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The Writer

At a request from someone who made a comment on my blog, I wanted to try to give you a small insight to my writing.

The writing process is sometimes perplexing, at times daunting, arduous even challenging. Then there’s the process of who, what and why I write. The who; the audience, I wish to provoke, cajole, and communicate those enormous scales of emotions to. The infinitesimal drama and perplexity of storytelling that allows for substantive discourse as the writing process finds life.

The what; “The Journey” of everything that has happened through the eyes of the beholder, being a father, going through the conundrum of fighting the survival of the fittest. Exploring and being a pioneer in my field. Through the daunting task of trying to give my sons a future, when all of it is at stake; being allowed to be a caring father, having a home, a career, a financial stability, being an immigrant in a foreign country. Where the signature on a piece of paper, or the lack of it, a few letters, changed absolutely six human beings life forever, and where the ripple effect has caused a tsunami of emotional tragedy that still has not settled.

I had been writing for many years, starting with poetry, then keeping journeys along my travels around the world when I was an international model. It took many years before my writing had transformed or developed into something that I became to enjoy and love. Over time the hard work, the ups and downs, often the juxtaposition never knowing where the creativity  took me while I was writing, it all became a part of a change, it became an endless exciting rewarding, learning process. What has changed my writing process is the development of appreciating it in its true art form. The time and the exercise you give; allows mental agility, new pathways for objectivity, style to relationships of subject content.

The process, itself, similar to a painter with all his color’s knowing how to get the right value, textures, the subtle detail, that creates style which make the painting special synonymous to a signature that defines an artist. I needed the tools for this trade, like the painters needs, paint. Refinement, imagination, observation, self examination, lots of research and reading, literally everything, I could get my hands on to read.

As I have struggled through the mindfield and merritt of emotions, intellectual masturbation, self analysis, to find my voice, or style of writing this continues to be an exciting exploratory way to creative freedom and expansion. To be a writer can sometimes be scary at the same time extremely liberating.

I must say over the years writing has been not just a process, but therapy that has giving me freedom to be more..

Image result for writing on typewriter

The Road out of Perdition.

Road out of Perdition 2

I feel the cold nightmare of death lurking, its icy indifference shadowing my steps everywhere. Day in, day out, never leaving me a moment’s rest. Cruel in its finality. It is a relentless troublesome companion; close, stifling, leering. It sleeps, yet oh so terribly awake. My very own portable custom-made gallows, staring at me in the bright sunshine, in the cool shadows, always ready, always grasping. I am hounded by a sourceless unshakable sadness. It is becoming an intricate part of my mind, forcing me to try and balance my consciousness on the cutting edge of a knife – Rage on one side, the other, life without meaning. Why? What is going on here? Where did it start?

Last year, everything seemed to move forward. Life had a purpose. I was taking a stand, the goal was to get my book published. Which I have been writing on for some time. Then something happened. The emotional ride, the roller coaster of everything that has been going on these last few years. It hit me, hit me really hard, straight in the gut, my heart, my soul, it broke me…or so it felt. Almost. Darkness roamed, making each day after another a struggle to get through. Getting out of the threshold of my 4 walls, surrounding my increasingly smaller space was an achievement. An endless stream, a river of emotional pain flushed over me, bringing me down from the mountain I was climbing. Tears of not feeling good enough. Struggling to find where the ends met, economically, financially and life wise. It was sucking every inch of life, emotion and love out of me. I became afraid that I had nothing more to give. Tears, moistfull red eyed tears, they all dried up. Now it is enough. Now this has to end. Now !!!

Walking on road out of Perdition.

Now I’m picking up the pieces. The broken puzzle. A grown man, a father, a brother, an artist, most importantly a human being. So where is this road out of perdition, this damnation I felt had been brought upon me, had I created it myself. Was it my fault everything, did I do this injustice, did I deserve it, this creation of constant suffering pain? Having asked these questions numerous times, over and over again, what could I have done different. I came to a realization. I have to leave all this behind, but how? By leaving this country, this small town. Leaving my kids behind, and start all over again at this phase in life. NO!!!          Though, but what choices do I have? It`s an all familiar human trade. We flee, we move, we run. When life becomes increasingly hard to live. Just think about the reason why people emigrate. How a better prosperous life seems to be somewhere else, and given my former work and experience, I can’t deny that my opportunities here are much more limited. So what to do? The only solution. Finishing the process of what I started and then move forward. YES !!! An undeniable yes, but how?

Looking at my teenage son’s I am reminded of that beauty of being a family, being alive when we are together. I miss seeing them everyday. They are still young, growing, purely honest and in so many ways innocent. I want to embellish them with love, wisdom, care and knowledge. I wish only the best for them, to take away the pain, distress conflict and agony of divorce. My goal to give them the best I can. That is why I must fight for my justice to be a father for my son’s. This is a story that continues, that is very much alive and needs to be told. As each precious day passes, I acknowledge there are other’s like me out there. Many, many more than I ever imagined or knew before this all started. Experiencing that they are denied the possibilities of being a part of their children’s life, denied the right to be a father.

father walking with son

It is my obligation to be the best father that I can to my boy’s in spite of the intrepid obstacles that I have faced over the past 2 decades. A very good friend told me,”hang in there, your story will find resonance among other fathers”, him being one of them. His words and thoughts gave me reassurance that all of it, this blog, this upcoming book, which I will need all the help that I can get to make it happen, will finally come through. “The Journey”. Either through the Kickstarter project to be released soon or through the feedback and support I feel you my readers give, and from other fathers sharing the same kind of pain. I humbly thank all of you, and my few very close friends for being there for me in these past months. Thank you! Belive in yourself !

Buddha qoute

A Brief Intermission


A Brief Intermission

My youngest son called today, expressing to me, to make sure that I let grandma know he missed and loved her, very much. That he missed hearing her voice. An ocean apart, her love has no boundaries for her grandsons. She only has one wish; and that is to give them a hug and spend some time with them. What would her grandchildren tell her in a phone call? Their everyday life, the insight to what it means to be them, creating a picture of their enjoyment of living, maybe a days life shared with their father. A phone call, what we would do together, since the only time they can call their grandmother is when they are here.

I have been listening to my boys wishes, and they are many. They have visions and dreams already. My 13 year old, already has plans and has a wonderful sense of humor. He managed to survive a midst this great tragedy in his early life. The separation of his parents, and moving far away from his father. He’s a thinker. Still fragile, but getting stronger, as he developed his own personality. One day, he asked me; “Dad do I have your ears or Mommies?”  I laughed, and said both. Kids have many thoughts going on inside all the time. You have to be there attentive and interactive. These four weeks have given us the precious time to get inside those private thoughts and dreams. We have had a wonderful bonding…

It`s about 4:00 P.M., another hot steamy summer day, it’s mid-July. We were all feeling a bit agitated, somewhat overexposed by the relenting burning sun, that afternoon and the heat didn’t subside. It claimed supreme as it did, and would continue to do for the next weeks forecast. This was undoubtedly the hottest summer on record, so we tried to calculate our activities wisely and enjoy the summers gifts.

How about going to a movie, guys?” Shall, we go and see a film? ‘’ I asked. Perfect timing. A resounding; yyeeesss! We all agreed unanimously to see a summer blockbuster, “Dawn of the planet of the Apes”.

The cinema was a short walk from home. We found ourselves transported in a nanosecond. Tickets, treats, popcorn and soft drinks, cozy and ready for the cool air-conditioning breeze. With that aroma blowing scent from popcorn, floating through dark corridors. Big red velvet seats, a huge silver screen and surround stereo, already set to transport ourselves into a world of imagination of adventurous storytelling.

How wonderful, what a treat, together as family…I have my gang with me! It`s a perfect family thing to do, that we had not been able to enjoy since they moved. It really feels like a reunion being a father and sons, together again…

For the next 120 minutes, we were immersed into the world of good and evil, symbolism, action, suspense and paranoia. All wrapped-up a dynamic well written savvy, sophisticated story with high-tech special effects, we all were captivated. Grabbing each other hands, laughing and sighing at the high and low points, almost falling of the edge of our seats.

It was clear this was the right film and the boys were enjoying ever riveting second as they were well engaged in comprehending, the conquest of two very different civilizations. Apes vs. humans. Cesar the leader of the Ape’s had trans versed into two very different worlds and understood how it worked. Through his eyes as the leader, he sees his archetype humanities lost survival, after a plague that nearly wiped them out. Their survival would be intertwined in new challenges for their survival against the advanced development of race of Apes, whose struggle of trust and cynicism, would bring war among its human rivals. How trust would ultimately give rise for an opportunity for both races to live in peace. At the end of the movie, my sons exhilarated with sighs of relief and exaltation, and went on discussing the various technical and philosophical aspects of the film story. The way it was written, to the actor’s who played the roles, and the films climax. This was a very sophisticated, intelligent and well written film with deep anamorphic meanings, and they got every minute of it.

We`d order a takeaway pizza from the local pizzeria, and headed home. We talked all the way about how good the film was. A perfect ending with good conversation, a great summer evening as the sun settled, with the boys laughing inside out.

My boys wishes are to see their elderly grandmother before it`s too late. They have never met her. Believe it, it is the truth. She has always loved them unconditionally. Even now in her later years managed to send clothing, Christmas gifts, money and have continued to do so for all four boys since they were born. My 15 year old is asking me to take him to America, he wants to meet his grandmother, to thank her. He wants to meet his relatives, he even told me he wants to be a pilot, and study in America.

I explained to him that I am at a disadvantage, as I do not have shared custody, “but I thought kids voices especially at this age are heard in this country”. He said; “I do have a voice, doesn`t my opinion matter?” Having learnt the hard way, fighting for my kids rights and mine, over the last years; this is far from the reality. And I will continue to voice my opinions thoughts and when boys and father rights need to be honored. While I have come to understand that there are thousands of other fathers and kids in Norway experiencing the loss of having a father in their life. All the research shows how important it is for boys to have a loving, caring and supportive father, participating in their life.

I will continue listening to them, be here to support and do everything within the norms of my limited power, of being a loving, caring, supportive father, encouraging them to make their dreams a reality.

Route 2; Memories Along The Road

Route 2; Memories Along The Road

The importance that the time of a 4 week summer holiday together was unprecedented. Simple things like sitting at the table having breakfast, together. To experience going out to restaurants, going shopping together, or just simple things like staying home, making dinner together watching movies or engaging in pertinent conversations son’s to their father, they were full of surprises.

My youngest son is quite an amazing, thoughtful, young teen, handsome, engaging, quite creatively intelligent, he has it all. He comes with a package filled with surprise and joy. When he wants to share his ideas you can always be surprised. He took my hand and whispered quietly, “ I want to tell you something, I would like to talk with you.” I smiled at him, as he guided me into the other room.

This was between us, he was sharing his secrets with me, and wanted no ones ears but mine; while his brother was in the living room, gaming on Playstation. In his own pedantic young self, he was quite serious about this secret, he was about to tell. He quietly began explaining to me that he had been thinking, about this idea that he wanted to develop or design for a long time. He asked me for feedback about it.  

I was listening intently, he told me this is confidential and not tell anyone. I promised to keep his secret and encouraged him. We got some paper, and worked on some sketches and discussed in detail practical aspects of developing his project. I thought it was a brilliant invention, praising him more, adding to his confidence for already inventing something that could be something for the future.

I guess that’s the beauty of father to son, he shared his inner world, was asking for advice, his hopes, concerns, dreams, wishes and desire for his future. These invaluable experiences , creative bonding and unconditional love, brings hopes and inspiration ultimately… Now the summer is over they go back to living in another town, having another life.  I am sure they have mixed emotions, it’s not easy for them too.

Route 1; Memories Along The Backroad.

Rural Back Roads Sunset

Route 1; Memories along the back road.

Another hot day; everyday the sun and it`s unusual nature or presence in these parts of northern Europe, to my son’s remembrance and I; the sun blazed on. In the past, mild winds and temperatures above 15 degrees Celsius and rain were commonly accepted here as summer .

We sat in the living room after a late afternoon, deciding whether to venture out into the hot sun, or stay at home in the shade. At 5 pm., it felt like the hottest day on earth, in the middle of July. The longest, hottest days of the summer with that endless frontal assault of a incessant burning sun. I gave them ice creams, keeping them cool, and out we went  into the summer festival activities, we were in the center of town. Bustling colorful crowds, bands and music, kids playing, in the parks people were partying, the place was alive; it was summer solace.

We emerged navigating our way through the crowds, pausing but not taking any standing position. It was a reminder of the old times when they were younger, and they weren’t as less mobile and more dependent. Quick they had changed gears and wanted to go shopping. We went to some of the town’s more popular stores, they knew looking through the so-called latest fashion’s. But that didn’t last long. They were far more sophisticated and particular; these stores Dad, are no longer popular with us. I don’t like the clothes, no, no, no… I don’t think so, they exclaimed…

My young teens voiced their opinions, they had departed from the yes to no. Understanding that they have now developed their own style. In their own charming way, they said, “Just hand over some cash, and weI’ll do our own shopping”… I was amused, and that’s what exactly what I did, I left them and told them that, dinner would be ready round 8 pm; any request?

My 15 year old has acquired an affinity for Japanese food, and you guessed it! He loves sushi, so I had to make and to prepare two different genres of dinner as my 13 year had another request, which was pizza, but of course he wanted it with my special touch…Off they went together, shopping… Hour’s later they came home with 3 pairs of pants and pleased by their skills as teenage boys, they even had saved some money… I had lived up to my part of the deal, making 2 distinctly different genres of cuisine. Sushi, for my 15 yr old, and Pizza for the 13 yr old.

The table elegantly set, candles, porcelain white plates, silverware, beverages, conversations and laughter, another long hot summer day ends, talking about how shopping was the highlight of their day.

It doesn’t get any better than that! 😉

Radio silence…

A phone communicate…

The last time I heard from my 13 year old was a week, 3 weeks later; he asks me:

If I had seen the moon, did you take a picture of it? And that he had seen 3 shooting stars when he was away in Denmark. And to make sure that I took a picture of the moon..

.Bergen, Norway - Panoramic view from Fløyen after sunset


A Time to Remember


Another beautiful summer day in the land of the midnight sun, the heat would not relent. It was one of the hottest summer in memory, of this small city nestled among 7 mountains.

The hot air trapped, high above. Air conditioning was nothing short of a fantasy. Hence the land of the arctic circle crosses its borders, greeting every summer with 24 hour sunlight. With all its glorious, effluent hypnotically red, golden, orange, blue green, textures, performing nighttime sky dances.The Aurora Borealis midnight light endlessly dazzles us with a eternal beautiful light show. Where the sunset and twilight meet but, never set.

Hot and heat, not synonymous, but the antithesis of rain, 250 days of the year. Things have changed, and it’s time to wake-up, again. A bright oblique warm sunlight, intrusive beckoning our call, weather worn from the heat of the previous day, it was another hot steamy morning. To our pleasure or displeasure we were engaged in our own significance of enjoying this new change in weather.

My young teen son, awoke sweating and talking gibberish. I could`t quite discern what he was saying because he was talking and sleepwalking at the same time, something he’s been doing during his early years. I observed him intently sitting quietly on the sofa. While trying to catch the morning breeze, that scantily or barely blew through my terrace door. I heard him call out:” Dad, Dad! You know what I was dreaming?”  Watching his disconcertment, I Immediately got up from the sofa, embraced him to calm him down.

His eyes wide eyed shut, and mumbling… He went on about some fantastical story of being kidnapped, and running as fast as he could.  And then he got away, but some friends he was with, got caught. Then he came back to help them get away…It was amazing to listen to his young imaginative dream state. He had an emphaticness about his story that was believable, as he was convincing me it was real. After a short while he was more alert and started laughing. I told him he was sleepwalking, but his story was very interesting, one that had good intrigue and characters. One he should make an outline on paper and develop it, because sometimes dreams become the stuff they make stories of, into movies. He immediately got some paper and started writing it down.

These are moments of when father’s and son’s share a special bond, that form shape and develop memories like dreams forever….

Summer Days With My Boys


Early morning mist Wallpapers Pictures Photos Images

Summer Days, With My Boys.

The warm summer morning sunshine, peered through my apartment window in the middle of town. A new beginning.

It`s 6:00 am and the early morning sounds of seagulls screeched wildly, as they fought for early morning spoils. While the sun rose its head easterly without a cloud to hinder, nor complete with its emerges. It was truly a perfect crystal blue sky… That special summertime, morning air…Somehow my young teen son’s laid stretch out in their beds; still life, quietly sleeping like two pieces of perfect sculpture carved by Michelangelo. Symmetrically beautiful, horizontally laid-out and at rest, a midst all the seagull’s squalling… they slept through it all.

I was making a classical American traditional breakfast for them, quietly as possible knowing how much they love it…crispy bacon, sunny side up-eggs, toast, and fresh squeezed orange juice, before they woke up. It was such a delight to be with my son’s again, like old times, but with a new and improved twist: I stood  there at the edge of their, bed observing their perfect elongated muscular physics, structures they had grown exponentially.Not a sound or movement, they were in another world, a beautiful place, no morning rush, or stress on early school mornings.

The long hot summer lazy days lumbered along, slowly but surely my 2 young son’s slept in late that morning. If they don’t wake up soon, I guess I’ll just have breakfast alone and let them sleep.

Time; so precious, how lucky are we to be together as Father and Son’s…