So, I’m thinking there’s one or two ways to go about it.  The easy way for me is to just suck it up and start explaining on what’s happening just now, like no break was ever taken, leaving the poor reader wonder things like “who is that?” and “what the hell?”. The other is to start telling stories about the break and explaining what went on there, which means getting to the point where the stories actually get to the present day might take a while. Both have advantages and disadvantages.

It’s the other night, getting quite late, sun has gone down. I’m standing on the shore of Tervasaari with Kat. Enjoying the view.

“This is something I truly love to watch. Half-dark summer skies, pitch black silhouettes of the buildings in front, with a light on the window every here and there. Like stars in the sky.  All the ugly parts of Helsinki sort of melt away and even Merihaka manages to look beautiful. I do admit being an urban person – something so very right about seeing things like this. Makes me get all creative.”

There’s a moment of silence. You can feel that something clicks in her mind few moments before the words come out.

“Do you still write that blog of yours?”

I sigh.

“Haven’t for a year. Too much dark stuff happened for me to write about, at least in that format. And after that things have been sort of too legendary. Would be hard to give them a coating that would be even remotely realistic. Even if I told the truth straight up, people wouldn’t believe what I was saying.”

“Do they have to?” Kat’s smiling that warm, knowing smile of her, as always. We’ve spent the evening enjoying bungee jumping, a delicious dinner for two and some sparkling moments to top things off. Been a good night.

“Not really, I guess. People would read some things the way they wanted to, hard to put everything important to words without sounding all wrong.”

“You’ll find a way.”

I smile and nod. Don’t always have to tell everything the way they are, right?

We walk around the island and then head back to the city. A nice night comes to an end eventually. Even if I meet her all too rarely, it’s always a pleasure. Always makes me think about the questions that need answering. Kat bids me farewell and heads home. I enjoy the night air a moment longer and walk home as well. My new home. One of the many things that have changed since last year and last post.. I did the scary thing, got a brand new mortgage and bought a nice flat in the old part of Helsinki. It’s not huge, but it is comfortable. The kitchen will need to be renovated at some point as the previous owner must have been something like a foot shorter than I am. But it’s home and it feels like it, to a level that’s unlike any place I’ve lived in before.

Lights are out. No music playing on the stereo. Means that my (for the lack of a better word) flatmate, Nee, is either asleep or she’s found something  interesting for the night and is not at home. After a quick walk through the place, I conclude she’s probably home, just sleeping. I look at the time and agree that I should probably be doing that as well. To be polite, I try my best to stay as quiet as possible when getting a late midnight snack and brushing my teeth.

Fast forward a few hours, to three in the morning. I’m standing on the balcony, watching the stars fall from the sky. It’s been a long but a good day.

“What’s up?” I hear Nee ask from inside. She’s a nice addition to my life. One of those people who share my appreciation of The Legend. And for that reason alone, I will not go into details about who or why Nee is. Nice stories I will save for a later day. Just because I can.

“Thought I was being quiet. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“No worries, mate. Been up for a while, thought I’d go get some late snack from the kitchen and saw the light. Didn’t hear you come in. Is everything ok? What’s up? You look like a kangaroo is eating your dingo.”

Nee can read me perfectly, as always, noticing my moods from minute details. Also, to be honest, that’s probably not exactly what she said, but she has all these weird Aussie expressions that rarely make any sense to me.

“I’m thinking of blogging again. On Finnish Beauty. Writing about The Legend,” I take a Meaningful moment before continuing, “Will mean exposing my life to it again, and you know where you found me last winter.”

“You’ve come a long way from that. And besides that wasn’t you exposing yourself to it. T’was you walling behind too many masks. You enjoying your life and writing about it had nothing to do with that. You know that as well as I do.”

I nod and point up to the pitch-black sky.

“You know there is a meteor shower up there?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come take a look.”

We stand there for almost an hour, watching the skies, doing some commentary on our strange lives, me telling about my evening, she telling about hers. Pretty much the same stuff with the same flavor I’d normally be writing about here. A few streaks of light every now and then confirm the presence of the meteor shower.

“Did you really call your blog Finnish Beauty?”

“Yup.”

“So, what will your first post be about?”

“Dunno. Don’t think I’ll start with a legendary story, but something that would be a good way to start explaining what’s been up for the past year. Sort of a meta-commentary thing as a way of saying that I’m back. Probably begin it with someone asking What’s up? or something.”

So. I got invited to this private album release party (of one of my favorite bands, none the less) the other day and of course that meant that I wasn’t home really early. One could even say that I ended up home pretty late that night.

And now it’s the morning after that, and I’m slowly opening my eyes. This has been happening too much lately. The alarm clock is making more noise than humanly possible and I look like a Gordian Knot on my bed. My yoga instructor would be proud. I probably have slept for something like three hours again, and most of that upside down, or something. I notice I can’t really move my neck all and that my shoulder aches a bit. Oh boy. This will be a fun day.

I grab some breakfast supplies from the kitchen and hop in the car, since I’m already almost late from the Very Important Meeting at a Very Important Client’s office on the other side of town. We’ve had a lot of these lately. Stuck in the morning traffic is not really that much fun, even if you have the newspaper and your breakfast with you in the car. Luckily I arrive on time, find a parking place right in front of the office building, and run in. I pitch my ideas like a true pro should with my neck slightly tilted to the left and my eyes falling asleep half the time. Thank God for coffee. Then drive back to our office and when I get there remember that it’s moving day.

We’ll be carrying tables from one end of the building to the other. If my neck had a mouth, it would cuss. And my shoulder would agree.

Somewhere around the point where a table crashes on my foot I start fantasizing about the evening – going home, taking a long bath, grabbing a muscle relaxant and going to sleep early to get the day over with. Once the moving is done, time for some normal work, but I’m more or less just looking at the clock, counting the minutes to when I can go home.

It always does this at these points, doesn’t it? The phone. It rings. Mine has this little wonderful song as a ringtone. (Go ahead, listen to it, you’ll need the knowledge later on)

“Ptr.”

“Hiya. It’s Mi.” Ok, another Mi. Not the one from Tampere. Better call this one something else. Mie, yeah, that’s a good solid and won’t get confused with Mei or Mi (or Mi) at all.

So, “Hiya. It’s Mie!”

“Oh, hi.”

“I’m heading to Itäkeskus already to do some shopping, so if you get there early, give me a call.”

Right. We have plans to go for a quick cup of  coffee after work today. Mie is a wonderful girl who I went to high-school with who I see maybe once every two months over a cup of coffee, trade the latest rumors, complain how people around us are getting married and find solace in the fact that Mike at least is still single so all hope is not lost for us yet. It’s more or less a “When someone manages to get Mike married, we’re officially the last single people on earth” situation.

“Sure, yeah. Might take a moment longer, we’ve been carrying tables and shelves at the office all day and I’m all sweaty and covered in dust now. Will take a quick shower before heading there, ok?”

One thing I love about our office is the showers downstairs. Not so keen on the idea of delaying the bath and sleep, but we don’t see each other that often, so I can stay up using the power of coffee a bit longer. It won’t take long anyways.

“Oh, ok. Give me a call when you get here.”

I close the line. Right. Quick shower, another cup of coffee, and drive to Itäkeskus. This won’t delay my plans a lot.

I arrive around six o’clock.

It’s fun to see her. Always is. We catch up. I tell stories of my birthday party, the week when Santtu was here (damn, that one has some good ones I just have to tell you at some point), how I’m loving my work again, and so on. She tells about what’s good about hers in response. Then we gossip about the people we know, complain about other people getting married, and find comfort in the fact that Mike’s still unwed. Usually at this point we say bye, and that was pretty much what I had in mind when I promised to see her for a cup. But then we end up talking about cars. I don’t know how this happens, since neither of us are really “car-people”, but somehow we’re so caught up in discussing her getting a new car that when my phone rings cheerfully again (1, 2, 1 2 3 4!) at around eight, I have for a moment forgotten the plans to go to sleep early.

“Ptr.”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

There is no question who is on the other end.

“Hi Kat, what’s up?”

“Well, you said that you might have some spare moving boxes at your place I could borrow?”

“Right, sure, of course.”

I suffer from chronic case of chivalry. I can’t stand the thought of a damsel in distress. While this has landed me a cameo role as an actual knight in shining armor in a book by an American author (long story), at the moment my neck is protesting loudly to my habits. But can’t help it. I bid Mie farewell, apologizing that I have to go so soon, finish the cup of coffee and go pick Kat up from Kallio.

Quick stop at a shop to get the basic grocery shopping done, then to my place, stack the food in the fridge, find the boxes and drive to her place on the other side of town.

During this, we end up having one of those ultra-deep conversations about human nature that just keeps going on and on. Life, love, freedom, all that. So our stops take a moment. When we finally get to her place with the boxes, it’s about half past nine.

“Thanks for the company, but I really think I should get going, take a bath, get some sleep. Maybe take something for the neck pains.”

“Yeah, of course, I need to start packing as well. And thanks once again for the boxes.”

At this point Kat’s flatmate pokes her head through the door.

“Aaa! It’s you! I’m just making some pumpkin pie, would you want to stay and have some?”

Curses. One of my weaknesses. A cute girl offering me pie. How can I refuse? And one slice of pie won’t take that long, will it.

So, some quarter past ten I’m getting ready to head home. Can you guess what happens next?

Yup. “One, Two, One Two Three Four! We accept h…” rings out from my pocket. I answer the phone, quickly glancing who is calling. And knowing what’s next.

“Dude. Where are you? The party’s been going on for like 2 hours already. People have been leaving disappointed when they’ve seen you’re not here. You got to come here. Stat.”

I sigh.

“Sure, Mike. I’ll drop by on my way home. Won’t stay long, my neck is killing me and not drinking anything, I’m by car. Wait? People leaving? What sort of a lame-ass house party are you having there?”

Not so lame, really. If there is something Mike’s good at (ok, he’s annoyingly good at everything he does, but anyhow..), it is hosting a party. Good, big house, lots of nice people. My “dropping by” turns to “Well, I might as well sit for a while and socialize” and then to “Oh damn, is it past midnight already, I should head home.” and to “Ok, it’s damn late and I’m tired, I’m going. See ya, guys”

I don’t really even care about the bath anymore. Just muscle relaxants and sleep. Really.

“There are a couple of things about your latest project I’d like to ask you before you go,” asks Matt when I’m heading out the door.

“If you want to leave, I can drop you off on my way home, you can ask me in the car, I just really need to get home at this point.”

“Sure.”

I recently started to waste my free time on a three year long art project (to be finished in December 2012, one of the reasons I suck at updating this blog) that Matt is somewhat involved in, and he’s really interested to hear what I have to say concerning that. A couple of girls who are also leaving at the time beg for a place on the backseat so naturally they are free to join. They’re more or less on the way.

It’s fun to explain what you’re doing to someone who is actually interested in listening to your plans, so we take the scenic route.

Around two in the morning I’m finally driving back home.

and then …

It’s one of these days. Friday morning, I’m driving through the traffic and the snow to go to a Very Important Meeting. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I’m doing these days. At least on these few days a month they seem to be all clustered into. Yesterday was like this, today’s going to be too.

I’d rather just be doing my job, not talk about it with clients. If I liked customers, I’d be doing customer service jobs to begin with.

I survive the meeting, and 3 hours later, I’m grabbing a sandwich for lunch and finally getting to do some actual work. Well, at least until I have to head to the next Very Important Meeting. As said, it’s one of these days.

During that later one, I get 3 texts – Mi (the girl one of Mi&Mi) is in Helsinki and asks if I have time to see her after work; There is an album release gig of a former roommate of a friend of Kat’s later in the evening and I should go; And my sister is heading to Baker’s with some of her work buddies after work, and I absolutely need to be there.

Combine these invitations with that the fact that Pens is having a house party (the legendary sort that you’d be a fool to miss), that there is a house-warming party at another friend’s new place that I’ve sworn I’d be going no matter what comes up, and that I’ve sort of convinced myself to go to eat properly after work.

Yeah, I can already see that I’m going to have a very tight schedule today. Quick look at the time. It’s three in the afternoon. All should be manageable if I don’t spend too much time on one thing. And at least, thinking map-wise, all the places where I should be at are quite near to each other.

Eventually my eight hour work day is over. Time to go grab some actual food (one ham sandwich just isn’t enough for a full day) at the nearby restaurant. The very same where there was that one waitress that my sister thought would really be my type. There is a sort of a perfect moment for it, so I find myself asking her out. She declines. Crap. For some reason “Crash and Burn, Live and Learn” feels like a good motto to adopt right about now. At least I have the perfect answer the next damn time my sis asks “Have you considered asking that waitress out on a date?”

I head out the restaurant (Note to self: Figure out a new lunch place. Also, think of excuses to tell work buddies on why you can no longer go there) and call Mi, who is just heading out from Kiasma.

She tells me, sounding extremely weary, how she’s been to a lot of meetings during the day as well (some important art people maybe? Dunno? Mi is a painter who has sold her works internationally. So my best guess on what’s she’s doing at meetings in Helsinki would be her agent or some future client) and now, according to her words, is “far too tired to see anyone.” She lets out a dramatic sigh (something that would suit a flapper perfectly) and tells me how it would have been delightful to see me again, but that it will just have to wait. She has style. I admit that. I let her know that it’s okay, I’ll live.

And don’t tell her that once the call is over I’m letting out a sigh of relief as my schedule seems to be getting so much easier. Only 20 hours of people to fit into some 6 hours or so remains.

So, next stop. Baker’s. I have mixed feelings about this place. It’s really a wonderful place to go to during the evenings, but gets dreadfully overcrowded and loud once the dance floor opens. Today our table is full of my sister’s work buddies who are celebrating a good week of well-cloned sheep or whatever unethical research it is that they do at the lab. A moment later Mitch joins us. Apparently miraculously cured from whatever it is that was bothering him on Wednesday.

A former co-worker of my sis opens up the subject that I keep talking about a lot these days - Finns feel awfully close to their stereotypes once you’ve spent some time abroad. You just don’t get into conversations with strangers here. He’s been to South America for a year and I find myself agreeing with his points a lot and providing my support for his claims with the experiences I’ve had lately.

My personal sad example on Finns being unapproachable comes from a small party a couple of weeks ago.

I go there because I was invited by one of the Finns I met in Norway last year and was told that it’s going to be a fun event with music, drinks and dancing. Event with a lot of friends, and friends of friends present. So, I mosey there, still fresh from the amazing openness that I’d gotten used to enjoying while abroad, and am greeted with what? Room full of people, huddled in groups of three or four, talking amongst themselves, about the same things they always talk about.

I’m perplexed.

I try to approach. First the few people I sort of know. And then others. While I claim success in the end, I find that it’s actually hard work to get to talk with these people, people who are supposed to be friendlies. Everyone is in their comfort zone with the group they’re there with and a “stranger” just doesn’t fit in.

I have this sense of being the ultimate outsider, the one who has lost the Finnish ability to sit around a table and not say anything until you’re too drunk to say anything intelligent. It really starts to get taxing on my nerves and psyche. I actually feel physically exhausted because of this after the party.

We talk about this sort of experiences for a while at Baker’s and after that I bid the people there farewell and I head out to the neighboring club to listen to the gig with Kat. She’s there with some other friends of her already, and I end up having the same discussion with one of them who has just come back from Miami. Everyone agrees, Finns are very closed and hard to approach and you can’t really talk about anything real with them.

Yeah, it’s paradoxical to keep talking about that with strangers who are Finns. It’s not lost on me.

It sort of feels good to find a peer group of others who share the view.

The band starts to play. I head to the floor. They’re actually damn good.

More talking after the gig. The DJ playing one of my favorite dance tunes of the moment, so dancing. Enjoying the music. Talking with strangers. Talking about strangers. Talk of Singstar. Ah, karaoke, the secret Finnish weakness. I allow myself to enjoy the moment for a while. I still have lots of time.

I get a text message from Pens: “A party of legends! You really should have been here! Where were you?”

I look at the time. It’s 3 a.m.

I look up from my watch. I’m standing outside in the blistering cold, somewhere a few dozen miles North from Helsinki.

Wouldn’t be hard to imagine a wolf howl in the distance right about now. The wind is picking speed.

I suck at making plans. I really do.

Live and learn…

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.

See what I mean?

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.