For six years, Jordi Storm lived in Finland without truly calling it home.
He learned Finnish. He later learned Swedish. He built a family, made friends, performed as a musician, and gradually became part of life in Vaasa. From the outside, his integration seemed complete. Yet, something essential was still missing.
His story challenges one of the most common assumptions about integration. Language matters. Family matters. Community matters. But for Jordi, belonging was not achieved simply by living in Finland long enough. It was built gradually through relationships, perseverance, and finally, the opportunity to contribute.
”I had family, I had friends, I had the language,” he reflects. ”It felt like work was the last little thing to fall into place. It was the only thing that I hadn’t had, that I hadn’t experienced yet properly. Doing a real Finnish job, working in a Finnish workplace — that was the last piece of the puzzle.”
Originally from Torquay, a small town in southwest England, Jordi never planned his migration around career opportunities or higher education.
”I moved here because I fell in love”, he says simply.
That decision would eventually lead him into a years-long journey through language classrooms, bureaucratic uncertainty, unemployment, and finally, meaningful work.
Throughout the interview, Jordi returns to one idea again and again: people do not simply arrive in a country and belong. Belonging has to be built, and building it takes far more than paperwork or residence permits.
Love brought him to Finland, language helped him stay
Unlike many migrants who arrive with employment or university already arranged, Jordi’s first priority after arriving in Finland was neither finding a job nor continuing his education.
”I wanted to learn Finnish.”
That determination shaped his first years in the country.
”One of the first things I did when I moved to Finland was go to the integration office and say, ’Please, I would like to learn Finnish. How do I start?’ They put me in the queue, and about six months later I started integration training.”
For nearly a year, language learning became his full-time occupation.
”When I moved here, I was studying Finnish for 35 hours a week, seven hours a day.”
Many people encouraged him to choose Swedish instead, arguing that it would be easier because of its similarities to English. Jordi deliberately chose the opposite path.
”If you’ve got one opportunity to learn a language for 35 hours a week for more than a year, why wouldn’t I take the opportunity to learn the more difficult one? I could always learn the easier one later.”
The motivation, however, was never simply linguistic.
”My partner’s family—which are now my family—were my biggest motivation. I wanted to be able to communicate with the grandparents who only spoke Finnish.”
Ironically, learning Finnish eventually became the bridge to another language.
”I actually learned Swedish through my partner’s family’s side that speak Swedish. I used my Finnish as the key to learning Swedish. Once I started learning Finnish, it unlocked the second mysterious language that I had yet to unlock.”
For Jordi, language was never only about communication.
It became the foundation for understanding the society around him.
”I couldn’t have integrated as well as I have without language because language is a key into a culture.”
Still, he believes integration courses could better prepare newcomers for everyday life.
”We spent hours learning Finnish in the classroom,” he recalls, ”but then we would go into a shop or out into society and realize we didn’t actually understand what people were saying.”
The problem, he argues, is not grammar.
”It’s the spoken language. There should be much more focus on puhekieli—the language people actually use every day.”
For him, mastering grammar opened the door to Finnish society, but understanding everyday speech allowed him to step through it.
Have you moved to Finland for love?
When Brexit and bureaucracy delays belonging
Language gave Jordi confidence.
Bureaucracy took much of it away.
When he moved to Finland, he arrived as a citizen of the European Union. Brexit changed that almost overnight.
”I came as an EU citizen,” he explains. ”Then almost overnight I became a non-EU citizen.”
What followed was years of uncertainty.
”My residence permit was rejected. I appealed to the court. I waited another two years. Then I got another negative decision. After that, I lost my right to work in the EU.”
The legal process stretched over several years.
After that period, Jordi spent around 580 days unemployed.
After that period, Jordi spent around 580 days unemployed.
”It was very stressful,” he says. ”I had health problems that I’d never had before, and I think they probably came from the stress.”
Unable to work legally, he watched opportunities disappear one after another.
”At some point I was almost manically looking for work. I was going to places and saying, ’I’ll do this even for free. I have a law degree. I speak Finnish. I speak Swedish. Just give me an opportunity.'”
The hardest part, however, was not financial.
It was psychological.
”I knew I wanted to be of benefit to society. I wanted to offer my skills and my character. But it was very difficult to—päästä sisään—to get myself into society.”
One particular disappointment still stands out in his memory.
He had been offered the opportunity to teach the harp, an instrument rarely taught in the region. The music school had already approved purchasing harps for students.
Then he lost his work permit.
”I had to go back and tell them, ’Buy some guitars or something, because you can’t really teach harp without a harp teacher.’ I felt very disappointed. I felt like I’d somehow let them down.”
Despite those setbacks, Jordi says he does not regret what happened.
”I have no regrets for what I would describe as bureaucratic bad luck. It’s part of my story.”
Instead, the experience reshaped what opportunity meant to him.
”I’ve been able to find the value of simply being given a chance. It doesn’t sound like much, but to some people—and certainly to me—it’s everything. It means so much to have an opportunity to be useful.”
For months, one sentence captured exactly what he was searching for.
”Let me be useful.”
The last piece of the puzzle was work
After nearly two years without stable employment, one opportunity finally changed the course of Jordi’s experience in Finland.
It was not a permanent position or a prestigious title. It began as a four-month work trial with the City of Vaasa, working in multiculturalism, integration, and cooperation with associations.
Looking back, Jordi considers that opportunity the turning point in his journey—not simply because it led to employment, but because it finally allowed him to become an active participant in the society he had spent years trying to enter.
”Eventually somebody did give me a chance,” he says. ”I got a four-month internship working with the City of Vaasa in multiculturalism, integration and cooperation with associations.”
Although the position was unpaid, Jordi speaks about it with unmistakable gratitude.
”I’m actually an advocate of work trials because I don’t think I would have gotten my job with integration services had I not had that experience before. Even though I wasn’t technically getting a wage for it, it was still valuable.”
The work itself reflected everything he had spent years preparing for.
”I was holding conversation clubs in Finnish. I was helping organise Culture Cafés. Most importantly, I was simply present in lots of different places.”
For someone who had spent hundreds of days sending applications and searching for opportunities, simply being present in society became meaningful.
”After I’d been unemployed for so long, trying to get into Finnish society, all of a sudden I was going to all these different events. I was meeting inspiring people. I was finally part of something.”
Only then did Finland begin to feel different.
People often assume that belonging comes with time. Jordi’s experience suggests something else.
It comes with participation.
”When people ask me when Vaasa started feeling like home,” he says, ”I’d say somewhere between last year and this year. I can’t point to one exact date, but work was a huge factor.”
He pauses before explaining why.
”I’d been working as a musician for three years. I was working from home as a light entrepreneur. But I didn’t really feel like I was working in Finnish society. I just happened to be in Finland while working on music.”
Working alongside Finnish colleagues transformed that feeling.
”It was my first proper Finnish job. It might sound boring that work is what made Finland feel like home, but it really was the last piece of the puzzle.”
He had already built almost everything else.
”I had family. I had friends. I had the language.”
Work completed what the others had begun.
”It was the only thing I hadn’t experienced properly yet.”
Education, competence, and language skills not alone are enough
Working with migrants later gave Jordi a different perspective on integration.
Through civic orientation classes and community work, he met people whose qualifications far exceeded what many employers ever saw on paper.
”I’ve met so many inspiring people,” he says. ”People with multiple master’s degrees, years of work experience, people who already have the skills that workplaces need.”
Yet many remained outside the labour market.
According to Jordi, their biggest obstacle was not always education or competence.
It was something much harder to rebuild.
”I don’t really hear people talking about this very much, but when somebody moves from one country to another, they leave much—if not all—of their network behind.”
He describes migration as more than crossing borders.
It also means leaving behind years of professional relationships, colleagues, mentors and personal connections.
”They have to start from scratch to build a new network. They have to meet people again. They have to find opportunities again.”
For Jordi, this is one of the least visible barriers migrants face.
Language can be taught.
Rules can be explained.
Networks take much longer.
”I can give people some tips that I’ve learned along the way,” he says. ”But there is no blueprint for success.”
Instead, every migrant must gradually create their own path.
”A lot of it is finding your own people within your field and learning how things are done in Finland.”
He also believes that networking itself is often misunderstood.
”It isn’t really about networking,” he explains. ”It’s about making authentic connections with people—not because you want something from them at the end of it, but because you’re genuinely interested in those people.”
That authenticity, he believes, eventually creates opportunities that cannot be forced.
Migrants bring more than just a passport
Throughout the interview, Jordi repeatedly returns to one idea: migrants do not arrive empty-handed.
Although moving to another country can feel like starting life again, he believes that perception ignores everything people bring with them.
”When people move to a new country, it feels like they’re starting from the beginning,” he says. ”But they’re not.”
His voice becomes more emphatic.
”They’ve come with a wealth of knowledge. A wealth of skills. Personality. Character. Experiences. Everything they’ve brought with them.”
Perhaps, he argues, the only missing piece is language.
”And if the only difference between you and where you want to be is language, are you really starting from the beginning? No. I don’t think so.”
This belief also shapes how he views Finland’s recognition of international qualifications.
During his own integration training, he studied alongside doctors, dentists and highly educated professionals who struggled to continue their careers.
”I’ve heard some pretty frustrating stories,” he says. ”I’ve been in the same class as dentists and doctors—really skilled people—who found it very difficult to transfer their education and experience into Finnish society.”
He understands that some professions require language proficiency.
”You simply do need the language. It would be very difficult to be a doctor without being able to communicate with patients.”
But he also believes there should be more flexibility in recognising experience.
”The impression I get is that things are a bit strict and a bit limiting.”
He points to his own background.
”I worked for two years as a healthcare assistant in England. I’ve worked twelve-hour shifts. I’ve had people die in my arms. I’ve learned so much through practical experience.”
Yet much of that experience carries little formal weight.
”We have people here who are right for the work, and we have work where the right people are needed.”
He pauses before arriving at the conclusion that reflects both his own story and the stories of many migrants he has met.
”Bridging that gap can only be good for Finnish society.”
Beyond language: The value of being seen
Throughout the interview, Jordi rarely describes himself as a victim of discrimination.
In fact, when asked whether he had ever been treated differently because he was an outsider, he pauses before answering.
”I haven’t really noticed,” he says, ”but I know it’s very different for me compared to some other people.”
He quickly acknowledges that his own experience has been shaped by a privilege that not every migrant shares.
”To be quite blunt, you might look at me and not know that I’m not Finnish. I think that really plays a role in society. It’s a benefit that I have, and it’s a privilege that other people don’t necessarily have.”
Rather than focusing on his own experience, Jordi shifts the conversation toward those whose stories are often overlooked.
”I know people from different ethnic backgrounds who were actually born in Finland and have lived here their whole lives. They’re completely Finnish, and they still get asked questions like, ’How does it feel to live in Finland?’ That must be incredibly frustrating.”
For him, belonging is not only about legal status or language proficiency. It is also about whether society allows people to be seen as members of that society.
Despite the challenges he faced with bureaucracy, Jordi says he has generally felt respected by the people around him.
”I think people have always been patient with me. They’ve shown respect to the fact that I don’t have to speak perfect Finnish or perfect Swedish. The fact that I try—I feel people respect that.”
Yet he also recognises another reality, particularly in the labour market.
”The work situation is difficult for everybody right now,” he explains. ”It’s difficult for immigrants. It’s difficult for native Finns.”
Still, he believes migrants often compete under different conditions.
”Although I speak Finnish and Swedish, I don’t speak them as well as native speakers. And if a job requires Finnish, Swedish and English, well, a lot of Finns also speak excellent English. I don’t think my Finnish is ever going to be as good as a Finnish speaker’s, and I don’t think my Swedish is ever going to be as good as someone who’s been speaking it since childhood.”
It is not resentment that shapes this reflection.
Instead, it is realism.
Competition exists, he says, and language remains one of the few barriers that can never be completely erased.
Small cities, strong connections
Living in Vaasa has also shaped Jordi’s understanding of community.
Unlike larger cities, where anonymity often defines daily life, Vaasa feels deeply interconnected.
”It feels like everybody knows everybody,” he says with a smile. ”Or at least everybody knows somebody who knows you.”
That closeness influences much more than social life.
It shapes professional life as well.
When Jordi speaks about networking, he avoids the transactional language often associated with career development.
Instead, he talks about trust.
”I think when people choose who they want to work with, the question becomes: do they like you? Do they trust you?”
In a city the size of Vaasa, reputation grows naturally through everyday interactions.
”If you treat people well, you don’t have to worry,” he says. ”People hear good things.”
As a musician, Jordi has experienced this firsthand.
For years, he has performed at festivals, community events and cultural gatherings across the region. Today, he says, many opportunities come to him without needing to advertise his work.
”I don’t really have to ask for gigs anymore. People invite me to play at festivals or events. I like that because I don’t enjoy marketing myself.”
Those invitations, he believes, are rarely based only on musical ability.
”Sometimes people don’t recommend you because you play good music. They recommend you because you’re good to work with.”
The same principle, he believes, applies far beyond music.
Authentic relationships create opportunities that résumés alone cannot.
Telling different stories
As someone who now follows Finnish news more closely through his work in civic orientation, Jordi also reflects on how migrants are represented in the media.
Compared to the media landscape he grew up with in Britain, he sees an important difference.
”I actually think media in Finland is much better than in many other countries,” he says. ”I feel there’s professionalism in the media. I don’t see many clickbait headlines or stories designed simply to create controversy.”
For him, responsible journalism is closely connected to nuance.
”I was speaking to Alex about this the other day,” he says. ”The importance of nuance. Everything has a context. Whenever we talk about something, we need to include that context.”
When asked what Finnish media could still do better, Jordi hesitates.
Rather than criticising existing coverage, he expresses a hope.
”I wish there were more positive stories, to be honest.”
He immediately explains what he means.
”There are so many amazing people doing amazing things. There are internationals opening businesses, opening restaurants, creating new opportunities.”
He points out that newspapers in Vaasa do cover many of these stories.
”I’ve seen immigrants featured for opening businesses, and I feel those stories are usually done with a lot of respect. Journalists tend to do their homework and make sure the details are correct.”
Positive stories, he believes, do more than celebrate individual success.
They change public understanding.
”I think people begin to see the benefits of having a multicultural society.”
For Jordi, representation is not about portraying migrants as heroes.
It is about portraying them as contributors.
A life that feels like my own
Toward the end of the interview, the conversation shifts away from policy, language and employment.
Instead, it becomes personal again.
Asked about his hopes for the future, Jordi does not mention career ambitions or professional achievements.
His answer is remarkably simple.
”Stability,” he says. ”I want a stable life.”
He smiles before describing a picture that feels almost cinematic.
”I would love a detached house in the forest by a lake.”
Then he pauses.
”I want to have a life here that I feel is mine.”
Perhaps that sentence explains his journey better than any discussion of integration ever could.
Seven years earlier, Finland had been the country he moved to because he fell in love.
Today, it is the place where he hopes to build an ordinary life.
Before the interview ends, Jordi offers one final piece of advice to those who may one day follow a similar path.
”Be prepared that things are not necessarily going to be easy,” he says. ”But Finland is a warm and welcoming country.”
Then, laughing, he adds one final recommendation.
”And don’t be afraid to go ice swimming in the winter.”
It is a light-hearted ending to a conversation that has explored uncertainty, resilience and belonging.
Yet Jordi leaves one final thought that reaches beyond his own story.
”What I would want Finnish society to understand about migrants,” he says, ”is that they have their stories and their experiences that they’ve brought from their original countries. Those experiences make them really interesting and rich people.”
He continues,
”They have something great to add to Finnish society.”
Perhaps that is the quiet message running beneath every chapter of Jordi Storm’s story.
Belonging is not something that time alone can create.
It grows through language, relationships, opportunity and trust.
Sometimes, all it takes is someone willing to say yes—to offer a chance, to recognise experience, and to let someone contribute.
Because, as Jordi’s journey shows, feeling at home begins the moment a society allows you not only to live within it, but to become part of it.
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