5 week challenge

In a Finnish-Lebanese marriage neither side has it easy when it comes to learning the mother tongue of the other. In the first 6 months of our relationship I was keen on learning Arabic, and impressed my future mother-in-law with my Arabic when I talked with her for the first time on the phone: "marhaba ... kifik ... mniha kamen ... mapsuta ktir" (hi ... how are you ... I'm good too ... I'm very happy). That was 6 years ago. My phone conversations with her still repeats the same four lines.

In addition to those lines I have quite good food-related vocabulary, complimented with "delicious", "can I have some ____ please" and "that's enough, thank you". Also, obviously speaking Arabic is easier when you are face to face at the dinner table, because you can always gesture the rest of your words. And nod a lot.

I've been to Lebanon once, 3 years ago. It was a wonderful trip; the country was surpsingly lush, food was amazing, people were warm and welcoming. Traffic was the only part I didn't like: every one makes their own rules regarding which way one can drive on the one-way roads, how many cars can drive next to each other in multilane roads, which traffic lights to obey and so on. Just close your eyes and hope you're still alive when you arrive to the destination.

I learnt more Arabic during the trip, and was able to follow some conversations by picking up words here and there and guessing the rest. When we returned to Canada I hoped to continue learning Arabic, but unfortunately hoping isn't enough, since one should also dedicate some time for it. I didn't. I have a good variety of excuses why not. "It's so difficult .. in order to learn I have to see the words, but I can't understand Arabic alphabet .. I want to learn Lebanese dialect and there's no books on it .." list goes on. When 2012 switched to 2013, I decided that this year it is, I'm finally going to take Arabic seriously. I got a program called Pimsleur, which promises that by spending 20-30 minutes a day you will be fluent (enough) in no time.

All excited I started, repeating words after the cd like a parrot. Lot of the stuff was familiar to me and it was all easy. In 10 days I was in lesson 7 and ... then I stopped. Not sure why; it got too difficult? I was too busy with other stuff? Another great excuse.

That was two months ago, and the guilt of not even trying to learn has been brewing ever since. But last night my husband presented me with a 5 week challenge and a great prize: 5 weeks to cover the rest of the Pimsleur lessons, because then we'll be in Lebanon! Great challenges and tight deadlines, that's what the perfectionist in me loves! Kamil!

Fine line

I like working. I like working so much, that sometimes it's too much. It seems that I'm able to convince myself that I'm perfectly ok to work, even though I know I'm not. It happened again this week; I had felt under the weather over the weekend, and on Monday when co-running a workshop I started to lose my voice. I decided, wisely, to rest on Tuesday instead of going to a full day event. And how did my resting look like? Working. For about 4 hours I was going through emails and organizing stuff with colleagues and partners in other agencies. When I finally decided to have a nap, it only resulted in coming up with a great idea (in my opinion), which I wanted to try out. NOW. I got up and played with excel pie charts for 45 min. It was fun, and most likely the results will be useful to my organization, but I didn't have to do it then. I could have easily waited until later.

I think I'm a workaholic. Probably not the worst kind of, but worse than I should. None of my bosses ever had to tell me to work more, most of them have told me to work less. I know they were right, even though I didn't admit it to them then.

Back to this week. After I "rested" on Tuesday, I attended the second half of the event on Wednesday morning. Bad idea. The event was great, but after 30 minutes I was feeling everything but great. Suddenly I was also worried that someone else will catch a cold from me, even though I was frantically using hand sanitizer. I had another workshop scheduled for the same evening, but fortunately this time I listened to my boss, and decided not to even try to go there. Instead I went to a clinic, got antibiotics for a self-diagnosed and doctor-confirmed ear infection.

Came Thursday morning, and another decision time - should I stay or should I go. I would have a 2 hour meeting, not a big deal, but at the same time I knew it would not help with my recovery. I decided to stay at home and rest. And this time resting would really mean resting, not working via emails.

In addition to napping and blowing my nose, I've been thinking about my relationship with work. I really like my work, and working. I'm passionate about it, and determined to get things done. However, both of these have a flip side. Passion can turn into obsession, and determination into stubbornness - or pure stupidness - like this week when I ignored what my body was trying to tell me. Add to the mix dedication, which can turn into addiction by crossing that fine line that separates them. Doesn't sound so good any more?

But I have hope. First of all, even though I like working, I like leisure time and holidays even more. Second, since I can admit my problem, I can also address it: therefore less work, and more naps, saunas, laziness and good time with friends and family will be in my schedule for the weekend, and onwards.

And I am certain that if my brain again let's the balance flip, my body will take control and come up with another clever game stopper, like an ear infection.

United Nations of Canada

In 2004 I accidentally got myself into an exchange year at York University, Toronto. "Accidentally" because I had not really planned to have another exchange year, since I had already spent an Erasmus year in Salzburg in 2001-2002. But when I saw the opportunity on my university's website and checked the course selection at York, I had no other option but to apply. I was sure my Department of History wouldn't choose me due to my previous exchange year, but I happened to be the only applicant. So there I was on my way to Canada, and it was only in the plane over the Atlantic when it hit me - I was on my way to Canada!

This "accident" changed my life.

I fell in love with Toronto. I lived in Annex, at Bloor/Bathurst, ate $5.99 sushi on "Sushi on Bloor" or "New Generation" and biked around the city. I had great roommates; Canadian and Georgian guys and a French girl, and later on a "Kiwi" a girl from New Zealand, and great downstair neighbours. I played beach volleyball in Ashbridge's Bay and volleyball at the downtown YMCA with people from all around the world: Mexico, Cuba, India, Sierra Leone, Nepal, Brazil, Japan, China, Canada ... you name it. I still remember, how on my very first day on the beach I was thinking that this is like the United Nations, everyone is from somewhere else. I had no need to travel around the world anymore, every country is in Toronto.

When my year in Toronto was done, I went back to Finland, but with a goal to return to Canada for an internship. A year later I did, this time to Ottawa. Even though Ottawa was not as diverse as Toronto, it was definately more diverse than any town or city in Finland! With my two Canadian roommates I quickly learnt to know Ottawa better, Ashbridge's Bay switched to Mooney's Bay, and in 2 weeks I had found a beach volleyball group for myself. A week later I met a man on the beach volleyball court who would become my husband two years later.

I immigrated to Canada on February 24, 2009.

The diversity in Canada makes my day, every day. I'm from Finland, my husband is from Lebanon, our friends are from all around the world and different corners of Canada. In my previous job at an immigrant serving organization and in my current job at a micro-loan organization I'm guiding fellow-immigrants with their new lives in Canada. And in return, they tell me their stories, and about their countries, and every day I learn something new about the world.

Today, on my 4 year birthday in Canada, I will once again celebrate my belonging to the United Nations of Canada!

I got rhythm .. maybe

"What on earth I'm doing here?"

"Why I didn't bring my ear plugs?"

"If I have sensitive ears, why did I enrol in a drumming class?"

These were my thoughts last Thursday, when I was sitting with 4 other students in a small room in a maze-like basement of the Ottawa Folklore Centre. It was the first session of the 8 week course of hand drumming, called "I got rhythm".

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How did I end up there? "I really want to learn to play bongo drums", I had been saying for years to my husband. I had had this wish ever since I accidentally found myself in a park drumming festival in Toronto in 2005, where dozens of drums created a beautiful, everchanging rhythm. Too shy to join the group and try a drum, I stayed in a safe distance and kept tapping on my bicycle frame.

Nevertheless I was surprised, when I opened my birthday gift last May and saw a pair of bongo drums. Beautiful, red bongo drums. I was surprised because a) he had actually bought me drums, and b) "bongo drums" looked different in my mind - I had always thought that bongo is a stand-alone drum. After some googling, with the beautiful bongo drums on my lap, I learnt that the single drum was conga, and double drums were bongo. Well, conga or bongo, who cares, I will learn it!

Carefully excited I tried to make some rhytms with my bongo drums. Tap - tap - tap. I checked Youtube teaching videos, but they were way too advanced for me, and also badly filmed - from front, so I was constantly confused which hand is left and which is right. I was also worried that our aparment building neighbours wouldn't be too pleased with contious nonrhythmic pounding on the drums. So I stopped. For the next 8 months, until I bumped into my bongo drums while cleaning over the holidays.

Their shiny red surface made me feel ashamed that I haven't really even tried to learn to play them. So I enrolled in a course, and was super excited.

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But when the first class started, I was a nerv rack. When the teacher pounded on the drum in front of him, and asked us to repeat it by clapping, I was thinking of my oldest sister who failed the music class test when she was about 9 years old. I knew now how she must have felt that time. I guess our little sister got all the rhythm in our family, since she made it to the music class. I never even wanted to try, I had been on one piano class when I was 7 years old and decided it's not my thing.

But there I was now, trying to repeat the beat. The teacher talked about rumba and samba, and I panicked again - "I don't want to play rumba or samba, I just want to learn to play the drum!" I thought.

Pam - Tap - tap - tap. Both, right, left, right. That I could do.

Tap - tap - tap - tap - pam - tap - tap - pam - pam. Right, left, left, right, left in the middle, right, left, right in the middle, left in the middle. Getting confused. It's very difficult to coordinate left and right hands, I found out. But after some (= many) trial and error I managed. Tap - tap - tap - tap - pam - tap - tap - pam - pam.

We were repeating it over and over again, and the teacher was adding some new sounds with his drums. The deep, grounded sound of five congas became a soothing, hypnotizing rhythm. I might have some rhythm, after all!

DIY post

Happy 2013! My new year started with hyperenergetic days, which resulted in cleaning drawers, sorting out old papers and fixing finally the curtains that have been hanging half-done for 1.5 years. But for some reason the energy has not reached my blog. Seems like I run into a blog-block - I started several posts but couldn't finish any of them. I think my perfectionism is fighting with my laziness.

However, I have a solution: I will give YOU a list of the topics, so you can imagine how the story would/could/should go. (This method is adopted from a friend, who was too lazy to tell a joke, so he just gave us the overall theme and asked us to make the joke ourself. Delegation at its best, eh?)

Possible themes for your DIY post:

Firework called "Piu". Balance(d) 2013. Five foods I can live without vs. Five foods I can't live without. Politely rude. Wanna-be-drummer. It takes two to tango. Loyal to the Royal.

And since this is a DIY post, you can definitely come up with your own theme too, and imagine how a blog post about that would be. Also, if you get really into it and end up writing something, send it to me and I'll post it here. With your name, naturally. And even with a photo, if you wish!

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Wellwell, after writing this post, I don't feel lazy anymore, and the perfectionist in me has also fallen silent. Perfect! May the 2013 be full of similar win-win-situations; Happy New Year everyone!