Language Soup

To my right, everyone is speaking Chinese.  I eavesdrop unashamedly- when you can only pick out a few words, that's not really even eavesdropping, right?  It's language study.  At least, that's what our group of beginning language learners decided on the train the other week.

The six of us are deep in conversation when the man with the suitcase approaches.  He leans in and asks a question of the man by the window.  The word "Flughafen" (airport) drifts into our consciousness.   A sudden silence descends.  Heads pivot toward the man asking a question, as those across the aisle shift slightly.  We all listen intently.   The spell broken as he walks off, there's some embarrassed laughter.  Random stranger on the bus to Munich- I promise we weren't prying into your personal life.  We were just excited that we understood the word airport and hoping to catch some more juicy details.  You know, like numbers.  We understand those too.


But anyways, back to Chinese.  The Chinese speakers happen to be in my German class.  I sit surrounded by them.  That Chinese that I studied 7 years ago (wait, it can't possibly be that long ago already, can it?) is being stirred up, moved a little closer to the top from where it was buried under Finnish.  Two weeks into class now, I'm emboldened.  I try out random phrases now and then on my classmates- "Is this yours?"  "I don't know." Their delighted response to my rusty Chinese is all the encouragement I need to try another phrase the next day.

A little farther to my left in class, there's a group of 3 from Spain.  I'm writing down the meanings of my German vocabulary words as the teacher is checking homework.  Her response to a question from the Spanish speakers floats over to me.  She's speaking Spanish too.  My mind subconsciously slips into Spanish mode.  When I look at my vocabulary list, I realize I've just translated a word from German into Spanish instead of English.

Finnish however. . .  My brain feels like soup.  All the different languages are mixed up and the words are floating around, lost in there somewhere.  Some of them are easier to find.  The ones I hear and use everyday, they stay floating at the top.  But Finnish- all that vocabulary is stuck on the bottom.  I try to form a simple sentence.  I know the words are there somewhere.  But somehow, I can't seem to find them.  I mentally practice the days of the week, just to keep them fresh in my mind.  Maanantai, tiistai, keskiviikko, wait, what's Thursday? perjantai, lauantai, sunnuntai.  It bugs me for a whole day.  I can't remember Thursday.  Someone finally looks it up for me on their smart phone. Torstai.  Really?  I remember lauantai and keskiviikko, but the one that sounds MOST like it's English equivalent escapes me?

It's a strange experience for me, this language soup I'm in.  But I think, despite my confusion and occasional mental fatigue from a brain that's trying to process any language it can get its hands on, I like it.  

So you want to be a teacher?

There's the regular chit-chat: where I'm from, how long I've been here, what I'm studying.  Then I cringe, knowing the question that inevitably follows, "so you want to be a teacher?"

Coming from the US, where almost everyone who is a teacher starts teaching with a Bachelors, and then, if they continue with their Masters, work on it after already gaining some classroom experience, I wasn't expecting that question at first.  I was expecting the professional atmosphere, of colleagues sharing  their experiences, that I had during my grad classes for my ESL certification in the states and I expected those around me to have the same expectation of a Masters level program in education.  

But here, things are different.  In Finland, you can't teach without a Master's degree, and in Germany it seems to be similar, so people assume since I'm working on my Master's degree in education that I want to be a teacher.

"So, you want to be a teacher?" It's a question that makes me feel threatened. The past 9 years of my life, discredited with one blow.  Do I really seem so young, so inexperienced, so unprofessional, that I'm automatically mistaken for a student who's never had a career?

And I know it's never meant to make me feel uncomfortable.  After all, they're just strangers, making small talk.  It's the logical next question for them.

But just once, it would be nice for someone to simply say, "and what do you plan to do once you graduate?" or "what made you decide to do your masters in education?" 

Then I could tell my story in my own words.  

"I love teaching.  But I got a taste of administration when I was the academic director at a school in Colombia, and I really want to continue my professional development so I can be more effective in a leadership role. I'd love to work with a non-profit focused on family literacy when I graduate."

(Of course, now that I've thought out how to say it, I can use that same response to, "so you want to be a teacher?" too.  Perfect.  Here's to me feeling less uncomfortable the next time I'm asked that question.)

This Beautiful Adventure

I'm so happy to see Anna's smiling face at the airport, that I almost re-enact the scene from Spanglish when Flor runs into the sliding glass door.  Her words as she greets us, "I did manage to get a car after all" make 2 travelers, overladen with bags, more than happy.  She hands us "Welcome to Germany" snack bags she made for us, anticipating we'd be hungry after our long day of travel.  When I see a soft pretzel inside, I'm sure of it, I've come to the right place.

After a 2 hour drive from Munich,  the thought on our minds as we open the door to our rooms is "I wonder if we won the lottery, or we lost it?" 1 person apartment, 2 person apartment, or dorm room with shared bathroom and kitchen facilities for 10?  Those are the possibilities in this building.  As the door swings open I glance quickly around: bed, bookshelf, desk, wardrobe, and YES! another door next to the wardrobe.  I think I've won the lottery.  The 2nd door leads to a tiny little kitchen with a bathroom off of it, and a 2nd bedroom on the other side, and I'm lucky enough that Liza, one of my classmates, got the key to it.

The next day, as we hurry from one errand to the next, we can't help but stop and admire.  From one bank of the Danube river, the cathedral and houses reflect into the water below.  The perfect blue sky is such a relief after nearly a month of grey skies in Turku.  I stop in delight- there are snowdrops and crocuses growing in a garden.  Not only have we arrived in a fairy tale, we've arrived here in spring.

Today, orientation over, I head off to try and open a bank account.  I'm not successful in the attempt (the bank closes at 12:30 on Wednesdays. . .), but I do manage to find the German equivalent of a dollar store (a euro store).  Nothing is cheap in Finland, so finding rolls of tape in a 5 pack for a euro, and notebooks for .55 here made me excited.  Now I know where to go if I need toothpicks or batteries or random party supplies.  On my way back, a double church steeple catches my eye.  I make a detour, hoping for a closer view, delighted at such a pretty church, right here in my neighborhood.

I'm here, starting a new adventure, studying a new map, meeting new people, stumbling through words in a new language.  It's lovely and challenging, and exhausting and thrilling.

Thoughts from a KGB prison

Walking to the back of the cell made me nervous- what if someone decided to slam the door shut behind me as a trick?  As I peered into the gloom, I saw a platform, about the size of a personal pizza, sticking up above the sunken floor.  A helpful sign next to the door explained to me that this cell was used as an especially cruel form of solitary confinement.  The room was flooded with ice water, leaving the prisoner to stand on the tiny platform or fall into an ice bath.  

My stomach churned.  This was evil.  Cruelty cleverly conceived.  

The words and images I'd seen over the past few days washed over me: A snap that looked like it was from a child's overall, found at a mass grave.  A sentence from a museum exhibit"There were 29,000 Jews in Riga; 25,000 were killed in one day."  A photo of 4 small children clustered around their mother, exiled in Siberia.

I was filled with a new sense of gratitude.  I take it for granted that I won't be locked in prison for my political beliefs, murdered under government orders for my religious beliefs, exiled to a distant land because I dared to protest.  

At the same time, I was filled with a sense of urgency.  The peace and security I've grown up with, that hasn't been the norm for most of human history.  Poverty, war, famine, genocide have followed us out of Eden.  It would be comforting to think, "but that was then, this is now.  I live in the modern world in a democratic country".  

The truth is though, that modern times and democracy don't protect anyone.  

Right now, in Venezuela, shortages of staple foods and things like toilet paper and violent crime are sparking protests against the government.  And, the supposedly democratic government has responded by sending armed gunmen into neighborhoods and censoring the media.  A friend posted on facebook on the 20th, "Please Pray for my family in Venezuela right now the soldiers are shooting in the neighborhood they live in". At least 13 protestors have been killed.  That same friend who posted for us to pray asked about getting home overland.  "Don't try" was the general consensus.  Bus terminals are closed and even with a car people are getting stuck.  

And that's just Venezuela.  Ukraine is having even more violent protests, but I don't have any Ukranian friends, so it isn't as real and present in my mind.  But the bus terminal in Merida that's closed?  I've been there.  I know people in Venezuela now, and others who are outside of the country and worried about their family members who are there.  

My heart aches for them.  And I pray.  But is there any other action I can take?  The sober truth of this quote hits me: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." (Edmund Burke) I'm realizing the tenuousness of our security.  And the necessity to not let our freedoms be eroded, to stand up against corruption and power-seeking.

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy."
(The Prayer of St. Francis)

Winter Sports, or why I am officially awesome

Despite the fact that the whole East coast back home has gotten more snow than we have here in Southern Finland this year, I still thought this was a good place to try out some winter sports.

So, a couple of weekends ago, some friends and I headed to a park where you can rent cross-country skis.  In my mind, this was going to be effortless- gliding over the snow, enjoying the scenery, something akin to ice skating.  I was wrong.  I no sooner strapped the skis to my feet than I realized my mistake.  Skiing is hard work! The 4 year old Finns were passing me on the practice track.  I alternated between clumsy attempts at walking while wearing skis, and nearly knocking myself over as I tried to use the ski poles to help me along.  Every once in a magical moment, I'd somehow get the rhythm right and be gliding.  It would last just long enough for me to think "I'm finally getting the hang of this!" when once again, I'd come to a stop and be clumsily trying to move forward again.


Anyway, practice makes perfect, or in my case, limited practice ensures continued forward momentum. So we left the practice track and headed on to the 2 kilometer loop through the woods.  We started with an uphill section, and I thought I was going to have to give up- for every step I managed to inch forward, I slid 3 back downhill.  My Finnish friend Henna finally came to my rescue, explaining how to spread my skis in a V shape and walk with the weight on the inside of the ski.  Despite the continued awkwardness and mostly slow pace, there were moments when it was magical.  The pine trees glistened with snow.  I found the right rhythm more frequently.  As I took a sharp curve on a downhill stretch and careened off the track, I managed to keep my balance and not knock anyone else over flailing my ski poles.  When we got to the end of the loop and Henna asked if we wanted to go again, I caught my breath, paused, and said yes.

Skiing however, was tame compared to this week's adventure. Finns love their saunas.  In the winter, to cool down after the sauna, they also love to dip into the ice cold sea.  This sounds crazy to me.  However, it also sounds rather awesome, and I wanted to be able to tell about the time that I went ice swimming in Finland, and I couldn't tell the story unless I actually did it.  So, when the International Student organization planned a trip for sauna and ice swimming, I signed up.  The sauna, at 163 degrees fahrenheit, felt blissfully warm after so many grey, chilly days of winter.  Walking outside and down the dock to the ocean didn't even feel so bad after being so hot.  As soon as I dipped my toes in the water though, I changed my mind. That felt bad.  Like a million needles being stuck into your skin at once.  But I came to go ice swimming, and ice swim I would.  I walked a little farther down the steps, slowly making my way in up to my waist. At that point, I decided in or out was just about equally as cold so I plunged in.  My whole body felt like it was on fire.  I gasped my way out of the water, numb enough that I looked down to make sure I hadn't lost the bottom half of my swim suit since I certainly couldn't feel it on my body anymore.  It was still there.  Slowly, the just above freezing air outside started feeling comfortable, compared to my dip in the ice.  We stood around, chatting in our swimsuits, enjoying the "comfortable" temperature, while a man in a parka, gloves, and a hat grilled sausages on the stove.  Before I even started shivering, we headed back into the sauna for round 2.  After 3 dips into the icy Baltic, and enough time in the sauna to feel like I needed to rehydrate, we called it a day.

And now?  I am officially awesome by my own definition.  If you had any doubts, you can lay them at rest.  I went ice swimming in the Baltic sea in February.  What more does it take?

(just in case you doubt the authenticity of my story, here's some photographic evidence.)

Chinese New Year in Finland

If you've been following my blog for awhile, you may remember this post, when I celebrated Chinese Mid-Autumn Harvest Festival in Colombia.  Well, it's been awhile since I've enjoyed Chinese dumplings, and they are much too much work to bother with for just one person (and besides, how on earth would I eat so many?), so I figured Chinese New Year was the perfect occasion to invite some friends over and celebrate.  

Lucky for me, there's an Asian grocery right downtown, so I got almost everything I needed.  Ground pork was the hardest. After asking (in Finnish!  Go me!) if they sold it at 2 stores, and being told no at one, and it was sold out at the other, I finally settled on a 60%pork, 40% beef mixture.  (I should really ask some Finnish friends why they sell it. . .  Anyways, if you're ever in Finland and making dumplings, it works fine if you can't find ground pork). Oh, and don't plan on serving green beans in Finland in February.  After searching in 4 stores, I finally found a largish handful for €3.80. It didn't seem worth the price to me.

On the menu: Pork (ok, ok, pork/beef) dumplings, orange chicken, spoon vegetables, jasmine rice, and bubble tea.  The orange chicken was a new recipe and it was delicious. If you're looking for a new recipe, you should give it a try.  

Have I mentioned what wonderful friends I have here?  I was running a bit late, (searching for green beans and ground pork in 4 grocery stores the day of will do that to you) so they pitched in and helped assemble dumplings and cook the veggies while I finished off the chicken and bubble tea.  

Dinner finally ready, we sat down to eat.

Well, I never said they were normal

 We ate until we were full.  Then we kept eating.  We ate until there wasn't anything left to eat, and then took a break for dessert.

So yummy

And then, in true international fashion, we combined one celebration with another.  We happened to be celebrating Chinese New Year a few days late, and it also happened to be Runeberg's day, a day to celebrate a 19th century Finnish poet who penned the national anthem.  For whatever reason, it's typically celebrated by eating Runeberg's Torte, so  eat them we did, compliments of Alistair and Birte.

新年快樂！

(xin nian kuai le- Happy New Year!)

A time to mourn

Exactly one year and 5 days ago, I left Colombia.  Not that I'm counting or anything.

When I first left, I cried every single day.  It felt like breaking up.  Except with like 15 people at once.  My life as I knew it was over, and I didn't really have much to take it's place.

But, color comes back to grey days.  I lived new adventures, made new friends, saw God at work in my life in new ways.

Grief has a way of circling back though, and catching you when you're least aware.  Suddenly, I find myself in tears all over again.

Maybe, somewhere subconsciously, I felt like I'd just pressed "pause" on my life in Colombia.  Everyone and everything was waiting just how I left it, and when I was done here, if I wanted, I could slip back into that old life.

But, changes are happening a world away, and they're knocking that comforting little fantasy to pieces. One of my former housemates is moving back to the States.  Anticipating her transition, remembering my own just a year ago, stirs up all those emotions of my own.

Another housemate is getting married.  I'm so excited for her.  And so far away.

But both of those changes are a firmly closing door.  Those girls who I laughed, and cried, and stayed up way too late with trying to solve the worlds' problems, and consumed more pizza with than any of us probably care to admit, they won't be there for me to be housemates with anymore.

And, Luz y Vida isn't opening this year.  The school I taught at, and then directed, that I poured my heart into, that I worked on a curriculum for, hoping for a future, it isn't even open this year.  In some ways it's heartbreakingly sad.  In other ways, it's just confusing.  And in amongst that sorrow and confusion, there's a little tiny bit of relief.  A relief that says, "see, leaving was the right decision, even if there were moments you wished you were back, what would you be doing now?"

So, I mourn again.  I mourn for doors that are firmly closed.  I mourn because you can't step into the same river twice.  And I cry for something beautiful that is gone now.