Oslo used to be a place I went on weekend trips with my family. I’ve seen the castle, I’ve walked Karl Johan’s street a number of times, I’ve been to the Frogner Park on several occasions and I’ve been to the Munch Museum and the Bothanical garden. And whereas all of these attractions are great, and I wouldn’t mind going again, this is no longer why I go to Oslo in the first place. I go to Oslo to see friends I see way too rarely, and when I come from London, I go to feel a little bit more at home. Where they speak my language, and they’ll know approximately where along the northern coastline my hometown is, I can see mountains and forests and the sea, and I can feel the running rivers flowing through my veins.
My bestie and I
I went to see my best friend Marthe. She’s a lifelong Oslo-girl, and my personal guide to the capital, I would say. She’s probably also the main reason Oslo feels so much like home. She was my roommate when I spent nine months at Ringerike Folkehøgskole (read more about it here), and we’ve been best friends since. Though Marthe likes to point out she was annoyed quite a lot (idk why, I’m perfect), I’ve always liked/loved her, and I think she realised she loved me more than she hated my mess. If that isn’t #friendshipgoals, I don’t know what is. I once said to her that I don’t really believe in fate, but there’s no way we weren’t bound to meet. If not there, somewhere else, because our friendship is too good to miss.
Anyway, we did mostly what we do best – chill, watch youtube videos and eat sweets. However, we did meet up with as much as three people, consumed three beers each, and went for an hour of hiking, I guess you can call it. Marthe insisted Grefsenkollen would have a great view over the whole city. I wouldn’t be able to confirm as it was super cloudy and it snowed, but I’ll take her word for it. The snow did cause us to sing a few jolly Christmas tunes on our way up, so I guess it was worth it.
🎶Walking in a Winter Wonderland🎶
We met up with one friend from my hometown for lunch. We stayed in the cafe for like six hours, and they probably wanted to throw us out, but what can you do when you’re in the middle of planning your imaginary wedding?
Didn’t want his photo taken but looking very cute indeed
Then we met Åshild who did musical theatre with me at Ringerike. She’s in her final year at NSKI studying acting, and I can’t wait to be her plus one, hehe. You know when you haven’t seen people for ages, but then you meet and it’s like you saw each other yesterday? That’s what it was like. I hope it won’t be more than a year until next time. And then there’s Mie. The person from my exchange year in 2013/14 I see and talk to the most. We were traveling with the same organisation and lived in the same town, but didn’t really get to know each other until a few months in. We met at the gym and we were only supposed to have a quick chat, but one hour later we were still there, chatting, Mie holding on to a dumbbell as if she was doing something. Then I invited her to come to Canterbury the following weekend, and, as they say, the rest is history. Any Harry Potter images I want to share or any bullshit in politics, Mie is there.
I’m sorry I’m not providing you with my personal tourist guide to Oslo (maybe I should?), but this is what Oslo is to me. It’s staying with a person that makes me feel unconditionally loved, it’s ugly-laughing every evening, it’s remembering back to when we first met and we bonded over our deceased love for boybands, it’s meeting people you like so much you forget the time, it’s being surprised by how expensive everything is (literally like £13 for soup of the day???), it’s missing home a little bit more because you’re so close but still so far away, and it’s being sad whenever my visit comes to an end.
Oslo used to be a place I went on holiday, but not anymore. It’s a place I can come home to.
If you didn’t know, I’m 22 years old, born in May 1996. People at uni are always surprised to here my age, and I get why. Most of them are the same age as my brother (19) or even a year younger. And here I am, all grown up. Well, on paper, anyway. I don’t really mind being older, but I still talk to people now and again who go “WHAT? YOU’RE 22?? How come?” Here’s how.
By some calculation, I’m sure you could figure out that I had two gap years before going to uni. Or by just reading the title. Either way, I did have two gap years. When I finished ‘Videregående’ (the Norwegian equivalent to A-levels), I was sick of school. There was not a fibre in my body that wished to go to university, and in all honesty, I was doubting if I ever would. Not that I knew what I would be doing instead, but university just seemed like a drag, and pretty close to hell. Not to mention I was lacking a subject for my diploma (so I guess I hadn’t even completed Videregående), so even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have.
In Scandinavia we have something called Folk High Schools. According to folkehøgskole.no this is how you’d define one ”Folk high schools (folkehøgskole) are often called the world’s freest schools. These schools have no grades, no rigid curriculum and no exams. We happen to believe that you learn better without this kind of pressure.” So basically, you pay a lot of money, you live there, you eat there, you laugh there, you cry there, and you do something you thoroughly enjoy. It is often said that it’s the best year of your life. I wouldn’t really say that was the case with me, but I still had a heck of a time. I went to Ringerike Folkehøgskole, I did musical theatre for a year, and got to portray Marie in the Aristocats and Ethel, and many other small roles, in Thoroughly Modern Millie. I also learned how to dance (this could be argued), how to light up a stage, and how to build scenography. I also met a couple of very good friends there, like my room mate Marthe, and I got to live in Hønefoss, a place far, far away from Narvik, my hometown, but still in Norway. I had fun, and I think I really needed it.
One evening, Marthe and I were sat on our individual beds, complaining that we had to think about what we wanted to do the following school year. I’d been certain for many years that I wanted to study in London, and I had a look at different subjects. Prior I had thought I would go onto study biology, because I love biology, but I couldn’t really see myself actually working within the field. I stumbled across a journalism course on the website of some university, and I thought to myself, hm, maybe journalism is the way to go. But, ya girl still didn’t feel ready to go to university. And I still didn’t have that one subject that was missing from my diploma, so again, even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have.
Once my year at Ringerike Folkehøgskole was over and I, and 100+ other students had bawled our eyes out because we were leaving, I was going home. I had decided that I would move back home and work for a year. I worked in the home for disabled people I had worked in since I was 18 (still work there to this day), I did some work at a primary school too, as well as working in a book shop. That autumn I also picked up the subject I was missing to get my diploma, and I finally did it, and I was finally finished with Videregående once and for all. I was so relieved. My grades weren’t to bad either.
Us celebrating we were finished with Videregående even if inly one of us (the one to the left) actually had their diploma in order.
Originally I had a plan that I would move to London and work in January, but I backed out. It didn’t feel right. I was more nervous than excited, and to me that wasn’t a very good sign. But, during this time, I had already begun my application for university in September 2017. I applied for journalism at five different London universities, with the help of the God sent organization Across the Pond. And I got in. To all five. I accepted the offer from City University. I was going to uni.
But back to my ongoing gap year. Because I hadn’t gone to London in January, I was still at home working, now only woking in the home and the bookshop. I really enjoyed working, but I did it a lot, and I had this feeling that I had to do something. So I decided I would go traveling. Through Europe by train using an InterRail ticket. On my own. For this, I was more excited than nervous, and rightfully so. It was the best. I did get a bit tired towards the end, but still, it was exactly what I needed. At the end of my one month journey, I ended up in Margate, staying with my dear host parents for a couple of days. Then I went to America for three weeks with my dad, to visit my brother on his exchange year. I was gone for almost two months, and I came back much happier than when I left. My own little, happy adventure made me much more fit to work throughout the summer.
So, back to what this blog post was actually meant to be about – getting back to school after two years out. Granted, I did have that one subject I picked up, but one subject is hardly the same as studying full time. I was nervous and excited when I moved to London, and I couldn’t really believe it was happening after spending four years dreaming about it.
I remember my first proper class, after the induction week, and our teacher told us that within the next five weeks, we would have made a podcast. I sat there thinking, sounds fake, but ok, go on. But we did. Five weeks later, and our travel podcast was complete. Six weeks after that I had learned the basics of making live TV. I had also written my very first feature, on black women in the acting industry. Not only had I written it, I was also proud of it, and my teacher seemed to agree that it was well written. My first essay had also not been badly received. I was at uni, and I was doing quite okay.
Me taking ever precausion. Good investment considering I never went cycling.
But of course, it wasn’t all magnificent. It was quite hard. I’m sure you’re aware that studying is soooo different from just being expected to show up on time and work for 4 – 10 hours, and then you can go home and you don’t need to worry about anything else. I was expected to do work outside of uni, I had to learn how to prioritize my time better, I had to learn how to revise again. I wasn’t super successful in this pursuit. I could’ve done a lot more, prioritized better, not gotten so darn good at multiple iPhone games and The Sims 4. I think all of this would’ve been a lot easier if I had been straight out of school. Still, I would never trade my gap years for anything. I learned, I grew as a person, I aged, I became more confident, I made new friends and strengthened the friendships I already had. My gap years made me happier.
For me, my gap years were vital. For some, who know exactly what they want to do, they probably wouldn’t be. I have a friend, for instance, who I’ve known since we were like 12, and she has always said she wants to study medicine. That’s what she did. She went straight from school, with top grades across the board, and that’s so fantastic. If you know where you’re heading and you’re ready, good for you! You go do that. But if you don’t that’s okay too. Allow yourself to have a gap year, or two, or three, just to breath and think. Remember that life isn’t a race. I am so appreciative of my gap years. They helped me grow, and I am a much better and stronger person than I was three years ago when I finished Videregående. I’m happy that I gained the experience I did throughout those two years, and I believe it will make me a better journalist. They have already made me a better person.
And then there’s Mie. The person from my exchange year in 2013/14 I see and talk to the most. We were traveling with the same organisation and lived in the same town, but didn’t really get to know each other until a few months in. We met at the gym and we were only supposed to have a quick chat, but one hour later we were still there, chatting, Mie holding on to a dumbbell as if she was doing something. Then I invited her to come to Canterbury the following weekend, and, as they say, the rest is history. Any Harry Potter images I want to share or any bullshit in politics, Mie is there. 
me. 