I went for my very first gynaecologist appointment yesterday. I received a letter from the health centre a few weeks ago stating that an appointment has been made on my behalf to go see the gynaecologist (at least that's what I had thought) to get some tests done at the health centre in town.

Since the letter was in Swedish, husband dear had to translate and having the amazing ability to translate everything Swedish as concisely and clearly as is Mathias-ly possible, I do usually get the message but it's probably 3hours later.

Ok fine, I exaggerate. It's only 2 hours, but you get the idea.

Anyway, all I knew entering the health centre was that I was gonna see the doctor, get some test done that's supposed to have been done to most women living in the area to keep track of changes. I have no idea what the tests are, what changes they are talking about and why the need to keep track of it but I went anyway cos isn't it usually good to get tests done? At least then I know...of what I'm not sure but I'm certain I gain some sort of knowledge about my body that I didn't before. And that's always a good thing.

Of cos seeing that it's my first time, I am understandably unsure and downright nervous. Mathias was nice enough to come with me and showed the acceptable level of compassion and understanding. We didn't know whether he should come along into the examination room or not but if the lady doctor (I made sure of that) didn't speak much English I would need help translating and vice versa.

We went into the tiny waiting room and I couldn't sit still (nervouslah). A few minutes later, a lady came in and introduced herself as Monika and said she will be doing the test for me. Ok, so this lady looks nice enough but since she spoke only Swedish thus far, I still didn't know if I wanted Mathias in there with us or not. So I decided to just go with the flow and told him to follow.

We entered the room and to me it looks like a torture chamber. It was a small room with a desk against one wall, a tiny frosted window in a corner, a small gurney in another corner and another gurney looking thing (tho not flat) with big STIRRUPS.

Hmm...I knew there was gonna be the stirrups thing. I've watched enough TV to know what it looks like but damn that looks intimidating. It was not hidden, not stowed away, no curtains ANYWHERE in the room not even a partition to give anyone any sort of feeling of privacy. I turn to Mathias and say, 'Whatever happens, stay close to the head. Remember..the head!'

What had I gotten myself into??

It was a strange first few minutes as she gave us seats and as all 3 of us sat down, we just sort of looked at each other not knowing what to say.

I must say this about Swedes in general. There is a real tendency, I realise, for Swedes to fall into some sort of pause in the middle of a conversation. It is an awkward pause and what makes it worse is that it is usually uncomfortably long. But it happens..a lot...especially among people who have just met or acquaintances who bump into each other on the street. I guess they just need to collect their thoughts but sometimes I just wish I could tell them, 'For goodness sake, man, pick up the pace! Say something! Does every pause have to be this long?'. Reason I don't say anything first is that this conversation is usually between husband and another Swede and it is in Swedish. How can I just butt in right?...heh heh...

So anyway...pause...I look at Monika...pause...I look at Mathias...still pause..and I begin to wonder if I'm supposed to have done something. Then suddenly Monika starts talking and explaining the procedure and such. And it turns out she speaks perfect English. Not extremely smooth but better than some Singaporeans I know which was fantastic news!

Just as I thought things were moving along smoothly, Monika finishes explaining and falls into another pause.

Damn...

So again I look at her, look at Mathias (who is as bewildered as me, obviously) and back at her. And again it is an unbearably long pause. And just as I was about to give up ever getting back home before dark, she stands up and goes, 'so...shall we start?'

Nervous, I swallowed and stood up, looking around and wondering what I'm supposed to do next. I turn to husband and he looks (still bewildered) at me and I tell him to leave. I swear I could hear him sigh with relief and he cleared out of the room faster than a bunny in heat. I turn back to Monika and she smiles at me, points to a corner and says 'you can take off your pants there.'

I look at the corner and wonder HUH?..There? The corner has some sort of partition that is bolted to the wall and pushed back but it looks old and I don't want to risk breaking it or having to waste time pulling it closed. There is also a chair (for comfort? Ease of stripping?) but nothing else. I don't get a gown, a cloth...nothing to cover myself with once I have my pants off.

My God....may He give me strength to get through this. Aiyai yai...

So there I was...naked from the waist down and pulling my shirt as low as it can go to try and cover myself. Let's just say the next few minutes as I walked to the stirrup table to the point I walked back to my clothes had it's moments of embarassment, great discomfort and strange sensations. It is NOT something I or any women in the world look forward to. Ugh...makes me think twice about pregnancy.

But I must say that Monika really helped to ease the whole situation as she tried to distract me by talking about other things as she took the test sample she needed. Turns out she's not a gynaecologist but a midwife. In Sweden, women see midwives and not gynaecologists when it comes to pregnancies, contraceptions and anything that comes up during a normal pregnancy and natural birth. So some women never even ever see a doctor when they have their babies. And to me, that's pretty interesting.

So I will get my test results back in about 2 weeks and according to Monika, this test is done every 3 years for women between the age of 23 to 59. So I guess I will be seeing a midwife in about 3 years or during my first pregnancy...whichever comes first.

I'm not sure which I'm looking forward to the least, to be honest.

It was my first day in the 2nd level (B class) today and it was a surprisingly fun day. I didn't even really realise the time pass until Klas, my new teacher, looked at the clock and exclaimed, 'Oh dear, only 2 more minutes!'

I was quite lucky today as I met one of my new classmates on my way up to the class. Turns out she lives in Askersund as well and she's a really nice Thai lady. She told me to sit at the desk behind her as she already had a desk partner. Som is her name and soon I learnt the name of our desk partners who are her close friends at school. Sitting next to Som is Vlasta, a Slovenian lady who likes to smile and laugh, especially with Som. And sitting next to is a German man called Knut. He is a nice guy and friendly although his German accent is so strong when he speaks Swedish that I have trouble understanding him. But since all 3 of them speak nothing but Swedish (albeit broken sentences), I'm forced to listen and speak Swedish as well which is great for me. At least there are people I can speak Swedish with unlike in my other class where you either speak Arabic or English to get any sort of conversation going.

There is a much better mix of cultures and people in the B class. There are Burmese, an American (who is always the first one out the door for every break and at the end of the day), a lady from Cameroon, Iraqis, Thais, German guy, Slevenian lady and me, Klas' first Singaporean student.

Let me tell you about my new teacher, Klas. He is a very interesting man to me and a big contrast from Leif. Klas is much older with sprigs of white hair sprouting every which way around his head from ear to ear as he is bald at the top. He wears a loud, multi patterned, multi coloured thick cardigan everyday buttoned up to the top. He is a rather small man, shorter than me. As a matter of fact, when he saw me one of the first things he exclaimed as he looked up at my face was 'Oj, oj, oj, you're much taller than I thought you would be.'. Klas is also a really friendly man and very animated in his explanations and even the way he speaks. One of the most significant differences between Klas and Leif is that the latter speaks oh so slowly while Klas speaks like a bullet train. But for some reason, I can understand Klas as well as Leif. I find that very interesting...So anyway, I do like my teacher and he seems really nice so I think I probably will continue to enjoy school.

But one of the most attractive and significantly different thing about my new class as compared to my old one is the view from the classroom window. Class B is located on a totally different building from Class A and it's located on the 3rd floor. While I was in Class A, the windows we had were pretty high up so when we sat down, I could only see the sky. And from that window we could see the main road and the parking lot in front of the school. It was nice but nothing compared to the view I now have.

Knut and I sit by the window and what a glorious window it is. One entire wall of the classroom is covered with windows and it is much lower so the bottom of the window is at my desk level. That means all I need to do to look out the window during class is turn my head left. What I can see from that window is so much more beautiful and everyone agrees. I can see the many train tracks and passing trains through the day. I also see part of the neighbourhood and the roofs of the houses. And beyond that, I even manage to catch a glimpse of the forest. So on an exceptionally sunny day like today, I had a wonderful view of gorgeous scenery.

Did I mention that Spring has officially arrived. I managed to survive winter (albeit it is one of the mildest winters in years), and now a new season has arrived. Can't wait to see flowers spring up and bloom and the trees turn green.

Had a big test at school last Wednesday. And it's probably bcos of the fact that I was born and raised a Singaporean, but obviously I was very kanchong lah. Ask the teacher this question and that and then the day before the test, the worst thing happened.

I fell sick. Darn...

Husband called the school in the morning to let them know that I wouldn't be coming for class and he spoke to Leif. I was still kanchong about the test (obviously) and kept telling husband that I HAVE to go to school cos there were still some stuff I didn't understand and I needed worksheets to practice and blah blah blah. And even though husband dear is a Swede and does not really understand the need for kanchong ness before a test, my kanchong-ness made him kanchong and he got the brilliant idea to ask Leif to fax over any extra material he may have so I can study at home.

Thinking back about it, I guess I might have been a little over doing it. Hee hee...Leif told Mathias to tell me not to worry cos he knows I'll do well for the test since I seem to know my stuff in class. So he said he will NOT send any materials over and told me to just stay home and rest. It didn't help me with my level of anxiety but I guess he was right.

So I did my test and it didn't turn out to be too difficult for me. But like any typical Singaporean, handing the test paper in doesn't mean I stop thinking about the test. For the rest of the day, I thought of all my answers and wondered if I got them right. Mathias and I drove to the supermarket after he finished work that night and as we neared the supermarket, we passed a big sign that contained one of the words that I was tested on.

My eyes bulged and I screamed, 'No! F**k! I spelled CHEAP wrong!! Damn! There's 2 Ls not 1!! Damn!' It's amazing how upset one can get when one knows 1 mark gets cut off for lack of 1 letter.

And of cos that wasn't the end of my rampage. While in the supermarket, I was walking around the vegetable section and I came upon the chiller that held the carrots and without realising it, I looked up at the sign and screamed (once again and without restraint), 'What?! What the h*ll? I spelled carrots wrong! F**k!! I put the damn dots on the wrong O (don't ask)!!'

It was when I had screamed the dreaded 'F' word did I realise an older couple standing next to the carrott chiller. Oops..I hope they dun understand what that word means. I was kinda embarassed but still wanted to kick myself again for misspelling yet another word. So I suck at spelling...BIG TIME.

We got the test papers back the next day and Leif had told us that the test is very important as it would determine whether we can move up to the next level. Even though I had misspelled a few words resulting in 1/2 mark being decudted, I am very super proud to say that I scored 63.5 out of 66, which is a GREAT result, since I only got 1 question wrong (minus 1 mark) and the rest were spelling mistakes (which I still wanna kick myself for).

So I am pleased to announce that after 10 days of school where I was taught for 30 hours, I will be moving up to Level B starting Monday. I am proud of myself since I honestly didn't know a word of Swedish except hello and goodbye and thanks when I first arrived 3 months plus ago and now I am moving up the school ladder a month ahead of the schedule I set for myself. I am nervous though and I don't think I am ready for it yet but since Leif thinks I am, that's where I will be spending the next few weeks learning.

Wish me luck!

Yesterday, school was rather entertaining. All I could do was sit back, enjoy the show and try my very best not to laugh out loud.

Gunilla, the teacher who teaches the other Level 1 class, had the day off so they joined our class. The difference between the two classes is the level of ability to read the alphabet. Or at least that was what I was told by Leif, my Swedish teacher.

Entering our class, I realise that the 2 groups can be divided by countries as well. Except for 1 or 2 exceptions, yours truly included, my class is made up of Iraqis while the other class is made up Burmese and perhaps even Laotians (this is unconfirmed detail). And each group kept trying to assert their presence throughout the day, much to my amusement and Leif's irritation. But seeing that Leif is an exceptionally calm man, his version of irritation is actually what I subject the husband to on a daily basis.

I have tried and managed to maintain some level of acceptance to the idiosyncracies of my Iraqi classmates. I try to overlook the Arabic chatter that sometimes overwhelms the Swedish that's supposed to be what we are there for and the Iraqi girl who keeps poking me in the middle of every exercise for the answers (which I have resigned to just giving her instead of trying to make her understand the answers).

But now for a day, I endure even more idiosyncracies from a different continent which can bring out the worst in a person. I understand that I am now sitting in a middle of a class of refugees. Political refugees who came to Sweden to escape the unstable situation in their own countries. So whatever unpleasant feeling I feel makes me feel guiltier than ever.

But I can't help it!!

I turn and glance at the Burmese students and wonder if they are familiar with the comb. Almost all of them look like they had forgotten to shower that morning but they certainly remembered to cover their faces extensively with white powder (which looks more like smeared flour on their faces). I'm certainly not saying that all of them look unkempt as some of them do look relatively neat, but I had to hold back the urge to get them a comb and wet towel nonetheless. If that was the only thing that bothered me that day, I would say no problemo amigo but of cos there is always more...

I know that the group always eats together during our recess break cos I've seen them. They eat a good proper meal that everyone potlucks together. And it will include rice and a few other dishes so I know it's a good meal. I just wish they didn't have to express it in class as well.

After the break, the women started burping. And I don't mean the oops I accidentally let that one out kinda burp. It's the kind that happens after a good reunion dinner where the men sit back unbutton their pants a little and unceremoniously let loose with the gastric symphony.

Why oh why do these women think that it is ok for them to burp like that in public? In a room full of strangers? And why only the women??!! Ugh...

Apart from the Burmese, there is another Iraqi couple in that class and it turns out that they are the parents of one of my classmates, Nada. What I find interesting about this old couple is that the father always comes to school dressed like a lawyer. I have never seen him in anything other than the full ensemble of crisp shirt, silk tie (I think it's silk), woolen vest, pants and matching jacket. And this is of cos under his very spiffy looking trenchcoat which he takes off in school (thank goodness). And compared to his fellow classmates, his hair is always immaculately coiffed, he colognes and his hands and nails are in short order. The perfect Iraqi gentleman.

I have never heard him speak before until he came to class and everytime he did speak that day, I had to maintain absolute and total control. And the fact that he sat directly across from me made it even more essential. I can tell that this is a proud man, a man certain of himself and a man whom you don't really step on (simply cos his shoes look expensive) so I didn't wanna make any enemies. Plus I'm very polite.

We had a simple reading exercise and it was his turn to read. Let's just say, thank God it was a short passage cos another 2 seconds and I would have burst out laughing uncontrollably. He was called on to read and he held up the paper confidently before embarking on a language journey that only he could understand. It didn't sound Swedish, Arabic or any other language known to the common man. The only way that poor Leif even knew where along the passage the man was, was when he pronounced the word somewhat close to what it's supposed to be. When I say close, it means when someone says 'betty' when he's supposed to say 'bus ride'. But even though I laugh at the little old man (from deep inside of cos), it was still a good effort since his wife didn't even bother to read and just waved it along like traffic.

The old man was quite hardworking compared to his wife who just sat there, honouring us with her presence. He actually bothered to write things down and answer questions posed by the teacher.

We were doing numbers and had to read out the numbers on the board in Swedish (of cos). It can be a tricky exercise as the numbers are in the thousands and we are reading prices of furniture in a store. So Leif asks, 'Hur mycket kostar den soffa?' (How much does the sofa cost) and Majeed (old man) is called upon to answer. With his trademark confidence, Majeed says 'ok' and stands up tall. Which is not too tall as he is a rather short man. You must understand that NOBODY ever stands up to answer. So Majeed stands up, brushes himself down a little, takes a deep breathe and with as much confidence I have ever seen this man produce, he says '3 thousand and 4 hundred'. He then nods, satisfied and sits back down. Leif smiles and gives a little laugh and says 'Det bra! (That's good!) men du maste talar svenska inte engelska' (but you must speak Swedish not English). What can I do but laugh a little myself as I look across me and Majeed looks absolutely self satisfied at his answer.

It was a fun day at school.

She didn't know what she had dreamt about but she woke up that morning with a smile on her lips. Looking over to the man beside her, she saw him smiling right back and through the blinds she could tell the morning sun was already rising.

She knew it was going to be a beautiful day.

She always took a long walk after sending him to work and that day was no different. The chill of the winter morning invigorated her and the quiet serenity of the usually bustling town square calmed her.

Going up the hill, past silent gardens and dimly lit houses, the delicious smell of burning firewood escaped from almost every other chimney. At night the smell of roasting wood in the fireplace is even stronger but the delicate scent of lingering smoke could not escape the quiet air and she loved it. One can hardly tell that the neighbourhood was just beginning to stir.

There was no snow but as she made her way to the lake, the tell tale signs of winter became piercingly evident. There was a stillness in the air that only the winter morning could bring and a stillness in the water that only the winter night could leave behind.

She had never seen ice on the water before and to witness the lake frozen in ice as far as her eye could see took her breath away. She knew it was too thin to walk on but it didn't stop the excitement and awe from bubbling in her.

Just then a flock of geese flew overhead in formation as if heading South, circling the small island that stood alone on the middle of the lake before disappearing from sight as quickly as they had appeared. Resisiting the urge to make herself comfortable on the bank and rest her feet on the ice, she walked on along the lake's edge, marvelling at the stillness of everything one could see and the energy of everything that one couldn't.

She slowly made her way to the harbour where only the big boats remain docked for the winter not at all expecting the picture that unveiled before her.

Approaching the harbour, she caught sight of a flock of birds in the water, looking suspiciously similar to the very flock that had flown by her just minutes before. It was until she stood at the very edge of the pier, peering out to the birds could she tell that they were not swimming but rather sitting around on the ice. Some walked and a few skated across but they looked very much at home, much to her amusement.

Barely having gotten over the surprising sight of the geese hanging out on the ice, suddenly she caught sight of 2 more birds landing right in the middle of the flock. What would usually be a graceful slide into the water and a calm swim around the lake turned into an amusing skid on tail feathers and flapping wings as the bird veered uncontrollable before coming to an unceremonious stop near the feet of some geese. It was then that she realised that both the newcomers were unmistakably smaller than the flock. She watched bemused as the 2 birds, who turned out to be ducks, began moving away from the group with nary a pause. Wings outstretched to make itself look bigger than it really is, the two ducks waddled away as quickly as their tiny feet could take them with what one could hardly call grace and distinction.

The ducks with the identity crisis quickly joined their nearby comrades and managed to blend in quickly and quietly into the right flock this time turning her attention to the ducks resting barely ten metres from the geese. Instead of just sitting on the ice, the ducks had convened around an opening in the ice close to the bank. The ice oasis resembled a busy beach with ducks lounging around on the edge of the ice and some ducks gracefully swimming around in the icy cold water. All that was missing were the parasols, beach chairs and sunglasses.

Staring into the frozen lake, she could make out hundreds of tiny white fish moving about just below the icy surface. With the sun firmly up in the sky shining down full force, she knew this sight would not last long but the short glimpse of nature at its best that she had been gifted with, was enough to thrill the city girl, fill her with wonder and lift her spirits.

Life felt truly beautiful that day.

I was watching an episode of the Ellen Show this afternoon and she always has a few segments that are quite funny or what they would call 'roligt' in Swedish. Well today, one of the segments was a showcase of funny clips from those TV shopping programs I think, and I just HAVE to mention the first clip that she showed.

It was a clip of a bearded man in his 50s showing some invention or some device. I can't really tell what the device is except that it is a small handheld black cylinder but apparently it's supposed to be able to calculate something very very accurately.

The man repeated over and over to the host of the show, 'This device is extremely sensitive and really great. There's nothing else like this and it's truly one of a kind.'
As he shows it off in his hand, the camera does a close up of this black device and you can tell the man is REALLY nervous bcos his hands are trembling and red. Unless of cos he has a hand sunburn and Parkinson's, the man is ultra NERVOUS.

Then suddenly the unthinkable happens...just as he is reiterating that the device is 'one of a kind' and that 'you can't find this anywhere else', he drops the device and it SMASHES to a thousand pieces on the floor! The look of sheer horror on his face as his glance moved from the floor to the host back to the floor was both funny and heartbreaking.

And what else can a man say when something like that happens other than 'Oh S**t..'

Did I mention about the Playstation 2 that we now have on the house? The husband came home on Valentine's Day from work holding a box and smiling like it was Christmas morning. Turns out he had gotten a dance mat!! Apparently he had been clearing out the warehouse with his colleague and they found a bunch of these dance mats for PS1. So since they weren't going to sell them, he brought one home. So now we have buzzer attachments, microphones and a dancemat to play on our PS2 at home.

Cool!

Swedish word of the day: Roligt!

Happy Valentine's Day to all!!

It is a beautiful winter's day in Sweden, with the sun shining like crazy down on us. Husband says this is the Spring sun and it usually comes out around this time. Unfortunately, there is simply no snow when there should be. The snow is supposed to come and stay even until March. But it has hardly come this year. Talk about global warming. Kinda freaky actually.

Anyway, this is the first time that Mathias and I are actually physically together on this day for lovers so it is pretty exciting and fun. I decided that I would not be buying any gifts for the man or even flowers. I mean, I'm the one who's supposed to get the flowers but I have learnt to not expect them...just so I get pleasantly surprised if I do get them.

And yes, I did get the chocolates and flowers from the husband. He couldn't really wait to give me the chocolates so I got them last night and the flowers he had in hand when he came home for lunch. What a nice surprise!
Apparently the flowers don't cost amy different from all the other days. But then again he bought the roses at the supermarket so I dunno if that counts. But then again what counts is always the thought. I bet a woman came up with that saying.

But what I did decide to give him was one of my recently developed specialties. I decided to bake some Valentine's goodies for the husband. I baked his favourite cinnamon buns and something rather new.

I made some lovely cupcakes and frosted them with swirly pink frosting. I also made something I had never done before, heart shaped muffins topped with chocolate ganache and pink heart frosting. It took a bit of time cos I had never made them before but at the end of it, it was truly worth the effort.

Of cos since I had no experience with frosting using the piping nozzles before, you can tell 2 of the muffins were experimental. But I must say I am quite proud of my Valentine's Day goodies and husband is extremely appreciative.

It's so much fun to bake!

In answer to my dear friend's enquiries, yes, there are real life Iraqis in my class...as a matter of fact more 80% of the class comes from Iraq. And refugees attend Swedish classes 5 days a week. So I get Friday off but they still have to attend class. Yippee!!

So that actually makes Friday lunches and dinners even more special for Mathias and me. I would actually have the time to cook his lunch on day so it's fresher and warmer. Since I have school and only reach home at 1pm everyday, I don't have time to cook lunch for husband who usually has lunch at noon. Instead, in line with my wifely duties (heh heh), I prepare lunch the night before and put it in the fridge so he will come home and heat up his lunch. So far it's been working quite well.

It's only been 3 days since I started school but it feels like I've been going for some time. I dunno, maybe it's because the teacher is so nice and patient or that the people are not so scary. Well, not all of them anyway. Plus the fact that most of us can't speak each other's languages helps me to not feel so out of place since I don't understand them anyway. Heh heh...

It's quite interesting my day at school. Even though my day is barely 4 hours long starting from 8am to 11.45am, we are given a snack break. I call it recess time but instead of milk or mee rebus, it's a bunch of adults drinking coffee, eating buns and smoking out in the cold open air. They call it fika in Sweden. Fika, I realise is a very important component of the Swedish way of life. Fika is like teatime or snacktime where you sit down for coffee and a pastry or bun. And although in the textbooks, they identify fika as a night time coffee/snack, Swedes fika all through the day.

Swedes fika usually at about 9 or 10am if they are at work (I'm not so sure abt school tho recess is at 9am). This is very important to take note of especially if you intend on calling someone from the district office or town council. These people take fika very very seriously. Not hail nor state emergency will prevent them from taking their fika. And don't even bother trying to pull them away once they have started to fika. Let's just call that mission impossible.

So back to my day at school. We start our lesson at 8am and before I know it, recess time comes an hour later. I found out that it lasts 30 minutes.

30 whole minutes for FIKA?? wow...they DO take this whole fika thing seriously. I was so surprised to get such a long break so soon after the day starts. So we come back from recess at 9.30am and lessons continue. But I get another surprise today when I realise that we get another break at about 10.30am (you can Fika again if you really wish but that's too much even by Swedish standards) which lasts about 20 min.

My oh my! Such luxury...we can go to the bathroom, eat cookies, chit chat or go smoke and nobody cares. The teacher isn't even there cos he leaves the classroom every break time.

So let's recap... Class begins at 8am including the occasional late comer. An hour passes and we fika 30 minutes away. So at 9.30am, we start lessons again and come 10.30am someone will start whining for a break. If the teacher is actually in the middle of something, he will try to defer the break time for as long as he can but we certainly get it. Lesson will probably start again at about 11am or a little before and my day ends at 11.45am sharp or earlier. Has not been any later and everyone pretty much rushes out of the classroom, leaving me alone with the teacher to pack up slowly and put on my winter things. I tend to do this slower than usual cos I have half an hour before my bus comes. So what's the rush, right?

So you can call my mornings quite full...full of breaks and fika. But the half hour that I do have before my bus comes is quite appreciated since I use the time to walk to the main bus centre instead of te bus stop in front of the school. And I get to walk through the town and enjoy the sights of the small town that seems to have more things to see than tiny Askersund.

I kinda like my little walk through town and my bus ride home where I get to fall asleep if I want to. Maybe soon I may actually go walk through the small shopping mall in that town (town is called Hallsberg, by the way) and even sit down for a fika moment in the town konditori. A konditori is basically a bakery that provides seating or a cafe that bakes its own treats. A fika central! Doesn't that sound nice?

Swedish words of the day: Fika & Konditori

I finally started school yesterday. It was a very exciting morning, in that I'm so nervous I may puke in the bus kinda way. Husband had kindly taken the day off so he can take the bus with me to school and wait for me until I finished. Kept telling him as he made my breakfast that I didn't want to go to school. You know that whiney voice, complaining about nothing since nothing has happened yet.

Well, that was my voice yesterday morning. Was having that sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach and all the worst possible scenarios kept replaying i my sick little head. Husband kept comforting me saying, it never is as bad as you think it will be.

So there I was in a dark bus (it was a coach bus cos we accidentally took the express bus, so like most coaches on a long haul journey, all the lights are out), looking out at the gorgeous countryside passing me by as the rising sun slowly turns the sky pink then orange. That took some of the edge off me plus the fact that I was still really sleepy.

My class is very small with only 8 students including me. There is a German lady and 6 Iraqis, among whom there is just one guy. Some of the ladies can't speak English or much Swedish so there is ALWAYS a bunch of Arab flying across the room. The teacher is a man called Leif with a deep, quiet and rather soothing voice. I can tell just how patient he is and I certainly can see instances of when that patience serves him well. So he seems nice.

And with a lot of Swedish people who don't know me, the teacher was surprised to find out that I was Singaporean and not Thai. And we speak English in Singapore and technically there is no Singapore language. But I did learn a lot in my 2 days of Swedish classes. I also learnt that there are 4 levels in total before I graduate from this course of study. There is no specific length of time for each level. The teacher will just send you to the next level at his discretion and in general, he said that students take about 525 hours of classes to complete the entire 4 levels. But of cos some students can take up to 1000 hours or some as low as 350 hours. And since I am not a refugee, I only need to attend school Monday to Thursday, which is great for me.

Ok, so now I formulate a plan for myself. I want to do well enough in this class to move up to the next level in about 1.5 to 2 months. But since I don't really know what it takes to move on to the next level, all I can do is learn all I can from Leif and make sure I practice speakin Swedish, especially in class. I keep forgetting to do that! Ugh...I can kick myself sometimes.

Heh heh...is that me being too hard on myself again? That's what Mathias always says about me. Well, I just really want to be able to understand what people around me say. It's frustrating not to understand or be understood.

It was the husband's birthday a few days ago and he had insisted that he not have a birthday cake.

What?? No birthday cake??! What kind of sick wife would let her husband of barely 3 months (still honeymoon period apparently) go without a birthday cake on his birthday?

So as I had promised in the last post, here are pictures of the cake I baked.

Here is a picture of the DELICIOUS butter cake I baked before I frosted it. Gorgeous, isn't it?

Well, I didn't do anything fancy with the frosting. Just made a nice chocolate frosting without any further decorations. It was already a lot of work to frost the thing and anyway, it tasted great! No need for anything fancy shmancy.

But I had over estimated the recipe and ended up with 2 cakes. Alamak! I cannot eat 2 cakes...that would just be bad news. So I cut the cake up and gave some to the neighbour. She was actually shocked to see me at her doorstep and even more so when I held up the large slice of chocolate frosted butter cake. First thing that came out of her mouth was...'Varför? (it means why)'. Heh heh.. And I thought caucasians are a friendlier and generous lot. Well, they are but apparently the giving of cakes and such to neighbours are pretty rare. Ok...so I'm different and can hardly speak Swedish but I managed explain myself in badly broken Swenglish.

As much work as it was, I actally enjoyed myself a lot through the baking process. Even the frosting that had frustrated and infuriated me in my teenage days, made me smile and hum in pleasant solitude as I glided the creamy frosting across my beautiful golden brown cake. And my kitchen smelled WONDERFUL!

So of cos that gave me inspiration to bake cinnamon rolls (something very popular here in Sweden) later in the week. They turned out just as gorgeous and they tasted GREAT!!! I can't believe that they tasted so good and they were so simple to make. Huh...all those years of fearing baking breads and buns. No more fear!! Just inspiration...

Such fluffy, soft cinnamon flavoured rols that I had created with my own hands. I'm so proud of me. And I think husband is too. Plus he gets to enjoy his favourite teatime snack freshly baked. Who wouldn't like, right?

And to top off our snack week, the husband took me to a chocolate factory yesterday. That was interesting just to see the building. Even though there's a chcolate factory right in our own tiny town, he decided to drive almost 1 hour away to the factory that produces one of the Sweden's favourite chocolate brand, Cloetta.

Unfortunately I didn't go on any sort of tour around the factory whic I would have loved to see but we did go to the factory store that sold all of its products...we were like 2 kids in a candy store..literally. Especially Mathias. He loves his chocolates.

So of cos we left with a big bag of goodies. Thank goodness we're having a birthday party tomorrow, so at least there's some form of distribution in the chocolate consumption, regardless of what husband says.