Ordinary things

I really enjoy doing ordinary things. Like having coffee and reading the newspaper in the morning. Using public transport. Paying the phone bill. Taking my suit to the dry cleaner’s because a friend accidentally spilt beer on me at a party the previous night. Having a first of May picnic in Kaivopuisto. Spending Friday night with friends. Buying toilet paper. Walking to the Schlossberg on Sunday.
I enjoy doing these normal things because I’m sometimes fed up of feeling like an exception to the rule.

At day care, I was the boy who couldn’t speak a word of Finnish. At elementary school, I could speak Finnish but was still different. I can still hear my overweight and overenthusiastic teacher: “Why don’t you tell the class something about your family, Dani? What sort of food do you eat at home? Children: Dani’s from a DIFFERENT CULTURE. That means he doesn’t necessarily think about things the same way we do”. (I heard she was later fired). On top of all this, I could play the piano, so sometimes whole lessons were spent listening to me accompanying myself while I sang the latest Disney classics. It’s no wonder some people hated me. I can’t really say I was thrilled about myself, either.

It’s difficult not to stand out when you spend your childhood singing sacred music in a boys’ choir, seeing your grandparents once in a blue moon and being familiar with Arabic swear words. Even as an adult, being in a profession many people don’t quite understand and studying a subject nobody knows even exists creates mild suspicion. I remember my school music lessons like yesterday. I was usually the only boy who was able to sing in tune. I remember seriously considering speaking through the songs to avoid uncomfortable looks. Some time later, somebody told me the books I enjoyed reading were meant to be for girls because the main protagonist was a woman who solved mysteries with her feminine colleagues. I got rid of the books at once and made an effort at getting something more acceptable to read. This was difficult, because it seems that boys between 10 and 12 aren’t supposed to read anything but comics and football books. I chose Dickens.

Things have changed since then – or have they? Why does a man who earns his living helping people of all ages express themselves through music seem more out of place than a man who spends his living on drinks? We always seem to look for things which make a person different from us – especially if the person has some qualities we find difficult to understand because we’re afraid to admit our own insecurity. Feelings and thoughts may differ, but our lives are not all that different, especially concerning practical things. There’s nothing remarkable about taking a taxi late at night, paying the rent, or going for a walk in the park. Everyone does it!

I might have spent my childhood listening to Italian opera and watching Little House on the Prairie, but I also enjoy a good Finnish pop song any time. I might know Mozart’s Requiem and Bach’s Matthew Passion by heart from beginning to the end, but I also go to the movies, read a good thriller or enjoy sudoku. My best friends may be church organists, choral conductors or orthodox cantors (or all three things at once), but we have just as much fun at a night club as anybody else. I might like yellow, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have exactly the same feelings as the guy next door who likes blue.

Maybe my teacher in elementary school should have thought of how I would feel about her always pointing me out. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy all the attention as a child – who wouldn’t? – but I can’t help thinking whether she was one of the reasons why it took me too many years to realise there are people who see life just like I do, and spend their free time just like I do, and don’t even flinch when I tell them I think the only thing that will make me feel better now is a Schütz motet. Then again, maybe she should have given her curriculum more thought.