He used to call me his „threat from the East.” That’s how funny he was. Then he forgot that it was supposed to be a joke.
* * *
I will always remember my first conversation in Icelandic. In the supermarket. “Viltu poka?” Would you like a bag? “Já, takk.” In my mother tongue, poka sounds like show me. Viltu poka? Would you like to show me who you are? Please believe me, I would if I knew how.
* * *
And all those waitresses who don’t speak Icelandic at all! Even their English is broken. Who hires them?
* * *
They say that we, the polishing people, we are running away from small salaries and social problems in our countries. But if we are running away, it would be rather from broken hearts, broken dreams, broken prides. It’s better to be a monster than a broken human, I think.
