Jenna in Finland

Content Note: suicide, death

I’ve been living in Finland for about 5 years. I arrived at the tail-end of 2018, just around the time of the itsenäisyyspäivä ball that’s held every year here. People do that whole kalsarikännit thing where they sit at home and watch on TV every guest at the ball shake hands with the president in this big, long line and folks judge the guests’ sartorial choices.

People move to Finland for different reasons. I immigrated here with my now ex-spouse and my kid. This makes me an immigrant, not an expat. These are two different things. Because I’m a cisgender white woman from a western country, I usually get labeled an expat. I moved here to live permanently and wasn’t born here. I became a naturalized citizen; therefore I am an immigrant. I regularly correct people and said people feel awkward and uncomfortable and damned if I don’t relish it (why am I like this?).

Anyway, I lived in two other countries in Europe before moving here. I left the United States in 2013 and have been back to visit only once, on the whole-other-side of the country from where I grew up. I haven’t visited my parents (that’s what video chat is for!) and my early years were so difficult for me that the thought of going back to my hometown fills me with dread – so I simply don’t do it. I don’t have any friends left back in my hometown, the very last ones were absolute garbage so I cut ties with them. Additionally, my parents don’t pressure me to visit and we keep in touch quite often. I even write letters to my pops who is a mild technophobe. I’m satisfied.

Weirdos Not Welcome

My hometown is one of those American towns where weirdos aren’t welcome. When I say “weirdos”, I mean folks like me who never felt compelled to pursue the American dream of the white picket fence, 2 kids, a job that I tolerate and crippling debt brought on by student loans and a mortgage. It’s also full of churchgoing, hypocritical Christian types. I am not a Christian, but I can probably quote Bible verses better than most due to my master’s in history. Growing up there felt stifling. I know that it’s cool nowadays to just live life however you want, and that’s partially why I love Gen Z – they’re just vibing and living life. For someone like me, who has always had a healthy interest in sex, and a general curiosity about human relationships, and the world, I was basically a jezebel outsider.

I knew that if I stayed, I’d be doomed.

Additionally, I grew up in a dysfunctional household which likely contributed to my wanderlust and desire to GTFO as soon as possible. I’m not here to complain about my shitty upbringing, just adding context. With all that said, I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized “I gotta get the hell outta here.”

Who the F- Says That?

When I was 15, a classmate committed suicide. I still remember the shock of it all, considering everyone knew the details and talked about it so nonchalantly. Some spoke ill of him and were generally callous about the whole thing. I’m not easily shocked, but I remember being disgusted about how many people just really didn’t care. One girl from the more popular group of kids showed up to his funeral in flip-flops and jeans and played on her phone the whole time. A person died and these clowns just wanted to get out of class. But despite a few shitty people, I also remember that we as a collective group in my high school were shocked and saddened, especially as an upperclassman had died a few months earlier in a car accident.

I was working out at the gym (I wasn’t an athlete – I was getting prepped for cheerleading tryouts as a last-ditch effort to be part of the popular kids’ group. I did OK but still didn’t get in) and saw a girl from my school who was a year head of me. We’ll call her Brittany because everybody from my age group is either named Ashley, Jessica, Lauren or Brittany (admit it, you know like 6 millennial women named Jessica). We greeted each other and all I can remember from the conversation was one of us mentioning the death of our fellow classmate and her response was a very matter-of-fact “Yeah, it’s such a shame he’s going to hell.”

“He…what?”

“Only God gets to decide when we die, it’s not for us to take our own lives, otherwise we go to hell.” [I’m paraphrasing, but she explained this with the same conviction as a person who is telling me the sky is blue]

“Umm, okaaaay.”

I very quickly excused myself and got back to my workout. I remember walking away from her towards the locker rooms and felt like my eyes were bugging out of my head. I thought to myself, “what the fuck?” Someone just died, someone’s brother, someone’s son; and this dillweed is talking about how he deserves to be punished for what she believes is eternity?

Tuhlaajapoika[tytär] ei palaa

To this day, I shun religious discussions. This doesn’t mean I shun religious people, of course I have friends who are religious. I respect the heck outta them. I have asked uncomfortable questions like “how are sex/death/pregnancy discussions handled in your religion? Is it like completely not-talked-about or what?” And I usually get very straightforward, well-thought-out answers. Not every sect of a religion is the same, so I’m always curious about how very human subjects are treated (or not treated). I actually appreciate my religious friends for their consistent, unwavering conviction in their faiths and their willingness to discuss uncomfortable topics with me. I think those who have the strongest faith in their chosen religion are usually the ones who are least afraid to be questioned.

Anyway, my hometown would’ve ended up swallowing me whole and stifled my ability to figure myself out and live freely as I choose. This is why when Finnish people try to argue with me about how amazing the United States is, or when they ask me if I’d ever move back, I usually just change the subject or give a polite “En. Suomi on nyt mun kotimaa.”