Tag Archives: Whitman College

Flim, Flam, Flåm: A Nordic Adventure

HEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOO my people! I meant to post this earlier but I actually had school work this week. But here I am! Just finished up my Psych of Human Sexuality midterm, watched some Hannibal, and now I’m sitting in my awful Gender and Sexuality in Scandinavia class (seriously DO NOT TAKE THIS CLASS, well at least not with my prof or anything from my prof really) typing out this blog. Update I’m so sorry it’s been forever. I’m here now. Prepare for a mass posting. I have left and came back to this post 700 times. I’m sorry.


I seem to do the same thing every morning… I hear my alarm go off at an ungodly time (aka 5.00) but then I tell myself I will just count to 60 and then get up for real. You may say, “Emily that is the dumbest idea you have ever had.” You may be right. Basically what I am getting at is that I fell back asleep and didn’t have a backup alarm. TGOD for my host-mom who said she would drive me to the train station this fine morning, and I made it on time to my flight.

DAY ONE: I hopped off the plane at Bergen Airport! That’s right, NORWAY! You guessed it, this is the story of my DIScovery trip to the beautiful country of Norway. After an emergency run into 7-11 for two chocolate croissants and a carton of milk (I DIDN’T FORGET IT THIS TIME NATASHA), I was off.  *Insert the time on the bus where the whole group was asleep**pit-stop in Voss**back to sleep* Team… I just ate Flan in Flåm. Okay actually, this food was so good I’m going to make it have its own post. Thus no more food will be mentioned until next time.

We decided thafb_img_1476292742936t we needed to wake up from our exhausting journey. Luckily our hostel was ON A FJORD because it was time for a FJORD SAFARI. img_9471Pretty sure I was wearing 20 different items of clothing (one of which being an obnoxious yellow snow suit). As I went to put on this “Big Bird”-like contraption I managed to get my zipper stuck. Multiple members of my group struggled and failed to fix me up. Finally I caved in, and called in professional reinforcement. The next few hours were spent on the fjord. I have to say, it was img_9486stunning.If you ever have the slightest chance to go PLEASE DO. Words cannot live up to the sights I was blessed with. I may never find the right way to explain how stunning my surrounding were this week. Maybe I will let the photos speak for me. Note: dolphins and seals were seen on this trip but are surprisingly super-fast.

DAY TWO: Woke up bright and early for a very active day. After breakfast, we embarked for the Flåm Train Station. fb_img_1476441616671This train ride was supposed to be the most beautiful train ride in the world. FUN FACT: IT IS! ( I have nothing to compare it to, but I doubt anything could beat it.) After this beautiful journey, we grabbed a handful of gummy candy (very common in Denmark) and began our decent down the Rallavegen Trek20161009_100027_hdr trail. Prepare yourself for a bunch of photos right about…. NOW. img_9468Okimg_9505ay this was literally a 20 km hike. I am not a hiker. Or in shape. Near the end of this 5ish hour journey I was completely out of it. Don’t get me wrong I would 100% do it again. This hike was one of the most beautiful scenes I have ever been a part of (and I travel across the states quite a img_9663bit, so I do have comparisons this time). Also I filled my water-bottle up from a cute waterfall, and it was SO DELICIOUS. LIKE WOW. I feel like one of those people that think they are cool because they drink VOSS water, but mine is straight from the source so SUCK IT. At the end of the day, a nap was most definitely needed.

DAY THREE: Another beautiful day in Flåm… Scratch that… Just looked it up and I went to Voss. While there we went on a ropes course. Ya know, that thing where you are hooked into a harness and climb in the air.fb_img_1476292827965 Let me tell you, we were all SORE AND EXHAUSTED. I couldn’t walk. So needless to say, Climbing a ropes course wasn’t my ideal.fb_img_1476441650405 BUT I DID IT. I got up there, scared shitless, and made it through two courses without dying. Afterwards, we went into down and just explored for a bit. DON’T TELL ME GRANDMA, but I bought really nice Norwegian wool to knit her a scarf for Christmas. I haven’t knitted in forever, so I had to teach myself. Hopefully this turns out.

DAY FOUR: TODAY IS THE DAY; THE REASON I WORKED MY ASS OFF THIS SUMMER AND SPENT AN OBSCENE ABOUT OF MONEY TO GO TO NORWAY.  Today is the day for kayaking the fjords.fb_img_1476353549906 Wow. Absolutely wow. Just wow. I cried. img_9726I was amazed. Shout-out to Whitman for closing all of the scrambles I wanted my first year, and putting my in whitewater-kayaking. Without that experience , and the times I have kayaked on OP trips after that, I wouldn’t have chosen to take part in this experience. It was amazing to already feel comfortable in the water because I was img_9756able to take a single kayak out alone and enjoy the water at my own pace. I think I may chase excitement now though. Though the fjords were incredible, a part of me missed img_9718the speed of white-water (I ended up chasing all of the waves on nearby boats). I think our journey was around 25 km, but we did stop midway through for a “BBQ lunch”. I know I said I wouldn’t talk about food, but I must mention that DIS’ idea of a BBQ is not what you are thinking unless your average BBQ includes bone-in pork chops, salmon, pasta, garlic bread, etc. OK DIS, OK.

DAY FIVE: Twas a sad day. Away we went, leaving the beauty of Norway. I think we were all saddened. No longer would we have our game nights, meatball breakfasts, and our extreme daily workouts.  We finished off our lovely week by going up another trailhead in Bergen (THANKFULLY NOT AS LONG AS THE LAST ONE).20161012_131159_pano




Again I am extremely sorry for this disappearance. The way that the DIS schedule works had me traveling to Norway for a week, being back for a week with intense work, traveling to Amsterdam for a week, and then back again with a hella amount out work and this fucking shit-show of an election. After this post goes live, I will be making another one for the food I’m sure you are wondering about, one about Amsterdam, and finally the experience of being in another country when your country is falling apart. 

Stay Safe,

Love your fellow feminist.

When Will My (Reflection) Show Who I Am Inside

Face Update: This is my current face. I am still sad that I had to take my labret out, and I feel a little lost without it. snapchat-2911068590867097941My sister called me an alien when I showed her this photo because of my symmetrical face. I will neither confirm nor deny this, she’s right shhhAlso I will soon be conforming to this homogeneous society. AKA my hair will be turning into a natural color SHOCKING I KNOW. This was actually an incredibly difficult decision to come to. I don’t think I have had natural, or even semi-natural, hair in three-ish years. What you have to realize is that America is shaped by individualism. When you have a lot of body modifications there, you are just one in a sea of other non-conformers. But here… things are different. I don’t see people like me when I leave my house. I have seen one, ONE person here with a full head of unnatural hair, and it was just red so does that even count? If you read my last post, you know a small part of how challenging it is to be isolated here. I can’t speak the language, and I don’t look the part. I can’t continue with the rest of this semester feeling like I will never fit here. If changing up the coloring of my hair helps, then that’s what I’ll do.

School Update: My favorite class is surprisingly the one I switched into last minute! BLESS THE GODS THAT CONVINCED ME TO DROP CRIMINOLOGY FOR PSYCH OF HUMAN SEXUALITY. My other classes (Pornography, Prostitution, and Danish) are swell. Gender and Sexuality in Scandinavia may be the worst class I have ever taken. I hate it. I hate the professor. She hates me. She actually told me to dumb down my work. She doesn’t understand anything beyond the binary. I actually hid in my beanie today to avoid leaving class based on the comments she was making. Yeah. It’s that bad. I actually miss Whitman when I’m in my classes here though. I thought that coming abroad I needed a break WHICH IS TRUE but I feel a little underwhelmed with my classes. I feel like I’m not being challenged. I feel as if in some of them I am just repeating the same 3 basic concepts over and over and over and over and over and OVER AGAIN. I have learned absolutely nothing in gender and sexuality, js. I love the idea of being more hands on in my learnings though.

Friends Update: I HAVE FRIENDS. Also my best friend from home, GABBY, came to visit me here!! I have a very large queer network here, and by that I mean, all my friends are queer. I don’t know if you know how awesome that is. I feel like I’m on an episode of The L Word. (Can I be Shane? Can I be literally anyone that gets to be with Shane? Can I be Carmen, but we stop the show before plot-twists happen?) Here is some photographic evidence of my queer peers.


Canal Tour: I went to Nyhavn with my host mom and went on a beaUTIFUL canal tour. See attached photos. Before finishing the night at papirøen (Delish Street Food. 10/10 would recommend).20160911_170508_hdr20160911_174951_hdr 20160911_174512_hdr20160911_175748_hdr20160911_171107_hdr

Hyggeligt Dinner:  I recently went to a nearby host student’s home. Pinn invited my host mom and I, as well as two other host students, over for a hyggeligt dinner. *Hyggeligt// The warm, cozy feeling one gets when surrounded by good company. snapchat-2760983576096036382Pinn is from Thailand and offered to make us a homemade Thai meal. Oh. My. God. Perhaps one of the greatest meals I have ever had. [Rice, Green Curry, Cashew/Broccoli Stir-Fry, Thai Omelets, Elderflower Water, followed by the absolute best Carrot Cake in existence paired with home-made Lemon Ice Cream and Blueberry Jam]. 

Zumba: I did ZUMBA!snapchat-2591657576592530337 In case you didn’t know, my host mom is a zumba instructor. She has been trying to talk me into doing zumba since I arrived. ANYWAYS, the other weekend we (Bibi, her sister, her niece, and I) went into København to go to a giant outdoor zumba lesson. And surprisingly…. I enjoyed it. A lot. Who would’ve thunk it? Like it didn’t feel like I was working out even though I was, and it was just really fun. I felt happy. After we finished dancing, our little group took a nice walk, threw down a blanket, basked in the sun, and ate some delicious danish pastries (not entirely sure what they were, but DAMN, they were good).fb_img_1474718393298

Family Reunion: Words cannot state how amazing this experience was for me. I went to a reunion of 50+ Danes and it was incredible.fb_img_1475414412633 Brief Highlights: Classic Danish dancing, Danish beer is good??, my host brothers are funny as hell and also watch Scrubs, reading Danish children stories at 4.00, champagne bar, skål, etc. Ask me about this night when I return because it was unforgettable.

P.S. These are my favorite photos so far…



A Party and a Panic Attack

I went out with my host family to a goodbye party for their friend’s daughter, and it was the worst time I have spent in Denmark so far…


I put off writing this post for a few days as to allow it to fall during invisible illness week. Our society is prone to ignore illnesses that you cannot see. If there is not visible,physical proof, your issues are not real. Most chronic invisible conditions “are not always obvious to an observer, but can sometimes or often limit daily activities. These disabling symptoms can range from mild challenges to severe limitations and vary from person to person.  Having an invisible illness can prohibit the sufferer from enjoying life in the way they once knew.” In light of Invisible Illness Awareness Week, I want to share a story with you all. A window into my world.

I am living with severe depression and anxiety. I think that the last time I can truly remember not suffering from these illnesses was in kindergarten. 15 years ago. The person most of you have gotten to know is a reflection of the false self I put forward all those years ago. Even at this moment when I am trying to type out these thoughts, my mind is fighting me. Thoughts are racing: telling myself not to write the words that will expose me, telling myself that people will look at me differently when they know the truth, telling myself that I am going to hurt the ones I love if they know that I was suffering for 15 years and they didn’t know to help me. My body feels like it is shutting down, locking in place. Maybe this is a cause of my back pain… It feels as if someone is holding my spine in their tight meaty hands squeezing tighter and tighter until it feels that I could snap.

Some of this tale is not my story to share, so for a lack of available words, my home was a danger zone growing up. I managed to feel safe and unsafe at the same time. Like I was in a building where the ceiling was caving in, but I had on a hard hat so I had to be fine. But one of the hardest parts of invisible illnesses is that your hard hat can only protect what others see. I was being attacked internally.

I grew up faster than you could ever imagine. I don’t remember being a child. I don’t remember being care-free. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t overthink every single interaction I considered making, thinking of every possible way it could go wrong before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. I don’t remember a time when I have felt comfortable sharing how I was feeling. I don’t remember the last time I willingly hugged my sister. I remember internalizing everything so no one would have to worry about me. I remember the fear of speaking; it was as if one wrong word would tear apart my duct-taped life. It was as if one wrong word would result in me losing my family. Of child protective services splitting us up. At least that is what 6-year-old Emily thought and while this may seem like an over-exaggeration caused by a young mind, but it was a real issue. I could feel it looming over me. Haunting me.

By second grade, I had already promised myself that I would internalize every single thing that was wrong with me until the day I turned 18. You learn the rules pretty quickly when you’re used to walking on eggshells. As a minor, my thoughts were too dangerous to be uttered aloud. I was protecting my mom, I was protecting my sister, I was not going to be the reason we were split apart. I knew if I held off until I was legally an adult. Nothing could come back on my family. I threw myself into my studies. Nothing else mattered to me but walking the line of perfection. Perfection to a struggling 6-year-old came in the form of complete dedication to school. I would never get below an A. A lifestyle that pushed me to graduate as valedictorian. That pushed me to never take an art class as it was a risk to my GPA. A lifestyle that pushed me to hack into my graduating classes grades to verify that I was the one with the highest GPA. The lifestyle that had me take the ACT four times. The lifestyle that had me crying as each college rejection leter rolled in. I would never get in trouble, not even for forgetting one assignment. My family has a history of migraines and I would pretend to throw up in the bathroom in elementary school if I ever forgot a book or an assignment so that I could go home. I would not make too many friends because friends were a dangerous distraction. Isolated. I was to be an independent person. Lonely. I was to be mature. I was to be perfect.

As I mentioned this is 15 years of depression and anxiety, so my life’s story will not fully be in this post–you’re welcome. Basically, I didn’t make it to my goal of 18 years before breaking. I was about 17 and in a high school psychology class. We were in the mental health unit. We had finished quizzes on various mental illnesses including, you guessed it: DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY. We were receiving our results one particular day, but before we did we had a circle to talk about personal issues. We told enough stories that most of us were in tears and I couldn’t keep myself together… I told them the story that I mentioned way earlier that wasn’t fully mine to tell. I told them how I grew up in fear of going home and being the one to find my sister dead. That when I returned home first, I would check the house so no one else had to be the one to find her. I never had this nightmare come true. Wow more reflection this probably why I never invite people to my house. One of my closest friends has been to my house twice in eight years–the first time being when I left for college. Basically my psych teacher said I should/needed to go talk to the school’s social worker, which AS MENTIONED I have a slight fear of. I gave her the shortest recap of what happened in my life. The social worker said I had to tell my mom, or she would. In the end it was her. I still remember that night when my mom drove me to a work meeting. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want her to know that I wasn’t okay. That I couldn’t handle it myself. That I was fucked up. I went to hop out of the car and she said “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me, Em. I thought we had a relationship where you could talk to me…” It broke my heart.

I ended up trying therapy, but it wasn’t the time. I was still under 18 and I refused to be as open as I needed to for it to make any difference. I went to two or three different therapist in less than a year. I had my mom keep these a secret from my family. I didn’t want any of them to know. I felt shame. My sister was so angry that we wouldn’t tell her. I guess you know now. As much as my mom wanted me to explain to her, I couldn’t. I didn’t even want my mom to know. No one else could get a glimpse into the broken person I was. I still needed to be perfect. I knew that therapy wasn’t working and I couldn’t let my mom waste money on something that so stupid as my mental health Thanks society, for making me feel that I am less than. Your stigma surrounding mental health is shit. You had even me believing that if it wasn’t visible it wasn’t there, it wasn’t real. I suddenly just stopped making appointments.

I allowed myself to continue suffering until a little over a year ago. I finally broke down and told my mom I was struggling and needed medication. A little after that I was talked into going to therapy again (this time at my school for free, aka paying my whole tuition anyways might as well take advantage of the health center, thanks Whitman). I have switched medication 3 times, tried mindfullness, done weekly therapy sessions, carry around a stone, write out my feelings, talk to the people around me, embrace my struggles. Embrace my fears and anxieties. Embrace those around me. Embrace help. And I’m not okay, but I’m okay. I’m a contradiction that lives and breathes and feels pain and occasionally still struggles to put herself first and has days when she cannot leave her bed and weeks where the thought of picking up her room is the hardest thing and has moments when she doesn’t want to live in this world and times when everything feels right. And I am better even with these struggles. It’s the hyggeligt moments that keep me going. But a chronic illness doesn’t disappear just because you will it so or are trying your hardest to fight it off.


I went out with my host family to a goodbye party for their friend’s daughter, and it was the worst time I have spent in Denmark so far… I didn’t take care of myself as to not cause a scene. I wanted to be polite and happy for this giant group of Danes. I have been in a downswing this week and I pushed myself anyways. I am used to having three or four Danes speaking Danish around me while I sit in silence. It’s a part of the home-stay life and I wouldn’t change it; it pushes me to work harder on the language. But imagine having social anxiety and being in a place that you were only invited to because you live with the people that were actually invited. Now imagine that there are 30 people around you talking in another language as you try to blend in and ignore the feeling of loneliness and isolation. You crave for someone, anyone to speak to you in English, but are too anxious to keep the conversation going because you assume no one wants you there and they all hate you. Now imagine all of this on top of not being a tall, blonde, thin girl in a sea of Danes. Isolated for your language and now your bright blue-green hair, and sweat pants, and less than athletic build. I. Could. Not. Breathe. I was told to go play trivia pursuit with the other people my age aka gorgeous Danes. But they are all SPEAKING IN DANISH. And I saw as much and the mom is like they can speak in English for it. Like NO THANK YOU I would rather suffer in silence than interrupt their game AND ask them to speak in English. She kept pushing and pushing me. I just couldn’t. I was stuck there on the verge of a panic attack for 6 hours. This is invisible illness. This is me suffering for hours as to not be an inconvenience to others. This is what we are hiding. Just because you cannot see our struggles as easily does not mean that they are not there.