Page 217 of My Life by Afrah

-on’t build without me” he called back, shutting the garage door. Clearly groceries were a more pressing matter. 

So I waited . . . for thirty minutes before digging through the kitchen junk drawer to find a beginner friendly screwdriver and a rusted two-ton hammer. I maneuvered the oversized box up the stairs, its heaviness diminished by my determination to build.

By the time my father gets back, I will have a fully functioning desk.

Clamping onto the wrinkled IKEA manual, I desperately searched for answers. My father had returned hours ago, yet I was still holed up in my room, refusing advice, looking at the helpless pile of white planks. The structure appeared mangled. It was obviously assembled in the wrong order—though I didn’t want to admit it.

Sweden is a beautiful country, but their instruction manuals could drive a person to insanity. The very little letters on the page seemed to dance right off.

It was a scene from a horror film: blood dripping from my paper cut, sweat driving off my hands, and tears drowning out my sense of self. 

Yet, I refused to accept defeat. Somehow, someway I was going to learn Swedish in one night. I ended up manually Google translating each word. Good builders know their build; I was going to reference Google and nothing else. No hour long youtube video. Just five hours of me translating and building. 

Trähylla.

Wooden shelf.

Translating other words, I pieced together my puzzle. Letting out a sigh, I seized plank G and connected the gaps.

A desk.

Maybe with a few scratches, chips of paint, and gaping holes from unscrewing wrong screws—but something I could call my own. 

22 times a charm . . . I guess?

Even though watching an American video on building the “MICKE Desk” could have landed me a better quality workspace, I ended up learning the meaning behind why each name in IKEA is different: the founder had dyslexia. 

Though I could have gained those precious hours of sleep, I felt like a true Swede, a foreigner in an hour—even though I couldn’t tell you what all it meant in another. 

Culture is fascinating in this sense. An instruction manual (a piece of paper with numbered steps) is starkly different in each part of the world. 

The manual was just unfamiliar because I didn’t know the language. However, becoming familiar made the difference. 

Who knew Google Translate spoke Swedish?

I swore to myself I would never buy another IKEA item.

Yet, here I am, scanning the website for the grey “ORFJALL Chair.”