Yet again I’m at Werner, enjoying the morning atmosphere, the look of fresh cakes, university workers dropping by for coffee, customers picking up their Independence Day orders in white cardboard boxes. Many people complain February is a waste of time, but in Estonia I’ve grown to love it. With Shrove Tuesday pastries and sledding, the anniversary of my immigration, Friendship Day and Independence Day, which is so enthusiastically celebrated, there is always something to look forward to. This is what Estonia looked like when I landed at the bus station 4 years ago with a huge suitcase and dragged it up the wonky stairs of the wooden house on the corner of Herne and Kartuli. Everything was new and magical, as if the dream image in my head had come to life.

The day before yesterday I was back in ERM, which is one of the first destinaions I visited after my arrival. Then, in 2020, I nestled myself in the folklore library and tried to fathom he reality of it all. (Spoiler: you don’t fathom the reality of it all until you’re at least a year in.) Now, in 2024, I listened to a Hõimuklubi lecture about a Vote ethnic group that had broken away to Latvia, and I moved around the museum like one of the most familiar places on Earth.

What becomes routine obviously fades its bright colours. I get used to Werner’s cakes and realize they’re not all that great. I get used to the wonderfully crooked wooden houses of Supilinn and Karlova, and I learn that they are rotting, uncomfortable and falling apart. I get used to the melodic, ticklish Estonian language, in which so many insults have been thrown at me.

But this will make neither Werner, nor the Karlova and Supilinn street views, nor the Estonian language worse. (Maybe Werner a bit.) I may no longer get butterflies in my stomach walking through downtown, but when I stop my thoughts for a second, I’m still overwhelmed by how glad I am to be here.

In the 4 years, Estonia has gotten more detailed, more wrinkled and worn-down. Some things don’t work as they should, some Estonians are not as well-meaning as they could be, the diseases of this world are creeping into into these heads around me. Mine, too.

But with details come new beauties. Visiting rural events, listening to local choirs, watching amateur theater performances, looking around the Christmas/spring fairs have become some of our favorite activities with Anti. The village fools in linen shirts, the smiling aunties offering cookies are my friends. I’ve met the people who keep the countryside alive. I’ve gotten to a high school in Tallinn, the middle of the forest in Hiiumaa, rivers in Soomaa, a Vote/Izhorian separatist café in Narva, the roof of ERM, a shamanic drumming trip with a sauna witch in Võrumaa, Orthodox Christmas porridge in Obinitsa, the opening of the Estonian deaf museum, Postimees, Terevisioon, libraries and people’s heads. I have an apartment here and neighbors who treat me to homemade wafers and brochures about Jaak Madison.

And there is so much more to discover.

It’s evening now, and I’m sitting in my usual place by Raekoja Plats, watching the pub fill up. Estonians celebrate, and rightfully so. That Russia decided to invade Ukraine 2 years ago on this very day only fuels the patriotism.

Minu arm – this was the motto of the first song festival I attended. It was the most painful experience of my life. Sitting in the grass, I saw crystal-clearly where I wanted to belong and what was holding me back. In my pain, he next day I stole a sheet of paper from the Viru keskus Apollo and translated Kristiina Ehin’s Saaremaa Valss. Half a year later, I moved here.

My love is Anti, and my love is Tartu, but my biggest love is Estonia.