The Hyggelig Journey

( Image by  Dimitris Vetsikas  from  Pixabay ) I have recently moved my blog to a new domain. I realised I should move it to a proper .page, something not so strange anyway considering I always wanted to create “en.hyggelig.page”, which is roughly translated from Danish as "a pleasant page".  Hyggelig means a lot more than just pleasant, though. It is expressed to share a feeling of security, comfort, and familiarity. It is also an expression of appreciation for anything that brings people closer, gathered in a familiar environment, where intimacy is an embraced key value. If you can imagine yourself feeling cosy, alongside familiar people in a comfortable room, then you are close to grasp the concept. There is also a deep sense, an almost impossible truth to pass unnoticed, a sense of gratitude and grace towards enjoying life's little pleasures, with kindness and simplicity.  Which brings me back to this small “en hyggelig page”, a plac...

I've attempted to discover a quick way to deal with confrontational scenarios by interpolating empathy with courteous demeanour. While it didn’t interrupt confrontations, nor made them avoidable, it seems that begging to disagree can work, so long as you’ve have first learnt to mirror what is being talked in a different point of view. I like to call those exercises tools for mutual understanding. It took me a while to understand that it is natural for some people to showcase colourful disagreement only to capture a topic by exhaustion. Funnily enough, no words can interpret with precision what a subject matter can bring to a vulnerable person. I say vulnerable not to explicate people who eventually become vulnerable, oh no. We are all vulnerable to small stressors, too many of them, too many times. Triggers, say, of how much sentiment you will drill in a matter of seconds. More than that, it is a delusion to ignore them. That’s righteous okay, I need to add. Subjectivity is always ...

Sleep refuses to come. I lie there, staring at the empty ceiling, darkness pressing in from all sides. It’s not fear, nor pain — just this relentless wakefulness, as if the night were a place without an exit. My weary body pleads for rest, but my mind — ever unfaithful — drifts where it shouldn’t. I count the minutes like someone stacking silences. Outside, everything sleeps — the dogs, the streetlights, the windows — but I remain, a solitary witness to time standing still. They’ve given me explanations: hormones, habits, internal clocks gone awry. But it isn’t just chemistry. It’s something deeper — a strange misalignment between body and soul, as if one were ready to surrender while the other, hesitant, lingers just a little longer. Acupuncture is a way of whispering to the body: remember? Remember what it was like to sleep? To let darkness be a refuge, not a labyrinth? The finest needles, barely a touch, and something shifts — a knot unravels. The heart slows, the breath...