These are a few of my favorite things: osa kaksi

I didn't do much for Juhannus, and that's why I'm unable to write much about it. Rami was very sick on Juhannusaatto, and I spent the day caring for him. I did, however, venture out at around 22:30 to observe the goings-on. Everyone was wild and drunk on more than just viina. I was approached by a few brave (read: drunk) Finns, to whom I simply said, "En puhu suomea." It worked like a charm.

In honor of Juhannus, I'd like to discuss another of my favorite things about the Finnish language.

Nominals that end in a (usually rounded, I think) short vowel + s drop the -s and acquire a -kse- in their inflectional stem.
What does this look like?
Linnoitus = fortress (I use this example because we happen to have one here in Lappeenranta. See the above photo.)

Nominative pl.: linnoitukset
Genitive sing.: linnoituksen       Genitive pl.: linnoitusten
Partitive sing.: linnoitusta          Partitive pl: linnoituksia
Inessive sing.: linnoituksessa
Elative sing.: linnoituksesta
Illative sing.: linnoitukseen
etc.

As you can see, the partitive singular and the genitive plural are exceptions, as they both maintain the final -s, and add -ta and -ten respectively. (Yes, the partitive plural drops the -e-.)

I'm not sure what I like so much about this inflectional change, exactly. There's just something pleasing about a plosive, placed precariously in the middle of an inflected noun, when no such plosive is contained within the word's nominative singular form. It was quite mysterious when I first heard an example of it. Now, like several other types of inflectional changes, I understand it. I think.

I also like the way it sounds. Try it out: lin-noi-tuk-ses-sa. It just sounds good to my ears and feels good to my throat. There's no explaining it, really. It's like asking why this song makes my toes curl.

I hope you all had a chance to put your duties aside and get drunk on booze and sunshine over the weekend.

Olen tyhmä

"Olen tyhmä, olen tyhmä!" a classmate of mind said, as she described how she feels when people speak English to her and she's unable to understand or reply. She's Hungarian, and the only language she and I share is what little Finnish we've mastered. We began the fall course waving our hands like primates in a zoo and drawing cave art in our notebooks. As of this moment, we've evolved.

"Voin opettaa sinua," I said, not really sure of whether or not it was true. But, I thought, I need the practice. She's never studied English, and only knows a smattering of words she's picked up from movies and other media. I'm not really qualified to teach ESL, but I think I can pick out a few important fundamentals and provide her with a baseline. From the alphabet, numbers, basic greetings, and then onwards.

She called me yesterday, and we went here:

Her young children, both of whom speak a lot of Finnish, swam in the lake while we studied.

And as the chilly wind blew through my jacket, I thought, "How did I get here? Oh, thank god I don't work at an insurance agency in Hartford, commuting two hours to work every morning and three hours back in the evening, a slave to my own shitty health insurance, searching for a necktie with which to hang myself at lunch, learning nothing other than to use Microsoft Access and to smile vapidly at my coworkers when what I really want is to tell each and every one of them to stop talking to me forever."

I'd like to take a moment to thank Finland for having such an impossible language. Yes, I realize most of you probably wish to kill me right about now, but it must be said: if it weren't for your language, Finland, I might have nothing left to study. I might've tried to get into some university, and I might've failed (two events which may still come to pass), and then my career in "formal" education would be over. The longer I struggle with your language, Finland, the longer I'll be forced to take classes. Lots and lots of classes. I don't mean casually, on the side, after work, or studying once in a while at home over coffee. I mean that my days will necessarily be spent learning. I do hope I'll be able to contribute something after all the sponging I've done, and yet I sort of dread the end of this particular learning experience.

And, for now, I can dedicate several hours a week to teaching a friend of mine something she very much wants to learn.

Edit: I'm also hoping to pick up a little Hungarian in the process. I think it's among the most beautiful languages I've ever heard. Here's a Hungarian children's cartoon I used to watch in English as a kid:

Accented

I mentioned a while back that I might record myself speaking a little Finnish:

Obviously, since I don't speak Finnish natively, I can only just barely hear my own accent. Rather, I hear that the things I say don't come out quite the way I intend, or the way in which I hear them in my head, but I'm unable to do much about it.

I'm reading the text, enunciating* as clearly as I can, and I realize I sound a bit stilted and odd. My normal speech might not be so clear or so stiff. Again, though, I can't really say objectively.
[I also apologize for the somewhat loud clicking of my mousepad.]

So, that brings me to this: if you speak Finnish -- just a little, fluently, natively -- I encourage you to record yourself speaking a short text. Post it in the comments, or on your own blog. Come to think of it,  all languages (and accents) are welcome. It'll be a language and accent extravaganza.

*I have noticed that my English spelling is getting, well, embarrassing. It's as if Finnish is pushing whatever spelling skill I had out of my brain, and I often don't notice my mistakes at first. I initially wrote "annunciating." I wasn't proclaiming the coming of Jesus, so, yes, consider this corrected.

Haastattelu

I did the interview after all.

When my teacher asked if I'd do it, I didn't have the heart or the will to say no. That's one of the paradoxes of shyness; you'll sometimes do brave things only to avoid having to say ei.

Overall, it went quite well. I was able to communicate all of my thoughts using Finnish, resorting to English for only a few words. I did, however, ask the journalist to repeat several of her questions in English to be sure that I understood them. I find that, when I'm nervous, listening comprehension is the first thing to go.

As a result of my performing days, something odd and alien kicks in when I'm especially nervous. When my brain is near to shutting down from nerves, some persona (who is most certainly not me) takes the reins. I think that may have been what happened in this case. Once I got going, though, it was easy. The journalist and photographer were very kind, and they said some very nice things about my Finnish abilities (though I think they were more or less obligated to be encouraging).

I suppose the real test will be if the things I intended to say end up on the printed page. 

You, Me, Her and Him

My grandfather in Italy with a few of our relatives.

My grandfather loved languages. He used to sit for hours at the table in the living room, reading, studying, and practicing his pronunciation. If he wasn't working in one of the gardens, that table was quite likely where you'd find him.

He was a meticulous man. He could focus endlessly on one infinitesimal minutia in a sea of grammatical minutiae. He'd pore over a given detail until he had internalized it. Though it doesn't sound like the most efficient way to learn, it seemed to work for him; he learned something like six or seven languages in this way. When I was young, his focus was almost always on Swedish, which he studied so that he could speak to a few business associates in their native tongue.

I did not always appreciate his love of detail, though. If I were ever to utter this phrase, for example: "Him and me went down to the store," he'd correct me with the speed lightening and in the manner of thunder. "He and I!" he'd boom disapprovingly.

"Yes, Lena, he and I!" my mother and aunts might've echoed. They had been scolded about the declension of personal pronouns all their lives. "You don't want to sound like a raggie, do you?"

Why, no, I didn't want to sound like a raggie! What if someone were to overhear my mistake? Never again, I'd think.

Now that I live in Finland, and I hardly know what's correct and what isn't, I'd really prefer to speak only to Rami, to my teacher, and to my classmates. I'm not ready for primetime, as it were. If I were to try to communicate with your average, everyday Finn, I'd only end up sounding like a raggie.

Of course, my grandfather loved to use the languages that he'd worked so hard to learn. He was fearless and confident in what he knew. Oh, if only I could learn to do as he did, and perhaps forget the idea that one must speak perfectly if one is to speak at all.

Everything that excites and stimulates is, on some level, scary.

Specifically, there are three major things that excite and frighten me now:
1) I'll be teaching an English conversation course in the fall. Though I believe I have all the tools, I do hope I can actually, you know, teach.
2) My Finnish teacher asked if I'd like to take a second class with her, in addition to the one I'm in now and will be continuing, in the fall. It's a bit more advanced than what I'm used to, and I think it might be akin to 'skipping a grade' two nights a week. I said yes, and I'm very happy that there'll be more for me to learn. I'm also scared shitless.
3) Apparently someone from Etelä-Saimaa, our regional newspaper, is coming to my class to interview a few of us for an article about educated expats and their lives in Finland. It was hinted that I might be chosen, since I'm the only American in the class. My first thought? "Oh please no. Please, please, no." After all, what could be worse than having your early failings with the Finnish language immortalized on the printed page? I may, erm, opt out of this one. The thing is, if I understand most everything that is asked, and I manage to communicate moderately well, I'll be immensely proud. It seems far, far more likely, though, that my tongue will twist around and around itself, and I'll choke.

Looks like I'll have to figure out a way to syphon off some bravery if I want to live here. 

Mies parvekkeella

Oh, but I have been so lazy about writing. I open the text editor and close the browser tab before I've even written a word. I think of writing and my heart sinks, because I know that I have very little fuel to dedicate to even the illusion quality. Still, I get a little twitchy if I don't write something in English every once in a while, so here I am.

Things have been pretty much invariably beautiful here. The temperature does yo-yo a bit between pleasantly warm and disappointingly chilly, but it has been sunny and bright pretty much every day for a few weeks. (We did have quite the rainy, windy day yesterday; we went to see Prometheus.) The harbor is once again full of vendors and vetyjä. 


One thing that's been taking up a lot of the time and energy that I might otherwise use for blogging is this:

Yes, it's a book belonging to a series of Swedish detective novels, translated into Finnish for my learning pleasure! I bought it here, where I spotted it, thought it looked funny and creepy, opened it, and realized that I understood quite a lot of what I was able to skim. I dug three euros from the cluttered depths of my purse and purchased it. Should I have started with something easier? Probably. One major issue is that it contains a lot of idiomatic language that is indecipherable to me until I ask a native. Still, I'm asking, scribbling away, and using Wiktionary a lot. It's frustrating, but I'm learning something.

In fact, I think I'll read some of it now.

Edit: I also discovered this little gem at the same store: