“I suppose my stories are in order, sorted either by when they happened or when I heard them, but I’m not totally sure this is the case.

I’ve been on the road for a long time, and forgotten a lot.

I no longer remember a time when I hated those looking at the world from their own little peephole, when I started to pity them, and whether there were times when hatred and pity took turns. I can’t even tell these stories without them getting their feelings hurt – and that might have disastrous consequences. I sometimes have to please them, a little, because my survival might just depend on them. Even a nomad is not free with everything.

Quite often I also meet those whom I like, who I can respect, almost love. Their stories I do not want to forget, but wish instead for them to blend with mine – and I’m happy that they almost always do.”

Text by Maarit Verronen, interludes of short stories from her 1996 book “Kulkureita ja unohtajia“, 1996 (Nomads and the ones who forget, untranslated (as far as I know))

(Aitäh for native-English checkup to Daniel, a writer on his way through Europe, stumbled upon @ Uus Maailm, Tallinn)