This morning, I was waken up to the music that was played by one of my neighbors.
I was strangely happy.
Then I remember what it reminded me of.
The days when I slept on my most favorite corner in Lärkkulla – my single bed in my little room – and heard the music playing, it was. It could be the music students in the studio downstairs, or it could be the Russians with their parties, or it could also be the music students having their parties after some gigs they did in Karjaa.
That feeling. The feeling I dearly miss.
Once in a lifetime, I was happy as such.