selected works

helsinki 1

reykjavik 2

To me, friendship has always meant being able to share a comfortable silence.

We pass by characters every day.

Some of us find them intriguing while others opt to keep their distance. Regardless of our base reaction, most of us usually keep stepping, even in instances where we've already taken the time to wonder what the deal with a particular eccentric-looking gentleman or lady might be.

This particular gent is one of the regulars around my neighborhood. He's lived here for more than Thirty years and gets by with what he gets for selling pamphlets, manifestos of sorts he makes for every holiday and special occasion. When his calendar looks dry as far as noteworthy days go, he writes crime short stories and sells those on the corner.

I used to pass him by every other day, hurrying off wherever I felt I needed to be. Inside I was kicking myself for not stopping since I always figured he'd have a story or two to share, given the chance. While I went my own way, he stayed there on the corner, wearing the same old jacket and hanging onto a plastic bag, full of his pamphlets.

For me, this story is not of him particularly, though - even if at first glance the pictures seem to be.

These wonderful, eccentric personalities, along with our reactions to them go a long way at defining our neighborhoods and lending them soul. In a rapidly moving world, it's hard to grow roots as it is. When you factor in years of prosperity dragging up housing costs and most city blocks being gentrified, the very essence that transforms stone and wood into homes is being diluted.

I just hope to never forget we're all kooks. For whatever reason most of us just don't wear our hearts on our sleeves.

We all have our own twist, our own hustle - our unique Helsinki in our own heads and hearts.