í brjósti mér brennur von um betri tíð

His land, buzzing with secrets as old as the hills standing proud on the menacing ground. The country of unwavering and steadfast people, who had learned to tame the unbridled weather and selfish terrain, and pulled the reins in their favor. Though few and lonely, they never knew fear, and the idea of docility never settled down in their vernacular. They were united in suffering, an offer of helping hand solidified as a custom in the mentality of proud Viking descendants. Though scarce, the Icelanders refused to perish. Their own homeland had tried to wipe them off its surface, wanted them dead or begging for the sweet release of death. Still, they clung to each other, sharing hopes, dreams as well as worries and dread. There are no people he holds closer to heart than his own kin. They are his heart and soul, his vital energy, the rush of hot blood in his veins, a fresh breeze in his nostrils. His comfort through the bad and his pride and joy through the good times.

He’s never known any better than that.

Small huts scattered all over the country, each of them with a story to tell, with dried fish to feed the entire family, with a father risking his life for his loved ones by facing the turbulent seas so long as it gives nutrition. With a mother holding her younglings close to heart, humming sad lullabies into the dark night, mourning another child who did not live to see the next spring in the familiar dale. He’s seen it all. An orphan without a hearth to return to every night, he crossed the country, and in exchange for affection, he would toil his hands to blood. Nothing would come to him without hard work, no doubt about that. But he loved his folk. With all their quirks, imperfections. His admiration knew no boundaries. The plagues and volcanic eruptions decimated them, shattered his spine, drove him to the verge of extinction. With his head held up high, in the likeness of the Icelandic people, he withstood. Throughout a thousand years, he survived.

He’s never wanted any better than that.

The world soon opened its door for him. The gate that has been closed on him now gave him a warm invite. But he was hesitant. While tempted by the unknown, by the new possibilities all available to him, the big globe ready to be uncharted, he was fearful. The idea of a city he wanted to visit having twice as many inhabitants as his entire country filled him with sheer anxiety. When faced with the American skyscrapers and surrounded by people fluent in a language he could only stutter so much in, he could feel panic creep down his spine, his legs felt weak, and one wish he had was to disappear never to be seen again. He longed after the peace and quiet of those forgotten by time huts by the roaring sea, the only noise in his life sparking bearable since familiar restlessness. When confronted about his feelings, he would brush the insecurity away by saying he’s doing fine, just jet-lagged. Put a mask of a smile over genuine fear. That’s how it works when you cherish your friends, those are the lengths you go for them. He is known for wearing his heart on a sleeve. But is he genuine about it?

Það er alltaf best að vera heima.