In Europe there’s a small country called Norway. In Norway there’s a small, small island called Hidra. On that island there’s a house. An old house, passed on from generation to generation – the rooms filled with memories that only the house remembers.
Hidra is such a small place that few Norwegians have heard of it. However, the ones that have know it’s famous for its beauty. It’s a popular place to get married, like this couple just has.
The house used to be vibrant, alive – years ago, when it belonged to my grandmother. Now there’s a layer of dust everywhere I step. I should have been here more often, but today it is a house built with hands, not a home made up of hearts. It used to be, but there’s no longer people living here.
Time has stood still in this room.
I could have invested, I could have tried. However, a house requires maintenance, it requires love and care. The horrible truth is that, as much as I wish that I wanted to, I don’t truly want to stay here. I want to spend my summers abroad. I want to see the world.
This pile only grew… Thirteen bags and several hours later, the garden was done.
My dreams involve a passport, airplanes and exploration of places, far, far away. When I close my eyes I never see this old house, on this small, small island. It is a beautiful, serene place, and over the years I have given it little pieces of my heart. I love it, I just don’t love it enough.