A return to Finland – Charon concert, September 2025

They say that, as you grow older, you just return to the things that brought you joy in your younger years. If there’s anything that really marked me when I was younger, it’s gothic music. Not just music, but the entire subculture, way of life… And Finland. The land of enchanted winters and gothic metal. And not just what brought you joy, I must add, but what constitutes your very being. So, when one of my favourite bands ever announced their reunion tour in their homeland, there was nothing else for me to do than to return, 20 years after my first visit, and my first Charon concert.

The tickets for the show in Helsinki were sold out within a few minutes. I quickly rerouted my original plan and bought a ticket for Jyväskylä, figuring an extra 3-hour trip by train is doable within the temporal confines of my weekend trip. After a fantastic Weekend of Hell in Germany, a mere two weeks later I had found myself roaming the streets of Helsinki. Just like all those years ago, I embarked on a journey of self-reflection as well as self-revelation, unfolding in perhaps the most beautiful country in the world next to my own.

Like a pilgrim entering the temple of his final rest, I let Jyväskylä envelop me with the most wonderful feelings of belonging. I stood at the edge of the dark, hypnotic waters of Jyväsjärvi lake, as melodic guitar riffs played like a presque vu in my mind, inviting what was to come that evening. And what came was perhaps the best show I’ve seen by Charon, a warm welcome back between melodic poets and their audience in a spell of devotion. The utter gothic poetry of JP’s lyrics always brought me back to their albums throughout the past two decades, unearthing rare, hitherto hidden meaning in its bewitching beauty. To feel his tight embrace, to laugh together at our old photo and to reminisce and offer my deep and heartfelt gratitude to all of them for this gem of a night… I left the place in a smiling daze, singing in the middle of a street, the moon carefully shining over my every step, the gothic sky above like another embrace, no other sky like it.

The third day, and already the last one, my heart whispered. Why did I wait so many years to return here? There were obstacles, sure, but I wonder… Was it also an attempt at forgetting what Finland truly means for my existence? Oblivion lies beyond that last look, twenty years apart… I felt as if my legs were rushing me towards the train station, as if in a dream… Or maybe I couldn’t bear the official goodbye, so I hurried inside to not allow myself one last look at Helsinki. My mind was in a dark chamber, nothing in it except a suspended heart in light pink… Crumbling down to the melody of „Unbreak, Unchain“… „Could this be what it seems? Painted in your dreams…“ Like tiny pieces of bread, frosty and soft, the weight of my world in each crumble… Yet I was content to have my heart crumble like that, because at least one part of it would remain here… Unbreak, unchain. Its melody trailing me (or I trailing it)… And then the doors were closed behind me, no one to hold them for as the kind lady before did for me. Should I go back and take a deep breath of that autumnal air? Say my goodbye officially? It was as if I would willingly submit myself to the pain of departure. I tried telling myself „This is not a goodbye. Therefore, no need to go back and gaze upon Helsinki for the last time, because this time, you will return and it will not take you another 20 years to do it.“ So I turned away reluctantly, my innards crumbling with a sorrowful smile.

Is this truly the closest I could get to calling a country home? Here I spent the weekend greeting everyone back in Finnish because they all assumed I was a native, what with my attire and overall look. Perhaps because “outsiders” are the norm here? Black is a normal colour, being a goth even more. Perhaps I would never truly belong anywhere, but this is the closest I could get to it – a comfortable easiness of being? Why does it call me, and I yearn for it? Am I sentenced to always yearn and mourn, perpetually walking around a mausoleum, the wind carrying leaves like petals of a present around me… Perpetual craving for this melancholic winter sky, the cold streets, familiar places of rapture… „Leave no remorse to call your name“, and yet I left everything, even the things I couldn’t do without… Parted from these lands a fraction of myself.

Charon, as if sensing this could not be such a rushed departure again, announced a big arena concert this summer. Helsinki, I will return to you.

Happy Halloween!

Time flies at an unimaginable pace, so we’re already at the threshold of my favourite holiday – and I still haven’t written a post about my other favourite thing of darkness and horror: Weekend of Hell. Same time, same place as last year – with new faces and a definite upgrade in decor and ambience. My little black heart rejoiced again! From a veil of fog enveloping the visitors to an awesome hard rock horror soundtrack blasting throughout Turbinenhalle, Weekend of Hell – one of Germany’s top horror cons (note: not the only one, which is even more awe-inspiring considering other EU countries are lucky to have a good comic con in general) – amped up the volume in the final days of August to properly prepare us for the chilly autumnal evenings and Samhain on the horizon.

While I thoroughly enjoyed last year’s line-up of horror stars (check out my musings below), this year, as with everything else, it was dialed up to 11. One name: Skeet Ulrich. As soon as he was announced on the pages of WoH, I knew it was going to be pure madness. Skeet himself couldn’t have been more nice and pleasant to speak to, despite the long lines of fans waiting to take a photo or get his autograph on some Scream memorabilia. I loved his panel, as well – he spoke about the trilogy idea for the new Scream and how his vision was supposed to drive Melissa Barrera’s character into finally becoming the killer in the final apart. I also very much appreciated how he spoke against her shameful termination (because she was vocal against the genocide in Palestine), and overall, we could all feel that authenticity, modesty and kindness emanating from him.

We had a cute photo together (although my high forehead makes me look like a female Pennywise, lol), and I also took the opportunity to take a shot with Costas Mandylor (the Saw franchise), who’s an entertainer to the core, as well as Brooke Smith (Silence of the Lambs, Grotesquerie) and Bai Ling (The Crow).

Even though I didn’t have my faithful companion with me this year (Claudia, you better get everything in order for next year), much fun was had – and who could forget the classic vegan option of pretzels and French fries at the event! Luckily, this is Germany we’re speaking about, so eating ethically was never an issue, right from exiting the train and stumbling upon several pre-made dishes at a small Reve store on the side (including vegan sushi) to restaurant options, although I didn’t have time to really check those out. After all, the weekend was dedicated to Hell!

Until next year hopefully, here’s some visuals from my fave con ever – and Happy Halloween!

Cheering for Suffering: Bosnian-Herzegovinian Society and its Barbaric Pastime

When Bosnia and Herzegovina adopted the Animal Protection and Welfare Law 16 years ago, it seemed our country was finally moving in the right direction, evolving toward a more modern and compassionate society. A society with the pillars of spiritual progress firmly set, one that punishes the infliction of suffering on other beings. “This is the next step, and we are ready to take it,” seemed to echo through the halls of government and in the hearts of those who never allowed the empathy inherent to humanity to be hardened into cruelty.

A quarter of the 21st century has already passed, and Bosnian-Herzegovinian society is far from any real progress — especially the kind not measured by kilometers of highway laid or hospitals newly built. Amid the mire of barbarism, a few sparks of awareness ripple — faint realizations that we must work on our own souls. Sadly, standing up and raising one’s voice against injustice has become more of an anomaly than a democratic duty, while apathy reigns over our cities like a king made of gauze.

How else can we characterize a society in which, among countless disheartening examples, animal cruelty is considered entertainment? The so-called “štraparijada”—events in which horses are subjected to suffering for the sake of “folk amusement” — are nothing more than parades of base instincts and the abuse of innocent beings, whose only “fault” is their gentle nature and spirits broken by human arrogance. The Animal Protection and Welfare Law explicitly prohibits forcing animals into behaviors that cause them pain, suffering, injury, or fear. Claiming that horses want to pull two-ton logs because, God forbid, they are “bored” is akin to the misogynistic cry of “she asked for it” after yet another femicide. Both are symptoms of a warped society that shares more in common with the mob mentality than with a civilized community.

Do we even need a law — which, by the way, state institutions themselves don’t respect (since these events regularly receive permits) — when deep down, we know it’s wrong to cause pain and suffering to others? If for no other reason, then because of the principle: “Do not do unto others what you wouldn’t want done to you.” Couldn’t “tradition” and “folk customs” be preserved through a Bosnian version of the Highland Games held in Scotland, where people themselves compete in feats of strength like tossing logs, throwing hammers, or tug-of-war? Wouldn’t that represent real strength — of both body and spirit — rather than thumping your chest with muscles that aren’t even your own? Truly, envy walks hand in hand with evil, so it’s no surprise that those willing to torture innocent beings for pleasure suffer from complexes that not even Freud or Jung could cure.

Amid all this, one paradox stands out: the sudden concern for the same animals when they are abused in nearly identical situations — only differing from štraparijada by the fact that they’re not organized or promoted in the media. For example, today (April 14), one of the leading news portals in BiH published a disturbing video of two men beating a horse in Prijedor. The police and prosecutor’s office rightly got involved, and the perpetrators have already been identified. So I rightfully ask: Why is one case of horse abuse treated as a punishable offense, while others (like štraparijada) are permitted and even presented as valuable pillars of Bosnian tourism? Are we so hypocritical that we deliberately ignore evil when there’s economic gain to be had — let alone the satisfaction of indulging our most primitive urges?

Mahatma Gandhi once said, “The greatness and moral progress of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated,” perhaps seeking to rephrase Alexander von Humboldt’s thought that cruelty to animals is “one of the most characteristic vices of a base and ignoble people.” Milan Kundera expanded on this and revealed a painful truth about ourselves: “The true moral test of humanity, the one most fundamental, lies in its attitude toward those who are at its mercy: animals. And in this respect, humankind has suffered a complete defeat, a defeat so fundamental that all other defeats stem from it.”

Until our society confronts the apathy and cruelty it inflicts on these noble creatures — and all other beings we share this part of the Earth with — it will remain utterly defeated in every aspect of true ethical existence and social development. In the muck of barbarism, apathy and brutality multiply like cancer cells in the soul of our being. As long as we watch and cheer on the suffering of animals, as long as we turn our heads in feigned ignorance, we do not deserve the mercy of recovery.