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.

My multilingual life

I go to a Swedish speaking church.  "Why?", you ask. "Don't you live in Finland?"  Why yes, I do. Finland is officially bilingual though.  Until 1809, when this area was taken over by Russia, what is now known as Finland was part of Sweden.  Over simplifying a bit, but historically, the rulers and upper classes spoke Swedish, the peasants spoke Finnish.  Swedish is still the first language of a minority of Finns, about 5% of the population.  They have their own schools (from primary through university) and their own churches.  I just happened to end up at a Swedish speaking church because they translate to English every week, are really friendly, and are close by.  And hey, when you have to pick between 2 languages you don't understand, what difference does it make?

Ok, that was a really long introduction to say, it's amazing what our minds do all by themselves.  See, I'm not studying Swedish at all.  I see it around on signs, and hear it (and its translation) at church, and it has a lot in common with English.  Still, the amount I have learned through that caught me by surprise last Sunday. We had an English speaker, so the sermon was translated from English to Swedish, instead of the reverse. I was listening to the Swedish translation instead of zoning out, cause I'm a language nerd like that, and at one point the translator paused, looking for the right word.  "Helig" (holy) I thought, then nodded in support as that's what she said.  And then I did a double take.  Was I actually trying to translate from English to Swedish?

- - - - -

My sister sent me a link to Duolingo, an online language learning site, the other day.  I'm headed to Germany in March, and the struggle I had filling out the application for enrollment form (WHY on earth don't they just send it in English like all the other forms, or at least include English directions if they want it in German?) was enough to convince me that I should know a bit of German before I go. So, I'm studiously working through the levels. It's fast at the lower levels!  I'm up to level 3 and can now say very useful phrases like "Ich bin eine Frau" (I am a woman) or Die Jungen trinken Wasser. (The boys drink water)

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My Finnish is slowly progressing.  I moved from Spot books to longer picture books.  I'm currently working on the Finnish version of Zen Shorts- the story is definitely more involved and interesting than Spot.  But it's too hard for me to read at one sitting and makes my head hurt.  :)  

My best Finnish moment came at the bank.  At Finnish banks you generally take a number and wait til it's your turn. An older gentleman sat down next to me as I was waiting.  He asked me what number I had and when I'd gotten there, and then commented on how long I'd been waiting.  I mostly understood him, and showed him the right thing (my ticket, my watch) in response, so I don't think he realized that I don't speak as much Finnish as your average 2 year old.  Finally, he asked me a question I couldn't answer.  So, I had to explain that I don't speak much Finnish.  That didn't deter him though, so we chatted, with me politely nodding even though I only understood a few words here and there, and answering his questions about where I'm from, where I study, and what I study.  It was great because it's one of the few genuine conversations I've had in Finnish outside of class.  "I'll have a hot chocolate please" "That will be 1.80€, Here you are." "Thanks" does not count.  

- - - - -

And then there's Spanish.  There's something about sliding effortlessly back into Spanish that just makes me feel at home.  Spanish language circle has started back up for the semester, and as I sat drinking my hot chocolate (that I ordered in Finnish) and speaking in Spanish with people from around the world, I felt happy that I have something here that links me to my life in Colombia. 

I picked up a book at the library this week in Spanish.  It's a bit harder than the book I'm reading in Finnish.  It's by a favorite author of mine from Barcelona, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.  His book La Sombra del Viento was the first book that drew me in enough that I couldn't put it down, despite the added difficulty of being in Spanish.  (I highly recommend it, it's called The Shadow of the Wind in English) I haven't gotten very far into this one, Marina, but so far it hasn't disappointed.  

- - - -

Oh, and of course, there's also English.  But there's nothing really interesting to say about that.  

Winter is Coming!

When I first arrived in Finland, almost every conversation I had with a Finn went something like this,

Finn: "How do you like Finland"

Me: "Oh, I love it here!  I've been having such a great time, and everything is beautiful, and the weather has been so nice"

Finn: (In a foreboding voice, the kind of voice one uses to talk about Mordor, and Sauron and other Very Horrible Evil Things) "Winter is coming"


So, needless to say, I was a bit apprehensive about my first Finnish winter.  I was expecting snow in October, sub-zero temperatures, skating down the river.  Instead, we eased through October, November, and into December with only a couple of days dipping below freezing.  I kept bike riding and didn't get a bus pass for much longer than expected.  It was colder, and snowier back home than it was here.  I was beginning to think that Finnish winter really wasn't going to be anything to contend with (and that maybe we weren't even going to get any snow)

I did my best to bring the winter back with me after my trip home to the States for Christmas.  After all, several friends in Finland requested it.  And I must have done something right, because I got in on Friday, and woke up Saturday morning to snow falling outside my window.


Ever since, we haven't had temperatures above 20, and low teens seems to be the norm (by the way, extreme temperatures sound even more extreme when given in celsius.  Today, a chilly 10 degrees, was -12 in celsius.)  The river is freezing, the skating rinks are open (I skated this weekend!), and there's snow on the ground.  I think it's safe to say that winter has arrived.

When tears come

Most of the time, I love this adventure: making new friends, learning a new city, communicating anything in a new language, enjoying beauty all around.

But then, there are the moments when the novelty wears thin, where the frustration of never being quite certain rubs through.

Wednesday, I was supposed to catch a bus to the neighboring town where I watch 2 little boys and help them with their English skills.  When the bus arrived, it looked completely different than I remembered, so I asked the driver as I got on if it went to the town I was going to.  No, she told me. And then mentioned a different destination.  I got off, feeling a bit confused.  If that wasn't the right bus, then which bus was?  As the right bus didn't magically appear, I realized I should have taken the other bus.  But, it was too late now, and I didn't have any credit left on my cellphone to call and tell the family I would be late.

I headed off in search of an R-Kioski, a store where I could add additional time to my cell phone, and almost there, passed another bus with the same number.  Thinking I had a chance to fix my mistake, I got on, and again, asked if they went to the town I was going to.  Again, the answer was no.  The driver, who didn't speak English, started giving me a detailed explanation of his route.  A kind passenger translated for me, though it didn't keep me from feeling lost.  I didn't recognize a single place they said, and although it seemed that it's final destination was somewhere in the vicinity of where I wanted to go, they thought it would take 40 minutes to get there and I was still without credit to call to say I was going to be late.  Undecided for a moment, I froze on the bus, then thanked them for their time, got off, and walked towards the R-kioski.

Crossing the bridge over the river, tears rolled down my cheeks.  I felt powerless- unable to communicate fully what I wanted to in Finnish, unsure of which bus to take, unfamiliar with so many place names, and without the ability to make a simple phone call.  And, not only powerless, irresponsible- I had somewhere I was supposed to be, and at the moment, had no idea how to get there.  "If I were home, it wouldn't be like this" was my thought.  I'd have a car.  I speak the language.  I can add credit to my phone with a phone call and my credit card.  And if I were lost, all the local place names would at least sound familiar.

Fortunately for me, when I finally was able to make a call, the boys' mom was understanding, I was directly across from another bus stop, and the next bus came in 10 minutes.  I ended up being an hour late, but it was ok.  And I think, that's one thing I've been learning on this international journey of mine- it's okay to make mistakes, failure is not the end of the universe.  I try my best, give what's in front of me everything I can.  But sometimes, it might not work out.  I might miss the bus, or completely miscommunicate, or end up missing a rescheduled class.  But it's ok.  Life goes on.  I learn.