Hygge

The Danish concept of hygge became quite a thing after the country was named happiest in the world. For the rest of the world, even pronouncing the word is a problem, much less emulate that path to happiness. I was standing in Daunt Books at Marylebone one day, flipping through one of the various books titled Hygge on a little table, when two ladies came by and pointed out that table, laughing in a good-natured way about how, on the cover of one of the books, the phoneticised version of the word as “hue-gah” was rather quite ridiculous. I guess they are Danish.

The thing is, nobody else in the world can hygge like the Danish. It is not that nobody else in the world can be happy; surely we can, but our way may not be through hygge. Or it might be hygge in a different form, different sense altogether. Simply buying the same tealights, eating the same food, wearing the same socks as the Danish is not going to buy us hygge, and neither will it buy us any more happiness than we already have. There is a reason why the word exists only in the Danish language.

But there are things we can learn from that concept, even in our own varied context. One of the things that struck me about it is how there is happiness in the simple acceptance of the way things are, and how we can take time to simply enjoy the small things of life. Yes, it’s blistering cold outside, but that’s just winter. It will come and it will pass. Meanwhile, we can make a hot drink, prop our feet up in front of the fire, turn on some music, and still enjoy the evening. In Singapore it will probably be the reverse: it’s blistering hot outside, but we can make a cold drink, turn on the aircon, prop up our feet with some music, and still enjoy the day.

People talk about that moment of bliss, of enjoyment, of pleasure and peace, but nobody really talks very much about what that moment is surrounded by and situated in. The reality of life and its circumstances don’t disappear. Hygge for me is about finding a moment of stillness in the eye of the storm, a temporary respite, urgent rest. And it is hard to find, because the surrounding reality is so much more tangible.

And do we hygge with people, or not? That’s probably an inconsequential question, because a moment of rest and bliss is fundamentally personal. But for some of us, we probably can only reach that sense of completeness when we are with someone else.

I’m still trying to figure out if i like people. For a long time in my past, i thought i did. Then came a point in time in my life when my friends laughed aloud when i told them i had thought i was a people-person. And then those many moments when i feel completely and utterly alone. Even now, i am reluctant to seek company, but there are days when i know i need company. This morning i woke up from a very busy dream, and after sitting up in bed for a bit, i went back to sleep because i actually had people to talk to in my dream.

That was a new low. And in His usual providential way, God gave me people to chat with today. I had a nice lunch with a family, then bumped into D on my way back, then into P, and both times i had a bit of a connected chat. Yesterday when i bumped into J & L on my way out, i was really surprised that J recognised me and said hi, and they both stopped to chat. We had a really nice chat: some laughs, some empathy, some connection. But i couldn’t bring myself to join them and the rest for more company that same evening. I was quite surprised that J recognised me, especially when L is in a way my friend first. More than that, i was really touched that J recognised me, because there are so many people here who don’t see me at all.

Reading Gao Xingjian’s Soul Mountain probably makes me a little more pensive too. That search is too real, too frightening, too close. All of chapter 52, in particular. I am not sure i can work on this novel for my essay, because it might just envelope me, and then swallow me altogether.

It is somewhat ironic also because i embarked on this year-long journey here to find some space for myself. I was prepared that i may find more than i expected, and even now, i am clearly aware that it is all part of the journey, and there is nothing i regret. I guess the question is simply what i might change, what i might choose to do, how i might want to draw boundaries. And i don’t have answers yet. I am not even certain of how i feel, and surely i still don’t quite know yet what i really want; i may be getting a slightly better sense of what makes me cheerful and what gets me down…but really so far i am depending on watching videos of my nieces, going on walks, and searching out good coffee to keep me buoyant. There is nothing profound about any of that, or perhaps there is. But there is certainly nothing admirable, spiritual, or sacrificial about any of that. Is that ok?

There is something in the way of my vision and my thinking and my feeling. I cannot remember, but i cannot forget either. It makes it hard to think. All i can do is to pursue a thought as far as it would bring me, and then stop, and then wait until the fog is lifted from that spot again. For tonight, my hygge is a gingerbread glazed Krispe Kreme donut from Tesco. It is finally 7pm. The nights are so long now.