From New Jersey to Tartu: How Kiirstin Marilyn Kuhi is reclaiming Her Estonian Voice

For much of her life, Kiirstin Marilyn saw Estonia as a "weird obsession" of her father’s. Now, the New York-based singer-songwriter is leading the New York Estonian House choir in a musical tribute to her grandmother—bridging a gap left by decades of silence and trauma.

Growing up in New Jersey, Kiirstin lived in a house filled with Estonian flags and a father who lived "in his own world." Unlike many in the diaspora, Kiirstin didn’t attend Estonian Saturday school or learn the folk dances. Her father, Ülo, had fled Estonia as a four-month-old infant on what was said to be the last train out of Tartu in 1944. That flight, and the loss of a father he never knew, left a mark of "inherent trauma" that meant the language wasn't passed down to his children.

"We knew my dad was obsessed with Estonia, but as American kids, we just thought he was a weirdo," Kiirstin laughs. "We’d say, ‘You left when you were four months old—what are you talking about?’"

The Language Barrier

The cost of that missing connection was felt most deeply in Kiirstin’s relationship with her grandmother, Linda. Living in the Estonian community of Lakewood, Linda spoke very little English.

"My regret is that I didn’t have a relationship with my grandmother because I didn’t speak Estonian," Kiirstin recalls. "She would call the house and the most she could say was, ‘Your daddy home?’ I had to learn her story through a game of ‘telephone’ from other people."

It wasn't until adulthood that Kiirstin began to piece together the reality of her grandmother's life: the anxiety that made her hide in closets during thunderstorms—a lingering reflex from the bombings of Tartu—and the complicated history of her grandfather, a German soldier.

Linda, Ülo, Kiirstin

"I Couldn’t Let it Die with Him"

The shift from curious observer to active participant happened in 2019 at Laulupidu, the Estonian Song Festival. Watching the massive choir with her parents, Kiirstin felt a profound sense of inspiration, but also a looming deadline.

"Seeing my dad getting older, I felt like I couldn’t let this thing die with him," she says. "I wanted to keep it going for my generation."

Despite not being a native speaker, Kiirstin joined the New York Estonian House choir. She was met with open arms, discovering that heritage is about the effort to belong as much as the fluency of your speech. "They told me it didn’t matter if I didn’t speak the language yet—just come and sing."

The Song: A Bridge Over the Iron Curtain

Now, Kiirstin is working on a project that brings her journey full circle. She is re-recording a song she originally wrote in 2016—a track inspired by the Singing Revolution and her grandmother’s flight to safety.

With a translation by an Estonian poet laureate Doris Kareva and backing vocals from the women of the New York Estonian House choir, the new version is a high-production tribute to the roots she is finally claiming as her own.

"In the original English version, I sang, “ I’ll  never take up an arm, I’ll kill them all with my words.'” That was my understanding of the Singing Revolution," Kiirstin explains. Now, she is focusing on the difficult "ü" sounds and the nuances of Estonian pronunciation, determined to get it right.

Naine (audio version) 

Finding the Future in the Past

While her father, a member of the "Silent Generation," rarely speaks of his feelings, Kiirstin recently received the ultimate validation. After her performance at the 2025 Laulupidu (Song Festival), her father told her—full of emotion—that he was incredibly proud of her.

"It only took a few decades," she jokes, "but to hear that from him was everything."

As she and her father navigate heritage websites like Geni and dig into the Tartu archives to find the family members her father has sought for a lifetime, Kiirstin Marilyn is no longer just "supporting her dad." She is carrying the torch herself.