On my way home from school one afternoon at about five o’ clock, I looked out of the big blue bus and realized I had no idea where I was. All right, I knew I was on my way home and somewhere in between school and home, but I could not tell exactly where. It was a true “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” moment, except I didn’t have the cute little dog to share my feelings. My problem was that, when I got on the bus, it had been just like it was supposed to be – I could see everything around me because I was in broad daylight. Now, only about 20 minutes later, it looked like it could be midnight.

I guess this makes sense, the fact that it’s getting darker and darker. It’s supposed to. One evening, when my Mormor, Morfar and I were sitting around having tea and talking, Mormor commented on how she was not ready for winter. No one her age is, though. I mean, really, little kids can’t sit still in school when they see little snowflakes falling, but the older you get the more dirty the splendid, clean, white pieces of snow look. I realized it’s not really the snow that makes some Swedes depressed during the winter – it’s the light, or, truly, the lack of it. Morfar, who is always equipped with a pocket- sized calendar, could tell us right away the times that the sun is to rise and set in December.

“Do you really want to hear it?” he asked. Mormor didn’t need to because she knew how bad it was, but I wanted to know the exact times. So he read off the times and, though I had been warned about this as well, it still shocked me that it was possible.

“On December 22, the sun will rise at 8:47 and set at 14:45.” (2:45 p.m.) This means, of course, that when the sun is not up, it feels like you got up at three in the morning to go to school. The further north you go, the worse it is. On that same day, the sun goes up at 11:21 and sets at 11:40 in cities like Kiruna, for example. It’s crazy, but one of my friends thinks it’s nice. Some of it.

Matilda says when it’s dark, there’s a certain warm feeling you get from being inside and from light that you have to create yourself (like candles.) I can imagine this is true. The next day, as the bus passed the castle and the sun was almost gone (It was a day when I leave school quite late.), there were lights in the windows and the castle was illuminated. I had been reading a book (I’m in the process of reading every book the library possesses that is in English.) and was totally oblivious to the splendor to my right. Everything was getting darker and darker, and the magnificence of light was fading away- or was it? Just because it’s not sunlight doesn’t mean it’s not light. I came to realize this as I watched people walking or riding their bikes home with reflectors, relying on streetlights to get home. Every biker had a light on their bike to guide them. It was something like I had never seen, the lights reflecting off the water in the mote around the castle, the light of apartments slowly starting to fill square windows ahead of us. As we drove out of the city, it was total darkness and the stars were visible. I was thankful that the small town of Odensbacken had streetlights so I could get home.

Somehow, that scene was exactly what I needed that afternoon. After one too many people asked me if I was homesick I had begun to wonder if I just might be. I have new friends, but didn’t it feel like I was completely alone? Wasn’t I sick of having to speak Swedish all the time? The more questions the more I felt the things they were describing, and I was trying to figure out weather or not I felt the urge to be in a place that I felt comfortable with.

For some reason, when I saw all of those people trying to find their way home in the dark with only a small amount of light, I found a smile and knew that I could find my way through a year with only a small amount of Swedish. Besides, after it’s the darkest, it can only get lighter.

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