Wednesday, September 3, 2014

The Third (!!!) Year Begins






Today I attended the university’s opening festivities for the third time. It doesn’t seem possible. I’ve now been living in Finland for two years. Really?? To be honest, I don’t feel quite so alien anymore. While I’ve had my ups and downs with the Finnish language since I got home (note the use of that word, ‘home’), I do think I’m understanding more, and I’m certainly reading Finnish with more comprehension. But while I feel less alien, I still feel like I don’t fit in comfortably. And maybe I never will.

My friend Kate says, “the first five years are the hardest”. I laughed when I first heard that, but maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s still hard, and I shouldn’t be EXPECTING to fit in comfortably yet.
Compared to the first two years, however, I am fitting in better, if not perfectly. I’ll use today’s opening festivities as an illustration. The first year, I went to the Orthodox church for the religious portion of the celebration and felt completely lost. I didn’t understand the sermon, nor why there were so few people there, nor why the ceremony was in the Orthodox church. This year I was able to appreciate the different manner of worship (those who crossed themselves three times and bowed intermittently were no doubt members of the Orthodox Church), the beautiful, unaccompanied choral music alternating with the cantor’s deep bass voice, and even the sermon by Archbishop Leo, who talked about how churches and universities, at their best, have the same goal: to uncover the truth. I also know that many of my colleagues don’t go to the opening ceremonies because a) they don’t feel they have time, b) they don’t find them meaningful, c) they don’t think about going, d) they don’t want to go to a church and/or they think the doctoral procession is elitist.

I also know now that because Finland has two official churches, these two churches share the hosting of the worship service in honor of the opening of the academic year. Last year it was held at the Lutheran church, which is where it will be next year. I anticipate there will be more people crossing themselves once rather than three times and very little bowing.

The first year I participated in the doctoral procession (which precedes the secular part of the opening festivities), I was able to stay pretty much glued to an English-speaking colleague from the time we gathered to form the two lines to march in to the time we had coffee afterwards. He explained everything I needed to know, in English. I understood nothing of the speeches and was critical of the choir’s performance. This year I was on my own and met a new faculty member (although I couldn’t understand the first thing he said to me – in general, it takes a sentence or two to understand a new Finnish speaker). I understood the directions in Finnish and was even able to make a joke. I followed all the speeches – even the very long one by the Minister of Education and Science, Krista Kiuru – and was completely moved by the music. This time, instead of American-inspired show tunes (which made my skin crawl), there was a trio performing my very favorite Mendelssohn piece. The choir sang folk songs, and there were two extra musical numbers to honor our retiring university president, Perttu Vartiainen. He took the floor unexpectedly to hug the choir director and tell the musicians how this was something he would miss, though there were plenty of things he would not. Judging by the woman wiping her eyes next to me, this was a very moving addition to the official program.

After the ceremony (during which, I should add, I also didn’t feel as out of place without a Finnish doctoral hat as I did that first time), I sat with my coffee and feta tart at a table and was joined by three faculty members from another discipline. They were friendly and we had a pleasant and easy conversation. And one of the women, in fact, was also hat-less – her PhD was from Edinburgh.

After I changed into my biking clothes and was preparing to leave my office, a colleague in Russian stopped by to talk about Putin and the situation in Ukraine. I felt honored by how seriously he took a remark I had made, and how defensive he was of me because someone else had not taken it seriously enough. As I strolled out of the building to my bike and saw the happy crowd of new and old students dancing out on the lawn to a song in Spanish being blasted from enormous speakers, I had a warm, almost euphoric feeling – this is my place, now, and these are my folks.

So maybe we’re all out of place, at least some of the time. Maybe just because I’m American doesn’t mean I’m not also a full-fledged member of this community. "Internationalization" (a favorite word in the university administration) can also mean that your community has fluid borders. In fact, we’re all aliens anyway, aren’t we? This morning, serendipitously, I read something by Jessica Benjamin that struck a chord: identity is often claimed, but never achieved. She’s right. Creating your identity is a process, not a goal, and we’re always remaking ourselves and our identities – and there’s nothing like moving to another country to bring that home.


(c) 2014 Kathy Saranpa 

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