s summer. Dark grey clouds in the sky outside, and inside. Inside only partly clouded, mostly sunny. I’m inside, so it doesn’t even smell of rain, it just sounds more poetic that way.

I’m back in Sweden, and the mixed feelings I had towards going back are soon but a nebulous memory. When I left Beijing, I felt as if I was leaving something behind. I left a city – no, wait, I mean a country – that I loved behind. Beijing. Beijing is nothing special, at least not any more. It might have been special when it was full of some of the most fun people in the world, but now it’s lost its charm. Rather like an old boyfriend loses his charm when love dies; he’s still fun to fuck occasionally, but you wouldn’t want to go back to him and stay with him for a longer period of time. Unless he’s you-know-who.

But China as a country is different. I will miss it. A lot, actually. I’ll miss how different it is in comparison with western countries. I’ll miss the craziness. I’ll miss the no-rule way of living, where everything imaginable seems, and often is, possible. I’ll miss the people. I might be wrong, really, but it seems to me that people living in developing countries are more – I don’t know how to put it – energetic. Full of life, perhaps better captures it. They seem to live. Live in a way that we westerners seldom do. They’re full of life and they’re always working for something; always going somewhere. They have somewhere to go and something, not somebody, to work for. Here in Sweden, people are at best pseudo-content with their boring lives and their semi-beautiful wives. And their IKEA-furnished apartments and houses. It’s all very 9-to-5; everybody is living the Swedish dream. A boring dream if you ask me. But nobody did, so enough complaining.

As much as I miss China, I love Sweden. It’s a fucking great country. I know I sort of made it sound like people here are boring and that we’re all goal-less zombies just walking around half-living, waiting for something to happen. That is true, but it doesn’t apply to my friends; they’re the exceptions that confirm the rule. They’re the most fabulous among fabulous people. Ambitious. Grand. Wine-drinking drunks. FUN people. People who know that life shouldn't be taken so seriously. The people who make fantastic, completely self-designed and hand-made furniture in the daytime, only to transform into nocturnal drinking deities when night falls. (Oh, well, night doesn’t really fall in Sweden; it’s just light all the time, and this alone is celestial.) People who’re studying to become doctors and psychologists, but who still, when intoxicated, fucks it all and gets drunk on sangria while chain-smoking red Marlboros. And some people who’re living ordinary lives in their picturesque little radhus and are 100% happy and content. These people, my closest friends, are what make Sweden so amazing.

For “living life” is not necessarily about drinking, smoking and being promiscuous. No, no, that’s not for everyone. I like living that way; I have a thing for poisoning my body and flaunting my cock at every given opportunity, but it’s not for everyone.

ANYWAY, I didn’t mean for this post to become so darn deep. I’m happy to be home, that’s all. And living life is about being happy. Thus, I’m living life. And so are all my friends.

Cheers!