When I for some years lived in Gothenburg, I did, after a few weeks have endured all the jokes about the extreme 08:a I was, all to get the people of gothenburg to forget that I am actually from the capital.
I started listening to Håkan Hellström, said, ”bamba” instead of the school canteen and was careful to not accidentally end the annoying phone calls with a lie about ”poor coverage in the subway”. Was able to self-initialize ”the card game” stockholmian and gatsoparen – a göteborgslek who are there only to highlight how more than locals are.
this ”bästkusten”-period there was a thing that never hit the error during my visit home, despite the fact that I, myself, thought that 19 years of life in Stockholm had made me incredibly tired on the city.
When the train rolled in over the Centralbron and the City, I began to always cry. It was so obvious that where the image of the water and the city Hall and Västerbron would get the tears flowing that I made into a sport to find the sorgsnaste the song to right the leg – in order to really be able to revel in my own Stockholmsromantik.
said a colleague at the restaurant where I worked ”nice to work some real people were here”. He pointed at me. I knew then that my work was completed. I could move home.
And so I did it, and now I weep no longer because it is so beautiful view from Centralbron – possibly frustrationstårar over how slow it goes.
Evelyn Jones is a reporter at the DN and a few years away was enough for her to return home as newly stockholmsälskare and develop a broader stockholmsdialekt than in the past.
