I live in the smallest municipality of Sweden, in a village with a population of four people. So. And Yes, we are all relatives.
When talk about it, the interlocutor in the head immediately elicit images of the Association. Four people in the woods. All — relatives. Not a single streetlight for miles.
In addition, it appears that my last (and only) completed education is high school, and I barely got out of there with poor grades in drawing, home Economics, physical education, elective subject, and several subjects (if you could get a deuce for change, I would have got it, because with the changes I’ve had worse). And I taught English for the most part, without any system — TV programs, computer games, song lyrics and individual activities. That’s when this information leaks out, people are starting to understand something.
I had to learn how to skin a Fox and drive a tractor, but I still really don’t know how to deal with the turnstiles in the subway. Now I look like an idiot?
Or Curacau.
Who are the outsiders? Maybe the stranger is the same as being an idiot? When I was little, of course, we laughed at city, who did not understand. And yet — over people from southern countries who did not know how to walk on ice (which they did not have opportunities to practice). But these newcomers had a funny way of slipping!
Someone should we, uh, senses. Surprisingly, but little by little I began to try to learn some things, such as how to reason and what that word means.
I found that the world is full of books. In the end, I crept to the literature, which is otherwise likely to swallow indiscriminately.
Well, I wish I was fed, petted and courted like a baby (not literally, it’s just a metaphor!) I wanted to try new books to the taste, full of confidence that they, in fact, is not dangerous carrot puree. To learn in someone’s soothing embrace. So. Nice. So I entered into this world.
This opportunity I was not.
No one is talking about books or writers. It was a different world. In me grew the barrier is quite high. I was sure that Jane Austen or James Joyce, especially in the original, is for the “other”, more “sophisticated” people. I was afraid that I obsmeyut still at the checkout if I buy or will take in the library something like that. I never even went to school! Me too!
Yes, I believed it. Like me, is worse than others.
How do I get it? Someone said to me? I don’t remember ever once heard that a certain literature is only for “other”.
Nobody said that soy latte is not for such as I, but I imagine if it goes in the air. Thickens. If these things don’t fit, well, what ever drove a tractor. Yes, I’m still a little stupid.
But several times over the past year, my new friends said that they were surprised by how “normal” I was when they knew me. They are simply amazed that I am a real modern man!
That is, they expected otherwise?
Yes. We all have prejudices.
But I get it. Really, I do. I told you, our village is only four, and we are all relatives, and no street lighting we have…
Interesting fact: the average income of a resident of Burholme — 14 001 Krona per month, fourteen thousand and one crown. 48% below the monthly income on average in Sweden.
Stina Stord — writer, lives in the village Boliden under Burgelman, len västerbotten.
