celebrating sisters

You can kid the world. But not your sister.

~Charlotte Gray

A sister can be seen as someone

who is both ourselves and very

much not ourselves -

a special kind of double.

~Toni Morrison

Bless you, my darling, and remember

you are always in the heart -

oh tucked so close there is

no chance of escape - of your sister.

~Katherine Mansfield

in company with the rest

His mind works like a map, associating ideas with places he has read about. He can tell me all about India, but he's never been there himself. "Why didn't you go?" I ask him when I found out he had once intended to travel there. "It is in the past," he says mysteriously and I quit prying.

He always makes me laugh. He has a matter-of-fact way of making a joke and he keeps the commentary running throughout class. Our conversation at Hemingway's reveals that he has lived all around the globe, from China to Libya. He has a son he plays tennis with.

This is the first time I've had any personal information about her. She has taught our class with diligence and good humor. After high school she ended up working at a small camp in Germany in order to learn more German. Her coworkers would laugh when she would ask "where does this live?" instead of "where does this belong?"

He spent over a year in Bayern with his wife, taking care of a property and its stables in the countryside. "Here in Finland in '94 it was bad with the banks. So we decided to move to a foreign country." The experience was one of his happiest in life, and he wouldn't mind going back.

She works in the harbor in the customs office where her husband works as well. We have sat next to each other since the first day of class and someone thought we'd been friends for a long time. She is lively and friendly, and strikes me as someone who is straightforward and strong.

There are moments when I am in the company of people, especially those that are in different walks of life, that I am overcome by the deep contentment of just sitting near them, of hearing the sound of their voice, seeing the tilt of their head and being in their presence. I am the baby in our German class, but somehow, I never feel out of place. And last night as we met at the pub after class, each person unfolded a story all their own, with their quirks and manners of expression. Such moments of enjoying the company of people always bring to mind a snippet of poetry I picked up a long time ago from Walt Whitman:

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment—what is this, then?
I do not ask any more delight—I swim in it, as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women, and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well;
All things please the soul—but these please the soul well.

Crashing

I went to my last class and took my last final today. I feel like I can allow myself to be tired now, to go crash at home and quit pretending that I have enough energy for everything. These past five days have been crazy, but somehow, I find myself on the other side, with them behind me more or less successfully!

One of the many highlights was our charity fundraiser, which was really a big party for people to come and eat mouthwatering Filippino food and hear kids perform. As one of the emcees of the event, I faced my moments of stress and frustration, but all in all, it was a success! And the memory I carry with me is of the gutsy little three year old who sang to a crowd of 250 people in a golden evening dress. I wish I had a picture to share with you, but alas, that was the last thought on my mind as I watched her perform backstage!

Also, my sister gets here in roughly three days! In the midst of all the hoopla, it came to me as quite a surprise when I realized how soon she will be here, and therefore, how soon we will be traveling!! In case I have yet to mention it, I will be spending a historical Christmas in Madrid with my dad's side of the family! I have had little energy or time to contemplate it, which is just as well because I couldn't add another thing to my overloaded brain. Actually, it's not that overloaded...it feels quite...empty at the moment...a sure sign that my system is on red alert for lack of rest.

Until next time, your weary-but-content friend bids you farewell!

the day after

Yesterday was our Independence Day. Finland celebrated her 89 years of self-rule and freedom!

I used my freedom from work and class to sleep in later than 6, and go through my Islam course notes. I also drew upon my capabilities of self-rule and decided to go running, because I actually had the possibility to be outside as the muted daylight made her brief appearance on the horizon (according to today's pape, the sun rises at 09:07 and sets at 15:15. Yes, that's six hours and eight minutes, and counting!). I enjoyed the melancholy beauty of a forest stripped of leaves, yet decorated with puddles and green grass that has mistaken the warmth in weather for an early spring. In the evening, as the President's grand independence gala at the palace was well under way, I joined international friends and acquaintances for a celebratory dinner at a Nepalese restaurant that boasted some fabulous paintings of mountains and temples. The food and company were lovely as well.

And now it is the day after. The fashions of the President's gala have been critiqued, I overslept my alarm this morning, and I can actually see glimpses of blue sky outside of my window (a good reminder that above all the gray clouds, the sun is still shining)! In spite of all the studying, working and partying to be done in the next five days, I am at peace right now. It may have something to do with the fact that I'm too tired to expend the energy that stress requires! But mostly, it is because I know Whom my life belongs to, and that His guidance and love are what true freedom is about!

Mne harasho.

with you

I don't have words
but I would give you
my hand to hold
and my shoulder to
lean on, a quiet moment
for your sorrow to
find release in tears
that soak into my
shirt. If that would
make your heart lighter
I wouldn't mind getting
drenched in a torrent
of drops and memories.
And if I would only
be in the way, then
know that I am holding
you from the distance, up
into Arms that are
the strongest and a
Heart that loves the most.

on the first

Reporting the the general public: There are now 22 days left until the Winter Solstice, which is when the days will start to get longer! (See me grin and do a jig.)

There are plenty more days that I am counting down to during this month, including such key events as Christmas parties, finals, report deadlines, my sister's arrival and travel days! It promises to be busy in the coming weeks!

Wishing one and all a lovely weekend, wherever you are and whatever you're doing! May you drink plenty of hot chocolate and if there is snow, go play in it! :)

.a collage of sentences.

It is 8:38 and the sky is still a cloudy unearthly lilac color, showing signs of creeping dawn--perhaps the morning is as tired as I was when I rolled out of bed.
I fell asleep to Egyptian Arabic music last night, and it just made me feel comfortable and homesick at the same time.
Every morning as I wait for the metro, a young boy with round rosy cheeks trudges by me, a gray stuffed animal reflector hanging on the zipper of his green backpack, and a cell phone in his mittened hand; I think he reports to his mum that he is at the station.
I may get to see my cousin today.
I'm having a second breakfast of Venezuelan chocolate cookies and coffee before I head to class today.
The word for this dark and sunless time of year here in Finland is kaamos, and I wonder if it comes from the word kaamea, which means dreadful or ghastly.
The Christmas lights are now lit downtown, and it is beautiful to see countless little bulbs shining in the darkness like merry hellos to greet you as you pass beneath them.
My current soundtrack is Juanes, and there is just something lighthearted and familiar about that too because it brings back memories of Toni and and makes me want to dance.
I wish I could time travel, or tesser (like in A Wrinkle in Time, a great book if you've never read it).
I have more questions than answers.
I could use a hug or a hand to hold today.
Turkey's EU membership talks are on hold now due to the problems with Cyprus and the inability to resolve them in due time.
It appears that Ecuadoreans are ripe for reform, because with 2/3 of the votes counted, the leftist Correa is leading the Presidential election results.
I wonder sadly how many died in Iraq yesterday.
It is another day of life on this planet...me in my sphere, you in yours, they in theirs, yet inextricably linked and affected by each other's lives whether we like it or not. And I like it, a lot.

Reflecting

As I flipped through my old journal--you know, the paper kind where you actually have to use a pen and you don't upload pictures and can't as easily backspace what you write?--well, it was a strange sensation to find myself staring back at me from the words on the page. The year of 2005 was one of the most mulling in my life, and in the summer as I graduated from uni, I was just in the beginning of the journey to recuperation. I had so many fears and questions about coming to Finland, working and wondering what in the world I was meant to be doing, and if I was ever going to have some sense of normalcy again. I even wrote down that I didn't know what I wanted, then ammended it with some hopes; not seeing how they would happen, but just to get them out of my thoughts into a physical form in the pages of my journal.

I cried as I read over them this weekend. God has answered each request. And you know, they have all been answered in his timing, or else he is still answering them. After all, life is composed of processes, and I am still in the midst of many that include getting an education and preparation for the future. A year and a half ago, I had no clue what today would look like, where I'd be, or how I would feel. I could look forward to it, believing it was coming, but in the meantime trusting that God's hand was at work in many areas of my life that needed his truth to come fix the perspectives that were skewed and his love to reach the me that was in hiding.

All this is to say that it is refreshing and encouraging to see so clearly that I am at a place I only hoped to be over a year ago. Throughout this process it is good to express and share these moments of awareness and delight in the One who sustains me and in whose hands my life rests. I am humbled. I am thankful. I am excited. I am loved. I am hopeful.

Sunday

i do enjoy sundays,
lazy with a hint of sun. sense of calm and
no agenda to follow. freedom to choose
to walk down this street or up that one, and
briskly stroll by the sea. explore a new
island and get lost in reverie. gladly see
others out and about, perhaps sit for coffee
and catch up with friends or stare at
an art show and hear a pianist play...light
red candles at home and drink green tea.
enjoy peace and solitude before another
studious week full of books to read and
reports to write. it is my leisure,
this sunday.

My Quotebook

It came as a gift from my curly-haired third grade teacher, Mrs. Barnhart, this blue cloth-covered book did. I even have the date written in it, from 1991, in my awkward handwriting. The first few poems are also in such a childish scrawl, soon followed by smoother and more rounded letters in later entries. Quotes, witty sayings, proverbs, deep thoughts, life advice, sassy remarks, song lyrics, children’s poems, my own love poems and whatnot are kept within these pages. I don’t always remember when I added what quote, but each one is accompanied by the general impression of a certain time period or location. I go for variety with changing colors and assorted penmanship.

It contains a collection of thoughts for my own benefit, and stemming from my own interests throughout the years. But I like being able to share it with people. So the quotes and poems find their way into letters and blogs and cards (perhaps you have noticed?). I have some favorite ones, of course. But there is one that catches my eye whenever I pass it. Just three words, centered on the line in gray ink and followed by the source:

COME FOLLOW ME. -Jesus

I’ve tried to find analogies and phrases to explain what these words conjure up in my heart and my mind. I cannot. So many thoughts parade in my mind, but the invitation of discipleship from Jesus of Nazareth, spoken in times past and rewritten in neat handwriting in my little book some 7 years ago, is a life-altering invitation to certain death, in a sense. I don’t think my quotebook has more challenging words than these. I even have four blank pages left to fill in the next phase of life and the interests therein, but none of the additions I think, will eclipse this invitation or the man who gave it.

In case you were wondering...

A few weeks ago one of my professors held a lecture about how the conquering Arabs in the 7th century assimilated the local culture of their conquered peoples and built upon it, as opposed to enforcing their own brand of culture on them. During the 'Abbasid rule that began in the 8th century after their predecessors, the Umayyads, were defeated, there was a large and systematic translation movement that lasted about 200 years. Works by such thinkers as Aristotle and Euclid were read and taught in society. I think Euclid's work was one of the first translations, actually. The movement was so regulated that the translators were even sent to Constantinople in search of specific Greek works to translate into Arabic. It is this rummaging about in the city of Constantinople that sparked my interest, and voilá, I am now writing my ten-pager about the Graeco-Arabic translation movement. It is fascinating, and a great deal more complicated than I have let on.

And as I was reading Dimitri Gutas' Greek Thought, Arabic Culture yesterday, it reminded me that before I even got into this program at the university, I had wanted to study the spread of language and its ensuing effects on surrounding cultures and other languages around the Mediterranean region. I realized that I get to do that anyway! And why it interests me, I cannot tell you. It just does. So details like Alexander the Great's destruction of Persian texts and knowledge (after he had translated the ones he wanted into Greek) that caused the scattering of scraps of Persian texts to India (perhaps even to China) in order to save them from obliteration, somehow get stuck in my head. It is an occupational hazard I welcome, because I have 0 of 10 pages written!

So in case you wondered at some point about the sort of things I am studying, now you know!

And the award goes to...

...Alcohol! Say what!!?

Read this tragic tale in the Finnish newspaper or on BBC.

And another, not so nice tale of a night on the streets.

This is the city I live in, and they are the people I see.

I wrote a poem last year after riding on Saturday night train next to three young girls who were quite drunk. I listened to their conversation with a heavy heart, and I needed an expressive outlet for my sadness, thus:

Glazed dark eyes, no light in them.
Smudge of make-up, a voice too loud
and sway too wide to be
going straight home. Stay with friends,
because her mum doesn't mind a few
extra drinks. Strange, this feeling, maybe
should stop this habit, but
stuck in a rut, dragged into
a pattern by hunger for
approval, youthful curiosity, boredom
soul-reaching depression, kicks,
lack of parental care--take your pick, or
add some more--
she's searching for...what? not knowing,
not even imagining what life
could be, would be, should be,
if she were free.

What it was like

Part 2

In retrospect, I'm wondering how to describe the feeling of being at home. It's hard come up with words adequate enough for the sense of love, fun, familiarity, comfort, peace and beauty that I was surrounded by. My time in Ecuador was something so special that it can only be a gift from God for me and my family. The time was short, so we wanted to make the most of every moment we had.

We spent everyday doing something. Once my luggage finally arrived, we headed down to Shell, which is the small town on the edge of the jungle where I spent 12 years of my life. To get to it, you have to travel five hours through the Andes and the plateaus that give way to the tropical rainforests, past ash-spewing volcanoes, a tourist-trap town full of great memories, winding and bumpy dirt roads and countless other landmarks that are very familiar. One of the highlights was eating a trout lunch that my friend Juan Carlos prepared for my family before we had to head back to the capital.

We visited the teachers of the high school we graduated from, ate excellent Ecuadorian food with family friends and shopped at various locales for those things we miss when we are away. We hiked Guagua (pronounced "wawa," which means "baby" in Quichua) Pichincha, a volcano that has exploded with ash twice in the last six years. The day we hiked it was clear and beautiful, which allowed us a glimpse of the crater and the mountainous terrain around us.

I could go on and on about little details and things, but the greatest joy was just to sit in the same car with my parents and sister, to enjoy a cup of coffee with them, or share breakfast. It was fun to just loll around and talk about the last year and a half since we saw each other (which really is just too long!) or stay up late laughing at a Bollywood movie. And before I packed my suitcase for the return, I went through my sister's and mum's clothes to see what I would take with me with promises to swap again at Christmas!

And now, here I sit in a very cold and rainy Helsinki. I am tired from the projects I had due for class today, so I am debating a midday nap. And while the weather and the atmosphere of Finland make me wish I could once again bask in the heat along the Equator and enjoy the affectionate and familiar culture, I am here with a thankful heart for the week-long gift I just experienced!

A Story about Home

The Secret: Part 1

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, your flight is cancelled,” the blonde lady in navy blue looked at my stunned expression sympathetically from behind the airline counter. I was at the Helsinki airport at five a.m. last Friday.

“But they told me yesterday at the ticket office that it was still flying,” I reported inanely, remembering my visit to the office prompted by a sudden strike by Finnair flight crew and the accompanying feeling of panic that I would not make it out of the country the next morning.

I ended up at the ticket office of the airport with dozens of others in a similar plight, distraught and on the brink of tears. A flight to Paris was available, but would cause me miss my connections to Miami and Quito with no guarantee of rebooking. I took the chance, because the thought of getting stranded at the Charles de Gaulle airport was less daunting than the thought of not going home.

Home. I have kept a secret from my mother for six months. You see, she has a birthday marking a half-century of life, and with my dad and sister we concocted the idea to surprise her by showing up on the morning of her birthday and singing to her in our traditional family way. We’ve been working hard to throw her off the scent of our scheming.

“Please, I need to get home tonight,” I told the lady behind the counter in Paris hours later. I wasted no time in getting to the ticket office, praying all the way with a quiet confidence that God had something prepared for me.

“I’m sorry, there is no way you can get to Ecuador tonight.”

“Please, anything, any routing.” I waited with baited breath as she searched.

Not an hour later I was boarding the American Airlines flight to Boston, with a connection to Miami, and a next morning flight to Quito, Ecuador. It was the best she could do, and I was just thankful to know that I would be able to arrive at my final destination.

I arrived so tired I couldn’t even sleep. But as I walked toward the customs gate in Ecuador, I saw my parents and my sister waiting for me beyond the glass walls. My mum was crying. It turns out, she spent the whole day crying from sheer happiness and shock. We succeeded in completely surprising her!!! I think if we had both arrived to sing to her in the morning, she may have had a heart attack, so this way was better!

“I can’t believe this!” is a frequent phrase we have repeated in the last days as we have sat together at coffee or driven around the city. It does seem like a dream. But God is good like that.

(Part 2 still to come...)

Moments on another continent...

...it's five thirty in the afternoon on Friday, and I am in the middle of my Egyptian family's living room in Giza, sitting down at the low wooden table covered with newspapers and numerous bowls of incredibly good food: camel meat, mahshi, salad and kofta. As we break the fast of Ramadan with the first meal of the day, I look at the dear faces around me, and something inside me just wants to sing or even cry from happiness! A TV show like candid camera comes on and we laugh at the unsuspecting customer that gets his foot tied to the shoe polishing stand and can't get it off to chase the polisher that leaves in a huff.

...it's Saturday afternoon, and we are driving through the old section of Cairo, a place that makes my imagination create stories about the people I see sitting in front of their shops and wonder what they think about the life they live. Surprisingly easily, we maneuver through a honking traffic jam of black and white taxis, buses and cars that crowds an intersection. We drive past an old mosque that is hundreds of years old and then past the Islamic history museum that looks like it is hundreds of years old, but is actually just being constructed. Men on bicycles fearlessly weave their way through the laneless traffic with racks of bread balanced on their heads, and near the Nile, the benches on the sidewalk are occupied by courting couples and those seeking a shady rest under the trees.

...I sit with a steaming glass of tea in my hand, with Justin to my left drinking the same. In front of me Asmaa's grandma sits spread out on her dusty rug in the boxy entryway room with green walls, and she is wearing the same black dress with polka dots and two braids under a black head covering that she wore six months ago when I last saw her. Her eyes are cloudy and she has a hard time moving. But she still makes "the best tea in the world," as Justin says, over a little gas burner and with lots of sugar, and she still gives me those small little kisses on my cheek in greeting as she pulls me close. Asmaa talks to her about happenings at the house as her aunt nurses her month-old baby by the door.

...later that night, I look out from the second-floor balcony because I want to see the colorful lights hung up above the street for Ramadan. Over the grape vines and past the parked car and the patchy garden plot, the neighbor is painting the brick façade of his house in white and brown. Down to the right I can barely see into the neighbor's hole-in-the-wall store where Tita and Bilel daily buy bags of chips. I can feel dust everywhere, under my feet on the tile floor and on the wooden railing under my fingers; I know it's in my hair from a day spent driving with the windows open and children playing with it. And I really don't care. Dust and dirt are a part of Cairo life. Just like heat and insane traffic and mosques and sitting around drinking tea!

Going...

There is a place
dear to my heart
that beckons me
from my northern
perch to journey
south, and so I
shall go and rest a
spell in that land
where the sun is
red and the roads
are congested
with sights and
sounds unlike the
ones in my calm
and orderly world.
I will sit with my
loved ones and
soak in the feeling
of sitting on an
oriental carpet with
a glass of shay and
black button eyes
smiling back at me.

In shaa Allah!

A National Habit?

My daily trajectory to work was temporarily jolted from its routine scenery as I saw a kid reading one of the free circulation newspapers in the metro the other morning. And then I discovered it wasn't such an earth-shattering thing when it happened again yesterday! I must admit that I am always quite stunned when I see this phenomenon, because I have not been in another country where a youth (I'd guess around 12 years old) would pick up a newspaper and read more than the comic strips at the back!

But such is Finland. I have a friend here who tells me she thinks her day is incomplete unless she reads the newspaper! And my roommate is subscribed to the daily pape, (which means we have an ever-spreading pile of newspapers by our shoe rack, waiting for their trip to the recycling bin) and she actually reads it! I do too, as part of my work. But the "essential" newspaper didn't enter into any realm of my life until I moved here and started working in an arena that requires up-to-date information about the political and economical happenings of various European countries.

I remember last year in my first few months of culture shock, I was amazed to hear only the rustle of newspapers on the train every morning as commuters headed to their jobs in the city; just the "crinkle, crinkle" of pages and the "swoosh" of them turning. I guess I just haven't been here long enough to have gotten used to the sight of kids keeping up on current events or people habitually hiding behind pages of print!

on living time...

It's Thursday. Already. And the end of September is a few days away. This week is now a memory--only a conglomerate lump packed with brief conversations, new ideas, enlightening classes, creeping weariness, demanding work changes, whispered prayers, lively music, and thankfulness at bedtime. It is amazing how fast the days go by!

There is no way to catch time, is there? You cannot pin it down as wrestlers do in a match, you cannot cage it to hear it sing at your leisure, and neither can you tie it to a lampost to wait until you can come back and attend to it. You cannot hold it or make it stop. You can only live it as it comes.

So, as I sat in the sauna on Tuesday and thought of all the things I had yet to do, I caught myself and decided to enjoy the (hot!) moment before I ruined it with all the checklists and challenges crowding my mind--things that would still be there whether I forgot them for a while or not. And today, being the aforementioned Thursday, is another small allotment of time that will all too soon fall under the category of "The Past." I won't live it again.

And on that note, I will conclude these briefest of ramblings with a toast, yes, a toast (so raise your glass of water, your coffee, your juice, your beer or your tea)! In the words of Jonathan Swift, "May you live all the days of your life!"

Nonsensicalness, really.

Have you ever noticed that when there is something in your own appearance that you wonder about or have qualms about, you tend to notice the same thing in others? Perhaps I'm the only one. All this is to say that I have purchased a pair of high heels. Let me assure you this is specifically for work, because sandals leave my feet cold now that it's no longer summer, and I decided it's time to feminize. Well, walking confidently in high heels along the cobblestones of the city is no small feat in my mind. I find it takes twice as much concentration power to make sure I don't land on my face while I navigate from point A to point B over unlevel walkways or get a narrow heel caught in the grid at the entrance of a store. And now I find myself observing women's shoes. I am impressed when someone can maneuver down the street and not look like they have maccaroni ankles (I laugh at the mere thought!). Actually, various possible scenarios for "funniest home videos" parade through my mind, and all the while I am hoping that I will not be the protagonist of such footage. It remains to be seen, but time and practice will tell whether I will achieve grace in such nonsensical footwear. :)

Fleeting Scenery

It is brilliant outside. As I sat on the couch this morning, eating toast and drinking Spanish coffee and staring out the window, the sun was rising and effecting a welcome change on the foliage by bringing it to colorful and warmly-lit life! While riding on the metro, I stared out the window at the rippling expanse of the ocean, and let my sight enjoy the brilliant color blue that seemed to overwhelm me, invite me, and at the same time soothe me with its vitality. And now I sit here jabbering about it to you, something so seemingly small and fleeting, but such moments fill me and delight me with their temporary beauty. In spite of (or is it really because of?) their transitory essence, they touch a chord in me that goes beyond the temporal, communicating wordlessly to my longing for the Beauty and Creativity that originated the five senses and made the worlds.

Miscellaneous

"Hola, que tal?" Hello, how's it going?

"Bien, gracias. Y tu?" Good, thanks. And you?

"Estoy bien, porque estoy contigo." I'm good, because I'm with you.

My roommate and I were sharing our wealth of language knowledge as we put on make-up yesterday morning. She learned the above conversation in Spanish (please disregard the fact that its English translation is grammatically incorrect. But so few people use "well" in these cases, disregarding the fact that a verb needs an adverb, and a noun an adjective. Actually, is it different with the verb to be? One would not use an adverb then. It is not "I am slowly," rather, "I am slow." Sigh...moving on..), while I attempted to learn the same from her in Russian. I think between the two of us, we have nine languages we can communicate in. This includes the ones that are still in the learning stages, like her Hebrew and my Arabic!

At this moment, I am inside the Topelias Library at my department of the university, with my lovely laptop in front of me and shelves upon shelves of books all around me giving off the musty scent of old books and centuries of knowledge. I hear the clicking of computer keys as the fingers of diligent students translate thoughts into written works on screen. It is now the second week of school.

Mne harasho. I am good, goodly, well! :)

Over a cup of coffee...

Well, let me lay my coffee cup on the table here first, and then I will proceed to update you on the various activities of recent days. Actually, I will spare you the throw-up story and other non-central details and just give you the highlights.

My friend Justin visited from Georgia and brought me a lovely laptop that I still need some more time to peruse. I have mainly used it for internet and music thus far, but I know that there are plenty of interesting programs on it! It was enjoyable to introduce him to my fair city and catch up a bit.

I moved! Yes, I am now in a comfortable two-room flat, complete with freezer, washing machine, kitchenette, furniture and a friendly roommate. The place is right along the metro route and just 20 minutes from downtown. I still haven't finished all of my unpacking, but slowly the assortment of accumulated books and papers and clothes are finding their new resting places.

I am juggling new student orientations and work and Arabic class until the end of this week. Then I will only have university classes and work to schedule into my day. I sat in a few meetings yesterday and heard about all the possibilities of study that the department of African and Asian Languages and Cultures has to offer, and let's just say that I am abuzz with excitement from all there is to know! My department is small and thus provides ample opportunity to meet professors and lecturers on a more personal level, and so far they all seem very interesting and humorous. Ask me again after classes start and the test grades are in...

I am in for a very interesting fall and winter! I am thrilled to be studying again, and very thankful for the opportunity to learn more! A hint to all of you foreigners reading this, many classes at the University of Helsinki are offered in English, and there are no university fees--in case the dizzying heights of tuition fees in the US are making you ill and you want some other options. Or maybe I just want to lure you here so I will have company through the dark winter! :)

Signing out,
Yours Truly (THE GRAD-STUDENT!)

Yesterday: Night of the Arts

As the August night slowly darkens, the light rain ceases and the night life begins, I find myself as part of a crowd gathered before a small stage behind the national museum. Inky tree silhouettes frame the section of opaque sky that I can see above me. I am aware of the curious smell of wet skin and hair, a hint of salami from someone's breath, and even alcohol wafting from those who began their festivities with an overdose in the local bar. And then the air is suddenly filled with the powerful sound of Italian and German opera arias. I can feel my skin turn to goose bumps as the beautiful soprano on stage ends her solo with a powerful and clear finalé. She is an expert performer, knowing just the right amount of expression and vivaciousness to convey as she sings to her appreciative audience.

It is Night of the Arts in Helsinki. About 10,000 visitors have arrived in the city to enjoy a selection of the 140 different venues of art that are offered to the public. Museums are free and open late. Pyromaniacs display their skills with whirling fire batons and chains. Various musical and ethnical performances dot the city in theaters, street corners, cafés and parks so that walking is an exercise in dodging oncoming bikes and maneuvering through the masses of curious onlookers. Needless to say, I am a bit tired today, but the night was enjoyable. I also left early, so I missed the the pro-graffiti protest where the police arrested some hundred young people before they caused too much damage!!! I guess everyone has their own ideas of what "art" is!

Hermanita

Darling,

I walked across the train bridge in Heinola on Saturday. It was a beautiful August afternoon with sunlight playing hide-n-seek with the shadows on the Harjupaviljonki hill and the Kymi River peacefully flowing underneath the few fishing boats and various bridges. I thought of how you always make me laugh with your insane fancy to jump off that bridge. I would have to go in after you, you know. Or I would have to wait for you below, because I get queasy jumping off of heights. :) I walked back to Mummola along the shore road, where about a year ago we walked together. The current made swirling designs on the river's surface and I missed you something fierce.

I always like entering the apartment building where Mummo and Kikka live--it smells of age, and old people, and familiarity. The shades are half-drawn and Mummo dozes in her velvety orange chair sometimes watching what is on TV. Kikka is in the kitchen and I can see she is concocting something delicious. I think you understand how I feel about this place, because I think you sense the same rest and comfort when you are sitting in the kitchen with that same sugar bowl on the table at coffee time. The place reminds me of my childhood, while at the same time the aging condition of our loved ones reminds me heavily that nothing remains the same for long. I am intensely aware of the preciousness of the moments I get to spend with them.

I didn't mean to get so pensive and serious! I have had an amazing weekend, one of friends and new acquaintances, of good conversations and life stories, birthday parties and exploding fireworks at the harbor. I just wanted you to know that in the midst of all the fun and the seriousness that comprise life and give it depth and fullness, I miss you, darling sister. Thousands of miles apart...but so close in my heart--I'm sure that's a rhyme from somewhere. :) I can't wait to see you again, until that day though, may God grant you strength for your studies, his comfort in your heart and his peace through all circumstances!

With love from your big Sis, que te quiere muchisisisisimo!

So, what's up...

-I am flat-hunting, as I need to be moved by the end of the month...me and the thousands of other students looking for housing...

-Work is going well, but my computer crashed.

-The air in Helsinki is smokey from the fires raging in Russia. The heat and dryness are taking their toll on the land.

-New student orientation begins at the end of the month, as Yours Truly starts her MA journey at the University of Helsinki. Woot!

-My next Arabic course begins on Monday and lasts three weeks. I'm excited to see the friends in my class again!

-The European Athletics Championships in Sweden are underway. Tero Pitkämäki took silver in the javelin competition yesterday, otherwise we're not doing too well.

-An evening of friends, a German film, and food are on today's agenda.

That, my friends, is a nutshell of the things that I'm "up to" these days. I feel like this month will be very busy. Indeed, the days fly by like cars on the freeway--a progression of quick and colorful vehicles packed with dear people and assortments of unexpected luggage! I'm still hanging my head out the window, though, and enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells before Autumn brings colder weather and new challenges.

Thoughts from this Suitcase Kid

The tender friendships one gives up, on parting,

leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious

feeling of a treasure somewhere buried.

-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

I enjoyed myself with a group of acquaintances at a barbeque in the middle of a small dry city park a few days ago. We were quite a conglomeration of people full of different interests and in various phases of life, but the one thing that we held in common is that we were all "suitcase children." TCK (Third-Culture Kid) is another way to put it. Basically, we may have been born in our parents' homeland, but we spent our lives traveling and growing up in different places so that now our accents are muddled with various nuances and lilts, and when answering the question, "where are you from?" we must mention multiple times, "...and then we moved to..." and a certain identity crisis ensues as we try to figure out where we belong. We have issues with letting people get close to us, with permanence, and with saying goodbyes.

We also cannot answer the question, "where is home?" with a simple word or two. I think it is a concept that is hard to define when "home" can be perceived on many levels, and when there are many places that have felt like home along life's journey. If you asked me right now to tell you where my home is, I'd say Ecuador, because it is where I grew up and where my parents still live. My childhood memories are there, and it is where things are familiar. But my home is also in Järvenpää where I currently live and lay my head to rest at night. It is in Egypt where my heart beats with life when I drive "home" on the Ring Road as the pyramids fade in the red sunset of the Giza Plateau.

One of the girls at the barbeque was writing a paper about suitcase kids. I asked her what she had discovered thus far in her interviews. She responded that home had to do with people, always with people. This rings true as I remember with longing and love the people that are my "treasure somewhere buried." These are the people that have walked alongside me in different places, who still warm my heart with their memory--parents, friends, relatives. I associate them with my concept of home. I remember quite clearly that when I lived in California, and my parents were in Finland for six months, I told people that home was in Finland, simply because Ecuador couldn't be home if my family wasn't there!

As a global nomad, I have a lot of thoughts about belonging as well. In spite of all the paradoxical issues a suitcase kid can have, I have discovered that I belong in a reality that this world has no understanding of. It is a kingdom where I truly belong and my soul finds a "home" no matter what point of the map I am standing on. In this reality there is hope for the most oppressed, and healing for the most broken, help for the neediest, love for the most hurting of people. God's Kingdom knows no borders. So if I were wanting an earthly "home," I have a few I could pick from. But because my true home is heavenly, I can journey anywhere and still "belong." I think there are many people along the roads of life, in the darkest corners, the biggest cities, and the most forgotten places, that are looking for a place like my home. Maybe that is the reason I must travel, because I want others to find and know this Home too.

An Appointment

I'm waiting for you

to come sit by me and meander

through a lovely rambling conversation

and laughter and a few splashes in the lake

as the wind makes the leaves dance around

us and the grass tickle our feet on this

warm summer afternoon made for

friends like us to share.

Travel Edition: Romania and Hungary

At seven a.m. on Friday morning, I was enjoying my breakfast on KLM's flight from Helsinki to Budapest, when I heard the English man behind me comment to his friend in a somewhat puzzled and incredulous voice, "She's putting jam on her cheese!" The muffled reply sounded something like, "...must be Finnish," and I could hardly contain my laughter. I wondered if my example gave him the courage to try the combination! I was on my way to Deva, Romania, via Budapest. I know, you may be surprised that I didn't mention it earlier, but actually, I only had four days of forewarning myself!

I had friends who had been in Deva for two weeks helping a missionary family by building a roof over a section of their house, and I have wanted to return to Romania every since I visited last summer. I can't explain my attachment to the place; but if the six hour trip from Budapest to Deva were all that I experienced, it would've been worth it! But it didn't stop there, as I had the wonderful opportunity to see friends and family (some of the same people from previous travels), climb rafters, get soaked in the rain, enjoy wind in my hair at breakneck speeds through sunflower fields and small towns, go to a Romanian church service (about three hours long), eat delicious food under grapevines, and be in very very warm weather! I actually don't know anything about construction, so my attempts at helping were not too successful. So once I realized that I couldn't cut a straight line with a chainsaw, I just held the level and made marks on wood...ok, ok, so most of the time I just watched! :)

The time I had was short, but I feel spoilt for even having the opportunity to go there for a visit. One of the great joys I had on the trip was to meet up in Budapest with one of my college friends whom I hadn't seen in three years or so! Way back in California, we were partners in an anthropology class, and after she graduated we lost touch for a while. So Brigitta and her son Davido gave me a tour of Budapest on Sunday night. We wandered up at the Citadella with delicious ice cream and the next day braved the heat to walk around the city. I like seeing a new city with people who actually live there, because it gives me an opportunity to see how they live and what the "ordinary" life there is like, as opposed to merely visiting the tourist haunts on my own. And it's nice to see where your friends grew up! It was good to just talk and catch up on what has happened in the last few years!

It has been on my summer "to-do list" to go on a roadtrip. Little did I know that I would get that opportunity in Eastern Europe! In my memory I hold the beautiful scenery of storks in their nests; sunflower fields whizzing by; men wearing speedos almost hidden by drooping round bellies (ok, that's not such a beautiful sight, but it was certainly cause for laughs!); weathered old men and women sitting on benches by the roadside as the evening approaches, seemingly with nothing better to do at the moment than to watch cars drive past and catch up on the village news; houses painted in colorful varieties, most often with peeling paint exposing the brick layer underneath and giving the vicinity a quaint, run-down look; flourescent orange security jackets hanging on the line in a muddy yard; and the sun touching everything with beautiful half-light as the day begins to fade.

So, this is Yours Truly, the globe-trekker, signing out! Hope you have all had wonderful weekends as well!

A "Berry" Nice Weekend

"You go on ahead," seven-year old Katri told me, as she hid behind a rock pile. So I continued walking with her little sister Sanni down the dirt road between the summer cottage and their house. Never knowing what mischief a young girl can get into, we didn't go far. I turned back and saw her with a hand in the neighbor's mailbox, and I was slightly perplexed as to what she could be looking for in it. I didn't have to wait long to find out what she was up to, because when we arrived at the next mailbox together, she promptly opened it and dropped in it one of the many delicate purple flowers she had been collecting in her hat.

"I did that back there too," she said, waving back to where the rock pile and the mailbox were. I smiled, wondering at the way young minds think, and appreciating her desire to brighten up other's lives (and I didn't have the heart to tell her the blooms would be wilted when the neighbors found them)! We called Katri the "Flower Girl," because that's what she picked along our morning treck. And Sanni was the "Strawberry Girl," because that's what she picked and ate along the way. Wild-strawberry picking was the original reason we were wandering down the country road on a breezy summer morning, but the jaunt extended to include swimming, flower-picking, and drawing as well!

"So what will we call you?" they asked, trying to come up with a name for me, because as you know, everyone must have a name. They saw my blue swimsuit that evening, and promptly dubbed me the "Blueberry Girl," which I quite fancy, and which reminds me that I'd like to go blueberry picking this year!

Heatwave

It's been sweltering here. Yesterday reached 33 degrees Celcius (91ºF), which is the temperature they had in Cairo! Let me mention that Finland is not equipped with air conditioning like they are in places where warm weather is commonplace! The streets are full of tourists, EU representatives, and vendors in sleeveless attire and sandals, ice cream cones in hand. It is hard to escape the heat.

There is a tiny beach with huge boulders on an island not far away from the Helsinki harbour. I went there on Saturday, with hundreds of others who had the same bright idea to sunbathe and swim in the sea! We were like confetti--dots of all sizes on colorful towels spread out festively over the boulders! The sea was still very cool, but that didn't stop us from getting in! I feasted on strawberries and peas with my friends as the sun burned cheerfully in a clear blue sky.

I watched the World Cup final in a stuffy apartment, where the open window did nothing to alleviate the heat even late at night. I sprawled out on the floor between the candy bowl and the popcorn and tried not to move! I don't so much mind, as it was very fun to be with friends and yell at the players (as if our comments had any bearing on what happened on the field!). It is too bad that the match had to end in penalty shots, but exciting nonetheless. My soccer fan-hood is now put on the shelf for four years, or until the European Championships! :)

The heat continues today, making the sky hazy and sapping the energy right out of me! But I have the house to myself as my relatives have headed to their summer cottage, and I think I will take advantage of the peace to just lounge and do some laundry. Aaah, Summer!!!

Eino Leino's Day

For clarification, the title means that it is the national day of poetry and summer, so fly that Finnish flag high, and read some scintillating sonnets as you sit toasting in the summer sun (gotta love alliteration)! In the newspaper today, a man commenting on poetry said, "I have a natural interest in poetry, because a good poem has depth in the text and beautiful reading in between the lines. A good poem leaves room for the reader."

In hopes of participating in this national day, I present to you snippets of poetry that I have collected in the last, oh decade or so, of my life, because I too love poetry:

love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force seems feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star
-e.e. cummings, from Being to Timeless as it's to Time

A kid's poem:

We built a ship upon the stair.
All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
And filled it full of sofa pillows
To go a-sailing on the billows.

We took a saw and several nails,
And water in the nursery pails;
And Tom said, "Let us also take
An apple and a slice of cake"--
Which was enough for Tom and me
To go a-sailing on, till tea.

We sailed along for days and days,
And had the very best of plays;
But Tom fell out and hurt his knee,
So there was no one left but me.
-Robert Louis Stevenson, A Good Play

A hope poem:

Own it. Hold your heart the way
you'd hold a live bird--your two hands
laced to latch it in, feeling
its feathery trembling, its fledgling
warmth, its faint anxieties
of protest, its heart stutter
against the palm of one hand, a fidget
in the pull of early light.

Possess it, restless, in
the finger cage of patience. Enfold
this promise with a blue sheen
on its neck, its wings a tremor
of small feathered bones
until morning widens like
a window, and God opens
your fingers and whispers FLY!
-Lucy Shaw, Posses your soul in patience

A Haiku:

Keep straight down this block
Then turn right where you will find
A peach tree blooming
-Richard Wright

And one for my Finnish-speaking friends:

Eilinen on mennyt,
miksi siis kantaa
murhetta siitä,
huomisen huoliin
ei tietomme riitä,
siis tästä päivästä
iloitse ja kiitä!

Wishing one and all a summery and poetry-filled day!

Friday Commotion

The door opens and a man hands me the broken pieces of a car mirror, "A bus just hit your car," he states simply, "Bus number 16. I was sitting at the café downstairs and saw it happen." My boss and I head down to see the damage. Indeed, it is a sorry looking sight, as the mangled mirror hangs attached only by a black cord on our company car.

"It was bus number 16," a lady tells me in English on the sidewalk as my boss attempts to remove what he can of the remaining pieces, "about fifteen minutes ago." I thank her, and as we are about to return to the office another lady calls to us and hands us a note paper with the offending vehicle's license plate number, time of accident and the location, "I was driving behind him, and saw what happened," she tells us helpfully.

Not ten minutes later, after I have remarked with surprise about how helpful people are around here in reporting accidents (in Ecuador such a thing would never happen, they'd have probably even taken the other mirror for sale on the black market!), the doorbell rings and a gentleman with baguettes in his shopping bag enters. "I came to report an accident, in case no one else has yet," he says. After a few moments of thanking him and assuring him that we have received such news, I wonder out loud to him about the helpful attitude people have. "It's because they're fed up with the way buses and metros think they own the streets," he explains.

Hah, I smile. It's the vendetta of the masses! Nonetheless, it helps us out, especially since the bus driver claims he didn't notice doing any damage to any car!

In Nature's Hem

There is nothing like the softness of hair washed in the lake, or the taste of liquorice candy melted on the sauna stove! And what kind of exclamation is this, you may wonder. It is the result of a few lazy wonderful days spent at the summer cottage with my relatives! A few of my favorite moments:

I sit in the sauna and I tell my twin cousins riddles that they try to figure out by asking yes/no questions: A man with a backpack approaches the edge of a field, death inevitably follows. Why? They figure this one out quickly between swims in the lake, and the next one takes them much longer: A man works on the tenth floor. Every day, he takes the elevator to the third floor, and walks the rest of the flights of stairs. But when it rains, he goes to the seventh floor by elevator, and walks the rest. How come?

I wake up earlier than everyone else, and go out for a run (which reveals to me what happens when one has not been consistent with exercise) in the sunny morning along dirt roads. I return and cool off in the lake. Still, no one else is awake, and I try to quietly make coffee. I enjoy my muesli and yogurt on the dock with my cousins' friendly dog comfortably settled by my side. The sun makes pearls appear on the lake surface as the wind briskly nudges the tall reeds by the shore.

We play cards late into the night, and I teach my cousin Anna to draw a woman's face, as her sister Henna concentrates on drawing a horse. I am reminded how just a short while ago, I was the kid with the playful energy and budding drawing skills. It is interesting to find myself in the role of adult, when all my memories of the summer cottage are of me-the-child: learning to paint, picking flowers and meadow strawberries, sleepwalking, brushing teeth outside, swimming across the lake, making up water ballets with my sister, and so on. I am making new memories.

We make rounds to swat all the mosquitos inside the main cabin before we go to bed, but somehow, to no avail. It is a great frustration to try to fall asleep to the whine of mosquitos in your ear, because you know they're just looking for a juicy spot of exposed skin...this morning's welts testify to their successful night and my sleeplessness! But, even the mosquitos do not diminish my enthusiasm to return. It's all part of the summer!

Discovery

According to the daily pape, the sun rises at 3:55 and sets at 22:46. My daytime hours are spent inside at work and then in the throes of Arabic homework followed by 2.5 hours of class. Thus, I am able to enjoy being outside before 8:00 and after 19:30. This schedule will change at the end of this week, but recently with the warm weather it has been increasingly enticing to be outdoors!

So, one evening my cousin Sarai and I initiated a bike ride around 21:15, perhaps just because the summer evening whispered that it had been waiting for us all day. Riding by the lake we stumbled upon on a house-converted-into-a-museum, which had once been the residence of the Finnish writer Juhani Aho and his wife and kids. Situated on the top of a boulder that slopes into the lake, this enormous house is somewhat like my dream house; not only because of its location next to water, surrounded by trees and shrubbery, and in the direct glow of the evening sun, but also because it is made of thick wooden beams and boasts a floor to roof window on one side, as well as an adjacent sauna on the shore. The wood is blackened by age and smells delicious--like forest and earth and time mixed together. Both ends of the house have porches and stone stairs to reach the doors. Somehow such a place sets my imagination racing to potentially endless hide-n-seek games that children play on rainy days, its interesting owners in the last century, and even the trolls and fairies that most certainly have taken up a bold existence in the absence of human inhabitants!

Sarai and I sat on the spacious boulder by the waterline, surrounded by tiny mosquitos and small ripples on the lake surface. A gypsy girl in a long black skirt fished nearby and caught two perches in the short amount of time we were there, which she proudly showed to her parents who I don't think caught anything. We leisurely left via a tour of the garden, continuing our ride at 22:00, as the cooling air of the evening gave us the cue to return home.

{An Anonymous Evening}

The light fades at the edge of the horizon, clinging to the expanse of
sky as if it does not want to leave. Soft hues bathe my vision, as
my mind swings in a peaceful hammock, rocked by the last
rays of the day; may calm and ease be yours this night,
the birch leaves quietly whisper as they strike up the
evening lullaby. The wind disrobes my heavy
thoughts, and wipes them away along with
the worries I have worn like wrinkled
garments. Now, on this tender
summer night I may at last
lay my tired head and
heavy heart to rest,
as the blanket of
sky gently
covers
me.

Keys in my Pocket

صباح الخير

And that would be a good morning to you in Arabic, minus all the vowel markings. Transliterated in the Classical Arabic, it sounds like: sabāhu-l-khayri.
In case you were wondering, I am at best in the midst of a short intensive Arabic course, getting my feet wet so that the dive into the depths of university courses this fall will not come as such a shock! After merely a few days of lessons, I am already swamped with homework, but I certainly know more now than I did when I began! That is always the payoff of language classes: you leave with more knowledge in your pocket!

It is exciting to learn a new language, as if a whole new world is suddenly before you--the language being the key that unlocks that door to new perspectives, customs, books, people, and experiences that until now have been impossible to communicate clearly in the original version! Of course, I am aware that this learning will take years, but bring it on, I say! Bring on the endless exercises, the bad pronunciation, the frustration of new concepts, the mistakes, the broken conversations in my head, the repetition--which will all one day hopefully result in a competent level of fluency!

Juxtaposing

On Sunday after church I walked home through the graveyard in Heinola, the small town where my mum’s relatives live. This is actually far from morbid, as it is beautiful and serene there. The sunlight plays through the leaves of birch trees, casting moving shadows on the dirt walkways and old gravestones. Merry splashes of colored flowers dot the markers, and green watering cans hang next to spigots for the caretakers’ ease.

When we were little, my sister and I would wander through the rows of graves and read the names, picking out ones we liked, laughing at the ones that sounded old-fashioned or meant something entirely different in another language. We found Russian names, Swedish names, and Finnish names. She’s actually already reserved the name Alina, in case she has a girl one day, so I can’t use that one! I tried to remember which one I had picked out, but as I wandered down the path lined with names like Yrjö, Aino, Kaarle, Eemil, Alexanteri, Helmi and Hellä, nothing struck me as familiar. I do recall once, that in a graveyard on the border between Finland and Norway, I found the Saami (Lapplander) name Jouni Aslak, and quite fancied it; perhaps not enough to actually name my kid that though!

There is one grave at the cemetery that sticks in my mind, even more than those of my great-grandparents that I never met (but for in black and white pictures inside an old red family album). There is a small iron cross nestled at the foot of two tall pine trees near one of the entrances. Maria Wilhelmina Franberg, born in May of 1878, died in October of 1879, it reads in an engraved oval. I have often wondered how this little baby died, to whom she was born, and how it is that there are almost always flowers at her tiny cross. I think children come and place them there, much like my sister and I did once upon a time during our summers visits.

Why I’m telling this, I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it’s because in the midst of a beautiful sunny day I found the little grave oddly touching, and oddly sad, heralding the briefness of life and at the same time the continuity of it; paradoxes juxtaposed like gravemarkers in the midst of blooming flowers. Life. Death. Life.

The Diagnosis

"Tut, tut," the doctorman said with a shake of his head, "The prognosis is not good." He shuffled through his sheaf of papers and the test results.

"Give it to me straight, Doctor, I can take it." I braced myself for the worst, clutching the wooden arms of the chair I sat in so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

"Which do you want first, the bad news or the not-so-bad news?" he looked at me seriously above his half-moon eyeglasses.

"None of it sounds good, but give me the worst news first." I took a deep breath.

"Ok, the bad news. There's no cure for what you have." I felt my shoulders sag in disbelief. These are the words I had dreaded since I had begun to notice my painful symptoms some years ago.

"You have a chronic condition that can be triggered by many things. Among the most painful are long distances, long periods of separation, and on a smaller scale memories, letters, and telephone calls that remind you of said distance and separation." He looked at me, to see how I was taking it.

"Put simply, your condition is called 'Missing, to feel the absence of.'"

"What?!" I interrupted him quickly, "You mean to tell me that these pangs I suffer, this constant hollow in my chest, is because I feel the absence of people?!" I was not quite sure what to do, should I believe this quack in the white coat?

"Yes, you miss people you love." Reality hit me like a ton of bricks; truth is hard to run from.

"And you said there was some not-so-bad news?" I asked timidly, scarcely daring to move.

"Yes. You can find temporary respite from your condition when you visit your loved ones, and they visit you. I recommend frequent travel, a good Skype connection, and if your means can support it, a personal airplane." He saw my skeptical glance, and quickly wrote out my prescription in a scrawling hand.

Email loved ones, 1x a day.
Skype parents, 1x a week.
Visits to dear friends, duration--at least 1 week, 6x a year.
Hugs, minimum 8x a day, for comforting heartache.

Condition improves if frequency of medication is increased. Patient may need to consider moving closer to loved ones if severe symptoms continue. If this is not possible, patient may need to marry into money or frequent flyer miles, last resort, rob a bank. (I knew he was a quack!)
Return for check up in three months.

An Essential

Perhaps, just perhaps, some of you wonder about this country that I live in. It is a peculiar place that for all purposes I currently call "home." While avoiding the topic of home itself, which is complex for someone like me, I will make an attempt to share some tidbits of this distinctive people and their habits. So, with nothing but the desire to expand your horizons, let me enlighten you today on one topic that is essential and taken for granted in a Finn's existence.

The sauna.

Aah, here is a word you have heard before, and indeed, it is possibly the only Finnish word that is spoken worldwide. But maybe your mind's eye does not see it quite the way mine does. I see a wood-paneled room, with wooden benches, low lighting, a hot stove with rocks, and a convenient bucket full of water with a ladle beside it. The idea is to throw water over the rocks, creating steam that fills the room with heat around 80-90º Centigrade. Now, add the sweating nude people sitting on little towels, and the picture will be complete. On the first round, I personally like to sit in the sauna until the sweat drops off of my fingertips before I race outside into the lake to cool off. If I'm with cousins, we compete to see who can stand to stay in the longest! In urban settings, you have to be satisfied with the shower in the tiled washroom that is usually next to the sauna. In the winter, you can race outside in the -15º weather and jump into a hole in the lake ice, or roll in the snow. (I can recommend the icehole, as it is quite refreshing and addicting!)

These rooms can be found in all homes, all new apartments, in apartment complexes where they are shared, in swimming halls, on beaches, in hotels, in recreation centers, and at summer cottages. It is said that past Finnish presidents even met with their cabinet members in the sauna! It is a great place to relax, to think, to get clean, to talk, to just be (if you can stand it!). For the record, my parents' hometown hosts the World Sauna Championships every August, but those temperatures are just ridiculous!

My favourite sauna is at our summer cottage. It has all of the above-mentioned aspects, except the stove is an old wooden one that requires plenty of firewood and time to heat up; there is also a huge water boiler next to it, a random assortment of collected shampoos and soaps, and even a lace curtain in the window. The sauna (with a sleeping chamber next to it) was the first building constructed at our summer cottage when my mother was still a child, and I love the front porch that runs along the length of it and the smooth door handles and wall hooks made from twisted tree branches. Situated right next to the shore, it is but a hop, skip and jump from the sauna door to the water's edge!

Now, don't you want to come visit and sit for sweaty spell? :)

A Model Head of Hair

"I leave myself in your hands," I told her with a grin, as I sat in a black leather swivel chair, covered with a drop cloth and facing a mirror. These are risky words to say to anyone, but to say them to a hairdresser is even riskier. And to say them to a student hairdresser with a big show coming up is even crazier! But yes, I did it.

My cousin is finishing her hairdresser's education, and I agreed to be one of her models for her final show. With a vague idea of acquiring short and blonde locks, I resolved to say goodbye to my long tresses as I entered the salon. While they--the teacher, the students--talked above my head and decided on colors and styles, with a few opinions inserted by myself, I let my eyes roam around the room. The girl on the other side of my mirror brightened her haircolor to a firey combination of reds and oranges. Someone with Pippi Longstocking hair was getting styled with an outrageous catwalk 'do. A few gentlemen were getting their heads cut and styled, and the main topic of discussion was the coming show and the music selection for the runway. I discovered that I would have to walk across a small stage come showtime...

Snip, snip, my hair dropped onto the red tile floor. I grinned at the stylist. Then in the middle of the process, the teacher suggested some extra color, a bit of turquoise or pink near the front. By this point, I had decided to let them get as creative as they wanted, so I agreed. When else would I get to have turquoise hair?! So, after cutting and dyeing and washing (aaah, bliss to have someone else wash your hair), more snipping and finishing touches, the end result was: striking. It is so different from my previous style, that this morning my train friends would have walked by without recognizing me if I had not called out to them!

Check the gallery for the photos!

For Estera

I settled myself comfortably on the curb, next to an old cigarrette stub and a wad of gum, under the gaze of the afternoon sun, and facing the post office from where I'd just emerged excitedly with a sizeable package under my arm. Just as excitedly, I opened it and found individually wrapped bundles that raised my curiosity levels to dangerous heights. Inside this treasure box, I found Polish candies and chocolate bars, bath bubbles, napkins, a gorgeous orange tunic with a shawl (I saved the best for last!), a beautiful green card, and a familiar picture frame with an old photograph that transported me back to junior year of college. As I munched on one of the chocolate-covered wafers and laughed out loud delightedly with each new discovery, I cannot describe the deep thankfulness and joy I felt. I am thankful for those memories of college, but I am even more overjoyed at the friendship that we share today, across distances and letters and prayers.

The picture frame sits near my desk now, reminding me of the treasure of friendship, and the treasure of Estera. Thank you!

Things I have done...

Enjoyed drenching sunshine. Woken up without an alarm clock. Watched artistic movies. Read. Biked around the lake. Sat on a wooden swing with friends. Sunbathed on the roof. Grilled outside. Participated in events on the spur of the moment. Worn summery clothes. Talked to sister and parents. Wondered. Met new people. Marveled at the appearance of leaves on trees. Smiled at purple flowers growing. Watched an old depot go up in flames in the city center. Washed winter coats. Painted my toenails. Tasted my first ice cream cone of the summer. People-watched in the park. Been thankful.

And still am thankful for the colorful moments that comprise life.

May Day Moment

My evening saunter last night took me down by the lake, just as the glowing sun was setting over the grey treeline on the opposite shore. My cousin was full of tales from her weekend, which she proceeded to share with me one after another. She took me to one of her favourite spots by the shore where we sat under a pine tree on some lichen-covered boulders that sloped into the shallow water. A small pale slice of moon hung high in the clear sky, while the sun bid us farewell in a blaze of orange and red, also painting the lightly rippling lake surface with rose, purple, light orange, pale yellow, azure, and navy blue in such poignant and beautiful hues that I could scarcely trust myself breathe. Painted in pink light, we sat there until my fingers turned cold, then walked home.

Welcome, Spring!

I know, I know, I should be upset with you for taking so long to get here, but I'm sure you did the best you could with Winter being so tenacious and reluctant to travel South. Quite frankly, I was ready for you months ago! Merely weeks ago I was eagerly anticipating your arrival, repeatedly checking out the window, wondering if there was any sign of you yet.
I'm so glad you have come, because the world is now full of sunshine with a hint of expectancy. I notice that dark winter coats are gone from the city view, and cafés are spilling out onto the sidewalks, setting out their little tables and chairs to entice you to linger a while, perhaps to enjoy a spicy chai latte or a sumptuous salmon sandwich. I've seen yellow daffodils gracing windowsills, rippling waves replacing jagged ice at the harbour, and park benches mysteriously reappearing from winter hibernation. Even yesterday, the sky was cloudlessly blue and the sun patted my head ever so gently!
Please, please, tell me you are here for a good long visit, and feel free to bring along your sister, Summer!

High on Mountain Air

I'm going to marry a mountain man, I've decided.
Yes, that is not what you expected me to say after a holiday in Austria (especially if you know what I said the last time I came back from Austria! But that is an old and buried tale.) So, let me clarify, should you be worried that I really am intoxicated by clean mountain air, that I have seen pictures and yet more pictures of white-bearded old men, wiry and seasoned from a lifetime of outdoors living, with twinkling eyes and a stylish feather in their Austrian caps, and have decided that such a person would be ideal to wander about the mountains with! On my last morning I dragged my friend Justin up on the trail for one more hike before breakfast, and on our way back down, we came across one of these veritable mountain men--minus the beard, but with the cap and twinkling eyes he was the picture of good health and outdoorsy flavor. I think he was slightly surprised to see that someone was up before he was, even if we didn't make it very high that cold morning!

My holiday consisted of a melange of the following: hiking up the mountainside every day but one, figuring out German menus and eating excellent food, snowshoeing up a steep mountain slope and across avalanches, incredible vistas of mountain ranges, good conversations, being annoyed by some very American relatives that showed up toward the end of the trip, eating noodle soup at a trekking hut after hiking for hours, translating (me, translating?! That doesn't sound too familiar at all! heh heh), swimming, forgetting that time exists, reconnecting with dear people (the same ones I went to Egypt with), and generally just enjoying the ambience of a very tiny town nestled between the Alps in Tirol. I cannot grow weary of seeing the mountains, hearing the river rushing by, smelling the smoke of a fire, and feeling the sun on my face.

My excruciating sunburn--the result of hours on snowy slopes without sunscreen-- is now healing and constantly itching, my memory is filled with pictures of rugged mountains and the fresh smells of earth, my heart is thankful for the days past and brimming with excitement for what God has prepared for the days to come. And for those of you who are wondering how this location affected me in terms of memories associated with meeting my ex and the trauma ensuing it, well, it brought back memories certainly, but I chucked them out and am happy to report that what is past is past and doesn't pain me in the same way as before. God has been good to me, has carried me in the long process of healing, and continues to sustain me with his power and grace. Perhaps my life mirrors the season, as new life buds on the earth with flowers and greenery, so inside, I feel a small blossom of hope unfolding...enough to at least joke about finding an old mountain man who would know where the first Eidelweiss of the Spring appears! ·wink·wink·

Wind Sprite

The wind
caresses
my burned face
and
envelopes me,
enticing me
to come along--
not as an
object
picked up,
like sand in
a rushing
river's flow,
intrinsic rather,
so that I
can gently
caress your cheek
and bring
healing balm to
your
unpeaceful heart.
Transient and
soothing,
like the
unpredictable
wind rustling
through the
summer
leaves--
you don't think
about where I
have
come from or
to what
destination
I am fated,
but you
are aware of
wind-cooled
skin and hope
rising
in your chest
as the birch
leaves
dance above
you.

The State of Affairs

Randomness from the sphere of Yours Truly:

Health: Sore throat impedes 100% good feeling.
Future: Still sitting on the edge of my proverbial seat as I wait for news of university acceptance.
Work: Is as usual, coworkers are back to their normal joking selves after slight crisis of data loss, still procrastinating.
Family: Doing well, thank God. Cousins are headed to Spain, and just got to spend last weekend at my Grandma's. My sister may not end up coming here in the summer, which is a disappointment for both of us.
Favorite reading: Mail from friends and loved ones, and I've grown to like the rustling of thin newspaper pages as I peruse them daily.
Weather: The sun peeked out over the city this morning and chased away the heavy grey cloud that's been hanging about like a guest who overstayed his welcome!
Travel: The countdown--six days until Easter in the Alps!
Mood: Hopeful, and expectant.
Weekend: Has all the ingredients for Busy, but I'll relax my way through all of it!
Best quote: "Remember now, don't go marrying one of those boars!" That's a rough translation from the Finnish, and it was what my great-grandmother's great-grandmother told her daughter about Finnish men way back when the Swedes ruled. :)

The Inescapable Telenovela

"I'm so glad that my life is not like that!" I exclaimed to my aunt just yesterday, as a week's worth of reruns of "Juana la Virgen" played on the TV screen. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I was half amused and half horrified at what I was watching, all the while curious as to the outcome of the characters' tricky lives. It was a Venezuelan telenovela (Latinamerican soap-opera) that consisted of the usual sop: two people love each other, but there are a million and one obstacles, including one being married, the other not knowing of the other's love, family members with their own agendas, a wicked stepmother, lies, jealous secret loves, etc. I think soap-operas generally have these fixed characteristics. Apart from the extremely beautiful conniving women and the charmingly ruthless lying men, the melodrama and latin tempers perhaps fascinate Finnish viewers? Or so I thought, until I read an article on the BBC about these telenovelas. (I don't think the topic would have otherwise made it to this blog, but it reminded me!)

Something I didn't know: some say that as many as 2 billion people watch telenovelas on a daily basis! That would be a third of the world's population, taken in for that one hour (at least) by the twisted lives of fictional characters that become familiar to them during this daily ritual. So, I don't think it is only the melodrama and latin tempers that draw Finnish viewers, or viewers anywhere on the globe for that matter, but the universality of the problems presented and perhaps the general fascination people have with the drama in other people's lives. And if I remember correctly, while living in South America, there were a few that drew me in over the years, so I was once a part of that 2 billion-member club. (El Árbol Azul, I still remember it. It was about school children and aimed specifically for pre-teen interests! Although I don't recall it being as morally depraved as some of the things on TV nowadays.)

But no, I am not planning to follow Juana, although if I am around when it finally ends on that 190th episode, I would not mind seeing the couple happily ever after with their baby. (But happily ever after is not to be, because the same miscreant relatives and friends are still around and I'm sure a new round of problems ripe for a sequel would be bound to show up. But I've yet to hear of a telenovela sequel.) As a tool of cultural and ideological change however, these shows would be interesting to delve into. BBC mentions controversial events and political elements as more recent trends in telenovelas, and indeed, there is much going on in Latin America that would warrant commentary. I wonder how many of them actually have been made with a political agenda? Alas, I don't want to become so hooked as to find out, but it is an entertaining research idea...

Erased Words

I have nothing of significance to write.

Having now written that phrase, I am aware of how untrue it is, because there have been delightful and significant moments in the last week, and also many thoughts that are worthy of dialogue.

(And then I wrote an entire journal here, and realized as I wrote that my life is full of paradoxes that are hard to explain. Yet somehow I live in them.

Perhaps my words would have entertained you, and perhaps you would have had some insight into my situation in a way that I cannot have. Maybe you could have written me a comment along the lines of, "Aah, but you actually are reticent to reconnect with people because...And now that you are trying to break that pattern of fear, you second guess yourself, and go down a trail of imagined consequences."

But those words are now gone, and with them my thoughts on friendship, knowing and being known, and too much time spent online. Heh. And instead, I will comment on the wet weather and the surfacy to-do's of the day, all the while waiting for the moment when I will be alone and able to process a bit better what my mind was attempting to explore in an erased journal.)

I really am a stickler for finding the right words and ideas to convey my meaning. But this is tricky business if I am not even sure myself of what I mean. Perhaps this entry was more for my own good than anyone else's. The day, by the way, is grey and overcast, and the homework for my German class is still undone...

Egypt Continued

This entry has been erased by the manager of this blog. If you wish to have more information on the topic, please leave a comment.

Gracie is Visiting

We walk home together, late in the evening. Tired from an enjoyable but exhausting day, our sleepy train eyes revive in the winter night air. Ours are the only footsteps on the snowy sidewalk, as most people are inside staring at Conan O'Brien on their televisions, or already in sweet sleep. A full moon lights our path better than the street lamps, and we stop momentarily to find the Big Dipper.

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday, how you were glad to share the walk home with someone," she says, and tells me a story of how she watched lighthouses from a pier, alone one night. "I realize that when we are alone, we are reminded that God is the only one who knows everything about us and sees our whole life," she explains. I understand the comfort and lonely beauty of those moments spent alone with the presence of the Eternal. I also understand the desire to share the random moments of life with friends who would also appreciate them. Like this walk home together that I have made alone countless times. I look at her ponytail in the moonlight, and her animated mouth, moved by the workings of her quick mind. She is a thinker. Once again, I wonder if it is possible to really really know someone, to embrace them for who they are on their terms, instead of placing my judgements or opinions on their actions and words. Each person is a unique discovery, and each true friend that comes from such discoveries, is a gift. Three years of friendship, almost four, have passed since we first met and we reminisce about our first meeting in California during orientation.

"I wonder where we will be next time we meet," I say with a smile, already knowing that our days together are few.

"Sudan!" she says promptly, in that one word encompassing many conversations we have had about the future, world poverty, justice, and our dreams. It is possible. After all, she's here in Finland now.

An Assortment of Confessions...

- I have procrastinated all day today...this is one of those habits that I would so like to change, but falls into that wonderful Spanish phrase, "mañana, mañana." I could be so much more effective if I did not succumb to distractions!
- I am thrilled not to have anything going on a Friday night. Since I have been back from Egypt, I've had something going on every evening. This evening will not be one of them! I want to put on pyjamas and lounge. And if my cousin is around, maybe we'll watch a movie and dye our eyebrows!
- I'm online too much. My closest relationships are all online. I've made friends here, but if something's on my mind, I'd rather write an email than make a phone call. Granted, I've known the people that I write for longer than I've known the people that I see here.
- Travel is never far from my thoughts. Seriously. I bought a plane ticket 2 days after I got back! I have relatives who never think of travel, and it reminds me what a different world I grew up in.
- I like walking home in the dark late at night. This happens a couple times a week, and I enjoy the lonely trudge of my feet on the snow and the view of the darkened fields around my house. On a clear night the sky looks huge and full of diamonds! I like how small I feel.
- I'm ready to move out. All things at their proper time: that "thing" could be a flat of my own, and that "proper time" could be now! But patience is a virtue that only grows by being exercised in situations where you need it!

Happy Weekend Everyone!

In Finland, teni (again)

It's high time I updated my adventures here, as I'm sure you're curious! Well, I would be. As most travel goes, it was full of the unexpected and meaningful moments that one comes across in distant countries. As I left Egypt, that familiar little ache in my heart returned, that ache that represents a missing piece of my heart left behind with people who are dearly loved. My heart's all over the world, really, if you look at it that way!

But, on to the unexpected and meaningful...
My time in Egypt included historical sites, such as the Pyramids of Giza and Saqqara, where Napoleon's troops have left their artillery marks; the Cairo Museum, brimming with historical treasures to the point that your attention cannot take it all in; a peaceful boat ride on the Nile to an island where busy bees have been making lotus honey for over one thousand years; tours of Coptic churches, each with their own stories and idiosyncracies; a visit to the third oldest mosque in the Middle East; and a visit to the Cave Church and the City of the Dead. We went on camelback to watch the sunset at the pyramids in Giza, and for a three hour horseback ride through the desert. It is here that one of our company fell off her horse and suffered cracked ribs, a punctured lung, and cracked hip. Of course, we did not know this at the time, and she spent days and sleepless nights in pain. She is currently in a hospital in Germany, please, please, pray for her recovery.

The people are what make a place, and my memory is mostly full of smiling faces and children's dirty little hands. Staying with my host family was even better this time, because we had missed each other so much, and we were already familiar! I have very few of my pictures with me, but in the gallery you will find a few of them. The youngest children have grown, especially the baby who is now a wide-eyed 2 year old! We went to the neighbors' for dinner one night, and spent hours just sitting and talking and drinking tea and eating more food! It is during evenings like that, that you start to wonder why in the West we are so obsessed with time and a perceived lack of it.

When I go to Egypt, I feel like I have a whole family of people waiting. And I enjoy every moment of drinking endless cups of hot tea with cousins and grandmothers and attempting to speak the Arabic that I know (and I remembered more than I expected!). I like to link my arm with Asmaa's and walk home at night through uneven dirt streets where men sit at cafés and play chess as they smoke shisha pipes, where flourescent lights in little stores still shine brightly, loud minibuses almost run you over, smells of grease and sounds of metal work emanate from mechanics working on dented cars along the side of the road, and where run-away water buffalos get caught in intersections! I appreciate the moments that I can be a part of the Egyptian daily rhythms and walk home from the busy market with Tita's little hand in one of mine, and a bag of juicy oranges in the other! I keep these little moments and pictures like treasures, little gifts of life that I have been allowed to experience!

I will write more later, as I have given you only a small part of what I have seen and heard. There is yet one little bit more that I want to write. But another time...

I'm leavin' on a jet plane...

I am going on a trip, my friends--a week's vacation to the land where the Nile flows like a green ribbon through the arid desert, and where the red sun sets behind the Pyramids of the Giza plateau as it has for thousands of years. I am so excited I can hardly sit still! After spending the summer of 2004 in Giza with a host family as part of my university studies, Egypt and her people have found a special place in my heart. Ever since I left, I have been hoping to go back! Perhaps it's true, what they say, that if you drink the water of the Nile, you are destined to return! A week is not long, but I shall enjoy every moment of being there again and seeing friends who are dear to me!

For the past few nights it's been hard to sleep, I've had so many wonderful memories and thoughts running through my mind's eye. I smile in the dark as I think of Tita beating his drum, Mostafa holding Bilel, Asmaa linking her arm in mine as we walk, cooking mähshi with Aymaan, and driving on the Ring Road with Mohammed. My mind is as congested with memories, exotic smells, and lively thoughts as the streets of Cairo are with the crazy melée of honking cars, crowded buses, bouncing camels, loaded donkey carts, daring bicyclers and robed pedestrians! Can a body stand this much excitement!? I'm ready to burst at the seams!!

Let the adventure begin!