Stofan Diaries Part 1

Stofan café. Reykjavík, Iceland. Thursday August 11. 12:15.

Sufjan Stevens warms my ears on this gloomy summer day. I’ve built a home here; some kind of fortress around me within these thick walls.

Here I first watched an entire match of football. Iceland was, for the first time ever playing in the Euro cup. The famous underdog could be heard howling the Viking chant from the other side of Europe, which offended bigots like Ronaldo. The vibe here was infectious; you couldn’t help but break in to dance or random cheers of “Áfram Ísland!” after moments of tears and shock as the humble team lead a nation of 300,000 into victory! It was these games that I sat, stood, danced and cheered in Stofan and felt home, like I belonged. Here I first felt patriotic.

Now I was alone and I felt that weight. I look to the sailor smoking his pipe and I see sadness in his eyes, worry in his frown. He and I had shared many a glance; he had been there for me when I was alone. Now I’ve come to realise that he is just as lonely and heavy as I am.

Stofan, Sufjan and Sailor. To you I owe homage, within these thick grey walls I have realise that my love knows no boundaries.

“I fell in love again, all things go, all things go” — Stevens describes perfectly the countless amount of times I’ve fallen in love here.