Other Writing

A Rock Between Worlds: Notes from Gibraltar

By Tania Winther

There are few places on Earth where you can pedal across a border and feel as though you’ve slipped into a parallel dimension. One moment I was in southern Spain. The heat shimmering on the pavement, the smell of tapas and sea breeze clinging to my skin, children shouting fútbol across sun-bleached streets. Then, with only a few turns of my bicycle wheel, I found myself queueing at passport control. Not once. Not twice. Three times.

...

The brain is a strange organ. It weighs about 1.3 kg, looks like a walnut that has seen things, runs on electricity and fat, and spends its days talking to itself in chemical whispers. It consumes roughly 20 percent of the body’s energy while doing absolutely nothing visible. No lifting. No walking. Just sitting there, thinking very loudly.

This particular brain belongs to a woman who is learning, slowly and sometimes unwillingly, how to be human. Her brain is both her oldest adversary and...

Norway has been trending again lately.

World politics have a funny way of doing that. When global headlines turn loud, people start looking north, for calm, clarity, and countries that quietly get things right. Enter Norway. And if you follow that compass just a little further north than Oslo or Bergen, you’ll find Trondheim — a city that doesn’t shout for attention, but absolutely deserves it.

Welcome to Trondheim. Set in the heart of Trøndelag, a central Norwegian region shaped by Viking...

I am a self-proclaimed linguist.

By which I mean. No one officially proclaimed me anything, and linguistics itself may wish to file a formal complaint.

I did, at one point, very seriously consider continuing my studies with a Master’s degree in linguistics. I imagined myself surrounded by heavy books on syntax, nodding thoughtfully at sentences like “Well, of course the morphosyntactic alignment…” and feeling intellectually superior at dinner parties. The dream was alive. Briefly.

Then the...

I didn’t know a person could die twice. Once in the body. And once in the people they leave behind.

You died. Suddenly, stupidly, in a way that still doesn’t feel real, but the second death was mine. Not fatal, just internal. A collapse so quiet that the world didn’t flinch. Buildings stayed upright. Trains came on time. People kept ordering their coffees with oat milk and too much certainty. Meanwhile, I was trying to learn how to breathe inside a life that no longer recognized its own shape....

Dear Creative Souls,

It’s 2 AM. I should be asleep, but instead, I’m scribbling ideas in the dark, trying not to wake the house. One project leads to another. An unfinished poem turns into a film concept, a painting morphs into a book. My mind is a carousel that never stops turning. Sound familiar?

The life of a multicreative is exhilarating and exhausting all at once. The thrill of new ideas fuels us, but so does the endless cycle of inspiration and unfinished projects. Some days, it feels...