Kat

There are some drafts on my computer waiting to be finished and posted. Some more rough ideas in my notebook for posts. But frankly, they’re all trying to point out an Issue or tell about a Thing. They all feel like I’m trying to make a statement instead of just telling what’s up. So I’m setting them aside and start writing a totally new entry instead. Maybe you’ll get to hear about the view from my office or the Finnish tango at some point later on.

Since coming back home from Dubai I’ve had the pleasure of running into Kat a couple of times. This is worth mentioning because we used to be real tight some 3-4 years ago, doing pretty much everything together. Going to concerts, gigs, events, clubs, festivals on almost what felt like daily basis. The stories usually beginning with something like “There is this friend of mine, who knows someone, who is a singer in a band. They have a gig tonight at a venue right across town. Should we go?”

And then she disappeared, went abroad to do charity work. Of course she did come back to Finland eventually, but we never really managed to meet. Were busy or something. And then just gave up on the possibility of seeing and moved on. The story of my life.

Found out last autumn that she had been living a walking distance from where I live. I found this out by bumping into her when she was preparing to move away from here. At that point we exchanged phone numbers and promised to get back in touch. Yeah, right. Like that ever happened.

The real fun in seeing her again, and the reason we got along so well “back in the day”, is how different from a typical Finn she can be. Finns can be open. They can be happy. 90% of the Finns who show that are, feel like they’re faking it somehow. Kat is a nice exception. She feels genuine. And she never falters. A non-stop smile.

It’s last Tuesday, the first time we run into each other. We decide to go to Strindberg’s to catch up over a cup of hot chocolate and laskiaispulla. For some odd reason this is the first time I’ve come here, even if people tend to point it out as one of the cafés to check out in Helsinki.

And now that I’m here, I can understand why.

The place is really classy and the atmosphere is friendly/cozy. The bar upstairs looks very, very nice with a library-like feel to it, complete with really comfy looking leather chairs and bookshelves. Everything is dignified, yet approachable.

We first considered going to Café Esplanad, but you could barely hear your own thoughts there, it was so full. Here at Strindberg there area maybe a total of dozen or so people. And the ambient volume is close to perfect – you don’t feel like you’re the only ones around, but you don’t have to strain your ears or voice to talk with the other person. We are probably the ones making most noise in the café.

(Well, almost. Mitch is sitting in the back corner on a date with some musician. We decide not to disturb him beyond saying “hi!” and doing a quick round of introductions. Helsinki is a wonderfully small city sometimes.)

At some point Kat points out something that she’s been observing about the Finns lately – we do not touch. We are almost phobic when it comes to letting others near our personal space. This is so very true.

Ever since I’ve come back from Dubai, I’ve been feeling really odd trying to communicate with Finns – I’ve gotten used to affirming non-verbal communication again. I’m making contact, physically, I’m engaging and trying to keep the conversation up even if there isn’t exactly that much to say. I’ve been again acting in a non-Finnish way.

Back in UAE, I spent a good deal of the evenings at clubs, getting to know new people and socializing. And in a holiday resort like that, the social dynamics are so different from the standards that hold true in Finland. Here you just don’t walk to strangers, give high fives, pat them on the back, grab hold of their shoulder and hold on to them while you both start jumping to awesome song playing.

Here that just doesn’t happen. We don’t touch. Outside relationships at least. Any touching (rigid, formal handshaking aside) is almost automatically seen as sexualized. This means that it’s socially inappropriate 95% of the time to land your hand on someone’s shoulder when talking with them.

And considering how touching actually has mental health benefits (endorphins start moving, some level of happiness ensues), and how we’re a very depressed nation to begin with, this is not a good thing. Something to keep in mind for the future.

We spend some 4 hours just catching up. Promise that we’ll call, keep touch. The usual.

The second time I see her is a few days later at Copacabana. I have plans of taking some Salsa lessons in the near future and in my mind it seems like a good idea to go soak up the atmosphere at an appropriate venue. All while listening to a good gig, of course.

I’m standing in the middle of a venue with chairs and tables and food and people there sitting and dining. There is the band playing. And there are people on the dance floor. All is as it should. Right?

My own guide to dancing is pretty much covered by “Don’t worry about what you look like, everyone is paying too much attention to their own moves to care about you, just have fun” and my skills in dancing are on the level of “I think I could go take lessons at some point. Until that, just moving to the music should be fine?” I look at the people on the dance floor. They’re pretty much pro-level material. And the people sitting in the tables are giving the dancers judgmental glances.

No. Not really. Not today. This is not my idea of fun.

So I turn to Kat who seems to be sharing the same I’m-not-going-to-the-dance-floor-to-be-judged feeling.

“So. What to do?” I look around a bit.

“Well… There is this friend of mine, who knows someone, who is a singer in a band. They have a gig tonight at a venue right across town. Should we go?”

I smile. Good times.