What I've Learned: A List

This list is, of course, incomplete.

1) Prolonged exposure to a language will, accompanied by a minimal amount of effort, result in progress. If you don't allow plateaus to discourage you, you'll burst through them when you least expect it.
2) People here regard Americans as, above all else, "friendly" and prone to "small talk" (i.e. loud and vacuous). Thanks, Hollywood.
3) I've never met a Hungarian I didn't instantly like.
4) Making friends is hard, and I'm horrible at it.
5) I'm outgrowing video games, but I still long for when I used to play tabletop RPGs with my friends on hot summer days. Sometimes, we'd even pack a picnic and set up shop in a public park, like a roving band of nerd-hippies. Video games do not require friends, though (see no. 4).
6) It's not hard to take decent photographs if you have a decent camera. I always feel a little weird when people compliment my pictures, as I have very little skill in any of the areas that separate the photographers from the wannabes. I take pictures because it passes the time, and gets me out and about.
7) Despite loving Finland for a whole host of reasons, I don't really feel at home here. Not yet, at least.
8) I love winter, so long as the temperature stays below freezing.
9) Since getting rid of my car before moving to Lappeenranta, I have not missed driving even slightly. I actually consider it a luxury to be able to walk and ride public transit anywhere I need to go.
10) I haven't seen nearly enough of Finland. I'm thinking of traveling somewhere over hiihtoloma, perhaps to Turku.
11) I really, desperately miss working with "at-risk teens". Should I become a social worker?
12) I'm thinking of learning to program so that I can study at LUT.
13) While I decided what the hell I want to do with my life here, I'm going to try and teach English as much and as often as possible. I'd actually like the chance to teach a beginners' course because, well, I'm a freak with a passion for grammar.
14) This describes my current state far better than it should. Not quite sure what to do about it, though.
15) I need to become braver and more adventurous so that I can write interesting things as opposed to self-indulgent things. 

Pliis!

Winter is beautiful when it's cold. 

I noticed this article while browsing Yle recently. It discusses the word "pliis", a recent loanword derived from the English "please". After reading it, I decided to address the subject of English's ever-increasing presence in the Finnish language with my class last Tuesday. It was pretty fascinating, though perhaps more so for me than for my students.

First, their impression of the word "pliis" itself seemed less than favorable. The article mentions "pissikset", or vapid teen girls, a group with which the members of my class seemed to immediately associate the word's usage. A few people also mentioned the pleading tone these pissikset deploy.

"Pliis" assimilated only one of the many meanings belonging to its English counterpart because, I think, that's all it's needed for. Finnish conditional verb forms allow for polite requests and the like, and "ole hyvä" can be used as an interjection in polite commands. (For instance: istu, ole hyvä/sit, please.) All that's left is the entreating, solicitous "please!" used when one is in a desperate state.

I then asked them to think of a few other English loanwords. My favorite was "hipsteri", which I'd never heard before, yet is so very obvious. The word "delata" (slang: to die) was also mentioned, but I'm not certain of its etymology. Anyone care to weigh in?

[Lastly, a friend sent me this deliciously sacrilegious video, and I laughed. [It contains the word "delata".]] 

Pictures suit me better than words at the moment.

I arrived back in Finland just in time to see the year change. I had wanted to see the fireworks down by the harbor, but I was far too tired after a long day of travel and gallivanting around Helsinki.

All this travel, however, is way too expensive and too bittersweet. I won't be returning to Connecticut for a while, since I need to plant my feet firmly in the Finnish soil.

Anyway, here are some more pictures from my lovely trip.

An old dirt road near my house that leads to the former site of a congregational church. 

Winter actually happened this year. 

My farewell dinner, courtesy of my dad. If you must know, I housed the lobster and left the steak. Dad'll have steak sandwiches. 

I became an aunt while home, and had a chance to meet my nephew. Photo taken by the new mother herself. 

Sushi in CT. 

Sushi in Helsinki. 

Cafe in Helsinki. Trying not to fall asleep whilst musing about moving to a bigger city. 

I'm hungry and jet lagged, which might be obvious from my choice of photos. Still, I'm here, and I'm here to stay. It's time to begin making the most of my life in Finland. 

Less Than Three

I've had an insanely good time here at home. Though I don't have a decent camera with me, I've been documenting the events of my trip for posterity. Here are some photos of the goings on.

Out of control (or just looking like it). 

Everything at Walmart is horrible. 

Raggie wineglass. 

Cornish hens with friends. 

Zombie board game. We also played Cards Against Humanity. 

Silly friends make life worthwhile. 

Oh, how I have missed real Italian sandwiches. 

Koba joined me for coffee and salad. 

A few more to come. Merry Christmas and hyvää joulua. 

Our Town

My mother and I decorated the Christmas tree yesterday.

We celebrate with less pomp and give fewer gifts every passing year. Lazily erecting a Christmas tree seems the only way to maintain a scrap of the ecstatic joy we felt when my brother and I were little children. That's growing up - clinging to the essence of Christmas when you've grown up to be a bah-humbug sort. It's practically a rite of passage.

It's true that the joy I take in the season has increased ever since I moved to Finland, however. Being close to the people I left behind is an exciting prospect in and of itself.

"Don't clump the ornaments,"my mother said, when she saw that I had placed a snowman too close to a small green sphere. I moved it, knowing that she'd move it herself if I refused.

Moments later, she held up a small reindeer made of clothespins. "1989," she said. "This must be from preschool. Is it yours or your brother's?"

"It must be mine," I said. "I was four in 1989."

"Here's one of Jimmy's," she said, and handed me a laminated paper disk with my brother's picture in the center. On the back it read, 'Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad. Love, Jimmy. 1995.'

I looked at my little brother, asleep on the couch next to us, shirking his duties so blatantly as we slaved to create the atmosphere of Christmas, and I just about cried. Though I didn't, I was close. We grew up. We grew to feel indifferent about Christmas. We grew into adulthood, and my mother now shows us tokens from our childhood, reminding us of how far we've come and how well we've lived. We're lucky to have lived long enough to grow into cynicism.

If it had been my town, I'm sure I'd have written something nearly identical to this piece in the Atlantic. In New England, the love we feel for our little towns is both irrational and immutable. These towns house our best memories, and they embody our first impressions of the world. Though I have often thought that places like Newtown are merely suburbs of New York City, and that the experience, that first glimpse of life is somehow different there than it is here, one person shatters that misconception. She is Pat Llodra, first selectwoman of Newtown, and former principal of my high school. Though I never knew it (and probably never cared to know, since I was inclined to resent principals at that age), she commuted 50 miles to Northwestern Regional #7 every day. I assumed she was one of ours, but she was always one of theirs.

Mrs. Llodra reminds me that, within state lines, 50 miles really isn't so far after all. And if she isn't evidence enough of that, our collective devastation most certainly is. It could have been our little town that was made infamous, that was taken from us in the rage of a single morning.

To the people of Newtown: this tragedy has taken 20 of your children and six of your teachers. Please, don't let it take your town's identity, and don't let it usurp your best memories. 

Reflection

Tomorrow, our intensive Finnish class will come to an abrupt end. After spending every day together for over a year, my classmates and I will be scattered to the four winds and forced to fend for ourselves.

The most significant thing I've drawn from this experience is an absolutely vast amount of knowledge that I didn't have before. When I began studying Finnish last fall, I knew only a few common phrases, vittu and paska, and a smattering of adjectives like hyvä and kaunis. I can now engage in real conversations with those patient enough, watch movies and television, and understand an admittedly variable amount of what I read in the newspaper. 

I've met people from all over the world, and I've come to love some of them very much. I've been thankful that Finns, at least the ones with which I'm acquainted, want their ulkomaalaiset to learn Finnish well and integrate quickly. The existence of courses like this one makes that process immeasurably easier, and we're all damn lucky. I wouldn't trade this experience for, quite literally, anything. 

We had a final exam on Monday which included listening, reading comprehension, writing, and grammar. I received something close to a perfect score, and it just about made my entire life. A certain amount of the anxiety that's been constantly lingering in my chest and stomach has dissipated as a result. I do know this stuff. I can get better. 

I haven't received the final word on my teacher's opinion on my skill level yet, but she mentioned something about it being around  B1.2. I'm of two minds about this; to me, it sounds entirely too high, but at the same time, I'm overjoyed and perhaps even a tad more confident than before. 

Okay, I'm of three minds about it. I also know that some people achieve a similar result in half as much time, and I wonder if perhaps my emotional state this autumn has been detrimental to my progress. Although I've had countless breakthroughs in the last few months, it seems to me that I've been far more passive than I ought to have been. Then again, one of the best things about being in the A2 - B1 skill range is that words stick in my head far more easily than they used to. With this base level vocabulary, I find that I have more knowledge from which to make educated guesses and from which to form connections.  

I'm leaving for the US on Monday, and I'll be there for about a month. Being there for two very busy weeks in July was perhaps more heartbreaking than it was beneficial. I sort of hate to leave on this high note, however, since it's almost as though I'm just asking for another heartsick few months when I return. The main idea behind this trip is to spend as much time as possible with my loved ones, a thing I wasn't able to accomplish last time. Who knows, though -- maybe I'll be itching to return to Finland. I hope so. 

Oksanen and All Things Indie

Sofi Oksanen came to Lappeenranta last Tuesday. I was lucky enough to have a few free hours in the middle of the day, so two of my classmates and I met at Suomalainen Kirjakauppa to see her.

"Tere, Sofi!" someone called out entreatingly when she arrived. She shuffled guardedly through the crowd and disappeared into the upper level of the shop. The crowd was perceptibly anxious. She returned within a few minutes, and her interview began. She spoke about all sorts of things, like her new book and Soviet propaganda.

Unfortunately, I haven't much to say on Sofi. After the event, I broke down and read a little of Puhdistus in English (Purge), and because I've been increasingly busy prior to the end of my fulltime Finnish course forever and ever, I've barely had any time to read it. Once I sink my teeth into it, I'm told it will be only a few days, if that, before I'm finished. Therefore, all I can say is that the book began in disconcertingly simple prose (which made me wonder about the translator, not about Oskanen herself), but it has expanded to become what I'd call "vivid yet tight". I should probably be reading it now rather than blabbing on the internet, but I've become rather enamored of another Finnish artist.

I was browsing Spotify for music to accompany my studying, and stumbled upon this:

and I nearly choked on the tip of my pen. My interest in folk music was reignited in an instant.

The art school douchebag in me was simultaneously elated and terrified. Who was this hauntinged siren? As it turns out, she's Mirel Wagner, born in Ethiopia, raised in Espoo.

Some of you are probably familiar with the poem "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe. If you are, you probably remember that the poem's speaker sleeps by his love's side in the sepulchre which houses her corpse. I can tell you, though, that this poem was far from the only one he ever wrote concerning something resembling necrophilia.

I say something resembling necrophilia because much of Poe's poetic oeuvre is distinctly asexual. To oversimplify it, he felt that it was poetry's function to provide the reader with an aesthetically pleasing glimpse of death, and that carnality generally obfuscated this purpose.

Mirel Wagner plays with similar themes in her lyrics, but she adds an unapologetic dose of carnality where Poe would have only allowed for corpse-cuddling. Combine it with her minimalist, bluesy folk, and there's something irresistible about her.

And I must admit that there's something unsettling and appealing about Wagner's tale of being visited by the devil in the middle of the night...

To lighten the mood, I also found this lovely electro-pop/noise-pop band called I Was a Teenage Satan Worshipper. I can only assume that he was a kinder, gentler satan than the one with which Mirel Wagner is acquainted.