apparently I might be a hipster

and I might be astonishingly fine with that.

I've been getting quite a few comments about my current interests during this summer. I knew I was going to be a bit "different" due that I had just spent a year no further than the other side of the world. I still didn't realise how much I had changed as a person {as everyone does in this age, I've been told}. The most obvious change was in my style which had taken a radical turn January. As did literally everything in my life. That girl who refused to put on anything baggy, who loved Katy Perry, who didn't really care about yellow nor anything retro woke up one morning absolutely loving oversized shirts, Taylor Swift, yellow and desperately wanting a typewriter and a vinyl player. I swear, it was a revelation.

Changing when no one even knows you at all is exceptionally easy compared to the struggle I faced once I came back. People knew the old me. Some people knew the old me dangerously well. So in reality what I faced was a tiny existential crisis. It took me until last weekend to actually define myself well enough to know what I want to do next with my little project called self-improvement. Someone dropped the label for probably the twentieth time. I denied everything, for probably the twentieth time, but the next day I really got into thinking about it for the first time.

I like my sweaters and my ankle boots. I love my typewriter and my postcard collection. I deeply love my dear MacBook and my beautiful cameras. I cannot say I "like" the popular music {except Taylor Swift, of course} and really enjoy more authentic, the less over-replayed tracks. I went totally crazy about the fairy lights about a month ago. I have a rather complicated coffee order to place. Of course these things don't define me completely, not even close. There are much deeper features that build my character. I just thought it felt nice to be placed in a group for once. Also, fitting in one group doesn't take away the possibility of fitting in dozens of other groups. Think it as a passport: the more stamps, the more interesting, but in the end someone needs to tell the stories of those trips.

CONTINUE READING

The Yellow Castle

Cold cafe au chocolate sits next to my macbook. My beautiful calendar lies on the left side. I have a need to surround myself with pretty things. I mean, I have scissors shaped as the Eiffel tower. I have a mustard yellow typewriter. I have a clapboard. I have a pretty decent collection of everything I will need in my own apartment. 

Since January, when Minttu moved to her own apartment I kinda got a moving fever. I go to IKEA far too often and end up having multiple interior plans for my apartment — which, to be clear, I don't even have yet and probably won't have for at least couple years. I google apartment blue prints, print them and start planning where I'd put my desk and clothing rack and so on. In a nutshell I go crazy with interior design.

This might be just a part of me realising I'm 18 and that I want to become an adult. I'm gonna state it again: for me the definition of being an adult is not about all the usual stuff {drinking alcohol, driving a car and so on}, for me the definition of being an adult is cooking parties. I guess it might seem and it might even be a bit pretentious but all my underaged life I've seen my parents having so much fun with their friends coming over, cooking together and sitting in the living room with fancy looking glasses of cognac {or whatever} and chatting. That's what I've been waiting for. And gosh, have I waited long.

I'm still living with my parents and I love it here, I really do. But a big part of me graves for an own apartment, The Yellow Castle. The Yellow Castle is a metaphor for my dream life. The Yellow Castle is the answer you get when you ask what I want to have when I'm grown-up. The Yellow Castle has high ceilings, a warm grey kitchen, beautiful bathrooms, a walk-in closet. Most of all it will be the perfect venue for cooking with friends, for sitting in the living room with friends listening to old blues.

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18

How am I supposed to do this?

I'm Kaisa, 18 and I do wear hats. My wardrobe is the replicate of Taylor Swift meats Spencer Hastings meats Blair Waldorf. My ideal self is the replicate of Taylor Swift meats Spencer Hastings meats Blair Waldorf. I guess you could call me mainstream. Don't, tho.

I haven't been doing nothing, if that's what you thought. No, I've been here and there. I came back from Australia {but that you already know, I hope} but then I met people, went to France, met more people got my driving licence, went to Austria and yesterday my little sister had her confirmation. I'm going back to school on Wednesday. See that odd girl in the art class? Yup, that's me. 

And then, next weekend, we are gonna have a cooking night with four of my friends at my best friend's own apartment. It's all very adult. This is what I've been waiting for my whole freaking life. A classy evening with my friends sipping white wine and eating delicious food while listening to my very self-explementary Spotify-playlist called "when I'm a happy grown-up in a big city drinking fancy coffee". Yup, it's a thing. Except it's not really a big city and possibly doesn't include coffee but you get the idea.

Being 18 doesn't necessarily mean being an adult. An adult would know how to spell "necessarily" without autocorrect {note-to-self}. Still, being able to drive the car, drink champagne and being treated as an adult means a lot to me. I don't know if it's just me, I feel like people take me more seriously now.

It's all very new and exciting. There is a certain glory. Honestly, I was so freaking excited going to the bank for the first time by myself, to get my own bank account information etc. You'd think it's oh-so-boring. I guess it kinda is, but just knowing these professional looking people don't treat or think of you as a kid makes my world. I get very excited every time I get a bill by mail. 

And even tho I'm not 22 yet, I still am happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time and it sure is miserable and magical. Yeah. So thank you Taylor Swift. You keep telling me how to do this 'cause it seems to work.

CONTINUE READING