If I were asked to name one thing that lies at the heart of Finnish people, I think I would say this: Finns place great value on words.

That is something I have carried with me all my life, perhaps without even realising it fully when I was younger. There is something in Finnish nature that leans towards stillness. Peacefulness, calmness, quietness, silence — these are not things to be feared or filled in. They are part of the rhythm of who we are. Finns value tranquillity and personal space, and that shows in the way we speak. Words are chosen carefully. They are not wasted. They are not tossed around carelessly. What is said is meant.

The Finnish language itself may be full of long words, but Finns are, in many ways, people of very few words.

We do not usually speak just for the sake of speaking. Words are there to carry meaning. To say something real. To promise something. To tell the truth as plainly as possible. There is no great need to dress everything up or fill every silence with chatter. To a Finn, silence is not awkward. It is natural. It is restful. It gives space to breathe, to think, to simply be.

Honesty is deeply valued in Finnish culture. So is dependability. So is humility — not drawing attention to oneself unnecessarily, not making a show of things, not saying more than needs to be said. There is a quiet strength in that way of being. A steadiness. A sense that words matter, and because they matter, they should be used with care.

There is a Finnish saying: “I would rather sell the family estate than go back on my word.” I have always felt that saying says so much about us. The family estate is not something small. It represents roots, inheritance, generations, belonging. It carries the weight of family history. And yet even that is considered less important than the honour of keeping one’s word. That is how seriously a Finn takes what is spoken. So if you know a Finn, do not promise lightly, because a Finn will remember. A Finn will believe you meant what you said.

Then there is Australia — so different in so many ways, and yet so full of its own kind of beauty.

Australians, as I have known them, are warm, friendly, talkative, open, and wonderfully laid-back. There is an ease to them that can feel like sunshine. When my family migrated to Australia, my mum somehow lost her passport somewhere between Helsinki and London. The very first Australian we ever met was an official in London, the person we had to report it to. His first words to us were, “No worries!” I can still smile at the memory of that. Those words were so foreign to us then, and yet over the years I have heard them more times than I could ever count. In many ways, they seem to capture something essential about Australia — that ability to soften a stressful moment with ease, to reassure, to lighten the load.

Over the years, I have often found myself in rooms where Finns and Australians are gathered together, and I have watched the differences unfold in ways that are sometimes touching and sometimes quietly amusing. With very few exceptions, I am the most talkative Finn in the room, which always makes me laugh. More than once, my friendly, easy-going Australian friends have asked me in a low voice about my Finnish relatives or friends, “Are they okay?” And I always understand why they ask. I am so used to Finnish silence that I barely notice it. To me it feels normal, even comforting. But to those unfamiliar with it, it can seem worrying, as though something must be wrong.

And that is where cultures can so easily misunderstand one another. Finns often show their interest by listening quietly. By paying close attention. By not interrupting. By letting the other person speak in peace. Australians, on the other hand, often show interest by asking questions, by responding quickly, by keeping the conversation moving. Neither way is wrong. They are simply different languages of connection.

If you know a typical Finn who says very little, there is usually no need to worry. Their silence is not a sign that they are unhappy, or bored, or offended, or not enjoying themselves. Silence, for a Finn, does not mean absence. It does not mean emptiness. It is part of communication. It is active. It is shared space. Finns have a saying: “Speech is silver, but silence is golden.” I think that is deeply true. Silence does not mean a Finn has nothing inside. It simply means they have nothing they need to say at that particular moment.

Even the Finnish language reveals something of this wonderfully literal way of seeing the world. An aeroplane is a flying machine. A computer is a knowledge machine. A dictionary is a wordbook. There is something so direct and honest in that. No extra frills. Just the thing itself, named plainly for what it is.

And sometimes that same directness can sound almost comical when translated into English. A Finn’s face may glow with happiness while speaking about the sauna, and yet the words can come out in a way that sounds quite alarming. They might say, very matter-of-factly, “We beat and whip ourselves with birch branches until our skin pores open and our skin is red hot.” To someone unfamiliar with Finnish sauna culture, it sounds less like relaxation and more like some strange form of punishment. But what they really mean is something earthy, gentle, and deeply soothing — tender birch twigs softly whisked against warm skin, the scent of fresh leaves rising in the heat, tired muscles relaxing, pores opening, the whole body breathing out. But that is the Finnish way. The message comes first. The poetry, if it comes at all, comes later.

And perhaps that is why it means so much when a Finn does speak warmly, or gives a compliment, or expresses feeling. Finns are not usually quick to praise. They are not always outward with affection. So when kind words do come, they are often received with real honour. Even if they are a little awkward. Even if they arrive without flourish. Because behind them is sincerity, and sincerity carries weight.

I think that is what I have come to appreciate more and more over the years, especially living in Australia while still carrying Finland so deeply within me. Beneath the quietness of Finns there is depth. Beneath the reserve there is loyalty. Beneath the few words there is honesty, steadiness, and heart. Finns may not always say much, but what they do say is rarely empty.

And perhaps that is why Finnish words matter so much. Because when they are spoken, they are meant.