"It's never easy," Mama says softly. "Moving somewhere completely foreign, getting used to the lifestyle, the language, the traditions... and finding out that everything you've been doing all your life is wrong over here. It's never easy."

Her experiences all sound so familiar to me. With a pang, I realise that, had I paid more attention, had I spoken to her more during my stay with Aksel, had the support of someone who also understands how it feels to be foreign, things might have been different.

Mama is still speaking, eyes lit with a fondness that comes with reflecting on the past. "And when you have children... You sometimes feel even more out of the loop, because even your children can speak the language better than you ever will."

She laughs, but a sharp flash of a memory has struck me – an image of me as a rowdy child, running ahead of my mother, turning back to shout disdainfully, "Don't tell me what to do, you can't even speak German properly!"

For a moment, I am lost for words. The heart-wrenching guilt is choking up my windpipe.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Mama watches me out of the screen, but she doesn't ask what I'm apologising for. Maybe the same scene has just flashed through her mind as well – or maybe there are others that I don't even remember. She simply smiles.

"It's all part of growing up," she says. "Kids say the darndest things sometimes, but if, as a parent, you held it against them... It just doesn't work."

"I didn't know," I say, still hurting from the guilt of my memory. "I wish I had. But I understand better now."

"I know you do, sweetheart. I wish you didn't have to, but I know you do."

"It was probably harder for you than me," I admit. "At least I'm still in Europe. You had to move so much further away, and to a completely different culture as well."

"It was hard," Mama says softly.

So comes the question that has been tumbling through my mind since I landed in Helsinki. "Why did you do it, then?"

Mama looks straight out of the screen at me, smiling slightly. "Because it's all worth it," she says simply.

I look away, pressing my lips together. "How do you know it's worth it?" I don't mean it to, but my voice comes out with a tremor that my mother picks up on right away.

"Oh, Emi," she sighs, in the way only mothers can. "It's worth it when you look back and realise that the good times were more than the bad – that, in retrospect, even though you knew about all the challenges that awaited you... you would gladly do it all over again."

I'm silent after this. If I looked back on my time in Helsinki with Aksel... Had it been worth it? Would I have done it all over again?

My heart aches with an intensity that surprises me.

As usual, Mama seems to read my mind. "Do you regret your decision to move?"

I look down at the table, staring at the smooth surface of the wood. I don't reply.

But I think I have my answer.

***

"Our last weekend together," Priscilla says mournfully. "I wish you didn't have to leave."

I laugh at her petulance, shaking my head. "You make it sound like I'm leaving the country or something. I'm just moving out. You'll still see me in class every day."

She huffs, throwing an arm around me, squeezing like a koala bear clinging to its mama. "Don't leave me all alone."

I loop my arm around her waist, squeezing her back in a sideways hug. "Oh, come on," I say, "I'm not leaving you alone. It's not our last weekend together. We're still going to meet and hang out all the time."

"Yes," Priscilla sighs, seeming to perk up a little. Then she wilts again. "But it's going to be different, not living together."

"I got used to it too," I admit.

"We should move in together," Priscilla says.

I laugh, even though I'm not entirely sure if she's serious. I love being with her, but there's also a part of me that's looking forward to being all alone in a place that's all mine.

Priscilla blows out a long stream of air. "I guess all good things have to come to an end eventually."

"Don't cry because it's over," I quip, and Priscilla joins in. We end up almost shouting the next clause, "Smile because it happened!"

We stare at each other for a moment, then dissolve into giggles together. Priscilla leans forward to envelop me in a hug, and I hold onto her.

No words are needed.

After we pull away, Priscilla keeps an arm thrown over my shoulder.

"I never knew," I say slowly, looking out over the glistening water of the open bay, "that this place was so beautiful."

Priscilla laughs, and shoves at me playfully. "That's because you were always walking with your face to the ground. It's a wonder you could even find your way around!"

"You just rhymed," I tease, deliberately avoiding answering to her observation of my habits.

Priscilla grins. "I did, didn't I?" I don't know if she notices what I'm doing, but I'm grateful that she doesn't press. Instead of dropping it, though, the fact that she leaves the topic of conversation entirely open to me makes me more inclined to talk about it.

"Your strategy works," I tell her.

I don't know how, or why, but now that I'm walking down the streets with my head up, I'm starting to notice a difference. While the younger men tend to be a different story – I suspect they just stare at anyone – the truth is that not many people stare at me. In fact, not that many people even glance at me for more than the split second we take to walk past each other.

"What strategy?"

"You know," I leapt to my feet and mimic strutting down the street, "the way you taught me to walk."

"Psh," Priscilla waves a hand dismissively. "I didn't teach you to walk, I just spiced it up with some attitude."

I plop back down next to her, laughing at her description. When my amusement has died down, however, I say seriously, "Thank you, though. It's helped. When I look at people now, I realise most of them aren't looking at me like I thought."

"Except maybe for the younger guys," Priscilla adds drily.

I laugh at that. "True. I think they look at everyone. They're always staring."

"It's a whole phenomenon," Priscilla informs me. "I've read about it online. A lot of people – mainly foreigners – have talked about this and how uncomfortable it made them feel at first."

"I can relate to that," I say.

"They don't even look away when you stare back."

"I've noticed that," I agree, sitting up straighter. I had thought it was because I don't belong. "It was slightly creepy at first, but after I figured they do it all the time, it's easier to ignore them."

Priscilla grimaces. "I know. I feel that way too."

I don't say it, but I'm glad she gets the stares too. At least the locals aren't singling me out.

There is a strange sense of camaraderie in being different together.

"Maybe that's why it's easier for foreigners to hang out with each other," I voice aloud my thoughts. Priscilla turns to me, but I can read her expression enough to see if she agrees with me, so I elaborate, "I always wondered why the international people in Hamburg banded together more than mixing with the locals. I mean – they do that, too. But ultimately, I always saw they hanging out with each other."

"You know," Priscilla says slowly, like she is coming to a realisation herself, "I've noticed that about immigrants in New Zealand, too. And I always wondered why they set themselves apart... but maybe it's not on purpose."

"It's just easier to have a group of people who understand your struggles in a place, because they're experiencing the same thing," I say. I fall silent for a moment.

Priscilla jumps in. "I mean, we're doing the same thing here!" She laughs. "I think it's easier said than done when it comes to mingling with the locals. Sure, it's possible to meet some and hang out, but it also takes time to get closer to them. They usually already have their groups of family and friends, so it's not so necessary for them to make a lot of new friends."

"And there will always be that cultural difference." I don't know if Priscilla can tell that my voice has turned wistful. I clear my throat to try to get rid of the sound. "No matter what, the locals won't be able to understand the struggles you face as a foreigner, because everything is easier for them here and they don't experience the country and culture the same way that foreigners do."

I think she can tell what – or who – the direction of the conversation has turned to now. I feel her grip tighten on me.

"Emi," she says, her tone turning serious now, "I agree with what you're saying to an extent. But it doesn't mean that we can only really become friends with other foreigners. Yes, it's harder to befriend locals, but it doesn't mean they are this whole other species. Just like we aren't that much different from them."

I pout. I can find nothing logical to refute her point. She's right, of course – even if it sometimes feels that the segregation between the local and the foreigner is insurmountable.

With the rise of politicians emphasising these differences, it seems even more pronounced than it used to be.

"Isn't it odd," I muse now, "that after so many years of civilisation and globalisation, we humans are still so stuck on the basic things? We still divide people up according to the way they look, the languages they speak, and where they come from."

"Yes." And Priscilla is the one to turn musing. "But I wonder if true

"I think so. There are more international and interracial couples now, and more and more people like me these days." I laugh. "Maybe many, many decades later – centuries, even. I think at that point in time – if humans haven't gone extinct yet – everyone might be at least a little bit mixed. Maybe then, when people are truly unable to differentiate, will it finally be possible to do away with racism."

Priscilla snorts. "And then those people will find something new to discriminate against each other for."

I smile despite myself. "Exactly. It's human nature, maybe."

"Maybe," she echoes.

We fall back into silence. I find myself looking at the small ripples in the bay. The movement of the water is lulling me almost to sleep.

"But I'm glad," Priscilla says suddenly, her voice cutting through the tranquil state I've fallen into, "I'm glad to be here, even if we have to struggle with the language and the local customs now. I'm glad we get a chance to experience this, and that these experiences here have given us perspective we might not have, had we stayed in our home countries."

She's talking about herself, of course. All my life, I have been a fish out of water, and it has had nothing to do with coming to Finland. But I keep my mouth shut, because Priscilla is coming to some sort of an epiphany within her thoughts.

She turns to smile at me, raising her eyebrows in expectation of my agreement. "Don't you think?"

I smile back. "That's true."

And I find myself thinking that maybe, in this moment of peace, I'm glad to be here too.