NORMAL LIFE: 6 Years In Finland

I woke up this morning to another miserable day, still dark at 8am with rain smattering hard against the bedroom windows. And I like it. It has a certain Englishness to it, reminding me of getting up for school, putting on my uniform and braving the elements in return for another day's education.

Bree leaves for work, and I eat my breakfast alone, scanning the pictures in the day's paper for I am still not able to understand most of what it written even after six years in Finland. Yup, today marks the sixth years of living in Finland. I'm still here, somewhat firmly attached while somewhat desiring to slouch off to some exotic locale where the weather is no doubt better.

An anniversary is a time for reflection, an opportunity to 'put it all into perspective'. But how can I possibly consolidate six years worth of memories (mostly good) to come to a brief consensus? Finland is a wonderful country, delightfully relaxing and an easy place to live. Of course, the likes of my love, Bree, and my small circle of valued friends have aided my understanding of the sometimes-bizarre ways of the natives.

The theory of integration falls into two camps: those who speak the language and those who don't. When I first arrived in Finland, I was prepared to learn what is an alien language by European standards, one which bears no linkages, and therefore no resemblance, to the latin-based or Germanic languages that have made their mark on mother tongues throughout Europe.

Six years on, I still have a very basic understanding of Suomea (Finnish) and quite rarely (but annoyingly usually at parties), someone insists I integrate by speaking Finnish. The bizarre thing is I have seen and done more things in Finland than most of the natives have. I have read the Finnish history, I have had a Finnish partner for more than five years, I have read some classic Finnish novels, I have been to sauna completely naked countless times, I have drunk myself silly for the benefit of the natives, I have paid the extortionate Finnish taxes for four years. In shortly, I think I have done my share.

There are still four very distinct seasons in Finland, as illustrated by today's typcical-of-autumn-and-no-so-bloody-fantastic display of rain. The people are fiercely independent and revel in their own solitude while I still struggle to master the national pastime of silence. British and Finnish humours are very compatible and, on the whole, I sense that Finns prefer British comedy to that imported from the US - the likes of Hyacinth Bucket (B-U-C-K-E-T) of Keeping Up Appearances and Edina Monsoon and Patsy Stone from Absolutely Fabulous regularly grace Finnish TV, replete with subtitles.

Quality-of-life-wise, I love the Finnish simplicity. If you want to relax and have fun, there's three ways to do it: get drunk, go to the sauna, or go for a very long walk in the forests which cover around 68% of the country. There are times, howver, when I yearn for a great day out such as a trip to an impressive themepark or a visit to a medieval castle of majestic proportions. Unfortunately, neither of these exist in Finland. As such, my love of nature has somewhat supplanted my appreciation of commercial tourism. After all, a wander in the forest leaves you feeling refreshed and somewhat human again, freeing you of the mind-numbing frustration of office politics and daily use of Microsoft Windows version whatever.

After breakfast, I shower and head into town, intent on buying some carrot cake to share with select fellow employees for I don't this day to go totally uncelebrated. I am reminded of how expensive Finland is when I pay €11 (more than £7) for three pieces of miniscule yet luxuriant carrot cake. I leave the cafe, running for the Number 7 tram which will take me to work when, during the journey, I have a rather unique experience.

I am sitting there, the rain still pelting against the windows, reading through the pages of Mustn't Grumble by Joe Bennett. The author has spent most of his adult life living in New Zealand and, in 2005, he returned to the UK for a visit. His observations of 21st Century Britain are not so unlike my own so I guess it is true that living abroad ready does broaden your mind. If anything, living in Finland has been a character-building experience.

As I pack by book into the plastic bag containing the three overpriced pirces of carrot cake, I tighten my scarf around my neck and do up the zip of my thick leather jacket. I wait patiently for my stop to approach when a man in his mid-fifties simultaneously looks me in the eye and points to the back of his head - indicating the location of my Cochlear Implant - and asks what it is. Attempting to avoid contact - which is the Finnish way - I explain that I cannot speak Finnish. But why did I do that? That never works because nearly everyone in Finland seems to speak better English than I do!

I start to assess this guy. Is he crazy? Is he a wino? Could he be carrying a concealed weapon? He at least appears to be harmless. If anything, he might be one of these lonely types who use public transport for visual and, with sporadic luck, social stimulation. And so begins his questioning in English. What is it, that device on your ear? How does the other part stay on your head? Where are you from? I quickly explain and answer his questions, and he quickly understands. "Welcome to Finland!" he bellows to which many other passengers are now looking and me, and not him!

My stop arrives at that very moment, and I'm relieved. Welcome to Finland? If only the guy knew what I have been through during the last six years. Aside from the constant adapting to the ways of the natives and the resentful paying of Finnish taxes while having to do all my services myself online, I have struggled to find and maintain genuine friendships, have been discriminated against in the workplace and, more than once, have been approached by drunk people who, detecting my Englishness, have asked: "Where's your empire now, eh?!"

As the tram leaves and I process the moment, isn't it somewhat symbolic that for the first time in six years and on the anniversary of those six years, that a total stranger strikes up a conversation in which he welcomes me to Finland? I'm smiling. After six years, I'm still smiling so if Finland will continue to host me, I will gladly stay.