In the cafeteria

I used to dream about being dead. I’d watch you break down as you got the news. Beating yourself up for treating me poorly. Maybe scream a little and cry a lot. I obviously didn’t want to die, I just wanted you to think of me. Miss me. And dying felt like the only way to get that reaction from you.

This was before. Before I forgot. How fun we were together. How I walked out of the apartment after sleeping with you for the first time and having to take my sweater off, in March. Summer started between us, way before outside dinners and green trees. Our patterns sounded like poetry to me as I read them, finding calm in between our nights. And when you left I found I couldn’t read any more. Like a child I stuttered, fell on every letter.

We never had a beginning. Starting out halfway through the race because who needs a start when it’s this easy. Silly us didn’t realize that you always start, no matter where you start. And as we walked down Allen Street I got that empty feeling only the city can give you. I would’ve liked you to put your arm around my shoulders. But they froze naked in the 34 degree heat. We turned corners and there was supposed to be more, there should always be more.

Then that was it and I dreamed about being dead. But hold on, I told myself as I walked home one night and the trees were naked and the wind was cold for the first time. Things take time. Hold on. And just like they say time works, I recovered. I forgot and the wind became warm again.

A long time later I was sitting unprepared in a restaurant. Don’t turn around my friend said so I turned around. And there you were. A real person and everything. It shocked me. Years of not seeing you, talking to you, hiding from you on the subway had turned you into this thing I once knew. Something I had made up. I wonder if that is recovering, or if recovering just turns into another way of living? We never become the same after having a lover break us. Our heads just learn to live broken. And as I turned back around to my friends, without having waved or said hello, my body shut down. I walked out of there, quickly and irrationally, I ignored my head saying I was, indeed, acting like a thirteen year old in the school cafeteria.

Because love, I realised,
is something your body memorizes.
Even when your head forgets.

Summer eighteen

Wow. Haven’t been in here in a long while. Not sure why, but I guess this spring and summer just ran over me and had me floored by the heat and the sun and the time spent outside. Since I haven’t spent a summer in Sweden for like 6 years, it was a warm (literally, fucking hot) welcome back with 30+ degrees everyday, light workload, lots of friends who’ve been just as thirsty for rosé as I, midnight dips in the ocean, picnics in parks under the trees to hide from the sun. Wonderful.

I thought it was time for an update, as it feels kind of weird to just post something random and not have you vibing with me. So, here is a written and visual update of my summer eighteen.


I went back to New York in June. Whirlwind. I’ll tell you more in a specific post, but you know, I’ll always be deeply moved by that city. I know it sounds so cheesy, but it’s true. I literally got tears in my eyes the first night when we walked up Bowery to get something to eat. Just from hearing cabs honk and smelling that lovely garbage-NYC-summer-smell. Yum. Being there, there was just so much coming back to me. I realized I I went through a shit-ton living there, and it got a little overwhelming as I went back to places that have meant a lot for me. But as I said, I’ll give you the deets later.


After having celebrated midsummer, worked for a few weeks and turned 26, I traveled to Budapest, Hungary. Fell completely in love. What a city. Beautiful buildings, nice people, delicious food and everything cheap as peanuts. Definitely going back, but maybe when it’s a bit cooler and you can enjoy the baths and everything that they’re so famous for. We sweate our asses off in the heat, but cooled down with Aperol Spritzes as soon as we got the chance. I went there with my friend Lisa, those of you who’ve followed me for a long while know her, who lives in Copenhagen and who I don’t see enough. So getting to spend three days with her; falling asleep mid convo, getting drunk on cheap (but delicious) wine and just talk through every tiny corner of our lives, was so healing. Love you Lizzy Bear! <3


From there I went straight to my parents in Spain. Spending long days at the beach, eating grilled fish and drinking cold white wine for lunch. Going along the coast on their moped, making our way all the way up the hills and breathing in the sea and the sky. Spending the nights in rowdy seafood restaurants and falling into bed, sleeping like a baby every single night. I can’t remember last time I spent a whole week with my parents, without my brother. It was nice. Letting them take care of me, feed me, hug me as if I was their little dog. Speaking of dogs, our neighbour down there got a new little puppy, Mochi, who I got overly attached to and am planning on stealing the next time I go. He fell in love with me too, so it’s all cool.

And then I boarded a plane again, flying over the Alps back up north. And even though I went right back to work, summer didn’t end. The nights were still long and hot and humid, the water in the sea was still body temperature and the work was still a breeze. This week is the first of me wearing jeans since early May. The air was crisp this morning and I felt the very familiar feeling of bittersweetness coming over me. Can’t wait to not wear shorts, but also don’t want to freeze while waiting for the bus. Is it really over now?

Like sexting but emotions and sadness

It was a regular Wednesday. The least exciting day of the week smackdown in the middle of it. I didn’t really know if I were alive or not. Didn’t think much, just got up in the morning, went to work and there I was doing nothing. You texted me right before lunch. Talk to me you said. I told you how bored I was and you said I just had to imagine it. What I asked. Whatever makes you happy. I said I imagined being with you. You said you imagined me, there, with you.

Never did I expect to be sending sweet delicate texts from my cold office to your warm bed. But here I was. You seemed fragile, I thought. More so than you usually do, because you were always fragile of course. But now I could see the silence between your loud words. You write about me you said. Or was it a question? My cheeks was getting warm. So what I said. You said I like it. I didn’t respond. Was there anything to say really? Or did I just not know how to handle this?

I went home at five, walked home in the cold early winter winds, and it buzzed in my pocket. I can’t sleep I haven’t slept you said. I counted back the hours on my fingers. Five, four, three, two, one, twelve, eleven. Eleven am in New York. You haven’t slept all night I asked. I know you said. I didn’t know how to help you sleep from so far away. If I were there we could’ve stayed up together. We could’ve had sex or talked about music or smoked or watched Arrested Development. But now I was here, walking along the water to my apartment that I own and live in. An apartment that’s not a five minute walk away from yours. An apartment that’s exactly an hour cab ride, eight hour flight and 40 minute cab ride away from yours. I miss being awake at night with you I said. Why are you there you said.

Why are we here I thought.

But we are. We’re wondering what it would be like if we could love and not only need each other. If we could, oh my god, we’d be a force of fucking nature. We would be so great together, outshine every single person around us with our light. It makes me sad because we’d have such beautiful babies. With your brown eyes and my freckles and both of ours dark hair. Such a waste. I’ll see you in June I said.

My phone broke that weekend. And I had to change my number on What’s App. So I haven’t heard from you since. I’m wondering if I’ll even see you in June.


Hitting the reset button


I have to say, my transition into the new year has so far felt extremely refreshing. I feel energized and pretty optimistic about spring actually being a real thing even though the sun barely rises these days up here in the north. I’ve looked inwards and done a whole lot of self-reflection these last couple of weeks. From doing so I’ve realized I’m a mix of a person who enjoys spontaneity and one who wants everything structured. While I’m easy going, I want to have my shit together. I want to be able to book a trip and leave the day after, but I also want to know where my phone charger is at all times. You know what I mean? There’s this magical balance between the two, where one can't function without the other. The structure is in the foundation, which is vital; a home to start off at so that I then can go nuts from there. But a foundation like that isn’t built in a day, and I also think it needs to be checked in on once in a while. Because if it was to unravel, that's when I almost obsessively either let go of all routine or stick to everything like a crazy person. As I’ve mentioned before I want to live more mindful this year and I felt that in order to do that, I had to start fresh and hit the reset button. I talked about this with Nicole yesterday over a sweet potato coconut stew-dinner. And we came to the conclusion that in order to distinguish a year after it has passed, you need some sort of change to separate it from the year before. I think (hope), when I look back on 2018, it will be the year when I started doing things with intention.

Inspired by Rachel Nguyen I started to think about the different elements around which my life circles, what I can do to reset them and finally how to build off of that clean slate; how I will stimulate and nourish them.

The first element is my mind. In my journal, I wrote a longer messier version of this text. Word vomiting everything regarding 2017 on paper. Days that have stayed with me, work I’ve done, people I’ve met and drifted apart from, food I’ve eaten, trips I’ve done. Everything by significance ended up on those pages. Also a lot of insignificant stuff, because those things matter too. Being a person who turns to writing as soon as I need to process something, this was a very natural step for me.

The next thing I did was setting a goal for that element. So what do I do to stimulate my mind? I want to read more. I’ve been a terrible reader these past few years and I miss it so much. I want to try to instead of watching an episode of Friends before going to bed or scrolling through Instagram, read for half an hour. When I’ve done that in the past, I find I sleep so much better. It’s basically therapy for $14.99. I also want to write more. Both more produced texts for this site, but also in my journal. Even if it’s just a few lines every night, get it out there! When I do I feel like I make sense of everything and it’s also interesting to go back and see how you’ve been and how you’ve dealt with things in the past. The last goal is to continue with my own little version of bullet journaling. I find it so soothing. I write everything (literally everything) I have/want/need to do in a day either the night before or in the morning and check it off during the day. It’s basically a very thorough to-do list. This helps me focus and be in the moment. Not worrying about what I should do, if I’ve forgot something. It’s all there.


The second element is my body. I’ve never really had a complicated relationship to my body. I’ve always accepted it and kind of just gone with the flow. That meant not working out at all and eating whatever I want to eat. And while that is a very chill and carefree way of life, it’s not a very healthy one. So as of lately, I’ve started to get my shit together and I understand now that life is even more chill because of it. I suddenly feel fresh and clean and headaches are no more. I’m going to the gym like 2-3 times a week, I’ve stopped buying crap at the store (because if I have it at home, I’ll eat it) and I’ve (basically) stopped smoking.

The smoking thing is pretty fucking rad. I’m so proud of myself to go from smoking like 5 cigarettes a day to now having smoked like two cigarettes a month since August if you portion it out. But now even those occasional party cigs are a no-go. The last ones I’ve smoked haven’t been good or satisfying at all, but it’s like I'm on auto pilot. So stupid. Anyway, this year I want to really nourish and treat my body like it deserves. I want to do more yoga, continue with my daily meditation (download Headspace and go at it) and be thoughtful about what I put in and on my body. And that definitely means eating pizza once in a while and taking seconds of my Grandma’s homemade ice-cream. But it also means overall eating green, stop eating when I’m full (a very difficult thing for me) and really listening to what my body is telling me. Letting it drive and go along for the ride.


The third element is my space. I own an apartment! This is still so ridiculous to me. I love my place so much. It’s so small, so it takes only 30 minutes to clean. It’s light so even if it’s midwinter and there is no sun, my bright floors and light pink couch still light up my world. And it’s in the best location, in my opinion. I feel so at home and safe there which is amazing.

I look forward to finish up decorating (a shelf for the wall above the table, a bedside table and some art is on my list) this year and find a home for all my things. I think that is the most important thing for me. I absolutely hate living in a mess and some people would probably call me a neat freak, but whatever. If something does not have a home, but instead is just being dropped on a shelf or in a drawer without intention that’s how a mess starts to build up. I also want to take care of my plants and turn my small bathroom into a tiny spa with eucalyptus and scented candles and soft towels. And turn my balcony into a miniature rain forest!


The last element is my work. I’ve had a bit of a ride last year with changing work place, role and business all at once. Took a bit of a leap. I’ve also accomplished a lot with my “personal” work as I call it. I’ve launched a magazine, I’ve been published in Nuda Paper and Notion Magazine, I’ve started a podcast and a freaking ballin community, I’ve gotten to the point where this site is a place I look forward to visit and care for and not a place I dread to check in on. 

To work-cleanse I first of all went on a Christmas-New Year break and burnt out all my work toxins and anxiety with the help of vodka shots in Moscow. Worked really well. Would recommend. I’ve also cleaned up both my computers and both my phones on files and images, placing everything on hard drives which I’ve marked by year. I followed that by creating folders on my Google Drive for everything. I love folders. Then I idea dumped on a piece of paper; wrote down everything I want to do with my personal work and my professional work. It’s a mix of everything, but so efficient to just dump it all on a paper and call it a day. Now I can always go back when I need inspiration.

Some work goals are what follows... I want to elevate this space more. I want to continue with the shop section (ultimate goal is to turn it into a web shop with a small selection of curated pieces - anyone down for that?) and try to take my interviews to a new level. I want to write more for different magazines and publications, I’d also love to try out more creative direction and styling. I want to continue with my podcast and hopefully activating our community more and really start something there. It’s so fulfilling and fun to share all of that with Linn, my soul sister and angel.

Most of all I’m going to focus on doing my best. And whatever that is, however far (or not) that takes me, will be good enough. Rather than this year being a year where I worry about where the hell I’m going to end up, I just want to feel relaxed, focused and have fun. I’m so tired of chasing that revelation of "oh this is what I want to do and that's where I want to be". I’d rather just let life take me along on its rollercoaster and with time I'm sure it will come to me. All is good.

Let me leave you with this: good things happen if you keep a positive attitude.


The Beach

     The Pacific Highway is foggy and gray. We’re driving along the ocean, through small towns, past Taco Bells and liquor stores and basketball courts and beaches. So many beaches. What is life when you live next to a beach? I don’t know if I’d be happier. Your first initial thought is that you would be, right? Living in fresh winds, eating cheap seafood. But I hate the way my hands feel after having been in the salt.
     We stop for gas a number of miles north of Santa Barbara. The air is wet against my naked arms and makes my hair look thicker than it actually is. I look good being this close to water. My skin moves with my body, not against it like during East Coast winter. The Southern California sun has decorated it with freckles everywhere. I quietly wish for someone to count them.
     My legs are a few shades darker than they were boarding the plane at JFK a week ago. They’re enjoying their freedom, being out of heavy vintage denim. Is free the right word for my look? And after all I love the way my body feels in the water. Light, easy to move.
     I’m soft by the beach. Open and vulnerable and, found. I’ve been told that to be soft is to be powerful and the beach is exactly that. A setting for love and kisses, and the force that bring us tidewater. Me too am drawn between the sun and the moon, filled with blue water, I am a setting for love and kisses.



This is not a love letter

Last night, as I was about to fall asleep, I thought of you. Not because I miss you and not because I’m in love with you, but because there is something about you that won’t leave me alone. It’s annoying, really. I don’t want to be thinking of you and I definitely don’t want to be in bed thinking of you. But there I was, in nothing but my underwear wrapped up in my white sheets thinking about your sheets. The ones with the space pattern that are unusually soft. Your laundry place must use some great softener, because there is no chance in hell you do your own laundry. They’re very ugly, but I like them. I’m sure that’s why you have them, to charm the girls. They don’t fit into your room of old posters and groupie souvenirs and big black boots. They are your ass tattoo. That extra you leave in someone’s mind after having sex with them.

I remembered that one time when I came to your place and it was pouring out. You had kissed me outside the bar and I had told you not to smile so much. I can’t take it when you smile like that. It makes my knees weak and my heart warm in a way I don’t feel comfortable with. You left to get dinner, but later that night I took a cab over to your place even though it’s a ten minute walk away. You came down to get me, wearing your adidas track pants and black hoodie. We made out in the elevator, riding three floors up.

We got stoned and watched half an episode of Arrested Development. Then we had sex in your space sheets.

I don’t miss you. I’m not in love with you. I consider you more of a friend who I can escape to when I want to get out of my own head. Maybe it’s because I’m so far away now and I have nowhere to escape to.

I hate that I think of you in bed wearing nothing but my underwear.


Written on Valentine's Day 2017.

No one skates in Tompkins when the snow falls

     The city was hot from sun and pollution. Boiling streets, sweaty AC's dripping onto pedestrians on their way to work or some random tourist attraction. Summer in New York has a certain taste to it. A bittersweet scent of burnt skin from the Rockaways and trash from the Chinatown sidewalks. You want to escape it, yet it’s the best thing in the world. Its own world in the big one where everyone complains about the subway platforms being hell on Earth and their ice-coffees dripping onto their iPhones as the L-train chases itself under the East River. But we would never leave. We’re angry and in love all at the same time.
     We were these kids running around downtown; drinking at St Dymphnas, fucking musicians, wearing yesterday’s outfit days in a row. How we roamed and laughed, so oblivious about the responsibilities that lurked in the back of our minds. In the same way our thighs rubbed against each other underneath our sundresses, the city was slowly wearing us out. But we didn’t know it at the time. We would meet up after work, have a beer or two and share a pizza in Tompkins. Drool over the skaters killing it in there, doing their tricks in front of us. Sometimes they fell on their faces and started to bleed. We took a big bite from our cheese and tomato slices, let it drip.
     There was this group of people, always around. We would sit next to them at the bar, say hi sometimes. Borrow lighters. You know, those kinds of interactions. One of them was a guy I wanted to kiss. I first met him one night in Brooklyn. I was at his bar. Or it’s not his bar, but for me it is his bar. He served Coors and got high in the back. We didn’t know each other, but I knew he was this dude skating around Williamsburg playing rock music hanging out with all the models in East Village. This weird friend-lover relationship started. Never in love. Always loving. In some way I think we were alone, together. There was this straightforwardness he had that I liked, made me want to be close to him. Total honesty. Very refreshing. His aura was so magical, I swear he could make a whole room fall for him. He would speak and you would listen. I felt him everywhere.
     We were unstoppable as we blasted music in a cab across Williamsburg Bridge. The world is ours and so on. The midnight wind barely cooled down our skin, so double the beer. How could people live anywhere else than New York? “They must be, somehow, kidding.” It was so clear to me then. Never grow up, always have fun. Do not care.
     But come October. The melancholia creeps up on us as the rooftops close down and the beer turns into hot toddy. There's no more cheap watermelon at the bodega and whenever we turn a corner there's a wind of ice hitting us right in our faces. The thousand blankets that try to keep us warm at night fail and we wake up with our noses cold. There's frost on the inside of our windows. The heater never works. And no one skates in Tompkins when the snow falls.

Written by Frida Regeheim