Writing & Living

10 Things I Love About Finland

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 14 Comments

This year marks the centenary of Finland’s independence. So, in keeping with the celebratory mood, I’ve compiled a list of top 10 things I love about my second home.

And so here they are, in no particular order:

  • Silence is fun
  • Education is a right, not a privilege
  • Sauna
  • Safe and peaceful
  • Finnish cuisine; a gift from nature
  • Friendships are genuine
  • Finns live outdoors, there’s no such thing as bad weather here
  • Gender equality
  • Winter is a fairy tale
  • Nature; a poem

Countryside in Winter

This list doesn’t even begin to express how I love my life here. But, but…I’ve been putting together more thoughts, observations and gratitude in a language I know how – poetry.

A chapbook containing 10 pieces will hopefully be available (in limited edition) early next year. I wanted it to coincide with the celebrations but I unfortunately missed the deadline.

I hear you ask, “How can you miss a deadline? What kind of a writer are you?” Well, because I receive a “bribe” every month so that I can forget about my dream of becoming a full-time writer. 🙂

Last but not least, Happy Independence Day to my Finnish family and friends!

Poetry

Ravishing Rose

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 32 Comments

She struts draped in crimson velvet
and fragrance she wears give rise to
a sense of awe enticing with promises.
Symphonic femininity, though prickly
by nature, turns heads; envy obvious
as suitors and bards compete in verse
for she takes only one lover at a time.
Ravishing Rose herself, declares love.

Poetry

The Family Heirloom

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 31 Comments

“Why words, when they’re so slippery?”
Whisperings find me standing
At the bridge —
Squinting through light and darkness
To see what’s left to hold as traditions change
My people forgotten or modified.
Fog lifts and I focus at double suspicion
Deity with claims to present balance
Between opposing forces.
Is he a trickster or a faithful?
For I was left with nothing but words
An oral tradition; love gently carried
From generation to generation.
Without a written word —
Will evidence perish? I fear.
Thus, with song and dance I join a world
Where the dead, living and unborn coexist
In harmony through continuity of words.

I stand at the bridge —
Not as a vessel of stories nor a praise singer
But to honour love and accept the family heirloom.

process note: I might have taken up creative writing late in life, but I come from a tradition of oral storytellers (Xhosa people), where blurred lines between history and myth exist yet feed imagination. I’ve always loved words, whether written, spoken or sung. The joy I experience when I’m writing is indescribable.