Some years ago, I was a student at the end of the degree and I went to Dutch lands, to a small university town where, not only bicycles, canals and tulips were accumulated, but also students from various countries, various cultures, various courses and various objectives. I made some friends whose friendship stretched to the limit of the stay, others that lasted until the distance of the letters that were written and, finally, two, only two, with whom I maintained the contact, even if sporadic, until today. Reminding myself of Delft and those months away from home is impossible not to think in a certain Dane with brushing hair and clear eyes, with a cold and complex humour, but with a simple and comfortable way of being.
He didn´t need a special invitation to be present, nor a specific place to let himself talk about absolutely nothing important, not even a certain time to leave.
The ease with which he took his shoes off at the entrance of the cinema, displaying his colourful socks populated with dolls, transported me in that commonplace to the comfort of the living room with a fire in the fireplace … No effort, no magic formulas, no genius of the lamp or magic tricks hidden in the hat.
© Joanna Kosinska
The way he sat on the couch of a cafe full of people and relaxed in the pillows, like a lazy cat getting ready to go to sleep, guaranteed me an unhurried end to the day, with a cup of coffee between my hands cooling slowly … No glowing screens, no poses or selfies, no social networks shouting for updates.
The whistle with which he hummed the songs of the Danish singer of the moment, as he pedalled on his way to class, dragging behind him a smell of dark bread with yellow peppers and the cake with spices, illuminated the way with that perfect brilliance of candles that he really liked. Without missing the sheets, without sleepiness and without the morning bad temper.
The day he returned to his Denmark and said goodbye to this Little Girl, as he called me, despite being little taller than me, he offered me one of the books he had read beside me on those evenings when we had nothing to do and nothing to say.
© Joanna Kosinska
When a little while ago people started talking about a Danish word that defined how these people live their life and how it is one of the reasons they are considered the happiest country in the world, even without knowing the word, I knew what it meant. It is that unpretentious comfort that keeps friends of flesh and blood around a table, for the pleasure of sharing the same space, without hurrying the future that is always a second ahead.
If I were to meet him again today I would tell him that the Hygge Boy nickname suits him more perfectly than Danish Boy, as I have always called him, and offered him a Portuguese word which, like hygge (pronounced huga) has no translation but perfectly sums up what hygge represents for me … Saudade!
© VICE News
