Fragment No. 76

I’m not exactly new to Finland – in fact, I moved here about twelve years ago. As a white, highly educated voluntary migrant from the Global North, my position within the international and migrant community in Finland has always been privileged. Nevertheless, I have struggled – perhaps I chose a poor cultural fit for myself, or perhaps I underestimated the social effect of the darkness and overestimated my ability to find a job that would match my education and interests. And I was certainly not prepared to see my health crumble more than once.

Yet, even in times of despair, dullness, and regret, I knew there were thousands of people far worse off. I kept fighting – for myself, for my daughter who was born here in Finland, and for anyone else who might have struggled with belonging and feeling accepted. Everywhere I was reminded of the things I struggled daily to achieve: having friends nearby, being fluent in Finnish, having a job, a context, a purpose in life. I searched for places where I could truly feel free outside the safety of my home sanctuary.

And I found some. Some were void of people: on the beach, at the literal edge of the community. Others were in areas where the poor live and endure – immigrants, the unemployed, the sick and addicted, those who have no choice. What is typical of these places is that people are visible; the weight of their problems and the height of their joys spill out beyond the borders of the shabby council flats. The private blends with the common, the foreign with the familiar. Conflicts and achievements are expressed directly. Social norms are blurred and pushed into the background. For the first time, I felt I could be both local and foreign. I was free.

The Fragment followed me there. I placed it where I had seen people just moments before. It became a placeholder for my soul during times when I could not be there physically – a quiet witness, a reminder that belonging is always within reach, both in place and in mind.