08/08/2016

First Impression of Dublin


Here I sit, finding myself as a newly arrived immigrant in yet another strange country. French has switched to English, poutine to stews of all sorts and all the beer - well, to more beer. A month has passed since I moved from Canada to Ireland, and it has surely taken some struggle getting used to my new hometown, Dublin.

I miss Québec. There, I said it. I miss Québec tremendously, and as I walk around the (unpleasantly often, unlabeled) streets of Dublin I act like a broken-hearted teenager who longs after her ex while leaning on the shoulder of her unsuspecting rebound. Sorry Dublin - just like Québec, I think you have to win me over, because I'm in the midst of a culture shock.

Now I hear a little voice on the back of my head asking "But what about Finland?!" I say Finland, no. You stay out of this. I'm over you and I only see you as a friend with whom I've had some good moments that have turned into memories by now. I just had one hell of a rollercoaster ride of passion, drama and a year full of really weird stuff with Québec, and I don't forget that so easily.

I miss my friends and family from Finland, but let's face it: I haven't lived there for over a year - heck, I didn't even know any of the new shops and hot spots in my old hometown anymore, and I felt like a complete stranger. I had to let my local friends guide me through a jungle of new cafes and renovated shopping centres, because I didn't know where I was. I will surely write a whole separate blog post about this traumatizing experience as an expat Finn, but there's still one place in this world where I know every corner and every stone: Québec City.

I keep comparing Dublin to Québec, and I keep repeating the exact same mistakes and following the exact same patterns of shock and adaptation as I did when I first moved to Canada. So just like I compared Finland and Québec back in the days IN THIS POST, let's see how Dublin has been able to impress, astonish and annoy me so far.

1. THE IRISH BOW TO NO ONE
This is a tough one, because Canada has turned me into one of those spoiled brats who now naively live in the false impression that everyone is as sweet as a sugar pie, gives you a seat in the bus and stops you on the street just to tell you how beautiful your hair is. Quebecers make apologising an art form. They bump into you and before you even know, you've unwillingly engaged yourself into this weird apology dance where the shocked and tearful quebecer is fondling your shoulders while chanting "pardon, excusez-moi, pardon, pardon", and you just kind of stand there and keep saying things like "Pas d'problème", "Pas d'stress" or "Ya pas de quoi" to calm them down. (This apology dance has also occurred to me in St. Petersburg, but went something like "Простите девушка, простите!")

The Irish take none of that shit.
Anne Street South, Dublin

Dublin is like a zombie apocalypse. You walk on Dame Street on a hot summer day and your only strategy of survival is to choose any spot from a distance and then keep your eyes on it while walking straight, no matter what. Just keep looking at the spot. If you make the mistake of looking passers-by in the eyes or letting your gaze wander from one side of the road to another, the zombies will spot your weaknesses and mercilessly walk straight over you. (I quote my friend in here: "It's like they're actually aiming for you. Aiming!") Dublin is a busy city with busy people, and gives me this newyorkish hunch with a European twist.

The same happens in grocery stores. Half of the time there I spend looking for garlic and broccoli, and the other half I dodge other customers. Life is a constant battle.

2. THE IRISH PLAY THE WAITING GAME
Well this is something that Ireland definitely shares with Canada, and grinds the gears of an impatient Finn who's used to things getting done when they're promised to be done. That being said, just last week I finally received a security code for my account for Canada Revenue Agency website BY MAIL. Oh, my dearest Canada. Just when I thought you couldn't be more old-fashioned with your cheques and landline phones, you truly surprise me every time.

Ireland, on the other hand, makes me look back in times when I was living in the United Kingdom, where things often happen with a short (or slightly longer) delay decorated with apologetic courtesy phrases like "We truly apologise for the delay" and "We will look into your matter already this afternoon". Only that the Irish don't do the courtesy part. They just let you wait. At this very moment, on Monday night, I'm still waiting for a phone call that was scheduled for Friday afternoon. I don't have a bank account. I don't have a social security number. I'm not even a student of my university yet. I'm just waiting for someone to push the buttons.

3. THE ACCENT IS MAGIC
Let's be honest, it's good to be back in an English-speaking country. My heart will always have a soft spot for l'accent québécois, but I also happen to truly enjoy the feeling of being able to communicate with other people without having to stop after every other word to blurt out the safety pause "euhh...". The uncomfortable feeling of being a second-class citizen is gone, and I can almost feel like a normal, fully functioning adult who's able to buy her coffees to-go without starting over the phrase "pour emporter" at least three times. Occasionally I still feel self-conscious about my English. Well, I did before last Friday, when in a job interview I was told "Your English is perfect." That smile probably got me the job.


I love the Irish accent. Sometimes I act like a complete creep and just sit in the bus listening to other people's conversations, trying to suck in whatever tiny nuances of pronunciation from their dialect. In Québec I was constantly mistaken as British (to be fair, for quebecers anyone who pronounces the letter T in "water" is British), and hopefully, maybe if I work on my R's and O's enough, next summer those lovely francophone p'tits bébés of Québec will pass me as an Irish. Sláinte, right?

The end of this post will be spared for a reminder for anyone who missed it in the previous post: I NOW HAVE AN INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT! Find me @melliais and stay tuned for weird pictures and weirder hashtags.



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11/04/2016

HIS STORY: THE CANADIAN BEHIND THE SCENES


During my blog's history I have been going on and on about myself: my experiences as an immigrant in Canada and as a part of a multicultural couple. But how about the other side of the coin? How does all this work out for the Canadian underdog, the boyfriend - or "un chum" as they say here in Québec? I asked Alex to write me a guest post about his experiences as the receiving side of this multicultural chaos.

~ * ~

Hey, this is Alex. Melissa asked me two things lately. The first thing was to start using her name. So that’s one down right off the bat. The second thing was to write a post for her blog to tell my side of the story. That’s the harder part.

What is it like to have a foreign girlfriend who came to your country to spend your last year of university with you before you both leave for a third country?
At first, it feels absolutely awesome. After all, this girl moved all across the world to your unknown city in your boring country (Melissa arrived before Trudeau made Canada great again), just to spend her time with you, just to wait for you to be ready to leave. Sure there are other reasons, but she chose that specific place on the planet for you. That’s love. It feels good, I felt like a winner.

Under Pressure
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it sours afterwards, but other feelings start taking over. One in particular is pressure and stress. Sure she came for you, but now you have the pressure of making it worth her while, especially after the horror that was the application for the visa. She is not going to spend her whole year on the sofa playing Skyrim, but finding a job in Québec when your French is less than stellar is no easy task. At first I tried to entertain her by playing the tour guide on my days off. But there are only so many things to do in Québec. Plus, she might tire of hearing me speak of Champlain and the British conquest of Canada. Everyday that she said she was bored, everyday that she didn’t think she could find a job, it was on me, or so I felt. I started regretting not choosing Montréal for my studies, hell, I even found myself wishing I was an Ontarian (blasphemy!) just so she could find a job and make friends more easily. And then came that day when she got a call for an interview and nailed the conversation on the phone (in French). And just like that, the pressure left because Melissa can get a job in this French speaking city that won’t raise the finger to integrate its immigrants.

Alex in Suomelinna, Helsinki, Finland
What it is like to speak English at home all the time while living in a French speaking city?
Technically, it is very easy in the sense that speaking English is not a problem for me, it comes quite naturally albeit certain mistakes I might do once in a while. It’s when I have to go back to French that it becomes confusing as I think and even dream in English most of the time. It somehow feels less natural, a little bit wrong as well. I sort of feel like a kid doing something and being super excited and nervous at the thought of getting caught. I have been working in retail and it has happened that I got lost in my train of thoughts and answered to them in English before realizing where I am and putting my brain back in francophone mode. That is what speaking a secondary language all the time does, it makes you get confused when you go out. It also makes me have a very practical relationship with languages, French has lost a bit of its romantic aspect.

Lost in translation
Speaking English in Québec city can be really confusing, but it is still much easier for me than for Melissa as I can switch back to French, even if I have to think about it. I may not have to do it anymore as she understands almost everything, but at first I had to translate absolutely everything. I felt like it was my responsibility to help integrate. So I did my best. I did not mind doing it but if I have to be really honest, I have to admit that it was extremely tiring. It demanded I constantly talk a little over everyone, and that I make sure that I remember everything they say almost word by word.

It somehow felt like I had two brains and that they had to both work at the same time, one listening and transmitting the information to the second one who would then repeat it in English. It took me a lot of energy. The worst part was that I could not really take part in the conversations either as I was too busy repeating everything to formulate a thought of my own. I am happy I did it, as it made Melissa know what was going on and I know how it is to be awkwardly sitting in room filled with people speaking a language you don’t speak, but I now have a much better understanding of the reason why translators have to go through so much more than just language classes. Translation is a completely different way of functioning.

Cultural differences
Melissa already mentioned it: there are quite a few differences between our two countries, even if we are both hockey-loving alcohol-drinking nations from the north. But our roots are extremely different, we are French, English, Native American, American and none of that at the same time. This has caused fights that were only caused by either one or both not understanding the other one, fights that were caused by simple confusions during our relationship. These fights are often solved by the sentence ‘oh, I see now’. But most of the time, I do not really think about those differences, I feel like they are extremely minor, at least their effects on our values and beliefs are minor. I don’t think she agrees with me on that one, but we currently live in my country, so there are a lot of things that she notices, confuse her, bother her, that I won’t think about. Perhaps my vision of this will change once we are living in Dublin, but currently I don’t think cultural differences are an issue, at least not to me.

Québecsplaining and introspection
The Finnish family on a visit in Québec
One thing you don’t always realize as a local is the way minorities are treated. There is a stereotype that Québeckers are super warm and welcoming, and I believed it. But I was sorely disappointed. A lot of my friends made huge efforts to speak in English when she was there so she would understand (and so I wouldn’t have to translate everything) and I was super thankful for them. But then there was all the others, the one who would make a point of not speaking English. The ones who wouldn’t try, the ones who would harass her with the question ‘How’s your French?’. I found myself constantly having to do so much Québecsplaining (I came up with that just there and I’m so proud of it), trying to either excuse the behaviour of everyone, that constant threat that a lot of Québeckers feel for the status of English, and the fact that her English being so damn good was actually a nuisance as most people would just assume she is an English Canadian who never made the effort to learn French (to be fair, there is a lot of them).

Living with someone with a culture that is just slightly different from yours forces you to reflect on a lot of cultural traits of your nation that you never would have thought about questioning. I do question our parliamentarian monarchy as a broken undemocratic system, and other big cultural traits like that, but I would never have thought of questioning the love that we have for our particular brand of French. Nothing makes you realize how ridiculous or weird something is like being asked to explain why you do it. How many times has my answer been ‘uh bah bah uh… I dunno’ when Melissa asked me ‘why does it work like that?’ when trying to teach her French.

You know what they say, travels make you know yourself more. Having a partner from abroad asking questions about your weird habits does the same. I could go into specifics and mention that we have a completely different food culture, from what we eat, to when to how often. But that’s just anecdotes. I feel like what having a partner from abroad does is give you the gift of introspection and self-critique. It gave me a window to Québec’s attitude towards immigrants, towards minorities. I had always been willing to welcome everyone who would want to call themselves Québécois, and I was convinced that was a trait shared by most of us. It’s not. And it’s a damn shame.

The miracle of a waterproof map in Venice, Italy
Nevertheless, it’s not all bad. Like said, a lot of things we do I never would have thought of questioning, because they seem natural to me and they are good. We may not always be welcoming of immigrants, but we are nice and helpful to each other, and once you are accepted, we are likeable. For instance, there was one time when I asked a neighbour if he would lend me his shovel for a couple minutes so I could get my car out of the parking lot. He lent it to me and I did what I had to do. Then I gave it back to him and he said he’d wait to be sure I actually get out. Melissa was amazed. First of all, I just casually asked him to help, he said yes, but even more, he waited because he cared. Melissa asked me why he would do something like that, why he would care about me as we do not know each other. The question baffled me as it never occurred to me that you could not do this naturally. Another time, her parents were there and we were in a restaurant, and they asked me where we learn to be so polite. I just couldn’t answer. It felt like it was just natural, why would we not help if we can and why would we not be polite if we don’t have a reason to be angry? As the late René Lévesque said on the night he became Premier, ‘We are not a small people, maybe we are something like a great people!’

Having a foreign girlfriend living in your country is a lot of things. It is stress and pressure, desire to make her love your city. It is also a lot of efforts, it changes your relation to your language, and causes confusing moments and many weird looks. It makes you question yourself and your culture, makes you see all of your wrong-doings, and it can make you feel like an outsider in your own city - but it can also make you see the nice things about it. Above all, at the end of the day, she still has proven to you how much you mean to her: she went through the personal hell and took a gap-year by choosing to come to live with you. Our relationship is far from a regular one. It faces problems most won’t ever have to face, but that doesn’t mean anything. Our relationship has survived things that would have broken most, and it just goes to show how deep and sincere it is.
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02/03/2016

She's From Québec



I'm standing in a queue to enter Vancouver Art Gallery, chatting with a friend, when suddenly the man standing in front of us turns around and strikes up a conversation:

"Do you mind me asking where you're from?"

"From Québec", my friend answers for us. "Québec City."

"Québec! How delightful! I've been there once, and I'm actually planning on returning later this year. Well, quebeckers, could you give me some tips? I'd like to visit some smaller cities on my next trip, but I don't really know the province..."

"Well, you could start by Sherbrooke I guess?", I suggest. "It's a little to the South from Québec. Or Lac Saint-Jean in the North."

"Or Trois-Rivières!", goes my friend, being a little patriotic about his hometown. "And there's Granby."

"How about the Gaspé region? It's by the Atlantic", I say.

"And well, there's always Montréal, not really small but..."

I give a little look at my friend and smile. "... Or Lévis."

We both laugh, and the man looks confused.

~ * ~

I first landed in Québec in June 2014, taking my first step to the continent of North America. I was a Finn in Québec, and to keep it simple, I hated it. I hated pretty much everything about Québec from the attitude quebeckers tend to give me when I couldn't speak French to the architecture and food. It was my first-ever culture shock. Needless to say, I was more than terrified a year later when I realised I had made the decision to immigrate into this anomaly.

Seven months later I'm paying my hot chocolate at Second Cup in Banff, Alberta. I'm slightly exhausted from all things English Canadian happening around me - but then I stick my debit card into the reader and see the machine automatically change the language into French. I smile, grab my cup and return to my table.

"Cette machine me parle en français!"
"Pour vrai?", goes my friend.
"Ooouuiiii!"

In seven months my hatred triggered by the fear of the unknown had turned into tender affection. Instead of pouting at home, I found myself seeking ways to adapt, learn and understand my new homeland. The uncomfortability (discussed more in THIS POST) had turned into unconditional curiosity. Thoughts like "Why is everyone always trying to talk to me in public places?" morphed into "So what if I sound like an idiot when I say the word 'la porte' - I want this door open!"

Seven months ago I never would have thought that there will be a day when a man from Vancouver addresses me as a quebecker, and that one tiny word, that absolutely irrelevant little term of a definition, warms up my cheeks and frees the butterflies in my stomach. Seven months ago navigating through a payment process in French was my absolute nightmare, but today it makes my heart long for my new home when I'm lost in the western prairies.

A Christmas gift from my spouse
To be called a quebecker doesn't make my heart skip a beat because it somehow erases my identity as a Finn. My identity as a Finn might take new forms in the upcoming years, but nothing will ever take away my childhood eating rye bread and feeling awkward about other people in the elevator. To be called a quebecker hits the right spot because it means I belong - that after months and months of struggling, fighting, tears and frustration I have reached such a peace of mind with my new home that being addressed as one of its residents feels right.

A Local is something that every immigrant seeks to become. A traveller, however, voyages on in the crowd, bumping into people she will never meet again, sitting in cafes observing passersby going about their lives - and in the end, catches the train and leaves forever as all the locals go on with their routines, never having known about the girl who was there for that blink of an eye. I was sitting with my backpack in that Starbucks in Vancouver, watching those people desperately trying to catch the bus, being an outsider from somewhere else. Their routines were my adventures.

To become a local asks for more than catching that same bus with everyone else: it asks you to want to belong. Becoming a local means you have to stop observing things by asking what is different, and instead address things with the question of why does it even matter. The showers are really different in Québec compared to Finland - but so what, since I can very successfully wash myself in both? Door knobs might be a bit confusing for someone who has turned handles all their lives, but so far I have been able to enter and exit every room I wanted. Quebeckers wash their dishes with sponges, and so will I.

Seven months ago I was a Finn in Québec, comparing my every step to all the steps I had taken in Finland. As months passed, that hunch of bitterness and sickening I felt for my home country slowly turned into nostalgic memories and distant contacts as I dove into the mystery called French-speaking Canada. After the first shock passed I proceeded to explore my new home with a never ending hunger, to a point where my colleague once told everyone that "Mel probably knows this city far better than any of us, so if you need directions, ask her".

Rue du Petit Champlain, Québec City
Then I made a trip to British Columbia, to the shores of the Pacific Ocean - to the very other side of the world from Finland. At that moment, as Finland is so very far away, Québec is my home. I experienced the same distance I took to Finland by moving to Québec by travelling across the whole country to Vancouver, and it made me realise exactly how much I have fallen in love with Québec. I now sweep its streets with routine and breath in its damp winter air every morning as the snow keeps on falling, and it feels like with every inhale I absorb a little piece of this land within me.

~ * ~

I sit at my desk at work, Facebook open, when my friend sends me a message. It's a link to THIS YOUTUBE VIDEO about people answering to the question "What is it to be a quebecker". I watch it, little teary-eyed, and then proceed to ask him if he thinks I will one day become a quebecker.

"But Mel", he says. "I think you already are."
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24/10/2015

MULTICULTURAL RELATIONSHIP: PROS AND CONS?

Multicultural Relationship: Pros and Cons?

When it comes to questions about my life as an expat, the international state of my romantic life is surely to arouse the most curiosity. I decided to raise the curtain a little and write a post about my life as a part of a multicultural couple. How does it work? Does it work at all? Do we constantly fight about things related to our cultural differences? How does it feel to love in a language that's not your own?

The key attribute to success in living with someone who doesn't possess the same cultural background as you is to acknowledge the fact that it is indeed the case: we are different in a way that cannot be possible for a Finnish or a Canadian couple. Our struggles are different: where a Finnish couple might fight over who does the dishes, we're fighting over with what we're doing the dishes, since my quebecois partner prefers a washcloth, and I want my brushes. We both think the other's option is unhygienic.

Come to terms with these differences. I'll start with a real-life example from yesterday: Alex has started in a new job in retail close to our home, and he had told me his shift would finish at 5. So at 20 to 6 I started to get a little confused and tried to call, but he didn't answer. I was hungry and wanted dinner. When he finally arrived home, I proceeded to ask:
"And where have you been?"
"At work? I told you my shift finishes at 5?"
"It's 15 to 6?"
"Well the shop closes at 5 but of course we have to clean up the shop before we leave!"
"So why isn't that included in your shift schedule on a daily basis? That's how it works in Finland. The shop closes at 5, so they extend my shift to 5:15."
"But they can't know how long it will take to clean up the shop."
"Well can't they estimate?"
This went on for a while until we realised the discussion has faced a dead end. I didn't realise that this is how they roll in Canada. Alex of course didn't know that I was unaware of this. So when these fights happen, someone has to raise the white flag and request a time-out, since none of us is right.

There are pros and cons in a duo of two nationalities, as one would expect. I came up with 3 biggest differences compared to a couple of the same nationality, and my way to deal with these differences.

Library of Parliament, Ottawa, Canada

The Difference: Our cultures and habits are not the same.


As demonstrated above, we often encounter situations that feel a little absurd for a Finnish or Canadian couple. We want to do different things, we want to do same things with a different method, we need different things, we speak differently, we intepret words differently, we eat differently. The list could go on.

I came across one of the most common differences up to date just a few weeks from becoming a couple: I call it the Maybe-question. Finns are very straightforward and direct to a point where it becomes impolite in Canadian culture. I say yes and I mean yes. If something is wrong, I'll say it straight away, and if something pisses me off, I'll open my mouth and speak up. I don't play word games. However, in my partner's culture this is much more common, and sometimes it's hard for me to understand what they actually want. I might ask if Alex would like to eat mushroom pasta for dinner, and I get "maybe..." as an answer. This confused me at first, but with almost 2 years' experience I know now that "maybe" often means yes - depending on the tone, of course. No-Maybe sounds different.

We use words in a different way: our languages have been developing in different surroundings, and thus they stress and have words for separate things. I often amuse (and frighten) quebeckers by telling them Finnish doesn't have a word for "please". Meanwhile all that "ça va?" sounds unnecessary and pretentious to my ear - but my opinion on this never changed the fact that for a year our Skype conversations would always, always start with this mantra:
"Hi there, how are you?"
"I'm fine, how about you?"
"I'm fine too. So, what's up?"
Many times I requested we drop this courtesy and go straight into business, since we never had much time to exchange news. But no, he insisted and kept doing it. So after a while I understood that another way to start a conversation with a French-speaker doesn't seem to exist, and have been playing along ever since.

One thing that directly affects the everyday life of an international couple is the question of holidays. We consider different days of the year to be worth celebrating. Quebeckers go absolutely nuts on the 24th of June: St. Jean, Québec's official national day, is one of the biggest celebrations of the year. I myself am very keen on Midsummer (Juhannus) around the 21st of June, when the sun doesn't set and Finns spend their nightless nights dancing around bonfires and trying to avoid drowning. Our common calendar holidays, such as Christmas, have completely different traditions, and I'm already mentally preparing myself for a Christmas without smoked salmon this year.

Alex in Suomenlinna, Helsinki, Finland

BUT: It offers us a chance to question our own habits and opinions as something universal.


Exchange students and emigrants-to-be are often warned about the upcoming monster called the culture shock. It's the small dreaded creature sitting on every expat's shoulder and suddenly making all Finns want to exclusively eat rye bread and drink salmiakki vodka, even if neither of these things have been on their daily grocery list in Finland. They spend hours and hours running around their new hometown desperately trying to find a store that would sell cardamom (speaking from experience here!), because you absolutely need those cinnamon buns right now. The locals don't seem to understand the importance of cheese slicers and door handles, water tastes nothing like in Finland, insulation is nothing like in Finland, people are weird and nothing like in Finland, grocery stores and washing machines are your biggest enemy, and even showers are trying to kill you.

Stepping outside of your comfort zone to a new and strange culture is a crucial moment for anyone's national identity: it offers us a chance to rethink our position in this world and in our own culture. Am I a Finn? What does it mean to be a Finn? How much of a Finn am I? Living in one single culture makes it easy to take cheese slicers for granted and think of door handles as something cosmopolitan - the Finnish way of living appears as something universal, The One Culture, and the rest of the world as The Other in relation to it.

Multicultural relationship puts you into a position where struggles like these are part of your everyday life. The new home country/travelling destination/exchange university might appear as the biggest enemy for someone who's not used to facing that mild helplessness at first, but for one struggling with cultural differences on a daily basis such a feeling is nothing but new. Your whole life is that culture shock: your spouse doesn't understand doors without knobs nor see the point of cheese slicers, toilets in Europe don't have enough water and there are multiple separate stores for stuff you would normally find in one single pharmacy in Canada. Every time I might slip into thinking the Finnish way is the only way, he reminds me that none of us knows the right way to do things - only different ways. And no matter how much I might think asking the unnecessary "ça va?" is not at all me, last week I actually asked this question for the first time completely automatically when I entered our HR Manager's office and simultaneously realised how handy it is when trying to break the ice!


Along the Seine, Paris, France

The Difference: We don't have a common native language.


My boyfriend is a French-speaker. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, I look at him and it strikes me all of a sudden: My boyfriend's mother tongue is French. How did this happen? I was pretty much able to say "Bonjour" and "Merci" when I met him for the first time. I, however, speak Finnish as my first language, a language that no one has ever even heard of. It was obvious that Alex had no idea how Finnish even sounds like.

Sometimes our linguistic differences reveal much bigger things about our general cultural differences. French and Finnish are binary opposites on many aspects, but I came up with one fundamental difference: GENDER. Finnish is a language of gender equality. There is no she or he, only hän to describe the 3rd person singular. After 2 years of speaking English every day I still screw up at times when it comes to mentioning the gender of the person I'm talking about, and it makes my quebecois friends really confused.

I might be telling a story while simultaneously fucking up the pronouns in English (or French, even more drastically). My quebecois friends look at me, a little confused, before they proceed to ask: "So.... was this person a man or a woman?"

Me, being raised in a culture where I will necessarily never know the gender of the protagonist, ask the obvious question: "... Why do you need to know anyway?"

They stay silent. Because they don't know why they want to know. They're just used to knowing. We argue about this at times, since it's hard for me to understand why there has to be a different word for a female mayor. At the same time, Alex makes lots of efforts to make me realise that without a female word for a mayor, the French word only refers to a male.

So we communicate in English, which has been a natural choice of language since the very beginning - we lived in England, after all.

Is it hard? At times we might have to stop and try to find words for certain things. We might sit down on a couch and go on Google Translate together to check this word the other was is trying to explain (usually diseases or kitchen utensils). You should hear us when we have to tell each other something really quick while doing 10 other things at the same time (cooking is a perfect example: imagine a situation where I witness a bowl of tomato sauce about to fall on the carpet, and I have approximately 0.5 seconds to inform Alex about the upcoming disaster!).

A quote by Dany Lafarrière in Québec, Canada

BUT: We learn new languages while simultaneously mastering our English skills.


The best way to learn a language is to speak it with native speakers. Even if my French skills are not at all impressive, I'd like to be brave enough to say my pronunciation is not too bad, thanks to learning it from a French-speaker.

At the same time we learn a lot about our own mother tongues by listening to our spouse questioning the obvious. "But WHY do you say it like that?" "WHY is there a difference?" I've become familiar with the confusion and helplessness I feel in front of my own mother tongue, thanks to my partner's brilliant questions.

Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that Alex has a different mother tongue, a whole different world happening in French inside his head - a world I haven't been able to understand. Communicating with Alex in any other language than English feels unnecessary and weird, since we both speak it almost perfectly. The idea of Alex not understanding my mother tongue has never been on my list of concerns - and you know what's much scarier? Now that I speak and understand French remotely well, I'm finally able to hear the French-speaking Alex, the quebecker who ends his sentences with "là" and swears by saying "calice".

Gamla Stan, Stockholm, Sweden

The Difference: Our future is always a bit uncertain.


According to the study by European Commission, more than quarter of the people attending Erasmus exchange meet their long-term partner while studying abroad. I have all means to start believing I have become part of this happy group, but building a life with someone from another country is somewhat tricky.

We spent a year in a long-distance relationship before being able to live in the same country, but we were lucky - for some, it might be 2 or 5. Where a Finnish couple picks up a phone and calls when they miss each other, we created detailed weekly schedules to find a moment for a quick Skype session. We saw each other every 2 to 4 months. The question I heard the most during this time was ”Are you sure it’s worth it? I mean, that must be really hard.”



The word is not hard - it’s complicated. It’s complicated because it asks for arrangements which make that lifestyle sound just a little miserable: it asked us to schedule our every day to match someone’s who’s living 7 timezones apart just to hear their voice for an hour at 2am. We ate noodles and porridge for two weeks straight just to be able to put that last 100 bucks aside for the plane tickets to have a chance to see each other every 2 or 3 months. We always took that one extra shift, thus making us study at nights, I even sold over a half of everything I owned so I could move into a hippie commune from my cozy studio flat. It asked for long, uncomfortable and complicated flights, to sleep at all these bloody airports using a computer as a pillow, to plan our life a year ahead and to argue with friends and family who think we’re batshit crazy - and I really can’t blame them. It asked me to start over once more by beginning to learn my 7th language while Alex tries to make all 14 Finnish cases make even a slight sense. A hint: they don’t.



To maintain this relationship I went through a long and complicated immigration process of half a year, filled 8 forms and provided 20 different supporting documents from criminal recods to medical statements. I had lived my whole life in a barrel called European Union, and nothing could have prepared me for the complications and procedures it required to move to North America. No, ESTA, I'm not a nazi!

We finally live together - for now. If everything goes well, next September our common destination will be Ireland, and I can happily jump back into my barrel of visa-free immigration, euros and European Insurance cards, and it will be Alex's turn to go through a war of papers and certificates.

BUT: We share the desire to explore and experience the world.


You meet a guy on an exchange semester, you fall in love after chasing each other like idiots for ages in the fear of an uncertain future, and finally at the end of the year you promise to stay faithful and skype every day. Sounds like a disaster-to-be-born, doesn't it?

A situation like ours had all the chances to become a disaster, and it's exactly what happens to many. The disasters like that turn into exchange flings, and are the reason why I had to count to ten, inhale and exhale a few times and bite my tongue more than enough when family and friends came up with their concerned queries about the realistic outcome of my love life. There are always obstacles to overcome and extra willpower to maintain.

But when you overcome those obstacles, keep up with those skype sessions and fill all those forms, in the end you end up with something absolutely amazing!

Lost in Brussels, Belgium

Over a quarter of the people attending Erasmus find their long-term partner while studying abroad - why? People attending international mobility programs often share the passion to see the world, meet new people from different cultures, gain more international experience and figure out whether or not the expat life could be their thing. Meeting such people is a welcomed change for many. I'm personally more afraid of getting stuck in Finland and living in the suburbs with a 8-to-4 job than I have ever been of getting my heart broken because my international relationship ended up being too hard to maintain.

So you go on an exchange semester in the hopes of figuring out what you want to do in life and experience new cultures, you meet a guy from the other side of the world who shares your passions, desires and plans to see the world and never get stuck in one place, you fall in love, and finally at the end of the year you've figured out that the person you fell in love with will never ask you to stay when you need to go, they will never make you choose between them and your own ambitions, and if you're lucky, they're mad enough to surrender to a life of weekly skype schedules, lonely nights and countless hours at airports, so that in the very end they will have a life with you.

We have so much to offer and teach to each other due to our different cultural backgrounds. We don't have a common native language, so we will master three at once. Our future is always a bit hard to figure out, but it makes our everyday life yet another adventure. It's a perfect deal!

What are the pros and cons of multicultural relationships in your opinion? Do you have any similar experiences? Share your thoughts in the comments below!


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27/09/2015

Of Diaspora and Me

Québec City seen from Île d'Orléans

I'm sitting in a bus with someone I vaguely know, having a chit-chatty conversation in English. After a moment of silence this person starts speaking again, this time in French:

"You know Melissa, you really have to start speaking French. You're in Québec now, in here we speak French. It's not any harder than Spanish, Italian, German or any of those languages. You just have to start talking."
"All diasporas are unhappy, but every diaspora is unhappy in its own way", as my favourite literary theorist Vijay Mishra puts it by mimicking the famous opening sentence of Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. Anyone who has been even vaguely around me during the past spring semester is aware that my Bachelor's Thesis was about this very topic - not due to any selfhelp-therapy-reasons, but out of pure academic interest. However, now that I find myself more or less dislocated, it feels natural to return to the topic from a more personal point of view (by ruthlessly quoting myself from aforementioned thesis).


Diaspora - a sense of existent or imaginary cultural dislocation - is a phenomenon which applies to masses and individuals on the moment of migration: cultural clashes create readjusted and redefined cultural identities as solid habits, traditions and values are getting inevitably questioned. To live in diaspora is to live displaced. The people of diaspora are more or less migrants, drifters, travellers and people with a problematic understanding of ”homeland” and ”belonging”. Whether the dislocation is an existent state or an imaginary displacement, ”a sense of self-imposed exile” (thnx Mishra), it affects an individual's positioning within their own culture as well as their perspective of the postmodern, globalized world.

Diaspora is to leave your homecountry to escape the terrors of war to an unknown land, as much as it is to sit next to a local and get lectured about my imagined reluctance to integrate into their culture. It's the clash that happens when the culture you're living in is no longer your own, it's the hunch of discomfort and fear in your stomach as you're willingly or unwillingly stepping out of your comfort zone. It's the opposite of filtered Instagram-pictures and #wanderlust hashtag - it's what they don't tell you about migration.

Canada is my Terra Incognita, the Land Unknown - for a Syrian refugee it's something else. Every diasporic experience is different, but the very fundamental feature of all these experiences is the sudden lack of contextual knowledge and understanding of cultural resonances needed to fully adapt to the new environment. Here, have an example:


This is a picture of me lying in a pile of corn leaves. Corn tastes good. However, I must've made an amazing impression on my mother-in-law when she handed me a corn and I proceeded to ask "So uhh.... How does this work?"

Never before had I thought about it, but now that I encountered such a situation, I found out I have no idea how to handle corn.

I ask a lot of questions. Questions that make my quebecois partner look at me with a weird face and go "...huh?". So far I can remember asking the following huh?-questions:

1. "But how does the state know you've moved if you don't send an announcement about your new address to the postal office of Canada?"
2. "Can't you just go and vote anywhere in the city during the pre-election dates?"
3. "But how on earth are you supposed to wash your windows if you can't OPEN THEM?"
4. "How can you ever receive mail that's in an A4-sized envelope if your mailbox can only fit postal card-sized mail?"
5. "... You don't lock your front door for the night?!"
6. "How come you can only make a new rental agreement once a year in July??"
7. "You don't get money from returning old glass bottles?"
8. "......... You don't use a knife?"

I have no idea how this society works. In Finland I return my old wine bottles and get 20 cents in return, keep my front door locked at all times and happily open my double-glazed windows so I can wipe them. I stand silently in an elevator and seek for the last empty seat in a bus to avoid sitting next to a stranger. I forget to say "please" and ask "Ça va?". I use a knife. I eat a salty breakfast. I fucking love my salty breakfast.

Diaspora is not about going for an exchange semester in Leicester to rave in The Revolution on New Walk every Friday. It's about the helplessness you feel when you face the everyday reality of a society that isn't yours, and suddenly you feel like a second-class citizen. You're excluded. Diaspora is about getting dislocated, literally and figuratively. A semester in England with all its International Offices, tutors and mandatory orientation soirees could never have prepared me for the solitary life of an immigrant, who tries to ramble on with her life even when she's standing in front of her bank's office with an actual 90's-style cheque from her employer in her hand. Seriously Canada, cheques?

There is nothing to hang on to. The cities look different, the culture is different, you're afraid to open your mouth in the fear of saying something inappropriate (to this day I'm still not sure if I should in any circumstances refer to Quebeckers as Canadians). No matter how much you enjoy adventuring, exploring and get positively surprised when people start chatting with you in an elevator or when suddenly no one owns Marimekko, at times you get this little feeling of helplessness.

A very English cityscape from Shakespeare's hometown, Stratford-Upon-Avon, UK.
Good news: it won't last forever. One's cultural identity is an ever changing pallet of evolving, transformation and crises. We indeed have a shared history, a past, with a certain community and this history can hide in the core of our very (Finnish) cultural identity, but the relationship we have with this history can be redifined, questioned and even denied. The approach we have to our own communal culture can be readjusted by the way we position ourselves in relation to this history. I develop my identity by questioning, redefining and rejecting the images I have of my own individual or collective cultural identity as a part of the Finnish society. I see, I compare, I realise the differences and assimilate new habits in relation to my new cultural environment.

A migrant's cultural identity becomes a hybridized mosaic of fragments, a mosaic where I might forget to say please, but still frequently exclaim "cheers" as a remnant from my times in Leicester - and who knows, maybe after a year in Québec I've gotten hooked to my overly sugared breakfast cereals and caramel paste. This is hybridity: it's what happens when we start to assimilate features from the culture we have migrated into, blending these features with the ones we already hold.

One day I might hold a different citizenship. On that day I might look at myself from the mirror and see all the rambling, the diaspora and the past dislocation, but I will no longer forget to say my "please".
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31/07/2015

Top 3 Cultural Differences Between Finland and Québec


"Oh, you're moving to Canada? So it's basically like another Finland isn't it?"

Here we have a sentence I heard multiple times while informing my Finnish acquintances about my plans for the upcoming year. And who can blame them? When you type "Canada" in Google Image Search, you'll mostly see pictures of mountains, snow, ice hockey, forests and clear waters - excluding the mountains, sounds pretty familiar to me. For a person who's spent the majority of their life living in the Nordic Wonderland with Nordic-Scandinavian culture, surrounded by a nordic landscape and nordic habits, it might be hard to imagine that on the other side of the Atlantic, in seemingly similar settings, a completely different kind of culture goes on a rampage.

What Finns probably mean with "basically like another Finland" is this:
FACT 1: Canada is in the North - Finland is in the North
FACT 2: Canada has snow - Finland has snow
FACT 3: Canada has forests - Finland has forests
FACT 4: Canada likes ice hockey - Finland likes ice hockey
====> Canadians live in the cold, dark north, drink vodka to keep themselves warm, hate social interaction because you can't see anyone in the dark anyway, wear plaid shirts all year round and hate their over-social neighbours (USA) who always think a bit too high of themselves.

NO!

So what is it then?
Québec is the rebellious emo-kid of Canada. The province has a very unique culture which might differ slightly from the general "Canadian" culture (which is, to be honest, quite a wide term taking into account Canada as a country is wider that the whole of Europe), having influences from the French culture and combining them with the English-Canadian customs. The result is something that might put the "basically like another Finland" into a weird light. My self-ironic list loves generalisations and could actually be titled "Where can a Finn go wrong in Québec". So here goes:

TOP 3 CULTURAL DIFFERENCES BETWEEN FINLAND AND QUÉBEC



1. Social Interaction

When Finns meet each other for the first time in an official situation, they might shake hands quickly. In other occasions they're more likely to just wave hands from a distance and say "hi". Or not say anything at all. Actually we might just suspiciously stare at each other in silence. The truth is, Finns are a bit reserved when it comes to social interaction. We might be surprised if someone touches us and we most definitely won't get too close without a reason. The personal space for a typical Finn is quite big and we might make people from more physical cultures (e.g. Italian or Spanish) a bit uncomfortable with this distance. We don't do small talk - actually, we don't really do talk. Silence is golden and if we have nothing important to say, we're more likely to stay silent (unless we're drunk - in that case, everyone's our best friend). And rule number one: You don't talk to strangers in Finland. You just don't. People will think you're a crazy person.

BUT: When you come to Québec, a quebecois(e) grabs you softly from one arm, pulls you closer, gives you kisses on both cheeks and asks "Ça va?"
When a quebecker goes to a grocery store, he or she has a short small talkish conversation with the clerk while waiting for the groceries (which are, by the way, packed for you). Actually, they have small talk with everyone. I was walking down the street with my ice cream cone the other day and I was stopped by three people to ask where I found a cone that big. People easily comment out loud on the things they see, and discussions from one balcony to another in an apartment block is not uncommon at all. Quebeckers love to talk - and they talk loud. If I stop on the traffic lights, stand still for 5 seconds in a grocery store or even breathe in a public place, someone will most likely come and e.g. ask where the fries are, tell me my bag is super cool or just comment on life in general. Which, of course, could make a typical Finn absolutely terrified.

Conclusion: If a Finn in Québec looks a bit awkward when talked to in public or given a kiss when greeted, it's not necessarily because we don't like it - it's because we forget to expect it. Sorry everyone.

2. Alcohol

Finns drink. We drink a lot. Our alcohol culture could be described as "anything goes". Finns tend to get smashed with vodka and the idea of drinking just for the sake of getting wasted is really common. Sitting on a front porch on a Friday night sipping your wine responsibly really isn't a typical Finnish thing. Instead, we're more likely to lie naked in a fountain wrapped into a Finnish flag, hugging a bottle of Finlandia vodka. Not referring to any 2011 events here.

BUT: If Finns thought we drink a lot of beer, we don't. Because quebeckers do. I have 7 12-packs of beer in my kitchen at this very moment, and we buy more every week. Beer is mostly sold in boxes in here, and no one really buys individual bottles. Beer is cheap and beer is good. Quebeckers are crazy about their microbreweries, and every town seems to have at least one. It's a hipster's dream in here, really. If a quebecker wants to get drunk, they do it with beer or, in some cases, cocktails. People seem to be able to drink ridiculous amounts of beer without their bellies looking like beach balls, which is the case with yours truly after c.a. 3 bottles. It wobbles.

Conclusion: Quebeckers drink more beer than I ever could. On the contrary, when I served bottles of vodka and Salmari on my very Finnish birthday party, I was the only one waking up without a hangover the following morning.

3. Language

The people of Québec consist of 80% Francophones. Vaguely 8% of the rest are speaking English as their mother tongue, and the last 12% are either immigrants with a diverse set of different native languages, or Native Americans.
People in Finland speak mostly Finnish with approx. 5% of the population falling into minority categories, most notable ones being two other official languages, Swedish and Sami. As a Finnish speaking Finn surrounded by 99% people with French as their mother tongue, the third section of my list concentrates on comparing the way our cultures differ in their ways of dealing with their own language without going into details or political questions, since this entry is already huge.

When a tourist arrives to Finland, they'll get by perfectly without ever even trying to say a word in Finnish. In case you'd decide to try, the clerk from whom you tried to order a beer in broken dictionary-Finnish is most likely to immediately switch to English without even offering you a chance to continue the discussion in Finnish. We might actually even find it a little weird of you to try - because no one speaks Finnish. There are a little over 5 million of us in this world and so far I know 3 people who've decided to study our language on their freetime just for fun. I'm not expecting it. I can go around Québec and when people find out my mother tongue is Finnish, they might request me to say a sentence or two just for them to catch up on how it sounds like. No one has ever even heard my mother tongue.

BUT: Quebeckers are really jealous of their language - and one might say, for a reason. French is an official language of Canada, spoken by approximately 7 million people out of c.a. 35 million inhabitants. So when you come to Québec, the first question is "do you speak French?" If the answer is no, the next question is "Are you planning on learning?"
People of Québec want you to speak French, and they do all they can to help you with that. You might ask for a word and they'll give you at least 7 different variations and expressions where you might be able to use the word. They're more than happy to tell you everything they can about the ethymology of a certain phrase and all the dialectical differences of it around the province. They tell you all the swear words and their origins even if you forget to ask. You might go to a counter and try an embarrassed "Hello", and they'll immediately continue with "Bonjour".

Conclusion: Even if your pronounciation of French sounds like a reindeer driven over by a pick-up truck filled with angry beavers, it's better to say that Finnish-seasoned "merrrrsiiiii", just for the sake of showing respect.

BONUS: The famous ice cream cone.

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