ACT I: Tracked, off tracks

ACT I: Journeyed and noted on 12.1.2026, written, reflected and edited upon 13.1 - 14.1.2026

788 - Porvoo, wow, they go that far away. What a missed opportunity... But I know the place. 

 All the world's a stage... and I announce that I will be leaving the studio which is reserved for the current course I'm having, "Free Studio Space", part of a collection of courses contained in the module of Exploring Performance. My plan for today: Jump on a bus, get off when I get the impulse to do so and see what I can do with the space. Some of the participants get excited to hear my plans, and it's contagious in a phase of my studies where I've gotten nihilistic about my project, entangled in webs way bigger than what I originally set my sights on, and whose weavers seem like challenges I'm not up to facing in my current form. I'm not feeling it today, I've been telling myself the past days and weeks. 

Aragog sketch card made by Quickman012 on DeviantArt. The atmosphere of Aragog's cave and play on arachnophobia is a good reference of how the anxieties have grown exaggerated in my mind during holidays regarding the university and what it entails for me right now.

I end up discussing on with some of my excited classmates, they've been sharing the dream of taking a bus and riding it 'til the end stop. Another classmate remarks that it can feel annoying and frustrating if you don't allow yourself the option to get off at any point. I decide that I can use today's work to fulfill one childhood dream, taking buses and riding them out 'til the last stop. 

During my preparations on my way out I stumble upon another classmate, having another course. We exchange what we're up to and they tell me how they've been listening and trying to make sense of what they're about to do, but to no avail. They will have to wait for it to click, which they have the full trust in. I see the space, laying and looking up at the roof, I've been there, it's nice but I'm happy to have another trajectory.

After the meetings a lightness lands upon my shoulders. It can be this simple. It's my choice. I can take the next bus, ride it out and adjust the task according to my personal preferences. I ponder upon the beginning of the journey beginnings. Preparation before the "main" action: as an actor I am finding my routines to warm up my voice, land in my body-awareness and widening my focus. This is different, or is it? Before this sojourn I scan my body, I need to pee and I need to fill up on water. I also decide to buy some snacks, since it can be a major mood stabilizer and thought shifter. I empty my bladder and stock up on my favorite snack bar. Know thyself.

I notice a lot of signs in the space, becoming diverse and clues to decipher the deeper I penetrate the building. 

Front door: polished, clean, clear prohibitions, warnings and conditions for parole in the space. No bikes allowed!

 The most amusing of the warning signs: I smile at how obvious it is at first, yet habits and bodily memory of a door closing on itself remains strong. I walk out and forget to close it.

Toilet doors, walls, our cave paintings tell stories: tags of different origin, some with time-layered dialogues upon themselves, I instantly for example imagine a character from outside the school, from the economics university being an avec at the famous Academy pre-christmas party and writing "Poor people Where the money from?" upon the sticker directing to a website loosely translated as "Wish there was Basic Income.fi" And why is Poirot reminding of his 'stache everywhere?

The nature contains signs for someone adept to percept, presenting the past, now and future, or helping you maneuver through the space. There are phenomenas appearing which can be perceived as signs everywhere. The Micronesian navigators, called ri metos, prepared by memorizing stick charts with shells and crossings standing as abstractions for the winds, currents and wave formations and then interpreting the motion of the canoes on the tides as they travelled the Marshall Islands. 

That art is nearly lost, and I come from a different culture and location. What I do have a hunch of is the Helsinki region bus system: I know that the buses with three digits will lead me further away from the center. That's why I jump on the next bus, 643, with the end stop being Hyrylä. I have never been there but I know it can be quite far, albeit not too far, blue buses wouldn't go anywhere I can't make it to and back in a day. The only personal relation with the place is that I know my father did part of his military service there. 

Once I've boarded the bus I remember that I only have a valid ticket for two zones and make the decision not to check where the destination is within the ticket zones, hence I get a thriller plot in waiting for the ticket inspectors to storm in. That would be a costly experience. I soon forget the danger though, and start to observe other passengers stepping aboard. Some people scrabble to buy a ticket by the bus chauffeur, others show it and are quick to find a seat. It is the time when construction site workers end their day, so I see unusually many bright jackets onboard. Visions start appearing in my imagination; comedic scenes of three people boarding the bus, all in different paces, the first, a geriatric moving slow, followed by a hippie going with the flow, aloof, vibing to dub music from their earbuds and the third restlessly already peeking over the shoulder for a free seat, giving judgmental looks to the longhaired hippie in front, desperately microgesturing in an attempt scuttle up, a battle they know they can't win reasonably and other variations on the order.

I'm also reminded of a discussion I had with someone who had encountered an aggressive person aboard, and how public transport can easily turn into a hostile closed environment. 

The bus has gotten quite full as we're on the edges of the city center, where the motorways start. I notice that I'm clenching my jaw, expecting and then acknowledging that my fear came through, another passenger, wearing a big puffy jacket whose waist and sleeve surely will be in contact with me on the axis from elbow to wrist for the rest of the sojourn sits beside me. I switch my gaze outwards. 

                                                                       Diverging and converging

On the motorway we are quickly leaving the center behind. It induces excitement and also doubt if I should just get off at some point and if there will be any returning buses once I'm there. I let those thoughts dissipate. The highway offers straight lines, curving lines, rising lines, power lines, triangles, a rhythm of sound barriers, trees, fields, used car and furniture dealerships, dash line lanes. A choreography of speeds and clear directions. A static engine or radiator hum fills the soundscape. In my head, Kraftwerks Autobahn gives the spirit of the fare a more joyful tint.

The cheerful tone of Autobahn loses the battle of the atmospheres, and is dissolved into what I call the suburban hellscapes, subsisting of rectangles upon rectangle, faceless corporation logos, used car and furniture dealerships, terraced houses, plastic hypermarket grocery bags going to nuclear families cut up by production forests of equal height.

I wonder why I feel such an inescapable existential dread in such areas. Perhaps it is because my homes have never been such and I correlate them with witnessing dragged out failed experiments of following conventions, arguments and clean, white surfaces in standardized kitchen modules. As I observe the warehouses, furniture stores and car dealerships flashing by they don't differ from those scattered across my bus travels across the continent. Their walls imposing, occupying multiple times larger areas than those given to windows or doors, perhaps it's due to them being designed not so much for us as for the mass of things we produce on conveyor belts. I don't find room for imagination in these spaces. The bus speeds by and my disdain is dissipated by the scenery which appears by our side. 

I have to get my phone out to check what we're driving by to save it on my interesting locations-list so that I can come back when I'm bored alone or in need for a place with someone. The road is teetering on the edge to what seems to be a strip of forest on a narrow longitudinal hill, itself periphering a hellish terraced (?) house suburb below, with vast views above the roofs. 

The forest brink I save for later is on the right side of the Tuusulantie (grey) road.

Being in the hot bus, I've taken off my outer coat, hat, gloves and done everything one can to make oneself comfortable, a gesture of I will sit here for a long time, which makes spontaneous jumping off a hard task so I let it roll by and fulfill my goal of riding on. 

With my phone out, I scroll back on the map to a certain peculiar architectural solution I noticed earlier, a wall continuing above a road. I have nothing more to say than interesting.

Since I wasn't able to snap a shot from the bus, I will leave you with how it looks on Google Maps Street View, the sight from the seat of the bus upon the highway, looking down was more attractive to my attention.

                       My tracked travel. I will get back regarding Act II, which unfolded at the destination in my next post.

My next memory, perhaps signaling my attention sharpening is that of seeing the sign marking the arrival to the area of Hyrylä. I am focused on sighting all that I can, it's a new place for me offering unseen buildings and roads. People who had sat for the past hour in the bus started to put on their gloves, hats and taking their eyes off their phones, readying themselves to get off at the right stop. I follow suit, so as to not have to scurry out on the last minute having the driver impatiently wait to end their shift or giving a chance for the scary thought of them driving on past the final bus stop come to fruition. We're the last ones left in the end. I make it off at the bus station. I light a cigarette as an arrival ritual and scan around.

                                             It seems vast and boring, what have I done?                                            

If I can depart with one wish for our trips: please don't listen to music or talk on speaker or god forbid scroll TikTok on a bus in speaker mode, just like you wouldn't encroach upon other people's lungs by lighting up onboard. Safe escapades!