Helsinki Diaries: A Room of My Own

When I turned nineteen, I swore I would leave Helsinki and never come back. I filled my diaries with dreams of exotic beaches and iconic cities and yelled it out loud: "Do you hear me, Helsinki, I hate you and I'm leaving!" In the end, I was gone for four years.

I didn't come back for love. On the contrary, I came back for hate. The only feeling I'd harboured towards my home city since as long as I can remember was hate. My dreams had always been somewhere else and they'd always been urgent. So urgent that I hadn't ever had the time to uncover why I hated my hometown with such a fire in my belly. I had no other choice than to come back.

For the first time in my 25 years, I have a permanent home. One with white wooden floors and paintings bought from an auction; a room and a bathroom and 28 square metres to make my own; a corner for my history books and another for the little things I amassed during my four years away from this city. 

Flowers that wither in a week and rain that sounds like a rat running across the wall.