Fall in (love with) Finland

I arrived in Finland in the beginning of August – Elokuu, harvest month – as summer began to wind down. August was clear blue skies and a 9:30pm sunset. I unpacked my bags, scoured second-hand stores for furniture, and bought a bike. Each morning I woke with the sun on my face and a gentle breeze coming through the window.

In August, I had an abundance of free time. I took the train to Helsinki for a weekend to go to a music festival. I spent an afternoon in a national park, eating bilberries off the bush in the deep, lush forest, walked barefoot through soft reindeer lichen.

I was alone again, but alone by my choosing. I had infinite possibilities laid out in front of me, a banquet of delicacies to choose from and experience. I can be who I want, make this place whatever I want. I imagined myself here for two full years and couldn’t believe my luck.

September – Syyskuu, autumn month – brought foggy mornings and vibrant foliage, the leaves of birch trees illuminated with a thousand shades of yellow as if glowing from within. Classes started amongst a frenzy of student organization events, welcome ceremonies, and orientation. The already mild summer temperatures dropped even further, and by mid-September I had stopped wearing short sleeves altogether.

October – Lokakuu, mud month – delivered what the name promised via grey skies and persistent rain. I made the mistake of not wearing rain gear while biking to class one day and had to turn back halfway to campus because I was soaked to the bone.

In addition to a formal end to summer, October brought an abrupt end to my honeymoon period. I suddenly realized with sobering clarity that I’ve committed to living in a foreign country. No longer seeing everything with excitement and fresh eyes. I am here. Now. And for the next two years.

When I first came to Finland, I thought about the last blog I wrote before moving – I will feel lonely, I will feel homesick – and laughed at the inaccuracy of my prediction. Two months into my move I re-read my post and felt I possessed a chilling clairvoyance.

Classwork began to pile up in earnest, I was travelling every weekend for hockey, and an unexpected issue with my residence permit led to frequent bouts of tears, gripping me with inconsolable anxiety. I spent October feeling drained and overwhelmed, feeling like every day brought new horrors I was wholly unprepared for, having no choice but to face them.

Late October wind carried whispers of winter, and darkness started creeping into the corners of the day – so slowly at first that I hardly noticed, then suddenly leaping forward seemingly hours at a time, so that at the beginning of November the sun set at 4, with only more darkness to come.

November – Marraskuu, the dying month. Thick, dark clouds blanket the sky. Birch trees stand barren in the forests; dead leaves decompose in puddles. Temperatures hover just above freezing, and I hope for snow.

After daylight savings time ended, the sun suddenly set an hour earlier than expected. I came out of class in the dark, disoriented, logically knowing that it was only 4:30 in the afternoon but my internal clock urged me to go home. Sleep, before it got too late.

And I thought to myself, what the hell am I doing here?

For months my friends would text me, how is Finland, you must be having the best time, and I would see my life through their eyes: the exoticism of living in a Nordic country. Europe through the American lens. Then I would look at my reality: going to class and practice. Weeks of cloudy skies. Washing the dishes. Doing laundry. The dishes again. The life I live here isn’t so different from what I had before. The dark, no matter where I am, is still just the dark.

I wondered if I had made a mistake. I should’ve chosen a different school. A different country. Why did I choose Finland? I couldn’t remember. I want to go somewhere else, anywhere else. I don’t know if this was the right choice.

All of a sudden I remembered sitting at the kitchen table of the house I’d just moved to in Seattle, two years ago. I was on the phone with my mom, crying, telling her I don’t know if I want to be here. I don’t know if this was the right choice.

And it clicked.

I’ve moved several times in my life so far, and each time, I’ve gone through the same stages as I adjusted to my new environment in Boston, the Tetons, Seattle, Beijing. Jyväskylä is no different. Yes, at times I will feel lonely. Yes, I will feel
homesick. But just as I said in that same blog post: it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before, and it will be better than I ever imagined.

Last week my team hosted a party. Sauna and drinks. The bars afterwards. My first Finnish party. As the night went on, my teammates got drunker, and in the sauna one of them put her hand on my shoulder and shouted over the music that she is not drunk, not at all. And in that moment, watching my teammates shout and laugh with each other, I felt nostalgia for the present. Knowing that I will look back on these moments with fondness, that my life here will shape me and change me in ways I’ll never forget. An eagerness to see what more Finland has to offer.

Later that night I walked home under a waning moon, the clouds parting for the first time in days. As I looked up at the sky, I suddenly saw a faint flicker of green, wavering in the sky like a candle flame. There briefly, then gone. Northern lights. Not that big, or bright, but there, nonetheless. The first time I saw them with the naked eye.

Even in darkness, there is light.