It's been good to be back home. One thing I realised in Amsterdam was that if I only had academia in my life and nothing else, I'd go nuts rather quickly. Well, maybe not nuts but I'd lose connection with the real world (and that's pretty much the same). So I've enjoyed finding some sort of balance between academic and non-academic life again and I've greatly enjoyed doing all those things I missed so much while being away - I've had lunch with brother K. and I've called my dad, I've been out walking in my favourite park again and have enjoyed the office routine and oh, I've loved being back to gym. Balance is good. :)

But just today I realised something that made me quite sad. I have so many things on my plate and I've taken on so many responsibilities that I've become a guest speaker in my own church. And don't get me wrong, guest speaker's life is nice. Just this last Sabbath I visited a church (it wasn't my own haha), preached there and had an afternoon seminar on homiletics, everything was so nice and people appreciated my visit, I got a box of chocolate and a 'come back' invitation in the end of the day. But I don't have to sit in their board meetings, and I don't know who's going through a tough time and who's happy about something, I don't really know much about their lives. It's easy to sit on a bus in the morning and then come back home in the evening. But that's not how you have a lasting impact on someone's life, is it? Unless you laugh and cry with people, unless you actually walk the walk with them, you're not making that much difference. So I'm really struggling with the balance here. On one hand, I think all these things I do actually matter - if I can help someone understand what Biblical preaching is and if that leads to a better quality sermons in our churches then yes, I think I've done something right. But if I don't have time to visit my elderly members any more, to sit on their couch and listen to their life story, then I don't know how much the other stuff I do makes a difference for them. I don't want to become a guest speaker. And I don't want to become an administrator. How can I find the right balance?

--

I'm still stuck with George Ezra. Here's another one of his songs I really like. Leaving It Up To You. And I like this video too - he's such a handsome kid!

Week two wasn't a particularly good week.

First, I was sooo homesick. I don't know what caused it but I just walked around, missing everything and everyone back home. I missed my office guys and my walks in Kadriorg's park, I missed cooking my own food and having an occasional lunch with brother K., I missed calling my dad and I totally missed sweating in the gym. Every morning in the caf me and C., my new Alabaman friend, we counted days to going home like kids count days to Christmas.

The home reading was increased during the second week and we were all asked to make a 30 minute presentation on Thursday (mine was about how postmodern philosophy sees language) so by the end of the week we were all so blurry eyed it was just ridiculous. None of us got enough sleep. And all of us had more reading to do than we could possibly cope with. It all started to look like a military boot camp where only the toughest ones can survive - with the academic dean keeping his watchful eye open to spot and expel the weakest ones. *shudder*

But again, what made us press on and not give up (although I was pretty close to it on Wednesday, I admit) was the camaraderie. Just to know that you're not the only one who's asked to put up with a workload unsurpassably big somehow gives you strength. In that sense I'm deeply indebted to my American friends and an elderly Canadian gentleman who kept me going and with whom we tried to see the positive side of it all. When we were done with our presentations and we hit a pub on Thursday evening to watch some football (after a long discussion about whether we'd be actually able to keep our eyes open) and I realised it might be the last time we got together like this (the course work is over now, what follows is purely individual), I got really sad. Someone said to me last summer, 'Being a doctoral student is a very lonely experience' and I believe it to be true. But at least I've been blessed with some great company in the beginning of this lonely journey. *sniff*

--

But home is good. So very good. Two people said 'Welcome home' like this (yes, I felt special):

And today in the church couple of people just brought me food (a massive blessing when you get home at midnight on Friday and realise you cleaned your fridge before leaving home). I don't know if it was because I looked like I needed some food and flowers (lol) or whether it was just because God was saying, 'Well done, kid, here's something nice for you for those past weeks'. I opt for the second one.

It's amazing how shared suffering unites people. The group of strangers who started their first steps toward doctor's degree last Monday morning are not strangers to each other any longer. It's been fascinating to see how putting up with long days in a classroom (from 9.30am to 9pm last Wednesday - probably the longest school day in my life), reading, sitting in the library, asking 'what am I doing here?' question over and over again brings people together. Obviously, we're all grown up people and we've come here on our own free choice so we don't cry on each others shoulders but I've noticed in the conversations during the last few days how we rely on each other and try to tell ourselves that all of us will be alright in the end. It doesn't matter some are 60 years old and some already have a DMin degree in their pocket. We're all uncertain whether we can fit such a massive project into our already busy lives or not. And that's why the support of classmates is so beautiful, priceless actually.

But it's not only sweat and tears, of course. There have been plenty of joyful moments, too. For example, on Thursday evening we were all invited to our principal's house for a dinner and it was so good to connect with people over home-cooked food (we're starting to get a bit tired of the constant consummation of the Dutch bread and cheese) outside the school. Or just today over the supper I had the most exciting conversation with C. from Alabama who wants to write on narrative preaching as we realised we both loved Fred Craddock to bits (he said if he's ever to get a stained glass window in his church he will have a big Jesus and a tiny F. C. on it, lol!). Just like a shared sorrow, shared love can also unite people in a beautiful way.

And M. was so kind to take me on a tour in Amsterdam today. It had been a long while since I last saw her and much has happened in our lives since that time so I think we both enjoyed reconnecting, sharing our lives and having a good Sabbath walk around this beautiful city. Hopefully it won't be the last time for us to get together. God willing.

But as soon as the Sabbath ends, the work starts again. We've been given a whole pile of 'light' weekend reading. N. Murphy and deconstruction of postmodernity. Sigh.

With M. Sweet reunion.

Meeting Mr Spurgeon in the library.

Postcard picture.

So the Battle has begun.

I've been to Amsterdam for two days now and I'm getting used to my academic routine - sitting in the classroom from morning til evening with my newly found colleagues. We're having Critical Thinking and Research Methodologies intensive this week. The introduction was absolutely terrifying yesterday morning when the academic dean tried to scare us all to death (and succeeded). "Are you absolutely sure you're ready for this?" he asked. Gulp. Well... yes. No. I don't know. Why am I here???

So I'm swinging between pangs of pure delight for having academics around me again and sudden panic attacks when thinking of the long, painful and tearful journey ahead of me. I'm not quite sure why I'm doing this to myself. Not sure at all.

There are ten of us, two MA students who're taking the same course for some reason, and eight scared-looking baby doctoral students. In the classroom I'm sitting between an American guy who looks like Zinedine Zidane and who teaches theology and Arabic in Beirut (it's difficult to find a cooler combination if you asked me) and a high-ranking Baptist church leader from Philippines who flies around the world and trains pastors (and who likes to talk about it all the time. Never mind.). So there are people from all over the place - Africa, America, Europe, Asia. The principal of the Study Centre is a hilarious Scotsman who looks like Jeremy Clarkson. I'm the youngest (obviously). Out of ten students, it's eight men and two women. So nothing unexpected there.

I haven't seen much of Amsterdam yet but I'm hoping to explore the city some more on Saturday. But as much as I've seen during my morning and evening commute, it's everything one would expect - canals and bicycles everywhere. People are very nice (except when they're biking and you happen to get in their way). I've decided I'm not going to see Anne Frank's house this time around, I'd much rather went there off season when there aren't tourists around. But I am hoping to get together with M. and hang out with her for a while. I haven't seen her since she left Newbold.

I'm tired. So I'm off to watch The Great British Bake Off to give my poor brain a little break. Greetings from Dutch-land!

I think I've been cured of my melancholy. Well, for now, that is.

A day off contributed to it a lot. I called a friend on Wednesday morning to ask for advice about open air markets here in Tallinn as I had never been to one. She said she needed to visit one anyway and offered to take me with her. So we went to a big market which was a scary and wonderful place - it smelt awkwardly and there were the strangest people and so many things you would never find in a grocery store. And it sure wasn't a place which would meet the EU's health and safety standards. Most certainly not. Anyway, I returned from our adventure with a bag full of fresh veggies and fruits. Wonderful. And then I went on to make some jam - it was probably the first time I had ever made any jam myself. It was apricot jam and I put it into cute little jars so that I could give them to my friends as Christmas presents. A day well spent, I'd say.

When I was done with jamming, I didn't have anything better to do than to go downstairs and bug my colleagues (it's a dangerous thing to live in the same house with your office - you might end up in there even on your day off). I. hasn't been to the office for ages so I'm hanging out with my Russian brothers now. R. (the Russian pastor) and A. (well, technically he works for the Estonian church but he's a Russian by nationality) were cleaning Russian church's office and I just sat there, commenting on everything and anything that appeared from their bottomless closet which hadn't been cleaned for at least ten years. I must have been very annoying. And then at one point one of them dragged a ragged box out of the closet and there was a wondrous old typing machine in there. I was thrilled! Then I sat rather quietly for a good half an hour and annoyed them only with typing noises. Now I have a plan - I totally need to write some old school letters on this beast of a machine. I know U. would appreciate one. If anyone else would like to receive a typed letter, let me know! The machine is safely in my office now.

What a beauty!

Giving it a try.

And then three of us ended the day eating my apricot jam. I was cured. Because I thought - I've lost so bloody much but I've still got awesome people right here. And awesome typing machines. Yes.

I went to a camp meeting last weekend to help out. The conference has asked all the pastors to attend at least one summer camp in order to help and support the organisers so I chose this one - a weekend for girls aged 8-11. A peculiar age it is, to say the least... I was dead tired after three days.

When I arrived I realised the main reason I wanted to go there wasn't so much the camp itself but rather the place (embarrassing, I know). The camp meeting took place in Rakvere, a town where I spent most of my teenage years so it was a lot like a home-coming. What I didn't anticipate but what happened was that I drowned in the sea of melancholy as soon as I got there. So every time the girls were busy with something and my assistance wasn't required, I sneaked out and walked down the memory lane. I wandered in the park I used to walk my dog all the time. I walked down the streets where we took our evening strolls with mom. I sat in the cemetery where my grandparents are resting. I sat on the stairs of my old home. I missed seeing my grandpa sitting in the pew he always used to sit in the church. I missed the time when the world was still a safe place. And I couldn't decide whether I should be happy for having had these times and these people (and one dog) in my life or whether I should be devastated because of having lost it all. I still can't decide. And maybe it doesn't matter. Because my heart aches either way.

When I sat in the cemetery talking to, uhmmm, my grandparents tomb stones, I thought about what William Faulkner said in his Absalom, Absalom! which I had just finished. It fit perfectly with my melancholy.

You make so little impression, you see. You get born and you try this and you don't know why only you keep on trying it and you are born at the same time with a lot of people, all mixed up with them, like trying to, having to, move your arms and legs with strings only the same strings are hitched to all the other arms and legs and the others all trying and they don't know why either except that the strings are all in one another's way like five or six people all trying to make a rug on the same loom only each one wants to weave his own pattern into the rug; and it can't matter, you know that, or the Ones that set up the loom would have arranged things a little better, and yet it must matter because you keep on trying and then all of a sudden it's all over and all you have left is a block of stone with scratches on it provided there was someone to remember to have the marble scratched and set up or had time to, and it rains on it and then sun shines on it and after a while they don't even remember the name and what the scratches were trying to tell, and it doesn't matter.

Life and death. And it doesn't matter.

I'm listening to songs which go well with such an emotional state. I'm not sure it's helping but I've clicked on this song more than just once these days - James Bay's Hold Back The River.

Not much is happening. I'm trying to take it easy because in less than a month's time I'll be off to Amsterdam and I'll add the stress of studying to that of working. Another busy year is knocking on the door. So I try to do everything now I won't have enough time for during the school year. Which really only means reading and gymming and seeing my family.

I spent a heavenly weekend at my cousin's summer house (I only get one weekend off in three months so it's actually a big deal for me). It's a place where I can't draw a line between reality and dream - it all seems too good to be true. Of all the people I know my cousin really is the one who knows how to enjoy life. And not in a big or fanciful way but in a very simple and down to earth way. We went swimming so many times I stopped counting, we ate pancakes on the porch on Saturday morning, we heated the sauna and spent two hours sweating and dipping in the lake, we read books and took naps, we sunbathed and ate fresh honey, we played football with kids and made apricot jam. Heavenly. Absolutely heavenly. When I had to leave the place I've come to love so deeply, I left with an invitation to go back, and not just for a weekend. My cousin said that if I ever needed a place to hide and do my homework or just relax, I could stay there by myself for a whole week. I promised to keep that invitation in the back of my head. And now I'm thinking - October. I so need to take a week off and go there in October and hide from the business of my life!

My reading business has been upgraded to a new level recently. I already took reading advice from Dr A. N. earlier but now she has come up with a whole new thing she calls The World Literature Course. She's the lecturer, I'm the student, obviously. It means that she has given me a personal reading list of 50 books, containing classical novels, travel books, biographies, a big section of African literature (which, I have to admit, I know absolutely nothing about), etc. I took a tour in my local library last week after I had received the book list and I realised how poorly equipped it was. So she promised to help me out as much as possible and supply me with books I can't get my hands on here when she comes to Estonia in October. This is some serious business! I feel like I almost have an obligation to read now. But I don't mind, I love it. At the moment I'm finishing my 25th book this year - William Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!, a frustratingly beautiful and painful book about the history and tragedy of American South and slaves and slave masters.

My gymming has a big impact on the music I listen to. I've picked up Body Balance classes again and who ever is choosing music for their routines is doing a brilliant job. My two favorite songs at the moment must be George Ezra's Budapest and Tom Odell's Heal. It's a pure pleasure to listen to these songs while sweating in the gym.