When UWC Ends.

There are obviously a lot of things that have made me cry during my life - things that have made me wonder how life can be so cruel - things that have made me wish I could stop time from passing. I don't know which event to put to the top of that list of things, but sitting on the bed of my empty room in Wada 3 on the last day of UWC is somewhere up there.

(c) Arunima Jamwal

It's been 82 days since 638 days of India. 82 days of stumbling, searching, not knowing what to do - 82 days of re-integrating back into my own culture. 82 days of what they call "normal life". 82 days since UWC ended. 82 days of "how was India?", and 82 days of not knowing where to begin. 

"It sounds like an illusion, and more often than not has also felt like it. Listening to guitars in different languages, dancing under flags from six different continents, watching the neon purple sun set right below your window and taking a 36-hour train across the country all sounds like some cliché roadtrip movie, before you remember that for the past two years, that’s been your life", I wrote to this blog on the 50-day mark before graduation. Writing that post felt particularly absurd, because I remember clearly the day I started it. I remember the Facebook post I wrote, with my shaking hands, an hour after I had been informed of my scholarship. I remember the months leading up to my departure, the expectations and dreams and plans of how I will fill this blog with all that cliché roadtrip stuff. 

I guess it's safe to say now that I was quite naive about the reality of it, as most people are. UWC is amazing and unbelievable and full of things that people only dream of achieving at such young age, but it's also full of things that are not so nice. Days that are harder you could have imagined and weeks that seem to be filled with academic global politics articles, when all you wanted was to travel with your new edgy international friends. UWC is amazing, but UWC is a tough school. Most of all, it blurs your concept of reality quite well; for two years, you are surrounded by people who think the same way as you and share the same interests as you. It creates an illusion of a united world, which can be amazingly intriguing, with all of its politically stimulating conversations and challenging service projects, but makes return to real life quite a shock.

Because once you go back to "normal life", people - most likely - won't be interested in discussing politics at breakfast or hearing what you think about a specific philosophical theory that actually does not ring any sort of bell in their head. And you can't really blame them, but it's hard to adapt to a situation where you are so in between two different worlds - neither of which can ever understand the other. To me, finding people with that same passion has been one of the hardest parts of coming home.

"UWC is a time warp", said our head of academics to us on the morning of graduation. 

It's a time warp you live in for two years, while you expect things back home to stay the same. You expect yourself to stay the same; perhaps not from a political or self-growing kind of perspective, but from deep within, you expect the same you to be there and fit into the same puzzle that was there when you first left your homecountry.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), that is not the case. The time warp eventually bursts, and you fly back in to reality. Into a world where you sometimes find yourself not fitting in anymore.
They said UWC was a place of stepping out of your comfort zone, and maybe at first it was; but ironically, real life has now become that place of challenge and unfamiliar situations.

So UWC ended, and it's taken a while for me to grasp that. A while for me to figure out what to do next. A while for me to get to some sort of a rhythm. I feel as thought when UWC ended was when I realized what it was. I had always hated the MUWCI accommodation, but when I graduated, I suddenly realized that there's purpose in giving up comfort for those two years. It forces you to focus on other things in life, that perhaps, matter more than a soft bed.

Starting UWC was a step to the unknown, but finishing UWC was a step back to another unknown. You thought you were going to find yourself there, but in reality you lose yourself so that you can start real life building a better version of that naive high school student you were two years ago. UWC does not really make you a ready person, it just prepares you to one day become one.

To the batch of 2018, there have been and will be days when all you want to do is go home; days when you even regret coming at all. All I can say is that when I stood on the parking lot in the end of my two years, I would have given anything in the world to spend one more day on the hill with my batch.

Because before you realize, the people you once shared every single day with are scattered around the world again. Just like before these two years; except that before, you were just strangers, and now you are people who changed each others' lives. People always ask me what was the best part about UWC, and I can hands down say it was the people. After UWC, you feel like you have not only known people from 60 different cultures, but like you have lived in all of those places for a split second.

Two years ago, I started this blog, and though the hectic weeks in UWC did not allow me to update everyone on everything, I hope I was able to give the slightest glimpse into what it was like. My first post was full of cringe-worthy idealism, and though a part of that idealism has vanished upon an increasing amount of information and thus humility about the world, UWC did make me more equipped to work towards a world where I could reach that same level of idealism again. Two years ago I started this blog with no clue of how to do anything about the issues we face today; today I am finishing this blog with still no clue, but a bit more motivation.

(c) Arunima Jamwal

The 50 Day Crisis

The smell of Blue Tokai’s Bibi Plantation coffee lingers in the air of my Polish and Indian friends’ room. We’ve had some milk to put in it, for once – something that I once took for granted but is now a luxury.  It’s 12:24 am on the 30^th March. The temperature is still close to a 30 and I feel a drop of sweat running down my stomach - the Maharasthrian summer has started. For far too many people, summer before monsoon means drought that takes away their livelihood – but in my own, individual, small world it means that graduation is coming. In my own, individual, small world it means that what once seemed like an eternity has begun to approach its end – my years in MUWCI.

Slowly, careful comments of the mortality of our time here have started to slip into the caf table discussions.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know, it’s scary.”

“I know man.”

(Or well, sometimes it’s more like an overtly excited comment from a first-year about their first-years. and then a panicky burst of frustration from a second-year.

“Hey, did you here about the zero year who-“

“NO.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I just got to know my firs-“

“I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT.”

“But they’re arriving and we need to plan for-“

“NOBODY’S ARRIVING. WE ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”)

Slowly, stocking up on food is becoming unnecessary and my sweaters are better off in my suitcase. Slowly, each morning seems to matter more than before. Every conversation and every face has become more full of details I want to remember.

I’m leaving India in 52 days. 51, in fact, since it’s past midnight at the moment - not that it really makes a difference - I mean, what is 24 hours gonna do in making me realize what the hell just happened.

So in 51 days, I’m putting on the blue and white cap that indicates my declaration as “ylioppilas” – meaning a high school graduate, or as our weird language puts it “an over-student”. In 51 days, I have spent 638 days in India, living with people from 60 different countries, on a hilltop in the valley of the Western Ghats mountain rage in rural Maharashtra, five kilometers from the closest village called Paud and two hours of bumpy roads from the 5-million city of Pune. In a tiny corner in Wada 3, geographically very far from the world but mentally closer than ever.

Ernakulam, Kochi (2016)

It sounds like an illusion, I know – and more often than not has also felt like it. Listening to guitars in different languages, dancing under flags from six different continents, watching the neon purple sun set right below your window and taking a 36-hour train across the country all sounds like some cliché roadtrip movie, before you remember that for the past two years, that’s been your life.

And funnily enough, reality has started to feel like an illusion as well. Normal life feels like an illusion. I mean, normal life, with breakfasts that I made myself? With 8-hour work shifts and not knowing which café to pick because there are too many to choose from? With a good night’s sleep under a fluffy duvet and – my god – a thick mattress? Normal life, with packed subways and 9 pm news? What is that? I don’t remember anymore.

All of that sounds like fun and games and dreamy days when you’re staying up for the fourth night in a row, trying to finish your millionth IB assignment and binging up on the coffee shop brownies that have already made you gain five kilos. That’s when you can’t wait for it. That’s when you’d give anything in the world to wake up in your own bed with absolutely no shits given about anything.

But then time flies, and suddenly you’re here. With half of a hundred mornings left. And it stops being funny, because that makes seven weeks - when I so clearly remember sitting on the edge of my bed, counting weeks until Christmas of my first year as I scrolled through my calendar. To be honest, I’ll probably get too scared to count soon enough, because let’s face it, it’s nerve wrecking as hell. I should probably just stop now and pretend like it’s not gonna end. Like this dream I’ve been living is actually a dream because I’m a coma patient and they’ve decided to pull the plugs. So I stay here forever.
Yeah, I've realized I tend to get more attached to places than people. 

But after all, that’s not how life works. After all, we knew it was gonna end, right? Right?!

Because there are 8-hour work shifts to do and college degrees to complete in American small towns and European capitals and South East Asian megalopolises, as we’ll soon see when we burst out of this bubble, scattering around the globe the same way we were spread around when we were all just strangers. There are breakfasts to eat with extended families and childhood friends. There are things that are hard and not so nice, but there are things that need to be done, and most of all, things that will make you realize why your years here were meaningful. There are greener meadows, as they say, but there are also better days and comfier beds and tastier coffee and after all, quite a lot more freedom and goals to achieve. (Although the 16-year old naïve me, standing at the gate of the Helsinki airport 1,5 years ago, boarding a plane to Mumbai, was very sure that I was on my way to freedom.)

It’s going to be incredibly scary to leave. I was never as scared to leave to India as I am to return home. On most nights, I have no idea what I will do without all this. Against all my expectations, I’m returning home (temporarily, duh) which was pretty much the worst outcome I could imagine when I stood by that gate in Helsinki in August 2015. Not getting into the prestigious US university I wanted was a hard hit for someone for whom the Finnish everyday life is the perfect epitome of mediocrity, dullness, monotonousness and detachedness. Humdrum with no great shakes. Settling.
But gladly, that most likely means I’m going towards the unknown again, just like I did when I was 16 and boarded that plane – and turns out, that the unknown can be quite good. Turns the unknown makes you discover things. And if I'm so afraid to not be doing something that pushes me to my extreme limits, if I'm so afraid to experience what I narrow-mindedly see as "failure" for myself - then maybe I should face those fears. Maybe I should live a bit of normality, if normality is outside of my comfort zone now. 

Because gladly, we cannot stay in an eternal dream. I’m pretty sure it would become quite nightmarish after a while - I'm quite done with showering with frogs, to be frank with you. I believe in everything having a purpose, and yes I'll soon look back to all of this and think "was it real?", and I'll scroll through the pictures and videos and unnecessary mass email chains and wonder why I ever let myself take it for granted. Yes I'll miss it like crazy, when I suddenly can't jump into my roommate's bed or go make coffee in Wada 4 or spend time with AC and good internet my friends in Wada 5. I'll look back and think damn, if I could spend another day watching the sunsets on top of the valley. I'll look back to everything and miss it like crazy - but I also know that it’s my time to go. 
Home? I don't know where that is anymore. But it's time to move forward again. 

And to be honest, despite my 50-day crisis, the weeks that remain will most likely be one of the best ones we’ve had so far. On Saturday’s Pune-trip I’m stocking up on coffee though – it’s game on towards the final exams. 

It's only the beginning, even if it's the beginning of the end.

Goa 2017: In Pictures

Fourth Term: Kevään kuulumisia

Neljäs (viimeinen) lukukausi on täällä - jossain kaukana Suomessa ne kai kutsuu tätä abikevääksi. Mulla on orava lemmikkinä ja mun petivaatteet alkaa olla kuluneita. Jostain syystä muurahaiset on taas vallannu meijän huoneen. Vedän joka päivä päikkärit puol neljästä viiteen. Käyn koulussa pari tuntia päivässä, joista niistäkin toisella luetaan vaan Margaret Atwoodia, toisella valmistellaan itsenäisesti teatterisooloja ja kolmannella saatetaan ehkä tutkia jotain Global Politicsin teoriaa. Viimeistelen iltasin mun IB-lopputöitä ja katson Suitsia, joka koukuttavuudestaan huolimatta ei sisällä yhtäkään syvempää hahmoa. Äiti lensi Mumbaihin ja toi mulle Presidentti-kahvia, viiniä ja Fazeria Suomesta viimeisiksi kuukausiksi. Ohjasin Pina Bauschin Cafe Mullerin Theater Seasonille. Lämpötilat on nousemassa taas 30 yläpuolelle ja ainoa viileä paikka kampuksella on laundry room. Mitä muuta?

Oon viimeistä kevättä UWC:ssa ja Intiassa. Pikkuhiljaa, varovaiset kommentit jäljellä olevista päivistä on alkaneet hiipyä ruokalakeskusteluihin. 90. Yhdeksänkymmentä. 

Kaikki tuntuu tutummalta kuin koskaan. Osaan laskea kivilaatat Wada 3:sta ruokalaan ja tien töyssyt Paudista kampuksen porteille. Oon tottunut siihen, että MUWCI:n huoneet ei ikinä ole täysin siistejä, ja siihen, että ruoka ei ikinä ole mitenkään erityisen hyvää. Suihkuista ei aina tule kuumaa vettä ja mikään ei ikinä hoidu sulavasti tai edes ajallaan. (Nimim. mun seinätapetti rapisi pois monsuunin aikana ja sitä ei vieläkään ole korjattu, joten tyydyin peittämään sen julisteilla.) 

Poda Island (c) Andrea Berg

Long story short, oon asunut Intiassa puolitoista vuotta ja vaikka kuinka sitä arvostankin, niin sen sanominen ei enää tunnu uudelta ja ihmeelliseltä. Kaikesta tulee joskus arkea, ja siitä arjesta tulee normaalia. Ja sitä olenkin aina hakenut; olen aina halunnut matkustaa löytääkseni uusia normaaleja. Olen halunnut nähdä elämää turistimainoksien ulkopuolella. Olen halunnut tottua paikkoihin, jotka tuntuvat kaukaisilta ja oudoilta kun istuu Suomessa television ääressä ja katsoo Yle TV1:n dokumenttia Bangladeshin tehdastyöläisistä tai Intian katulapsista. Muistan jo pienenä miettineeni, ettei se voi "vaan olla niin", että jotkut maat on köyhiä ja niiden ihmiset sairaita ja siinä se. Halusin tietää, mitä ne tehdastyöläiset söivät sen jälkeen kun ne lähtivät kotiin. Mitä ne harvahampaiset alakouluikäiset tytöt halusivat olla isona. Näiden vuosien aikana oon alkanut ymmärtää hieman paremmin, mitä pinnan alla on.

Vietin siis joululoman Thaimaassa mun norjalaisten ja jamaikalaisten kaverien kanssa, jonka jälkeen palasin vähäksi aikaa Mumbaihin ennen kampukselle paluuta. Sain jo ensimmäiset nostalgiset fiilikset, kun mun maahanmuuttopaperit leimattiin viimeistä kertaa ennen kun toukokuussa luovutan ne kokonaan pois.
Lukukauden alku oli vielä aika hektinen, koska kaikki päättötöiden viimeistellyt versiot piti lähettää IB:lle, jonka lisäksi MUWCI:ssa oli tosiaan Theater Season eli kolmeviikkoinen jakso jolloin kuka tahansa pystyi ohjaamaan näytelmän. Ohjasin itse saksalaisen koreografin Pina Bauschin Café Mullerin, joka keskittyy niihin ihmisten sisäisiin ja keskinäisiin konflikteihin, jotka tapahtuivat Natsi-Saksan aikana sen varsinaisen sodan ulkopuolella. Näytelmän ohjaaminen oli ajoittain ihan mielettömän stressaavaa, mutta olin lopulta todella tyytyväinen siihen mitä sain aikaan mun näyttelijöiden kanssa. (Toisin sanoen onnistuin ehkä tuomaan jonkunlaista kunniaa Bauschin elämäntyölle.)
Lisäksi musta alkoi taas tuntumaan, että mun on pakko jatkaa teatteria jollain tasolla yliopistossa, kun tähän mennessä oon miettinyt että haluan keskittyä vaan journalismiin ja kansainväliseen politiikkaan.

Viime perjantaina alkoi myös ykkösten project week ja kakkosten travel week. Jäin itse vielä kampukselle loman ekaksi puoliskoksi, mutta lennän keskiviikkona Goalle. TW:n loputtua mulla on vielä kuukausi koulua, jonka jälkeen alkaa lukuloma - Intiassa loman alku muuten ajoittuu huhtikuulle lähinnä sen takia, että on liian kuuma käydä enää koulussa. Mitä tulee kesään ja ylipäätään ensi vuoteen, niin mulla ei ole vielä hajua, mitä oon tekemässä - odottelen tuloksia eri Jenkkien yliopistoista, mutta pidän luultavasti välivuoden jossain puolella maailmaa.

Tuun tekemään Goalta kuva/videokoosteen, jonka tuun postaamaan tänne varmaan joskus ensi viikon aikana! Terveisiä Suomea 40 astetta lämpimämmästä Maharashtrasta.

Café Muller (c) Moises Flores Baca