I messed up too. Especially when it came to my friendship with Hanna. Hanna was nice to me and she did stick up for me, but we are very different. My mom said it is because of our age difference and that no sixteen year old should be friends with a fourteen year old.
“Magnus was my friend and he was nearly seventeen,” I said.
“That is different,” my mom said. “Magnus was your cousin.”
“And brother,” I said.
Whatever the differences between Hanna and me were, it did not give me the right to call her a whore. I don’t think it is ever okay to call someone a whore.
Despite everything that happened, I wouldn’t take any of it back. Not even that time when I cut Frida’s hair.
Not because I think that everything that happened was good, but I don’t think you can just choose to change certain things in your life that didn’t turn out exactly the way you wanted. I don’t think it works that way. I think that’s cheating.
I would just make it so that everyone gets a fresh start and a chance to make things right again. Just like me and my family are working on right now.
If I got to be God for one day, I would probably not be able to fix everything that is wrong in this world. But I would like to try and make sure that everyone feels at least okay once in a while. Because sometimes okay is enough.
Author’s Note
I think I was around nine years old the first time I said that I was going to be an author – and I said it with the utmost confidence. Because back then writing was so easy. Obviously not because I was better at it, but because I never questioned myself. I just trusted that everything I wrote was a true masterpiece.
One of my first stories was about a mouse named Robinson who was looking for his hat. He found it halfway through and then the story ended up being about him trying to get a hold of some cheese without being caught by Lurifaks, the cat. Plot twist! It didn’t make much sense, but to me that didn’t matter. Because I didn’t know.
I remember very clearly when I first started writing, but I don’t remember when I stopped.
I might have been around sixteen when it started to play less and less of a part in my life. None of my friends were into writing, it seemed like a strange hobby to have and I guess I just got busy doing things that seemed more important at the time.
To me it doesn’t really matter why I spent so many years of my life not writing. The most important thing is that I found my way back to it.
When I started my MA course I was very surprised when I ended up writing stories that took place in small Norwegian towns. After all, this was an environment that I had felt I so desperately needed to escape.
I think there has always been a small part of me that felt like I didn’t belong in my home town. That I was different from everyone else. And didn’t fit in. And I am pretty sure people thought I was different too. The thing about small towns is that it doesn’t necessarily take much for you to stand out, and if you stand out in any way, chances are you are a weirdo.
There was also a part of me that loved my home town. I had the best of friends and being part of a community where everyone knew each other and felt comfortable and safe. At one point I was 100% sure I would stay there for ever.
I dreamed of me and my mates getting flats in the same building and that we would hang out all the time and visit each other on a daily basis just like one long episode of Friends.
But like most things in my life this feeling didn’t last too long. Around age twenty one I remember being very restless and bored and I had no clue what I wanted to do in the future.
I strongly felt the need to go as far away as humanly possible. So I went to Australia.
Four months before my visa expired I had run out of money and I couldn’t afford my return ticket, so I worked as a dishwasher every day for two months to earn enough money to go back to Norway. I honestly thought that this journey would solve everything. That I would find myself and suddenly all the answers as to what I should do with my life.
Today I am just as restless and I constantly have the need to go somewhere else and experience something new. The way I see it, I don’t have a home. When I go back to my home town I am just visiting a place where I used to live. Every time I move somewhere it feels like a place where I live for the time being, because I know I won’t be there for long.
I used to think that one day in the future I would be able to settle down, but now I am not so sure. And maybe this is the reason I am fascinated by the place I grew up. The people who live there seem so content and happy. And at peace. But I know that this place isn’t right for me any more and everyone needs to find their own version of happiness.
The Unpredictability of Being Human started with me burning a bag of popcorn. I knew nothing about the character or the story when I wrote the first couple of lines and I really did not expect it to end up being a novel. The first chapter was originally a short story and I thought that I was done. But then I realized that there was so much more to explore about this character and I really enjoyed writing in her voice so I decided to see where I could take it.
The characters and Malin’s personality all came rather spontaneously. It was a strange way to write because normally I would at least have some sort of an idea of a story, a scene or a character before starting. But it was a very interesting process and I loved getting to know Malin as I wrote it.
Today, writing is not fun and easy all the time. It is hard and frustrating and I often find myself staring at a blank page, scared to get started. Because getting started is often the toughest part. The true magic for me is the moments where everything starts to come together. I love re-writing and editing myself and making it better. And then I’m reminded why I love writing so much. It is kind of like the relief you feel after finishing an exam.
Or when you dislocate your shoulder, and they pop it back in and the pain eases up and makes you feel that it was all worth it. (Well, not really)
I have becomes a true master at procrastination. While writing this author’s note I have watched numerous YouTube videos, found out which Disney Prince is my soulmate and what I should name my cat (I don’t even have a cat).
But as long as you get there in the end it is okay. And sometimes okay is enough.
For the past three years I have been a part time cartoonist who can’t draw.
And now I am a writer. Who can’t spell.
About
Linni Ingemundsen
Linni Ingemundsen is from Norway, though she currently lives in Malta. She does not know how to draw but is somehow a freelance cartoonist. Some of her favourite things in life include chocolate, free Wi-Fi and her yellow typewriter.
Linni has lived in three different countries and will never be done exploring the world. She has worked as a dishwasher in Australia, a volunteer journalist in Tanzania and has approximately 2.5 near-death experiences behind her. Still, what truly inspires her writing is her background growing up in a village on the south-western coast of Norway.
Linni began writing The Unpredictability of Being Human while on the Oxford Brookes MA in Creative Writing. Her dark, comical storytelling introduces her readers to a small-town community filled with pain, humour and a whole lot of nothingness.
The Unpredictability of Being Human Page 17
