By Tuulia Koponen

Staff Writer

BOSTON – I looked in awe at the picture that coincided with the title “New England” with millions of brightly colored leaves scattered around gorgeous paved pathways in the children’s atlas I held between my hands. My young, elementary school self then decided: I want to be here.

Flash forward to the beginning of last summer. In the previous months I had gained my U.S. citizenship, had the time of my life at a JEA/NSPA National High School Journalism Convention, been hyped about visiting Finland and received information about the next two awesome JEA/NSPA conventions to attend, Boston in the fall and San Diego in the spring.

And although Boston was not the convention I intended on attending, but due to extracurricular conflict ended up here, it has been just as great, if not better, than San Francisco last spring.

I miss the small-group feel the San Francisco trip had; however, being able to see where the freedom of the press, let alone all the wonderful freedoms my adopted country has granted me began? An intangible, blessed, blessed feeling.

I marvel at the awe of the old-fashioned architecture and the beautiful fall landscape. It is a childhood dream come true being able to see, feel and experience a true fall atmosphere.

It brings me back home to Oulu, Finland.

My heart tightens a bit at the thought that comes to mind of walking hand-in-hand with my mother in Oulu during this time of year with one of my cousins’ little red jackets on my small body and my cheeks a tinted pink. It is one of the only memories I have of experiencing fall in my hometown and is one of a handful of sacred memories I have of the first few years of my life.

Walking throughout the city with all the construction that is taking place also brings me back home to the early years of my life as well as the more recent ones. It brings me back to my birthday last summer walking about with my grandma and little brother, shopping with my fashion-savvy second cousin and eating delicious Finnish ice cream.

It all just comes back to me.

But, it also makes my heart tighten for a rather sad memory. Cold weather brings me back to winter break 2010 and the last few weeks I ended up having with my beautiful grandfather.

I see his smiling face when we high fived at the dinner table on Christmas Eve and when he opened his gift of a new sweater. I see my widowed grandmother crying on Skype as she tries to cope with the loss. The cold weather here brings me back to not only cold, winter days, but cold, heart-aching thoughts.

However, there is beauty in spite of the pain. There is beauty knowing my grandfather would want me to be doing great things, seeing great things and living a great life-knowing I am doing just that.

I am seeing great things such as inspired students and professionals improving the craft of journalism. I have seen the site of the Boston Massacre and seen bits and pieces of the Freedom Trail. I have seen street performers. I have learned great things from the sessions I have attended. And best of all, I have been living my life just as my grandfather would want.

He would not want me moping about and crying because this city brings back memories of him and sacred, almost forgotten memories about the first few years of my life.

Instead he would want me doing what I am doing.

He would want me to be inspired by what I have seen and heard. He would want me spontaneously posing for photographs my friends have taken of me.

He would want me smiling-knowing life goes on. But, most importantly, he would want me to just be unapologetically myself and just be doing what I love to do.

And it is a nice thought to think maybe; just maybe he has been looking down at me and whispering “I am proud of you and I love you” as the chilly air makes my cheeks tint a little pink today.

I have always wanted to see the Northeast and I have finally been able to see more of it. Why I have been so infatuated with this region since my elementary school days, I do not know.

But, maybe, just maybe, it is because it has the ability to bring me home and connect me to my hometown.

This city is bustling with history around every corner and brings back the history of my life.

And maybe that is why I love Boston so much. It brings me back home with every whoosh of cold air, every street we walk on and each park we walk past. And although it gives me goose bumps every time memories of my hometown flash through my mind, I can truly say this:

Thank you, Boston, for bringing me back home to some of the most sacred and touching times of my life-and for helping me feel like I am almost re-living them, even though I am physically not. Thank you.

And today I looked in awe at the bustling, beautiful life of Boston and saw my grandpa’s first and only smile he gave me again. My 17-year-old self then decided: Yes, I do want to go to college here.