Missing Russia, or the uncomplicated lightness of being

Every few weeks or so I find myself missing Russia immensely. Well, not Russia in general, but Yaroslavl'. Spending eight months somewhere is enough to make the place a permanent part of yourself. Of course, it's not the place. It's the people. The moments. Even though it has been less than a year. A year ago I was in Yaroslavl, with over two months to go, and my world breaking down around me.

A lot has happened since. It feels like a decade. It was in a different life, a previous one.

Come to think of it, there was something different living in Yaroslavl than here. Even though it was alien (and remained a bit so to the very end), there was lightness of being there. It was easier to breathe, I was more myself.

Maybe it was because I was more in touch with two essential parts of my identity there, more free of conflict. One was being a Finn. The other was being a man.

I've never felt particularly Finnish before I spent more time in Russia. In Finland I've always been the critical one, the one attacking the foundations of nationalistic identity (indeed, I still am), seeing it as built, far too powerful and undesirable. After Russia, I started calling myself a critical patriot. It might been the contrast with Russian nationalism (or patriotism), it might have been the fact that, while I'm in Finland, being Finnish is something I share with almost everyone, while in Russia it's spesific to me, a personal characteristic.

I still laugh at our national myths (which is no different from what I do to everyone else's), but maybe a bit more tolerantly. Here I'm burdened with the reality of Finns, the conservative patriots, the Russia-haters, the aimless, drunk children during the weekend (of course, this is not the whole truth. But neither are the other myths). Abroad I can take only their idea of Finns, see if I like it, and either accept it as a part of my own identity, or not. And in Russia, it's difficult not to like it.

See, regardless of how we feel towards them, they like us.

Being a man is somewhat more complicated. In Finland, I find it difficult. Demands are high, and there is really little or no room to break away from them. And even though I have never hurt a woman in purpose (physically), love children (and want to stay home looking after mine for a time. If I have them, that is), don't mind housework (well, not all of it. I'm not the world's most enthusiastic cleaner, but cooking is a love of mine, and bying groceries is an adventure, and I delight in occasionaly doing the really odd parts of cleaning), don't drink too much, or watch sports (ever, at all), I still can't shrug off the criticism.

The one thing every foreigner with a Finnish wife says, is that it is incredible how Finnish women speak of Finnish men. It's hard to find a good word there. In Russia, this is different.

Russia is no paradise either. To someone like me, it might as well become hell. It's traditional, relatively unbending, and very clear in it's gender roles. But if it fits, it's easy to just slip in. I have never felt as appreciated as a man as I felt in Yaroslavl'. And that was with no romantic tie-ins. Even though the-man-who-cooks was a wonder over there, my other attitudes were sometimes considered... crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. Like the father staying home with kids. Still, even the parts I fit gave me appreciation (as did the parts I didn't, to be honest) I've never felt before.

(Oh, and for a final touch of irony, the parts I didn't fit, but that would have been expected of me were exactly the ones considered masculine (with negative connotations) in Finland: hunting or fishing, watching sports, being a complete chauvinistic asshole.)

I don't know what there is to learn of all this. Maybe it's simply that one should always construct one's own identity, and not only take what is offered off the shelf.