Scarves in baby alpaca and silk

Finally the scarves in baby alpaca and silk have arrived! 😀

I’m working with a Fair trade company in Peru called Aptec. They’ve handwoven the scarves that come in natural white, light and dark gray.

I’m going to sell them at the summer market at Tou Scene in Stavanger Sunday the 12th. Hopefully a lot of people will come and see what good quality this is!

It’s 700 kr (nok) per scarf. If anybody wishes to order you can send me an e-mail at silje.porturas@gmail.com. I gladly ship the scarves to your destination 🙂

Have a merry day! ❤

På norsk:

Endelig har sjalene i babyalpakka og silke kommet!! 😀
De er håndvevde av vevere ansatt av Fair trade -bedriften Aptec i Peru 🙂
Jeg kommer til å selge de på sommermarkedet på Tou Scene neste søndag 🙂
Det er 700kr per sjal. Hvis noen ønsker å bestille kan dere kontakte meg via e-post: silje.porturas@gmail.com

Gode hilsner fra meg 🙂

Vil du lære deg spansk? Do you want to learn Spanish or Norwegian?

Vil du lære deg spansk?  Do you want to learn Spanish or Norwegian?

Hei,

Mitt navn er Silje Isabel og jeg tilbyr privattimer enten du trenger hjelp til å bestå spansk på ungdomsskolen, videregående eller bare ønsker å lære litt før en tur til Spania. Eller kanskje du kjenner noen som trenger det.

Jeg er spansklærer med utdanning fra blant annet Universitetet i Valencia, Spania og Høgskolen i Østfold.

Vennligst ta kontakt på  silje.porturas@gmail.com eller 41202862 for mer informasjon.

Prisen er 350 kr per time per person.

Med vennlig hilsen

Silje Isabel Porturas

Hi,

My name is Silje Isabel and I offer private lessons in Norwegian and/or Spanish. I’m educated as a Spanish teacher from Høgskolen i Østfold and the University of Valencia.

Please contact me at: silje.porturas@gmail.com or 41202862 for more information.

The price is 350 kr per hour per person.

Best regards,

Silje Isabel Porturas

Suffering with your self

I randomly watched this somewhat cheesy American TV show Dr. Phil, and there was this anorexic girl on it and she was starving herself to death. After coping with a heavy depression and suicide attempts I know that what you’re feeling is often portrayed though other channels such as eating disorders, self-harm or just loosing control of your body. It was quite hard the intervention they had with the girl, but sometimes that’s what you need. I had it with myself, I was so sick and tired of the life I had it was either die or continue on an unknown path. I chose the last one. It was hard and it’s not something you can fix in an instant, but you can’t live on a diagnosis you have to continue without it and not define yourself as it. It’s easy to avoid reality when you have a disorder, but it’s not worth it and you’ll never become whole doing so.  I did so many things when I was a kid, I starved myself (I tried to be bulimic, but I was bad at it as I couldn’t force myself to throw up) I self-injured myself by cutting my arms sometimes legs, I ran away planning on living in the woods; I had lots of weird solutions to my “problem”. The problem was that I thought I was a bad person. My grandmother says bad things happen to bad people, so I believed it and blamed myself. But you reach a point where it’s make it or break it, and I made it. I realized that I had some people who believed in me and had my back, and they held me up while others tried to break me down. I’m not going to list the people that made my life miserable because I’m over it; I’ve cut them out of my life. Sometimes you’ve got to be harsh and kick out the bad (by not giving them a 100th chance) and let new people into your life.

Madrid

Madrid, en fantastisk by i hjertet av Spania. Vi dro dit ved morgengry. Jeg pakket ferdig baggen min og presset den ned i korgen på sykkelen, jeg ble nesten litt overrasket over at jeg ikke tippet overende. Det var herlig, den kjølige morgenluften var frisk og vekket meg opp. Jeg møtte jentene ved et drosjestopp, de var litt sent ute. I mellomtiden latet jeg som jeg ventet på noen for å avstøte fulle menn som var på vei hjem etter en natt ute på byen. Bussen var ikke av samme kvalitet som de i Norge, men det gikk fint å sove med solbriller på. Jeg hadde tatt med meg mye nistemat, ostesmørbrød, kirsebær, kjeks, gatorade og vann. De andre hadde glemt å ta med seg frokost så jeg ble matmor på turen. Jeg var klar til å se byen hvor faren min hadde studert under Franco. Det kriblet i magen da jeg merket landskapet forandret seg til åkre, vidder av åkere nesten uten bygninger.  Alt var gult, men man kunne av og til se et enslig oliventre.

Vi visste ikke hvilke busstasjon vi kom til å ende opp ved. Heldigvis hadde Jenna med seg en reisebok om Spania, og vi fant ut at det var veldig mange i Madrid. Vi måtte spørre flere om hvordan vi kunne komme oss til sentrum. Den ene foreslo en 45 minutters busstur, men metro viste seg å være raskere. Madrid var ikke slik jeg forestilte meg, det var koselig, gammelt, og spennende. Været var også mye bedre, jeg kunne faktisk gå rundt uten å svette slik som jeg gjorde i Valencia på grunn av fuktigheten. Vi satte oss ned på en kafé ved Puerta del Sol for å orientere oss litt. Hele tiden tenkte jeg at – her har faren min bodd. De siste årene har vært en reise i hans fotspor, jeg visste ingenting om ham, men nå kunne jeg se noe han hadde sett. Jeg prøvde å forestille meg å bo der under Franco, å oppleve rasisme på grunn av hans latinske utseende. Det var mer mangfold i Madrid, mennesker fra alle nasjoner og som hadde flere kles-stiler. Jeg så for eksempel min første spanske goth med nesten to meter langt hår.

Hostellet vi overnattet i lå veldig sentralt, men vi hadde litt problemer med å finne frem. På veien så vi en bokforhandler, som var ganske så spesiell. Den var laget av bokhyller montert til en mur med vinduslemmer som man kunne låse.  Ingen av oss hadde sett noe slikt før. Men den økte vår følelse av byens koselighet.

Samme dag som vi ankom Madrid dro vi for å se slottet. Det var mye større enn det i Norge og hadde en egen kirke. Vi kjøpte billetter til å se en del av slottet, det var spekket med gull, fløyel, krystall-lysekroner, statuer. Alt var overdådig. Da det var tid for siesta dro vi til et sted for å spise, alt var bittelite og dyrt. Etter et litt mislykket måltid spanderte jeg is på oss, som vi brakte med oss på veien til El Prado. Køen for å komme inn gratis var helt enorm, men den beveget seg fort. I luken fant vi ut at vi som studenter kunne komme inn gratis når som helst. Inne i El Prado leide vi lydguider og begynte vår ferd gjennom en labyrint av bilder. Det var så mye å se, og hodet mitt begynte å bli fult allerede etter å ha vært gjennom noen av salene. Vi ville se alt, og merket ikke hvor fort tiden gikk, og vi hadde bare en og en halv time til det skulle stenge. Det siste kvarteret ble nesten hektisk, for vi ville se de mest berømte bildene. Jeg fikk sett bildet av Goya ”Saturn som spiser sin sønn”. Det bildet har skremt meg siden jeg var liten og så det i et blad. Men vi bestemte oss for å komme tilbake neste dag for det var fortsett mye å se. Det var heldigvis ikke som Louvre som er helt gedigent stort. Dagen etter så vi et marked og  et annet kunstmuseum, La Reina Sofía. Der fikk jeg sett Guernica, bildet av Picasso som fremstilte bombingen av byen, byen hvor familien min kommer fra. Bildet var som et spørsmål ”hvor kommer jeg fra?”. Det første var ”Hvem er faren min?” Jeg har begynt å danne meg et bilde av ham, men av fortiden… Hvordan mine baskiske forfedre havnet i Peru vet jeg ikke. Jeg ville vite hvor de dro fra, hvilke havn, hva slags båt, hva slags farer de må ha møtt ved å krysse Atlanterhavet. Og hvorfor hadde familien min et våpenskjold?

Det var så mye jeg ikke visste om fra faren min sin side av familien. Jeg visste heller ikke så mye om de danske genene mine; tippoldefaren min var visst dansk. Mens jeg skypet med moren min fant jeg det som mest sannsynlig var en forfader, han var en vagabond som drømte om å bli kunstner, og han var flink. Det sto noe om han i et dansk leksikon på nettet. Det var mormor sin side av familien som var kunstnerisk, og kanskje kom det fra ham…

Spain

Hola,

I’ve now been a bit over a month in Valencia. It’s a beautiful city. It took me 2 weeks to get all of my classes’ sorted, Spanish people aren’t exactly known for efficiency. But now everything’s settled. I’ve got five classes: Spanish theatre, lexicography, Spanish grammar, Image analysis and Roman history.

They’ve got something called Valenbici here; you pay 18 Euros for a year and can use the Valenbici (which is a bike). There are stations all over the city, its great, except I’m like shit scared. I saw a guy get hit passing a pedestrian crossing. Here in Valencia the yellow light lasts almost longer then the red. Yellow here means you can cross it; you just have to «watch out» for pedestrians. And some don’t, they’d rather almost run you over. In Peru I was used to run over the street because there they don’t have crossings, but the Spanish are just as bad. And the other day I saw a bus crash into a car in a roundabout.

I really like it here, but I’m still thinking about the next place I want to live or go to. I think I’ll never be satisfied. I feel I’ve got an inner conflict going on because a part of me would like to slow down and live a place more than 6 months, which has been the maximum throughout 3 years now. I think I have to tranquilizarme un poquito (calm down a bit). I’m still fucking 21 and most people here are older than me, well people from northern Europe. But it’s also the pressure of figuring out what to do with my life. I’ve done one year and a half of such a mixture of studies, but now I’ve landed on two things: architecture or art. My heart lies within the arts, but I’m still a bit scared of going such an uncertain road. I’ve told people that when I’ve finished my art-bachelor I would like to become an engineer, a petroleum geologist. They can’t really believe I would want to do something that different, but I’ve got two years to see If I want to do it or not, or maybe I’ll try architecture.

As this has become a bit of a travel piece I strongly recommend coming to Valencia!

Besos

My New Year’s Resolutions

This Year 2011 has gone by very quickly and very slowly at the same time. The restlessness I’ve had has gotten bigger and bigger, diminished and then risen again. It’s made me very frustrated.  Most of my friends seem to have a sense of belonging, and I’ve been so jealous because I don’t feel that way anywhere. After high school I was so happy that I was free at last, I could finally leave everything behind and start a new life the way I wanted. But to se my friends committing and seeming so content here in Norway baffles me. My question is why? Is it because they’re born here, or is it their families? Maybe I will never understand because I don’t have their kind of family, it’s just my sister, my mother and me. And now I’ve got a stepfather, which is terrific by the way.

The place I’ve stayed the longest was Bergen, almost 6 months, and it made me break down many times. I just didn’t feel at home. The people I hung out with were mostly foreign people, and I lived through them telling me about their countries. I wanted to go so bad, but I had to finish my dreadful theatre science-course.  Nothing really seemed to go my way. The university with their bureaucracy made me end up in my hometown, taking a leave of absence one semester. I went to Spain one month, it was great but I never want to live in Malaga (as I had thought).  In 2012 I will spend one semester in Valencia, I hope it’s a better city. I need to get away again.  I’m used to being a lonesome traveller. I’ve never had anybody fix things for me so I’m used to taking care of things myself. It’s made me very independent, maybe too independent for some.  But I do wish I can find somebody who will accept me for me, and not try to change me.

My new year’s resolutions are:

To not care about what other people think of me or of my life decisions.

To not be so frustrated and restless, like I’ve got little time.

To work together with my little family, and make life as good as possible.

One birthday and a dead grandmother

My birthday was the 22nd of November, like it is each year. This year while turning 21 my grandmother died. Am I sad? The answer is no. The truth is I only met her twice in my life, once when I was a baby and she taught me how to walk, which I did on my first birthday. The second time was two years ago when I travelled alone to Peru to meet my family, for what felt to me like the first time.  I think she loved seeing me again, but the more I learned about my family the more I learned about why my father became who he is. My grandmother didn’t have a lot of empathy and was very stubborn, like my father.  She didn’t say goodbye to me when I was going back to Norway because I was living with her brother, and they obviously had some unresolved business. I never really liked birthdays anyway. My family has had so many problems that our birthdays were neglected. My mother though always makes the best out of it. She’s always there, my sister too, when the rest of the family doesn’t care. I’m used to not being remembered by my father, he doesn’t bother. I was supposed to be a boy. My last birthday my grandmother gave me a book about a girl that “changed for the better”, and stopped practicing the dangerous art of Yoga and found the way of God. She thinks my travels are dangerous and that I should become a missionary. Because everybody knows that yoga, communism or what ever is sinful. Why can’t family just be supportive?

I wish that someday I will be truly happy for being born, but I guess I’m not there yet. I’ve experienced a lot and I love life now, but the ghosts of my past are still haunting me, and it’s hard to let go and forgive.