(But love, death, and bad school names happened.)

I was living my best life in Madrid, sipping cortados, dancing in kitchens, and pretending deadlines didn’t exist,  when I fell for a Norwegian man. And not just any Norwegian. A Trønder. From the north of Trønderland. You know, the kind that can survive snowstorms in a t-shirt and call it summer.

Somehow, with his stoic charm and mysterious way of saying entire sentences with just the word "njaaa", he convinced me to move back to Norway. That was definitely not part of the plan.

One thing led to another (okay, there were about seven countries in between), and suddenly I was raising kids here, commuting between Norway, the US, and England, and pretending it was all temporary.

Then the plot twist. He died. Tragic. Awful. Not funny at all. But life had to carry on in that weird way it does when you have small humans depending on you. And so, I stayed. (Note: I do not want this article to be about loss.)

Then — plot twist number two. A Brit entered the picture. A proper Englishman! Polite, tea-loving, emotionally repressed, you know the type. We both said, “Yes, we’ll stay in Norway just for now, but we’re definitely leaving soon.” Little did I know he was secretly falling in love… with Norway.

And me? Still here. Still confused.

 Like when my Norwegian father decided it would be hilarious to enroll his daughters in a school called Fahan.

 Yes. FAHAN.

To the untrained ear, that might sound innocent. Quaint even.

 But if you’re Norwegian, or even slightly familiar with the language, you’ll know this sounds exactly like one of the worst swear words in the entire language. Think… the Voldemort of Norwegian cursing.

So there we were,  international kids trying to adjust to a new school, new culture, proudly saying:

 "Hi, I go to Fahan!"

 …Only to watch Norwegian adults recoil in horror, teens burst into laughter, and old ladies nearly drop their knitting needles.

Let’s just say, when we eventually moved to Norway, it was an interesting icebreaker.

 I mean, how do you explain your educational background when it sounds like you're aggressively insulting someone?

Truly. A character-building experience.

 And now I speak three languages, depending on the day and my mood, maybe four. I have a high tolerance for embarrassment, and the comedic reflexes of someone who's had to explain this to every Norwegian relative, friend, and customs officer.

 So I was labelled a liar before I even unpacked my emotional baggage.

Adjusting here has been like slowly freezing while smiling. My international background wasn’t exotic  it was suspicious. My accent? Mocked. My stories? Doubted. My warmth? Too much.

But, somehow I came back and stayed here! Even though I left after a few years of not feeling comfortable here! Here I am. Still in Norway. Still explaining my school name. (Now, becoming a metaphore for more!) Still getting more work abroad than I do here. Raising third culture kids in wool socks. Still wondering how I got here. Still laughing, and crying simultaneously, because really, what else can you do?

Ah...Norway - the country of sameness. Where no one could possibly have different experiences in life...

Yours truly (and a slightly frustrated ponderer),

The Poetic Designer (Tania Winther)