Wie jede frischgebackene Mutti festellen muss, Kinder kosten viel Arbeit, Kraft, und Mühe. Ich bereue meine Entscheidung nichts, und mache das alles gern, aber heutzutage wünsche ich mir dass ich zurück auf den Philippinen bin.
Ich will nicht arrogant klingen, aber fast jeder Mittelschichtfilipino hat ein oder zwei Dienstmädchen zu verfügung. Und auf den Philippinen, die Leute in den Westen tun uns etwas leid, weil wir denken, die Arme, sie mussen alles selbst machen! Tja, naturlich ist die Arbeit, die diese hilfskräfte leisten nicht zum deutschen Standard, aber das scheint die Filipinos nicht zu stören.
Ich bin mittlereweile sehr "eingedeutscht," in dem ich jetzt gerne sehr viel selbst mache. Ich koche meine eigene Marmelade, koche das Essen selbst, putze die Wohnung. Klingt alles doof, aber auf den Philippinen keine Selbstverständlichkeit. Aber ich bin nicht sooo Deutsch, das ich Hilfe nicht annehmen werde. Und Zeiten wie diese macht es klar, ich brauche zur Zeit ein Dienstmädchen.
Anders als Thomas. Vielleicht er ist sehr Ostdeutsch in dem Sinn dass er nach keiner Hilfe fragt wenn er denkt dass er etwas allein schaffen könnte.
In dem Auto am Freitag hatten wir für X Mal diskutiert, weil ich endlich Putzkräfte anheuern möchte um die Wohnung sauber zu halten. Seit meiner Entbindung habe ich einfach kein Bok die Wohnung zu putzen. Das Kind hält mich wach, ich muss ständig stillen, und ich möchte gerne etwas Zeit für mich genießen.
"Aber deswegen kriegst du Elterngeld! Um da für das Kind zu sein, und natürlich der Haushalt zu halten."
"Thomas, ich hab keine Energie mehr für die Wohnung sauber zu halten. Was ist dann so schlimm wenn wir Leute haben, die einmal pro Woche die Wohnung putzt?"
"Das will ich einfach nicht."
"Ich glaube, das hier ist ein kulturelles Problem. Ich hab nichts dagegen wenn ich zum Beispiel mein Leben einfacher machen möchte in dem ich jemand bezahle um meine Webseite zu gestalten. Aber du zum Beispiel wollte nicht mal das ich zu einem Steuerberater gehe!"
"Das kann sein. Ich nehme Hilfe nicht gern wenn ich etwas selbst machen kann."
Ich hab dann aufgegeben. Ich weiß nicht ob das Deutsch ist, oder ist er einfach Mann? Tja, wenn jemand vorbeikommen möchte um meine Wohnung zu putzen, lass uns über ein Preis reden!
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Dodging Bullets
There are times when the the universe places people at the right place at the right time.
Thomas needed to go on a business trip which he scheduled a week after the baby's due date. This was very important for him and for our future, I knew. Both of us didn't want to spend the day he was gone alone, nor did I want to spend it at either of my in-laws. FIL was packing, he was going on vacation. I didn't really want to disturb him. Besides, I wouldn't classify our relationship as warm. MIL...well you know that story. So I said I was coming along. We went to the hospital. The midwife said that she wouldn't travel in my shoes, but if I felt well enough to go on a 6 hour trip, it was my decision. CTG scan was normal, I felt fine. We looked for possible hospitals along the way in case I go into labor. On our printed list was the Landes-Frauen-und-Kinderklinik which was near our destination, a small town near Linz.
Thomas slipped and told his mom. His mom freaked and tried to convince me not to go and it would be better if I would stay at home, alone. She brought me to tears, painting all sorts of worst-case scenarios. She offered to either stay with me, the thought of which I just found odious, or that I stay in her apartment in Jena, a one bedroom construction site. I said no. She called her other son, and her sister, in an effort to snowball pressure to get me to stay that one day. "I tell you, you will give birth in some Kaff in the middle of nowhere, and that is the most dangerous thing you can do for the baby!"
She successfully was able to insert doubts into my mind on whether this was the right thing to do. But I didn't want to spend the day alone, a week after my due date, nor did I want my meddling MIL nor my cold FIL at my side at the deilvery room. I wanted my husband. So I went.
The six hour drive was uneventful. We had dinner with the man my husband wanted to do business with. Then we went to bed.
I started feeling contractions at 4 am. I thought they were another false alarm, so I thought nothing of it. I went to the bathroom and saw that I was bleeding.
"Thomas. I am bleeding. We need to go to the hospital."
Groggily, he told me to relax. Spotting could mean anything to now up to two days. So I should go back to bed.
But the contractions started getting stronger, I was sure that this was it. Thomas, so stupid, left the car keys with his colleague, whose room number he didn't know. So we left the hotel at 6 and got to the hospital at 630. I was lying at the back of the car the entire 30 minute drive, howling, screaming, cursing at Thomas.
We got to the hospital, and was hooked to a CTG. Man, is labor a bitch. I was barking orders, being a general bitch. It all looked like a textbook birth. I was either lying on my back or on my side the entire time, so one of the nurses told me to go for a walk or sit down, saying that this would make the contraction less painful (as if!).
Forty five minutes later, as they were about to remove the CTG machine sensors, the machine started beeping. On the roll of paper coming out of the machine was one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life: From 140 beats per minute, the jagged line just went one direction: down. To 60 BPM. With a snap of a finger, the mood shifted, right out of a scene from E.R. I saw the helplessness and fear etched in Thomas's face as three people descended upon me to prep me for an emergency C-Section. I didn't really know what was happening, I was confused, it didn't dawn on me that I was in the middle of an emergency.
The doctor jabbed a stick into the infusion thing they stuck to the back of my right hand, and my heart started to race. "Mein Herz! Mein Herz! Es rasst!" I shouted.
"Das ist gegen die wehen," the doctor explained, as I was being transported to the Operating Room with a gurney. "Wir mussen eine Notoperation machen, das Baby ist in Gefahr."
"Kann ich nichts dagegen tun? Kann ich nichts etwas machen?" I pleaded, but my questions fell on deaf ears as they lifted me on the the table with a 3, 2, 1. I started shaking involuntarily. "Warum zittere ich?! Warum zittere ich?! Agh, ich hab einen Krampfader in meinem rechten Fuß!"
In the midst of all this, all I could think of was thank God I spoke German. A man in a green operating face mask appeared above me and asked me for my weight and height. Then another person in a mask put a breathing apparatus over my face and asked me to breathe deeply. Then again.
The next thing I remember is another face, this time a woman, above me. Two hours have passed, said the clock. She told me I was in a recovery room because I just had an operation. I remember swimming in light. Do you want to see your son? I was pretty out of it and I think I was speaking slowly, like a drunk. They showed me Antonio and put him over my chest. I remember asking why does he have a cut above his eye. My throat hurt and I felt numb everywhere. I remember Thomas talking to me but I don't really remember what he said. Later he would tell me that I must have been on pretty serious drugs because I asked a question he said he already answered in the recovery room.
I was later wheeled into another room for observation. I was more lucid by then, but my throat was itching like crazy. I kept asking for water, but all they gave me were lemon flavored cotton buds to suck on. They said it was from being intubated during the operation, a breathing apparatus since the anaesthesia meant that my involuntary reflexes stopped functioning for a while. The doctor came in and explained to me that my placenta separated itself from the uterine wall too early, robbing the baby of oxygen, and sending his heart rate plummeting. The stress was too much for him because his amniotic fluid had turned green when they pulled him out of me. After that my uterus didn't contract to the rate it needed to, and they had to inject something to prevent massive hemorrhaging. Despite this, he was born healthy, with an APGAR rate of 8, then 9.
They stressed I was very lucky to be in this hospital, which specializes in gynecology and pediatrics, and to where all the worst cases in Austria are flown. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had stayed in Erfurt and had given birth at the hospital where I was registered at. They're good, but I know that they don't have the capacity to take care of the baby in such an emergency, and would have needed to drive him to another hospital 20 minutes away. These were 20 minutes we didn't have.
My MIL is convinced that the trip was the reason for my emergency ceasarian. I had no history to indicate that I was under risk of placenta abruptio before this. However, I am convinced otherwise. It happened in our hotel room, not during the trip. It would have happened anyway if I had stayed in Erfurt. I am glad that my husband was with me, that a team of experts are around me to take care of us, in a hospital capable of dealing with the situation. The care here is top notch, and my mother is convinced that God led us here. Believe what you want to belive, I say.
All the things that I worried about during my pregnancy seem so trivial now. I gladly deal with the indignities foisted around me. I would silently endure all the enemas, the catheters, the infusions, the shots, and my painfully rock-hard San Fernando valley porn star tits again, just to know that my baby and I are safe.
Thomas needed to go on a business trip which he scheduled a week after the baby's due date. This was very important for him and for our future, I knew. Both of us didn't want to spend the day he was gone alone, nor did I want to spend it at either of my in-laws. FIL was packing, he was going on vacation. I didn't really want to disturb him. Besides, I wouldn't classify our relationship as warm. MIL...well you know that story. So I said I was coming along. We went to the hospital. The midwife said that she wouldn't travel in my shoes, but if I felt well enough to go on a 6 hour trip, it was my decision. CTG scan was normal, I felt fine. We looked for possible hospitals along the way in case I go into labor. On our printed list was the Landes-Frauen-und-Kinderklinik which was near our destination, a small town near Linz.
Thomas slipped and told his mom. His mom freaked and tried to convince me not to go and it would be better if I would stay at home, alone. She brought me to tears, painting all sorts of worst-case scenarios. She offered to either stay with me, the thought of which I just found odious, or that I stay in her apartment in Jena, a one bedroom construction site. I said no. She called her other son, and her sister, in an effort to snowball pressure to get me to stay that one day. "I tell you, you will give birth in some Kaff in the middle of nowhere, and that is the most dangerous thing you can do for the baby!"
She successfully was able to insert doubts into my mind on whether this was the right thing to do. But I didn't want to spend the day alone, a week after my due date, nor did I want my meddling MIL nor my cold FIL at my side at the deilvery room. I wanted my husband. So I went.
The six hour drive was uneventful. We had dinner with the man my husband wanted to do business with. Then we went to bed.
I started feeling contractions at 4 am. I thought they were another false alarm, so I thought nothing of it. I went to the bathroom and saw that I was bleeding.
"Thomas. I am bleeding. We need to go to the hospital."
Groggily, he told me to relax. Spotting could mean anything to now up to two days. So I should go back to bed.
But the contractions started getting stronger, I was sure that this was it. Thomas, so stupid, left the car keys with his colleague, whose room number he didn't know. So we left the hotel at 6 and got to the hospital at 630. I was lying at the back of the car the entire 30 minute drive, howling, screaming, cursing at Thomas.
We got to the hospital, and was hooked to a CTG. Man, is labor a bitch. I was barking orders, being a general bitch. It all looked like a textbook birth. I was either lying on my back or on my side the entire time, so one of the nurses told me to go for a walk or sit down, saying that this would make the contraction less painful (as if!).
Forty five minutes later, as they were about to remove the CTG machine sensors, the machine started beeping. On the roll of paper coming out of the machine was one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life: From 140 beats per minute, the jagged line just went one direction: down. To 60 BPM. With a snap of a finger, the mood shifted, right out of a scene from E.R. I saw the helplessness and fear etched in Thomas's face as three people descended upon me to prep me for an emergency C-Section. I didn't really know what was happening, I was confused, it didn't dawn on me that I was in the middle of an emergency.
The doctor jabbed a stick into the infusion thing they stuck to the back of my right hand, and my heart started to race. "Mein Herz! Mein Herz! Es rasst!" I shouted.
"Das ist gegen die wehen," the doctor explained, as I was being transported to the Operating Room with a gurney. "Wir mussen eine Notoperation machen, das Baby ist in Gefahr."
"Kann ich nichts dagegen tun? Kann ich nichts etwas machen?" I pleaded, but my questions fell on deaf ears as they lifted me on the the table with a 3, 2, 1. I started shaking involuntarily. "Warum zittere ich?! Warum zittere ich?! Agh, ich hab einen Krampfader in meinem rechten Fuß!"
In the midst of all this, all I could think of was thank God I spoke German. A man in a green operating face mask appeared above me and asked me for my weight and height. Then another person in a mask put a breathing apparatus over my face and asked me to breathe deeply. Then again.
The next thing I remember is another face, this time a woman, above me. Two hours have passed, said the clock. She told me I was in a recovery room because I just had an operation. I remember swimming in light. Do you want to see your son? I was pretty out of it and I think I was speaking slowly, like a drunk. They showed me Antonio and put him over my chest. I remember asking why does he have a cut above his eye. My throat hurt and I felt numb everywhere. I remember Thomas talking to me but I don't really remember what he said. Later he would tell me that I must have been on pretty serious drugs because I asked a question he said he already answered in the recovery room.
I was later wheeled into another room for observation. I was more lucid by then, but my throat was itching like crazy. I kept asking for water, but all they gave me were lemon flavored cotton buds to suck on. They said it was from being intubated during the operation, a breathing apparatus since the anaesthesia meant that my involuntary reflexes stopped functioning for a while. The doctor came in and explained to me that my placenta separated itself from the uterine wall too early, robbing the baby of oxygen, and sending his heart rate plummeting. The stress was too much for him because his amniotic fluid had turned green when they pulled him out of me. After that my uterus didn't contract to the rate it needed to, and they had to inject something to prevent massive hemorrhaging. Despite this, he was born healthy, with an APGAR rate of 8, then 9.
They stressed I was very lucky to be in this hospital, which specializes in gynecology and pediatrics, and to where all the worst cases in Austria are flown. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had stayed in Erfurt and had given birth at the hospital where I was registered at. They're good, but I know that they don't have the capacity to take care of the baby in such an emergency, and would have needed to drive him to another hospital 20 minutes away. These were 20 minutes we didn't have.
My MIL is convinced that the trip was the reason for my emergency ceasarian. I had no history to indicate that I was under risk of placenta abruptio before this. However, I am convinced otherwise. It happened in our hotel room, not during the trip. It would have happened anyway if I had stayed in Erfurt. I am glad that my husband was with me, that a team of experts are around me to take care of us, in a hospital capable of dealing with the situation. The care here is top notch, and my mother is convinced that God led us here. Believe what you want to belive, I say.
All the things that I worried about during my pregnancy seem so trivial now. I gladly deal with the indignities foisted around me. I would silently endure all the enemas, the catheters, the infusions, the shots, and my painfully rock-hard San Fernando valley porn star tits again, just to know that my baby and I are safe.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
T+ 5 days
No baby yet.
But I did find this funny list over the intarwebs, and pasting what applies to me.
What it feels like to have your ribs used as footrests...from the inside.
That sometimes it appears like you have a strange alien creature with 10 arms and legs about to burst out your belly button...ewww!!
That by the end of your pregnancy, you will need a forklift to help get you off the couch or bed (or at least one really strong person).
That even the silliest of things will make you cry your eyes out.
How many times you will have to call the doctor about all your super embarrassing female questions.
That the toilet will become your new "best friend" or "second home" for at least one reason or another.
That you don't really know the meaning of a full bladder until you've had to do an ultrasound....or been kicked there from the inside.
How bad those mood swings really can be...watch out everyone!
That you will get so big, you will have to stand sideways when washing dishes, doing laundry or brushing your teeth.
That everybody else around you apparently is a pregnancy expert, especially your mother in law.
That you won't be cutting your own toenails for quite a few months if you can't get anyone to help you.
Forget about shaving for quite a while too...unless you REALLY trust your partner!
That it becomes really hard to squat over the toilet with all that extra weight...talk about good leg exercises!
That the simplest of things, like walking up a flight of stairs or walking to get the mail, would make you feel like you really need a nap.
That people suddenly feel like they have the right to rub and pat your growing belly...like it's not attached to the rest of you.
That the word "discharge" would become a common part of your vocabulary....and the scary thing is...you won't be embarrassed!
That they just don't make sexy bras in DD's. It's all about support, support and more support!
Sexy underwear...you can forget those too! Comfort and cotton...that's it!
That you will never look at your husband quite the same again.
That your breasts start leaking BEFORE the baby is even here yet.
What it actually feels like to be kicked or headbutted in the cervix..owww!!
That rolling over in bed from one side of your body to the other is a huge chore requiring lots of huffing and puffing.
That the sleepless nights begin BEFORE the baby is born.
That you had better buy some slip on shoes for when you get real big...unless you are going to have someone around to tie your shoes for you.
That you will spend so much time cleaning and re-cleaning the same exact things over and over again in preparation for the baby's arrival.
That you won't care how much of a pig you look like when you gobble down your second full plate of food...much to every one's amazement!
That memory is.....darn it! What was I going to say?
That you can both hysterically laugh and hysterically cry within the same few moments.
That your sense of smell is a lot better than it used to be, especially when it comes to the things that make you nauseous.
Hmm, I wonder if other people have had the same experience?
But I did find this funny list over the intarwebs, and pasting what applies to me.
What it feels like to have your ribs used as footrests...from the inside.
That sometimes it appears like you have a strange alien creature with 10 arms and legs about to burst out your belly button...ewww!!
That by the end of your pregnancy, you will need a forklift to help get you off the couch or bed (or at least one really strong person).
That even the silliest of things will make you cry your eyes out.
How many times you will have to call the doctor about all your super embarrassing female questions.
That the toilet will become your new "best friend" or "second home" for at least one reason or another.
That you don't really know the meaning of a full bladder until you've had to do an ultrasound....or been kicked there from the inside.
How bad those mood swings really can be...watch out everyone!
That you will get so big, you will have to stand sideways when washing dishes, doing laundry or brushing your teeth.
That everybody else around you apparently is a pregnancy expert, especially your mother in law.
That you won't be cutting your own toenails for quite a few months if you can't get anyone to help you.
Forget about shaving for quite a while too...unless you REALLY trust your partner!
That it becomes really hard to squat over the toilet with all that extra weight...talk about good leg exercises!
That the simplest of things, like walking up a flight of stairs or walking to get the mail, would make you feel like you really need a nap.
That people suddenly feel like they have the right to rub and pat your growing belly...like it's not attached to the rest of you.
That the word "discharge" would become a common part of your vocabulary....and the scary thing is...you won't be embarrassed!
That they just don't make sexy bras in DD's. It's all about support, support and more support!
Sexy underwear...you can forget those too! Comfort and cotton...that's it!
That you will never look at your husband quite the same again.
That your breasts start leaking BEFORE the baby is even here yet.
What it actually feels like to be kicked or headbutted in the cervix..owww!!
That rolling over in bed from one side of your body to the other is a huge chore requiring lots of huffing and puffing.
That the sleepless nights begin BEFORE the baby is born.
That you had better buy some slip on shoes for when you get real big...unless you are going to have someone around to tie your shoes for you.
That you will spend so much time cleaning and re-cleaning the same exact things over and over again in preparation for the baby's arrival.
That you won't care how much of a pig you look like when you gobble down your second full plate of food...much to every one's amazement!
That memory is.....darn it! What was I going to say?
That you can both hysterically laugh and hysterically cry within the same few moments.
That your sense of smell is a lot better than it used to be, especially when it comes to the things that make you nauseous.
Hmm, I wonder if other people have had the same experience?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Waiting Game
T + 1 Day.
Dear Baby,
I know it's very nice and comfy in my belly. Warm. Not like the dreary weather outside. Cold.
But sunshine, it's time to come out. You are becoming very heavy, and Mama's body isn't designed to carry an extra 40 pounds all the time. Ich bin keine kräftige Frau, mein Liebling. Mama's body is starting to hurt. And you taking after your father makes it hurt even more. I read that fetuses at the end of pregnancy are no longer so active because of space issues. But somehow you defy that, just like your dad did when he was in his mom's belly. Lack of sleep when you come out is no biggie for me anymore, since I already can't sleep with you kicking my ribs and lungs, and I can no longer move without some sort of pain. So really, I would welcome your arrival. The pain of childbirth doesn't scare me anymore, because I just want the pregnancy over with. No offense, dear.
I know it's difficult to come out when Ma takes very good care of you. Like when the doctor told me that instead of two, I have three arteries going into my belly to feed you. But really, growing up means letting go. You can't stay in my belly forever. Someday, you will find out that you can't live with mama and papa forever. In the meantime Sweetie, please understand that it's not that I don't like you. I'm just saying that it's time.
We are hoping to see you soon,
Love,
Mama and Papa.
Dear Baby,
I know it's very nice and comfy in my belly. Warm. Not like the dreary weather outside. Cold.
But sunshine, it's time to come out. You are becoming very heavy, and Mama's body isn't designed to carry an extra 40 pounds all the time. Ich bin keine kräftige Frau, mein Liebling. Mama's body is starting to hurt. And you taking after your father makes it hurt even more. I read that fetuses at the end of pregnancy are no longer so active because of space issues. But somehow you defy that, just like your dad did when he was in his mom's belly. Lack of sleep when you come out is no biggie for me anymore, since I already can't sleep with you kicking my ribs and lungs, and I can no longer move without some sort of pain. So really, I would welcome your arrival. The pain of childbirth doesn't scare me anymore, because I just want the pregnancy over with. No offense, dear.
I know it's difficult to come out when Ma takes very good care of you. Like when the doctor told me that instead of two, I have three arteries going into my belly to feed you. But really, growing up means letting go. You can't stay in my belly forever. Someday, you will find out that you can't live with mama and papa forever. In the meantime Sweetie, please understand that it's not that I don't like you. I'm just saying that it's time.
We are hoping to see you soon,
Love,
Mama and Papa.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
German Vice Chancellor Gay: Nobody Cares
When I asked my husband who he was voting for last Sunday, he automatically said FDP, the yellow party. I guess with the baby coming, he has taken a huge interest in the direction Germany will take regarding family politics. People can say all they want about Thüringen, but I'll doubt you'll find a state that is as family oriented. The state provides excellent and cheap whole day child-care for working parents. The schools are good (if a bit lefty-oriented), Kindergeld, Erziehungsgeld, the works. And companies don't discriminate against working mothers, because they were used to that in the former Eastern Germany. I was supposed to go on maternity leave in the middle of September, but because I am a freelancer, I could extend it until the end of September. It wasn't a big deal.
I have seen the party head, new Vice Chancellor and Foreign Affairs chair Guido Westerwelle on TV. He seems like an ok chap, a bit arrogant, but one needs that in politics.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that he was gay. Not only that, he's been out since 2004. Yet nobody cares, and his party still won and is now out of the opposition and leading with the incumbent party CDU.
I don't care if he's gay, and I am actually happy that his sexuality is not deemed a liability or a hindrance in his ability to lead. I am actually amazed at how Germans and Europeans are so open-minded about these kinds of things, in contrast to Filipinos and in some cases, Americans. In some countries, admitting to homosexuality is political suicide.
I don't want to become a German citizen. I've made that clear. I don't feel German, I don't feel that I "belong" to this country. However, accompanying my husband to the elections, I could not help but feel a pang of envy at seeing how peaceful, fast, and orderly their elections are, in comparison to the circus in the Philippines. I have volunteered in the Philippine elections in the past, and seeing how politics works over here made me almost want to renounce my Filipino citizenship, just so I could participate in the direction my adoptive country is taking. Good job Gérmany!
I have seen the party head, new Vice Chancellor and Foreign Affairs chair Guido Westerwelle on TV. He seems like an ok chap, a bit arrogant, but one needs that in politics.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that he was gay. Not only that, he's been out since 2004. Yet nobody cares, and his party still won and is now out of the opposition and leading with the incumbent party CDU.
I don't care if he's gay, and I am actually happy that his sexuality is not deemed a liability or a hindrance in his ability to lead. I am actually amazed at how Germans and Europeans are so open-minded about these kinds of things, in contrast to Filipinos and in some cases, Americans. In some countries, admitting to homosexuality is political suicide.
I don't want to become a German citizen. I've made that clear. I don't feel German, I don't feel that I "belong" to this country. However, accompanying my husband to the elections, I could not help but feel a pang of envy at seeing how peaceful, fast, and orderly their elections are, in comparison to the circus in the Philippines. I have volunteered in the Philippine elections in the past, and seeing how politics works over here made me almost want to renounce my Filipino citizenship, just so I could participate in the direction my adoptive country is taking. Good job Gérmany!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Haben die Erfurter keine Mannieren?
Es ist mir aufgefallen, wie die Leute von Erfurt und Umgebung schlechte Mannieren haben. Sind die Leute hier einfach schlecht erzogen? Was haben sie für eine Erziehung gehabt? Ich will nicht verallgemeinern, will nicht sagen dass es ein deutsches Problem ist, weil meine Erfahrung nur hier in Ostdeutschland bedingt ist.
Ich habe schon erfahren, wie alte Omis eine Schlange überholen, nur weil sie denken, dass es Ihren Recht ist. Ich bin selbst schwanger, und nutze meine Situation nie aus. Ich wurde schon von Servicepersonal belogen. Ich war in einer Straßenbahn, kämmte meine Haare (weil ich in eile war) und ein Herr hat mir gesagt "Das macht man in der Offentlichkeit nicht." Das geht ihn doch nicht an! Warum ist das ungerecht, ich schade niemand!
Ich war in Taize, als ich schon erzahlt habe. Ich habe angefangen zu singen,weil ich Langeweile hatte. Ein junge hinter mir hat mich sehr irritiert angekuckt und sagte, "Kannst du aufhören? Es ist richtig ätzend!" Und dann hat ein Heavy Metal lied von seinem Handy laut gespielt! Wir waren doch in einem heligen Ort! Ich hab ihm gesagt, Er hat sich deutlich ausgedruckt, er braucht diesen unhöflichen Aktion nicht mehr. Später habe ich erfahren, dass seine gruppe kamen aus Schmalkalden(wie peinlich, da ich jetzt dieser Ort mit seinem Verhalten verbinde) und die anderen Gruppen halten diese Gruppen für kommisch, da die da waren wegen Urlaub, und waren nicht mal Kirchangehörigen. Ich wollte nicht mal sagen dass ich in Erfurt wohne, da ich nicht mit diesen Leuten etwas zu tun haben möchte.
Wie gesagt, jetzt bin ich hochschwanger, und ich habe erfahren wie Schulkinder, Jungs, ihren Platz nicht mal mir angeboten haben! Sie hatten ein Sitz nur für ihren halb leeren Rücksäcke gefullt. Ich habe die zwei angekuckt,und gewartet. Nichts. Bis zur meine Haltestelle. Ich wollte etwas sagen, aber ich meine, Mensch, es sollte doch selbstverständlich sein, oder? Egal ob ich auf den Philippinen oder in DE bin.
Ich dachte es war nur so mit den Jugendlichen, aber eine unangenehme Überraschung wartete letzten Samstag auf mich. Eine Gruppe von alten Männer (eine Reisegruppe?) hat sich genau so wie die Jugendlichen verhalten! Ok, einige hatten einen Stock schon dabei, aber es gab Männer die um 60 waren und auch ohne Gehstock laufen konnten. Sicherlich können Sie auch Platz für eine schwangere mit einem Einkaufsrollo machen!
Ich war dann gestern mit einer Bekanntin, die auch Schwanger ist. Und es ist wieder passiert! Was geht in den Köpfen dieser Menschen werde ich nie verstehen.
Ich habe schon erfahren, wie alte Omis eine Schlange überholen, nur weil sie denken, dass es Ihren Recht ist. Ich bin selbst schwanger, und nutze meine Situation nie aus. Ich wurde schon von Servicepersonal belogen. Ich war in einer Straßenbahn, kämmte meine Haare (weil ich in eile war) und ein Herr hat mir gesagt "Das macht man in der Offentlichkeit nicht." Das geht ihn doch nicht an! Warum ist das ungerecht, ich schade niemand!
Ich war in Taize, als ich schon erzahlt habe. Ich habe angefangen zu singen,weil ich Langeweile hatte. Ein junge hinter mir hat mich sehr irritiert angekuckt und sagte, "Kannst du aufhören? Es ist richtig ätzend!" Und dann hat ein Heavy Metal lied von seinem Handy laut gespielt! Wir waren doch in einem heligen Ort! Ich hab ihm gesagt, Er hat sich deutlich ausgedruckt, er braucht diesen unhöflichen Aktion nicht mehr. Später habe ich erfahren, dass seine gruppe kamen aus Schmalkalden(wie peinlich, da ich jetzt dieser Ort mit seinem Verhalten verbinde) und die anderen Gruppen halten diese Gruppen für kommisch, da die da waren wegen Urlaub, und waren nicht mal Kirchangehörigen. Ich wollte nicht mal sagen dass ich in Erfurt wohne, da ich nicht mit diesen Leuten etwas zu tun haben möchte.
Wie gesagt, jetzt bin ich hochschwanger, und ich habe erfahren wie Schulkinder, Jungs, ihren Platz nicht mal mir angeboten haben! Sie hatten ein Sitz nur für ihren halb leeren Rücksäcke gefullt. Ich habe die zwei angekuckt,und gewartet. Nichts. Bis zur meine Haltestelle. Ich wollte etwas sagen, aber ich meine, Mensch, es sollte doch selbstverständlich sein, oder? Egal ob ich auf den Philippinen oder in DE bin.
Ich dachte es war nur so mit den Jugendlichen, aber eine unangenehme Überraschung wartete letzten Samstag auf mich. Eine Gruppe von alten Männer (eine Reisegruppe?) hat sich genau so wie die Jugendlichen verhalten! Ok, einige hatten einen Stock schon dabei, aber es gab Männer die um 60 waren und auch ohne Gehstock laufen konnten. Sicherlich können Sie auch Platz für eine schwangere mit einem Einkaufsrollo machen!
Ich war dann gestern mit einer Bekanntin, die auch Schwanger ist. Und es ist wieder passiert! Was geht in den Köpfen dieser Menschen werde ich nie verstehen.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Balisong (music post)
This song was at the top of the charts before I left Manila. People liked to kick on Rivermaya's sound during this time because they sounded a lot like Coldplay. However, the song is well done, and what's wrong with following a genre? It's not like they ripped of a song (like Oranges and Lemons), or a chord (like Coldplay has been accused of). I really liked this song, really romantic.
So here's Rivermaya pre-Rico Blanco departure with Balisong.
Here he is again with one of his latest songs, "Yugto" (in Tagalog) I think that there is no question, he's one of the best musicians/songwriters in the Philippines right now, right up there with Up Dharma Down.
So here's Rivermaya pre-Rico Blanco departure with Balisong.
Here he is again with one of his latest songs, "Yugto" (in Tagalog) I think that there is no question, he's one of the best musicians/songwriters in the Philippines right now, right up there with Up Dharma Down.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Too Much Information
Warning: Scatological references
This Birth Thing Ain't Easy. Boy, do I know that now.
I am kind of like the god Ares. I am not squeamish about seeing blood and violence. I lived near a hospital and was assigned to the police beat when I was in journ school. I've seen stabbed men, hovels, and the feces-covered walls of a city jail. But tell me a story about blood and gore and I go into hysterics. As long as I am not at the receiving end of a syringe I am fine. When I am, I really have to steel myself like a champion fighter. I am a wuss.
I've been taking these Geburtsvorbereitung (Birth prep)classes for the past couple of weeks. I thought in the beginning that they were relaxed affairs, Lamaze classes where you were taught how to breathe and push, with my supportive, loving hubby at my side.
Turns out that there's only one round of "partner classes" a month in my city, and I missed that boat. And that they don't teach us how to breathe, they were really BIRTH PREP courses. Like, they tell you what to expect and what's gonna happen.
So at last night's class, the midwife explained what to expect when we get to the hospital. Apparently, pregnant women in the last few weeks before the delivery become constipated. It is a side effect of the hormone progesterone, released by the body to prevent premature contractions. This also prevents the woman from *ahem* doing number 2.
Then the progesterone levels sink, starting the contractions and releasing a round of diarrhea.
Great huh?
If this doesn't happen, a woman is asked to try to force a bowel movement before delivery. This is done to try to make more room for the baby's head when it comes through the pelvis. Sometimes, a woman just "can't go." Some women suffer through performance anxiety.
"...Dann machen wir einen Einlauf." said the midwife.
"Was ist ein Einlauf?" I asked.
My face transformed from a look of curiosity to horror when she described what it was.
An enema.
I am gonna get an effing enema.
"But really, it will be a great relief to you when you get it! The baby coming out creates so much pressure, you would be thankful for a few millimeters more!"
Then she described the different methods used to anesthesize the area. The epidural, I knew that already. Then she said that that's only used if the pain is THAT INTENSE, and they'll try a less invasive method first.
For any woman who has had a yeast infection in Germany, the word "Zäpfchen" evokes a sense of slight dread. It is the German word for suppository. Considering that the baby is coming out of the front hole, You'd expect the suppository to go there.
But no, no, no. After the enema, I would get a Zäpfchen plugged in. The last time I used an anal suppository was when I was seven, during a bout of severe constipation. This one was supposed to numb the area, not to induce a bowel movement.
Mouth agape, I asked, "Warum dort?" (Why there?)
"Well, your intestinal muscles also control your cervical muscles, so numbing that area also numbs the cervical muscles."
Well, I guess since the baby is coming out the other end, putting the suppository at the back end makes sense.
So basically Not only would I have a sore front side, I'd also be dealing with a sore backside as well. Why did I sign up for this again?
This Birth Thing Ain't Easy. Boy, do I know that now.
I am kind of like the god Ares. I am not squeamish about seeing blood and violence. I lived near a hospital and was assigned to the police beat when I was in journ school. I've seen stabbed men, hovels, and the feces-covered walls of a city jail. But tell me a story about blood and gore and I go into hysterics. As long as I am not at the receiving end of a syringe I am fine. When I am, I really have to steel myself like a champion fighter. I am a wuss.
I've been taking these Geburtsvorbereitung (Birth prep)classes for the past couple of weeks. I thought in the beginning that they were relaxed affairs, Lamaze classes where you were taught how to breathe and push, with my supportive, loving hubby at my side.
Turns out that there's only one round of "partner classes" a month in my city, and I missed that boat. And that they don't teach us how to breathe, they were really BIRTH PREP courses. Like, they tell you what to expect and what's gonna happen.
So at last night's class, the midwife explained what to expect when we get to the hospital. Apparently, pregnant women in the last few weeks before the delivery become constipated. It is a side effect of the hormone progesterone, released by the body to prevent premature contractions. This also prevents the woman from *ahem* doing number 2.
Then the progesterone levels sink, starting the contractions and releasing a round of diarrhea.
Great huh?
If this doesn't happen, a woman is asked to try to force a bowel movement before delivery. This is done to try to make more room for the baby's head when it comes through the pelvis. Sometimes, a woman just "can't go." Some women suffer through performance anxiety.
"...Dann machen wir einen Einlauf." said the midwife.
"Was ist ein Einlauf?" I asked.
My face transformed from a look of curiosity to horror when she described what it was.
An enema.
I am gonna get an effing enema.
"But really, it will be a great relief to you when you get it! The baby coming out creates so much pressure, you would be thankful for a few millimeters more!"
Then she described the different methods used to anesthesize the area. The epidural, I knew that already. Then she said that that's only used if the pain is THAT INTENSE, and they'll try a less invasive method first.
For any woman who has had a yeast infection in Germany, the word "Zäpfchen" evokes a sense of slight dread. It is the German word for suppository. Considering that the baby is coming out of the front hole, You'd expect the suppository to go there.
But no, no, no. After the enema, I would get a Zäpfchen plugged in. The last time I used an anal suppository was when I was seven, during a bout of severe constipation. This one was supposed to numb the area, not to induce a bowel movement.
Mouth agape, I asked, "Warum dort?" (Why there?)
"Well, your intestinal muscles also control your cervical muscles, so numbing that area also numbs the cervical muscles."
Well, I guess since the baby is coming out the other end, putting the suppository at the back end makes sense.
So basically Not only would I have a sore front side, I'd also be dealing with a sore backside as well. Why did I sign up for this again?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Manila Sound (music post)
Sometimes I feel I was born in the wrong decade. I caught the tail-end of the dark days of disco as a kid, and from what I hear from my parent's generation, Manila was a really happening place in the '70s. I really like "Manila Sound," the Filipino version of disco-funk-swing that dominated the airwaves then. The '90s band revival was also really cool. Sometimes I wish creativity would dominate the airwaves again, just like it did in the '70s and '90s.
Here is a song that always makes me homesick
My favorite Manila sound song. It reminds me of the phat beats of Jamiroquai.
And check out Makati before the buildings took over!
Spot the celebrity: Vilma Santos, Val Sotto (ang payat!) Si Spanky Rigor pre-T.O.D.A.S.!
Haha anyway good times for my parents, I guess. My memory of the '80s is pretty hazy, but these songs bring back my childhood.
Here is a song that always makes me homesick
My favorite Manila sound song. It reminds me of the phat beats of Jamiroquai.
And check out Makati before the buildings took over!
Spot the celebrity: Vilma Santos, Val Sotto (ang payat!) Si Spanky Rigor pre-T.O.D.A.S.!
Haha anyway good times for my parents, I guess. My memory of the '80s is pretty hazy, but these songs bring back my childhood.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
D.I.Y.
Time crawls when you are a kid, and the three-month summer vacations in the Philippines seem looooong and tedious. I remember being a very creative kid, taking on a lot of craft projects that took my fancy. I remember making my own pasta when I was 10. I also made my own drawstring bags made of discarded pant legs at the time cut-off shorts were the rage. Though sewing wasn't my strongest suit, I sewed and crocheted several dresses for my Barbies when I was 11. I ate self made pasta for a week when I was 13. I've collected (and lost) several recipe collections, and baked up a storm when I was 15. Made a collage/photo album when I was 14.
I guess this is what led to cosplay. For those who didn't know me before 2006, I was an active cosplayer in the Philippines, making costumes of my favorite characters.
This is perhaps one of my favorite costumes, because I made it myself, with a little help from my family. I was always good at making props, I never really excelled at sewing. This costume is made of spray painted paper mache, wire, and cloth. That it turned out so well was my reward in itself.
For some reason, I felt I lost touch with my creative self in Germany because I was so preoccupied in learning German, then Spanish.
As the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention, and I have been cooking, cooking, cooking for the past couple of months.
After my first months of pregnancy, when I couldn't even stand the smell of food, I began cooking. A lot. First I got started with Filipino food.
I already started when I first came to Germany, but my zealousness went to high gear in my fourth month of pregnancy. I never thought that my favorite Filipino snacks were so easy to make! Because I am not allowed to eat raw food, sushi was out of the question. It would have driven me mad if it were not for Surimi, fake crab meat, which is actually made of cooked fish. I've made my own sushi before, so why not? So I made my own maki rolls. Then I realized that I missed Shrimp Tempura, which is weirdly enough not standard in Japanese restaurants in Thuringia. I have seen tempura in menus in Hamburg and Frankfurt, but they were prohibitively expensive. They were soooo easy to make! Then I remembered, hey, I haven't seen green tea ice cream in menus here. So I decided to make my own ice cream.
The Germans said that my ice cream tasted more like cookie dough than green tea, maybe I put too much cream? But I was sufficiently satisfied with the results that I decided to make chocolate ice cream. Take note that I don't have an ice cream machine.
Thomas and I, being freelancers, aren't faring so well in this economy. Gifts to friends are mostly now mostly self-made, hopefully they will be appreciated just as much as store bought ones. I have been preparing a small planter that I've filled with herbs for a couple of months now as a going-away present for a friend. We needed a rug for the balcony, and my bag of pairless socks went to good use. Part of me wishes that we were more flush financially, but a part of me asks whether I would be this motivated to be thrifty/creative if we were.
I guess this is what led to cosplay. For those who didn't know me before 2006, I was an active cosplayer in the Philippines, making costumes of my favorite characters.
This is perhaps one of my favorite costumes, because I made it myself, with a little help from my family. I was always good at making props, I never really excelled at sewing. This costume is made of spray painted paper mache, wire, and cloth. That it turned out so well was my reward in itself.
For some reason, I felt I lost touch with my creative self in Germany because I was so preoccupied in learning German, then Spanish.
As the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention, and I have been cooking, cooking, cooking for the past couple of months.
After my first months of pregnancy, when I couldn't even stand the smell of food, I began cooking. A lot. First I got started with Filipino food.
I already started when I first came to Germany, but my zealousness went to high gear in my fourth month of pregnancy. I never thought that my favorite Filipino snacks were so easy to make! Because I am not allowed to eat raw food, sushi was out of the question. It would have driven me mad if it were not for Surimi, fake crab meat, which is actually made of cooked fish. I've made my own sushi before, so why not? So I made my own maki rolls. Then I realized that I missed Shrimp Tempura, which is weirdly enough not standard in Japanese restaurants in Thuringia. I have seen tempura in menus in Hamburg and Frankfurt, but they were prohibitively expensive. They were soooo easy to make! Then I remembered, hey, I haven't seen green tea ice cream in menus here. So I decided to make my own ice cream.
The Germans said that my ice cream tasted more like cookie dough than green tea, maybe I put too much cream? But I was sufficiently satisfied with the results that I decided to make chocolate ice cream. Take note that I don't have an ice cream machine.
Thomas and I, being freelancers, aren't faring so well in this economy. Gifts to friends are mostly now mostly self-made, hopefully they will be appreciated just as much as store bought ones. I have been preparing a small planter that I've filled with herbs for a couple of months now as a going-away present for a friend. We needed a rug for the balcony, and my bag of pairless socks went to good use. Part of me wishes that we were more flush financially, but a part of me asks whether I would be this motivated to be thrifty/creative if we were.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Dive-Dove?
Grammar question, folks, especially to the writers/journalists out there.
I have always used the word "dove" to conjugate the word dive in past and present perfect ("He dove head-first into the ocean," " He has dove to depths unimaginable,") So apparently "dived" is the right way of forming the past of dive? That doesn't sound right to me. I looked it up on the web, and it says that dived should be used to avoid confusion with dove, the bird. As far as I know, there is no confusion because I pronounce the two words distinctly. ("dowv" versus "dahv"). Maybe dove is British? Or a Philippinism? Help!
I have always used the word "dove" to conjugate the word dive in past and present perfect ("He dove head-first into the ocean," " He has dove to depths unimaginable,") So apparently "dived" is the right way of forming the past of dive? That doesn't sound right to me. I looked it up on the web, and it says that dived should be used to avoid confusion with dove, the bird. As far as I know, there is no confusion because I pronounce the two words distinctly. ("dowv" versus "dahv"). Maybe dove is British? Or a Philippinism? Help!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Awesome Wedding March!
This has got to be the best wedding march EVER! What a great way to celebrate a relationship! I heard that it was featured on the Today show.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Class and Prejudice
One of the things that I took for granted growing up was household help. One of the benefits of being middle class in a third world country is that labor is cheap, and for 50 euros a month, a lady, sometimes two, lived with us and took care of the children and the house and the cleaning. Granted, sometimes things get stolen, or the occasional maid runs away with the construction worker next door. However, the benefits outweighed the dangers. We never had to worry about food. The house was always tidy. The kids didn't need daycare, my mother could go to work. There was someone in the house 24/7. We eventually lost the keys to the front door and never bothered to replace them, since, well, there was always somebody in the house. If a maid stole something, or is under suspicion of having stolen something, we fired her. That was that.
Over the years, a family has served us on and off. It started with a woman in 1987, who then referred us to her cousin when she got married...we eventually adopted the daughter of one of these women, she went to college during the day and cleaned and cooked at night. She works at an office now, a job that my mother placed her in. That is called moving up. Two girls from her little barrio now cook and clean for my parents. One of the girls looks after my nephew and nieces.
Reading The White Tiger reminded me of the shock I felt when Thomas pointed out that I treated the help like dirt. I never shouted at them or abused them. But as he pointed out, they were invisible to me, noticed only when I needed something. I mean, I thought I was being kind, I never really gave my treatment of the maids second thought. Leaving the Philippines and coming back made me see things with fresh eyes. By then, I was used to doing the household chores myself, and I felt almost embarrassed when I asked a maid to hand me a spoon, or when she would wordlessly pick up my barely used drinking glass. Almost.
I am aware that things work differently there than they do here in Germany. There are times, times like now when the baby is coming, that I wish that I could hire a yaya to take care of the baby while I go work. But mostly, I am kind of happy that I do my own housework here. I didn't have maids when I moved out of my parents's house when I was 23, but the satisfaction and appreciation of seeing a clean window done by my own hands didn't hit me until I moved here.
It is a very different mentality. Over here, people would call it slave labor. In the Philippines, people think that they are doing a good thing by giving somebody a job. In a country with high unemployment and population, these two things coming together provide this economic set-up. In the novel, the boss, Mr. Ashok, was seen as "softened" by the West. I sometimes think if it was actually a good thing that I began to see the maids as human when I went back in 2008. Thomas said that it isn't such a good idea to treat the maids as equals, since this will never work in a country like the Philippines. A country where class determines whether you can speak English like an American or not speak English at all. This fact spells the difference between staying where you are or moving up in society. It is telling that all of my acquaintances and friends in the Philippines talk like me and dress like me, while the rest of the world equates Filipina= domestic helper. Isn't it enough that they eat the same food as you do and have their own room and own fan and own toilet, he said?
I still don't know the answer to that.
Over the years, a family has served us on and off. It started with a woman in 1987, who then referred us to her cousin when she got married...we eventually adopted the daughter of one of these women, she went to college during the day and cleaned and cooked at night. She works at an office now, a job that my mother placed her in. That is called moving up. Two girls from her little barrio now cook and clean for my parents. One of the girls looks after my nephew and nieces.
Reading The White Tiger reminded me of the shock I felt when Thomas pointed out that I treated the help like dirt. I never shouted at them or abused them. But as he pointed out, they were invisible to me, noticed only when I needed something. I mean, I thought I was being kind, I never really gave my treatment of the maids second thought. Leaving the Philippines and coming back made me see things with fresh eyes. By then, I was used to doing the household chores myself, and I felt almost embarrassed when I asked a maid to hand me a spoon, or when she would wordlessly pick up my barely used drinking glass. Almost.
I am aware that things work differently there than they do here in Germany. There are times, times like now when the baby is coming, that I wish that I could hire a yaya to take care of the baby while I go work. But mostly, I am kind of happy that I do my own housework here. I didn't have maids when I moved out of my parents's house when I was 23, but the satisfaction and appreciation of seeing a clean window done by my own hands didn't hit me until I moved here.
It is a very different mentality. Over here, people would call it slave labor. In the Philippines, people think that they are doing a good thing by giving somebody a job. In a country with high unemployment and population, these two things coming together provide this economic set-up. In the novel, the boss, Mr. Ashok, was seen as "softened" by the West. I sometimes think if it was actually a good thing that I began to see the maids as human when I went back in 2008. Thomas said that it isn't such a good idea to treat the maids as equals, since this will never work in a country like the Philippines. A country where class determines whether you can speak English like an American or not speak English at all. This fact spells the difference between staying where you are or moving up in society. It is telling that all of my acquaintances and friends in the Philippines talk like me and dress like me, while the rest of the world equates Filipina= domestic helper. Isn't it enough that they eat the same food as you do and have their own room and own fan and own toilet, he said?
I still don't know the answer to that.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Living in Conscious Faith
Coming from a Catholic country, I have always took Catholicism for granted. I went to Catholic schools and went to a Catholic university. I studied the Bible and Salvation History in school. My family is also Catholic, but they weren't strict about it. I grew up with a Catholicism that recognized that the Church and the humans who serve in it are not perfect. I participated in a lot of Church activities. I worked in a Catholic magazine and worked for the press office of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines.
I did, and do, a lot of things that many people who criticize Christians as "hypocritical." I believe in contraception, I don't think that pre-martial sex is bad. Reading the Old Testament convinced me of that (Read about Lot's daughters). I believe that women should be priests and that although I would never do it myself, women should have the right to get an abortion. The Church making a big hoo-ha about people having free will to choose sin over good is a principle I think the clergy should put into practice. Homosexuality? Yes, the Bible says it is immoral. But I think that the story of David, God's favored, and Jonathan has been swept under the rug. Really, the homosexual subtext in that story just blows my mind. If you tell me to get my mind out of the gutter, please re-read that story.
I was Catholic because everybody was Catholic. I went to Church, but I did my own thing on the weekdays. I still do. I took it for granted.
Moving to East Germany, living with atheists, and having an atheist for a husband was for me a puzzle, at it was a revelation. One doesn't need religion to be an upright person. All religions can get along, as long as there is mutual respect and understanding. It hurts me sometimes when atheists challenge me to tell them what makes us better than them, because I don't think like that. I don't think that I am better than them. I just have found my personal truth, a belief that I believe in. It is not something that I have to, nor want to defend, because it is something that every person should discover for themselves.
Living in Germany made me think long and hard about being a Christian. Why am I a Christian? Do I want to be a Christian? Can I believe and worship my God in another religion (say, Universal, Wiccan or Lutheran)? Do I want to stay Catholic, despite the Church's flaws?
I spent a week in Taize in France, trying to answer those questions. It is a village an hour north of Lyon in the French countryside, an ecumenical retreat area run by the celibate Taize brothers. I ate prison food, spent three times a day in Church, and went to Bible study with a great bunch of people, from different countries and different Christian faiths. We talked about the Bible, argued about what Jesus's word really meant to us, and how they relate to us in the present day. We had a great moderator, Brother Jean-Marie. I was surprised to learn that there are a lot of Protestants are more dogmatic than Catholics about certain rules, like divorce.
Being there was like being in a Christian paradise, where everybody got along, and had civilized discussions about our differences. We discovered that we were more similar than we were different. As for my questions, I realized that I want to remain Christian. I will leave the Catholic question as it is right now. I will remain Catholic, but I will not, as I have not, closed myself from attending services from other Christian religions. I discovered that the thing that turns me off the most is when a Church damns people from other faiths, even if they are also Christian. I find that choosing to be Christian is really more liberating than just being one. I hope that people will respect this decision just as I respect their decision to believe in what they believe in.
I did, and do, a lot of things that many people who criticize Christians as "hypocritical." I believe in contraception, I don't think that pre-martial sex is bad. Reading the Old Testament convinced me of that (Read about Lot's daughters). I believe that women should be priests and that although I would never do it myself, women should have the right to get an abortion. The Church making a big hoo-ha about people having free will to choose sin over good is a principle I think the clergy should put into practice. Homosexuality? Yes, the Bible says it is immoral. But I think that the story of David, God's favored, and Jonathan has been swept under the rug. Really, the homosexual subtext in that story just blows my mind. If you tell me to get my mind out of the gutter, please re-read that story.
I was Catholic because everybody was Catholic. I went to Church, but I did my own thing on the weekdays. I still do. I took it for granted.
Moving to East Germany, living with atheists, and having an atheist for a husband was for me a puzzle, at it was a revelation. One doesn't need religion to be an upright person. All religions can get along, as long as there is mutual respect and understanding. It hurts me sometimes when atheists challenge me to tell them what makes us better than them, because I don't think like that. I don't think that I am better than them. I just have found my personal truth, a belief that I believe in. It is not something that I have to, nor want to defend, because it is something that every person should discover for themselves.
Living in Germany made me think long and hard about being a Christian. Why am I a Christian? Do I want to be a Christian? Can I believe and worship my God in another religion (say, Universal, Wiccan or Lutheran)? Do I want to stay Catholic, despite the Church's flaws?
I spent a week in Taize in France, trying to answer those questions. It is a village an hour north of Lyon in the French countryside, an ecumenical retreat area run by the celibate Taize brothers. I ate prison food, spent three times a day in Church, and went to Bible study with a great bunch of people, from different countries and different Christian faiths. We talked about the Bible, argued about what Jesus's word really meant to us, and how they relate to us in the present day. We had a great moderator, Brother Jean-Marie. I was surprised to learn that there are a lot of Protestants are more dogmatic than Catholics about certain rules, like divorce.
Being there was like being in a Christian paradise, where everybody got along, and had civilized discussions about our differences. We discovered that we were more similar than we were different. As for my questions, I realized that I want to remain Christian. I will leave the Catholic question as it is right now. I will remain Catholic, but I will not, as I have not, closed myself from attending services from other Christian religions. I discovered that the thing that turns me off the most is when a Church damns people from other faiths, even if they are also Christian. I find that choosing to be Christian is really more liberating than just being one. I hope that people will respect this decision just as I respect their decision to believe in what they believe in.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
I Now Pronounce You Mr. and Mrs. D.
We were not sure how to do the name thing when we got hitched. I kept my name, he kept his. But then he decided to take on my name. His reasons: I have a cooler name that is unrelated to hooves. Foreigners could not pronounce his name, and Germans could never spell it correctly, either. That's why he was so impressed that I got his name right three weeks after our first date.
As of yesterday, Thomas H. is Thomas D. Yes, it's official. We have the papers and everything.
Changing your calling cards and e-mails must be a bitch. Poor fella.
As of yesterday, Thomas H. is Thomas D. Yes, it's official. We have the papers and everything.
Changing your calling cards and e-mails must be a bitch. Poor fella.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Auf Die Mischung Kommt Es An: Amiexpat's Heidelbeer Eierkuchen
I wrote in Tagalog that ever since my fourth month of pregnancy, all I could think about is food. I dream of food, I miss the food that I grew up with. I even have a list of foods that I want to eat taped on my fridge, and I cross out once I've cooked something. Ironic, since I couldn't stand the smell off cooking food during my first and second month. It saves time because I already know what I want to eat days before. I think that making them myself is healthier than buying them, because a lot of elbow grease goes into making them, canceling out the calories ingested. Or that is what I like to tell myself.
One of the things I miss is the pancakes at Pancake House, a Filipino chain that I think is like the American I-Hop. They are soft and fluffy, like a cloud in your mouth. Thomas hates them, he hates American pancakes in general. I think it's because he didn't grow up eating them. Thomas and I could never agree whether American of European pancakes are better. I still drizzle maple syrup all over my pancakes. I try making American pancakes once in a while but I end up eating them all by myself. I make those thin European pancakes instead since we both eat them.
It took me at least 6 months to find the perfect recipe for European pancakes. I've downloaded at least four European pancake recipes. The American pancakes I've tried were not fluffy enough or tasted weird, the European pancakes were also a hit or miss affair. They were either too leaden or moist inside because I've put in too much water, or too dry because of flour.
About a week ago, I found the perfect recipe for European pancakes, and I have been making them since. Finally. I've been making pancakes at least once a week lately because I've been craving them and because Thomas is on this weird Schlank im Schlaf Diet, which says he can only eat carbs in the morning. His classmate recommended it to him after saying that he has gotten chubbier since he got married. I guess I feed him too well!
Amiexpat's Heidelbeer pancake recipe is a perfect compromise between European and American pancakes. They're fluffy, like American pancakes, an thin, like European pancakes. Win-win! Next time, I'll mix the Heidelbeer with the batter, because the berries tend to burn when I flip them over, and sometimes the berries stick to the turner (?), leaving little pockmarks in the pancakes where the berries used to be.
One of the things I miss is the pancakes at Pancake House, a Filipino chain that I think is like the American I-Hop. They are soft and fluffy, like a cloud in your mouth. Thomas hates them, he hates American pancakes in general. I think it's because he didn't grow up eating them. Thomas and I could never agree whether American of European pancakes are better. I still drizzle maple syrup all over my pancakes. I try making American pancakes once in a while but I end up eating them all by myself. I make those thin European pancakes instead since we both eat them.
It took me at least 6 months to find the perfect recipe for European pancakes. I've downloaded at least four European pancake recipes. The American pancakes I've tried were not fluffy enough or tasted weird, the European pancakes were also a hit or miss affair. They were either too leaden or moist inside because I've put in too much water, or too dry because of flour.
About a week ago, I found the perfect recipe for European pancakes, and I have been making them since. Finally. I've been making pancakes at least once a week lately because I've been craving them and because Thomas is on this weird Schlank im Schlaf Diet, which says he can only eat carbs in the morning. His classmate recommended it to him after saying that he has gotten chubbier since he got married. I guess I feed him too well!
Amiexpat's Heidelbeer pancake recipe is a perfect compromise between European and American pancakes. They're fluffy, like American pancakes, an thin, like European pancakes. Win-win! Next time, I'll mix the Heidelbeer with the batter, because the berries tend to burn when I flip them over, and sometimes the berries stick to the turner (?), leaving little pockmarks in the pancakes where the berries used to be.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Is It Time to Bring the Bush Back?
I haven't been to the landscaper since I left Barcelona. That was seven months ago. It's not that I've been lazy or anything like that. It's just that Barcelona spoiled me. If you want more bang for your buck when it comes to intimate hygiene, Barcelona is your place. Where else could you get a professional wax job, a REAL professional wax job, for 15 euros? They even give you a free disposable g-string in case you come in granny panties. They are so fast it is almost painless, and I have been so pleased with the results that during my second appointment,I gave them a 10 euro tip.
In the city where I live, the wax jobs cost almost double that, and the waxers enter go into the job half-blind. They aren't really waxperienced when it comes to bikini waxing, since Germans either shave or go au naturel. There are a lot of these earth mother types in East Germany, so this is not a normal service offered by these salons.
The thought of having to hand over 25 euros plus tips to an inexperienced waxer is enough for me to bear the occasional pulling and discomfort in my underpants. My husband said that he likes me either way, although he expressed his preference for a landscaped lawn. But the thought of parting with that much money for a lousy landscaping job is still a strong enough deterrent for me.
I spent the weekend in Berlin with a visiting friend from Manila, and we went to the Helmut Newton Museum. He did his best work in the late '70s-early '80s, when the bush was in full force. When the girls started waxing/shaving, Newton invested in merkins, one of which was also on display in the Museum. Bush, in all its glory, did not look half as bad in the photos as I perceive them to be in person. I used to be disgusted with body hair, since Asians have so little of it. Those pictures of girls doing cartwheels, bush sticking out, sleek looking panthers save for that tuft of hair... I guess living in Germany has desensitized me to body hair more than I care to admit.
I would probably still go to the salon for a landscaping job, but a part of me is saying that a little bush isn't as bad as I think it is. I'm curious how many girls have decided to bring the bush back. Do men prefer the bald eagle or the bush look? Since we (I) decided to do this because I thought men liked it in the bedroom. I think men got into this whole "you have to wax!" thing because of porn, and I suspect this is also the reason why in my experience (non-Filipino) men have been asking their wives and girfriends to try out anal.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Pipette Dreams
I had very vivid dreams as a teen. Dreams of flying, of war, dreams that stay and haunt me in my waking hours.
My dreams react to stresses of everyday life. I once was in a relationship that I felt sucked the life out of me, and I swear, my vivid dreams in color turned black and white. While working at a dead end job, I had a scary dream of bouncing around a windowless white room that had no exits.
They stopped in my mid twenties. I probably found some peace, or maybe my hormones stopped working overtime. In any case, I still dreamt, but they were forgettable. I would have to write them down after waking up if I wanted to remember.
For some reason, I have had really intense nightmares ever since becoming pregnant. These dreams usually involve family members being tortured or attacking me. Thomas would wake me up because I would howl or cry in my sleep. I once woke up with a gasp after dreaming that my aunt was about to poke my eye out with a pair of scissors because I said something silly. Not fun.
Last night was the strangest dream yet. I dreamt that I had my baby, and my baby was a blue toy pipette. It was a stuffed toy, with a blue cushion of a head and a glass tubed body like in mercury thermometers. It had a face and a small cartoony mouth. I remember feeling horrified and mystified. Why is my baby a pipette? It made crying baby sounds out of its mouth. I didn't want to touch it, it scared me. When I finally touched it, it felt like a baby, with baby warmth and baby smell. I cradled it in my arms, and the body widened. Every time I looked away and looked back at the baby, it slowly transformed into a real baby. At the end it looked like a real baby, and then I started breastfeeding.
I was so disturbed by this dream that I told everybody I met today about it because telling people makes me less scared. Now I am telling you guys because I want to feel less scared of my dream.
My dreams react to stresses of everyday life. I once was in a relationship that I felt sucked the life out of me, and I swear, my vivid dreams in color turned black and white. While working at a dead end job, I had a scary dream of bouncing around a windowless white room that had no exits.
They stopped in my mid twenties. I probably found some peace, or maybe my hormones stopped working overtime. In any case, I still dreamt, but they were forgettable. I would have to write them down after waking up if I wanted to remember.
For some reason, I have had really intense nightmares ever since becoming pregnant. These dreams usually involve family members being tortured or attacking me. Thomas would wake me up because I would howl or cry in my sleep. I once woke up with a gasp after dreaming that my aunt was about to poke my eye out with a pair of scissors because I said something silly. Not fun.
Last night was the strangest dream yet. I dreamt that I had my baby, and my baby was a blue toy pipette. It was a stuffed toy, with a blue cushion of a head and a glass tubed body like in mercury thermometers. It had a face and a small cartoony mouth. I remember feeling horrified and mystified. Why is my baby a pipette? It made crying baby sounds out of its mouth. I didn't want to touch it, it scared me. When I finally touched it, it felt like a baby, with baby warmth and baby smell. I cradled it in my arms, and the body widened. Every time I looked away and looked back at the baby, it slowly transformed into a real baby. At the end it looked like a real baby, and then I started breastfeeding.
I was so disturbed by this dream that I told everybody I met today about it because telling people makes me less scared. Now I am telling you guys because I want to feel less scared of my dream.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Never Be The Same
I'm really worried about something that a lot of mothers seem to dismiss as trivial.
I'm worried about my vagina.
You see, I really like my vagina. It's nice-looking. A gynecologist even complimented me on it.
What's gonna happen to it after I press a bowling ball out of it? It's never gonna be the same, no matter what anybody says. It's gonna change, for better or for worse.
I've been reading up on this pregnancy business. Look behind all the BS of you couldn't imagine your life before children. I am going to be a mother and I am willing to go through it, but make no mistake, I am an individual and plan to remain that way. My sexuality is a very important part of my life. It sounds selfish, but please, the desire to have children outside of adoption is not an altruistic act.
I want to have this child, but I hope Kegels do as they're promised!
I'm worried about my vagina.
You see, I really like my vagina. It's nice-looking. A gynecologist even complimented me on it.
What's gonna happen to it after I press a bowling ball out of it? It's never gonna be the same, no matter what anybody says. It's gonna change, for better or for worse.
I've been reading up on this pregnancy business. Look behind all the BS of you couldn't imagine your life before children. I am going to be a mother and I am willing to go through it, but make no mistake, I am an individual and plan to remain that way. My sexuality is a very important part of my life. It sounds selfish, but please, the desire to have children outside of adoption is not an altruistic act.
I want to have this child, but I hope Kegels do as they're promised!
Monday, June 08, 2009
Amiexpat's Blankenhainer Kirschkuchen Challenge!
I took Amiexpat's Blankenhainer Cherry Cake Challenge, and I almost blew up my mixer because of it!
The first part of the recipe said that I should beat the yolks with sugar until it was "foamy." Since I had no experience beating up yolks to a foam, I thought that It would puff up like egg whites. I beat the eggs with my mixer a good fifteen minutes, and got something that looked like pancake batter. Is it supposed to look that way?
I googled "beat yolks foamy" and I found out that foamy egg yolks should be lemony-colored. I long passed that stage! I guess I overbeat the yolks. Oops. My mixer was really hot to the touch and smelled like rubber, and I didn't want to use it to beat the whites, but I needed my mixer. Thank God it didn't explode on me.
It was a breeze to do the rest. What I liked about the cake was that it didn't call for any shortening or leavening agents, and I was curious how THAT would turn out.
I don't have a cherry pit remover. I used 350 grams of preserved cherries and 150 grams of fresh cherries that I pitted myself. Like Amiexpat, I basically split the cherries in half with a paring knife and chucked it in. I baked it for 30 minutes. The cake didn't look ready at the 20 minute mark as suggested in the recipe, and judging from Amiexpat's experience, it seemed like the right thing to do.
What I liked about the cake was that it wasn't so sweet. I sprinkled brown sugar over the cake, and it really needed that extra sweetness. I had some batter left over and put it in a separate baking pan, but didn't sprinkle sugar over it, so it wasn't as sweet as I wanted it. The crushed almonds gave the cake a nice crunch and texture, I think I'll use more ground almonds in my recipes.
The consistency of the cake was actually more bread-like,kind of dry. I think that it had to do with me overbeating the yolks. I'll try to go easy on the mixer next time.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Ang Hirap Magbuntis
Actually, I shouldn't be complaining. I am having a relatively easy pregnancy, I think. Ang ayoko lang ngayon eh mukha akong butete pag nakatagilid! Ang weird tignan. My check-up last week showed that everything is ok, but me being so paranoid, I'm worried because I couldn't feel the baby kick and I'm already on my 18th week.
And right now I have such weird cravings, I've become a magician in the kitchen. Ang dami kong cravings, late ata akong naglihi. Nung umpisa hindi ako makapag-luto kasi di ko ma-take yung amoy. Ngayon naman luto ako ng luto, Kanina nagluto ako ng miso soup with tempura kasi ang tagal ko nang nag-ke-crave nun! Ang maganda lang nito eh may listahan ako sa pridyider ng mga gusto kong kainin, kaya nakaplano na ang kakainin namin a few days before. Time saving. Napabili ako tuloy ng fishballs ng hindi oras kasi bigla kong na-miss yung mga fishball na nabibili sa Paseo de Roxas. Bukas naman Guinataang Mais. Tapos take two ng cuchinta. Gumawa ako ng cuchinta nung isang araw ang labas pitsi-pitsi, uulitin ko kasi yung pinaka-huling batch mukhang cuchinta na. Ang hirap kasi sa Erfurt pipito lang kaming Pinay, kaya lahat ng lutong Pinoy sariling sikap.
Ang masaklap yung German foods na favorite ko hindi ko makain. Tulad ng smoked salmon. Iwas din ako sa soft cheese pag hindi pasteurized. Ilang din akong kainin ang blue cheese. Hindi rin ako makakain ng sushi kasi bawal ang raw food. Kaya guess what I've been wanting to eat these past few months? Haay, pag nanganak ako ang una kong kakainin ay sushi! Naku, sabi pa naman ni Mama huwag daw akong kumain ng kumain kasi mahirap manganak kapag lumobo yung tiyan ko ng husto. Eh ano namang magagawa ko kung ang laman ng utak ko sa araw at gabi eh yung kakainin ko sa mga susunod na araw? Normal ba ito?
And right now I have such weird cravings, I've become a magician in the kitchen. Ang dami kong cravings, late ata akong naglihi. Nung umpisa hindi ako makapag-luto kasi di ko ma-take yung amoy. Ngayon naman luto ako ng luto, Kanina nagluto ako ng miso soup with tempura kasi ang tagal ko nang nag-ke-crave nun! Ang maganda lang nito eh may listahan ako sa pridyider ng mga gusto kong kainin, kaya nakaplano na ang kakainin namin a few days before. Time saving. Napabili ako tuloy ng fishballs ng hindi oras kasi bigla kong na-miss yung mga fishball na nabibili sa Paseo de Roxas. Bukas naman Guinataang Mais. Tapos take two ng cuchinta. Gumawa ako ng cuchinta nung isang araw ang labas pitsi-pitsi, uulitin ko kasi yung pinaka-huling batch mukhang cuchinta na. Ang hirap kasi sa Erfurt pipito lang kaming Pinay, kaya lahat ng lutong Pinoy sariling sikap.
Ang masaklap yung German foods na favorite ko hindi ko makain. Tulad ng smoked salmon. Iwas din ako sa soft cheese pag hindi pasteurized. Ilang din akong kainin ang blue cheese. Hindi rin ako makakain ng sushi kasi bawal ang raw food. Kaya guess what I've been wanting to eat these past few months? Haay, pag nanganak ako ang una kong kakainin ay sushi! Naku, sabi pa naman ni Mama huwag daw akong kumain ng kumain kasi mahirap manganak kapag lumobo yung tiyan ko ng husto. Eh ano namang magagawa ko kung ang laman ng utak ko sa araw at gabi eh yung kakainin ko sa mga susunod na araw? Normal ba ito?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Little Miss Suzy Homemaker
One common denominator of the expat experience is missing the food one grew up with. It is the only reason why I continue to pick up Yakult from my local supermarket. It's brand familiarity, and I suspect I wouldn't be so loyal to the brand if I were back home.
There are things that I miss so much right now, especially at this time, that I cannot have. Roast pig or lechon, which Anthony Bourdain raved about, and pancit malabon. Normally, I would not even touch lechon at a fiesta banquet back home. Too fatty, and I never liked the sauce, which is made of ground pork liver. Now I think about it like a woman obsessed.
Many expats have learned to deal with this by making things from scratch. In the Philippines I had the luxury of a maid, and the fact that my favorite rice cake is readily available at the next street corner. Though I cannot make fresh coconut juice, (please don't tell me you can get it in Germany, it is just not the same) I can occasionally savor fresh Philippine mangoes, a luxury. I have made my own pancakes, french toast, mac and cheese casserole.
I actually have become really good at cooking Pinoy and German food, using only fresh ingredients easily sourced in Germany, without relying on mixes. Since there aren't any Filipino stores in a 100 mile radius, the Chinese and Vietnamese shops supply me with things that we have in common.
I have learned to make a really mean Lumpiang shanghai, Suman sa Latik, and cook munggong guisado, Chicken Afritada, Chicken curry,Guinataang manok, Pinoy style sweet spaghetti (with hotdogs!) and even Itlog na maalat. If you need to make palitao I can whip up galapong for you.
My successes in the kitchen have prompted me to be more adventurous, and now could even make sauce hollandaise from scratch, even if I could get it here store bought. Today I made my own pork stock, and my own tomato sauce to make chicken afritada. Thomas and I both noticed how much more pronounced the flavors were. I think it was the home made stock and sauce. It kind of took me aback today to realize that I'd rather eat jam that I made myself rather than buying it from the store.
I have always liked to cook and bake, but now, seeing myself turn into Martha Stewart, I feel a weird sense of accomplishment.
There are things that I miss so much right now, especially at this time, that I cannot have. Roast pig or lechon, which Anthony Bourdain raved about, and pancit malabon. Normally, I would not even touch lechon at a fiesta banquet back home. Too fatty, and I never liked the sauce, which is made of ground pork liver. Now I think about it like a woman obsessed.
Many expats have learned to deal with this by making things from scratch. In the Philippines I had the luxury of a maid, and the fact that my favorite rice cake is readily available at the next street corner. Though I cannot make fresh coconut juice, (please don't tell me you can get it in Germany, it is just not the same) I can occasionally savor fresh Philippine mangoes, a luxury. I have made my own pancakes, french toast, mac and cheese casserole.
I actually have become really good at cooking Pinoy and German food, using only fresh ingredients easily sourced in Germany, without relying on mixes. Since there aren't any Filipino stores in a 100 mile radius, the Chinese and Vietnamese shops supply me with things that we have in common.
I have learned to make a really mean Lumpiang shanghai, Suman sa Latik, and cook munggong guisado, Chicken Afritada, Chicken curry,Guinataang manok, Pinoy style sweet spaghetti (with hotdogs!) and even Itlog na maalat. If you need to make palitao I can whip up galapong for you.
My successes in the kitchen have prompted me to be more adventurous, and now could even make sauce hollandaise from scratch, even if I could get it here store bought. Today I made my own pork stock, and my own tomato sauce to make chicken afritada. Thomas and I both noticed how much more pronounced the flavors were. I think it was the home made stock and sauce. It kind of took me aback today to realize that I'd rather eat jam that I made myself rather than buying it from the store.
I have always liked to cook and bake, but now, seeing myself turn into Martha Stewart, I feel a weird sense of accomplishment.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Good, The Bad, and the Superstitious
Growing up in the Philippines, I've been surrounded with stories of ghouls and goblins lurking in the night, evil spirits possessing an entire class of schoolchildren (it even makes the 6 o'clock news back home), and white ladies floating and appearing on video (it even made the pages of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, the country's most respected broadsheet).
I thought Germany, with its emphasis on logic and reason, would be different. Boy, was I wrong.
I lived with my MIL during my first months here, and though she went to college, she came from a farming family in the boondocks, and she held on to a lot of old wives' tales from her childhood. Things like drafts from windows left ajar and going out with wet hair in winter could give you a cold, and such nonsense.
In the Philippines, before the advent of ultrasound, people would guess the baby's gender by looking at the mom. If a woman is "blooming" (read, glowing or very attractive), it means that she's having a girl. If a woman is less attractive while pregnant, and has a darker neck, elbows, and armpits, then it's a boy.
Here in Germany, my MIL has, what I feel, a more patriarchal belief. She says that my skin looks rougher now than when I was not pregnant, and concluded that I am having a girl "because a girl takes away her mother's beauty." Ouch. It lends a more sinister, Snow White and her evil stepmom spin to my pregnancy, something I would rather live without.
And there is this fear of flying. I would really, desperately want to have my mom be here for my birth. I don't want to have my baby with just my MIL around. To be quite honest, I don't trust her and I don't really want her around my happy day, for reasons I don't want to elaborate here. But if my mom comes here, I would have to foot the bill, cos she's paying the mortgage of a house that my family just bought. Thomas says that I would have to choose between her coming here or us flying back. And for the both of us, we'd rather fly back and escape the winter.
The moment I announced I was pregnant, and told one of my classes I wanted to fly back in December (my baby would be two months old by then), they all said that it would be a horrific mistake, that it isn't good for my baby, and my baby's ears will pop and I would render it deaf, So I looked it up on the internet, and it was quite interesting what I found. When I typed up the question in German, I got this doom and gloom prognosis from German parents, but German pediatrician websites said that it was all right. In English websites, they were so relaxed about the whole thing that they only said that if you want to be really sure about it, wait until the 2nd month, when the baby's immune system is strong enough to fight whatever bugs are floating around in the cabin.
I've always hated it when other people try to impose their beliefs on others, and that's why though I am Catholic, I've been against preaching and "spreading the Good News." And when other people impose their superstitions on me and pass them on as medical fact, it makes me angry. Why frighten a pregnant woman unnecessarily?
I thought Germany, with its emphasis on logic and reason, would be different. Boy, was I wrong.
I lived with my MIL during my first months here, and though she went to college, she came from a farming family in the boondocks, and she held on to a lot of old wives' tales from her childhood. Things like drafts from windows left ajar and going out with wet hair in winter could give you a cold, and such nonsense.
In the Philippines, before the advent of ultrasound, people would guess the baby's gender by looking at the mom. If a woman is "blooming" (read, glowing or very attractive), it means that she's having a girl. If a woman is less attractive while pregnant, and has a darker neck, elbows, and armpits, then it's a boy.
Here in Germany, my MIL has, what I feel, a more patriarchal belief. She says that my skin looks rougher now than when I was not pregnant, and concluded that I am having a girl "because a girl takes away her mother's beauty." Ouch. It lends a more sinister, Snow White and her evil stepmom spin to my pregnancy, something I would rather live without.
And there is this fear of flying. I would really, desperately want to have my mom be here for my birth. I don't want to have my baby with just my MIL around. To be quite honest, I don't trust her and I don't really want her around my happy day, for reasons I don't want to elaborate here. But if my mom comes here, I would have to foot the bill, cos she's paying the mortgage of a house that my family just bought. Thomas says that I would have to choose between her coming here or us flying back. And for the both of us, we'd rather fly back and escape the winter.
The moment I announced I was pregnant, and told one of my classes I wanted to fly back in December (my baby would be two months old by then), they all said that it would be a horrific mistake, that it isn't good for my baby, and my baby's ears will pop and I would render it deaf, So I looked it up on the internet, and it was quite interesting what I found. When I typed up the question in German, I got this doom and gloom prognosis from German parents, but German pediatrician websites said that it was all right. In English websites, they were so relaxed about the whole thing that they only said that if you want to be really sure about it, wait until the 2nd month, when the baby's immune system is strong enough to fight whatever bugs are floating around in the cabin.
I've always hated it when other people try to impose their beliefs on others, and that's why though I am Catholic, I've been against preaching and "spreading the Good News." And when other people impose their superstitions on me and pass them on as medical fact, it makes me angry. Why frighten a pregnant woman unnecessarily?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
14 weeks
"Everything seems healthy. All the bones seem to be in place. See that? That's the leg bone. Here's the hand. All in place. These four are the bones of the middle finger. All five fingers are formed."
"Wow. How big is it?" I ask.
"About six centimeters." I look quizzically at Thomas. With his thumb and index finger, he makes a gesture. "It's about this big," indicating a gap of about three inches.
"Oh. Look, it's emptying its bladder," says my Frauenarzt. I find myself fascinated, not at all disgusted, that someone is peeing in my insides.
It hits me that something that is not completely a part of me is inside me. This thing, wriggling, kicking. It has its own thoughts. It is not me, yet a part of me. I wonder if it reacts to my thoughts.
"I can't get the baby in the right position for the screening. Hopefully we could get it to lie on its back?"
With two fingers, I gently thump on my belly. It moves, and we have our money shot.
"Ah, perfect." he says.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Filipino in Deutschland Sucht den Superstar
Filipinos or half-Pinoys/Pinays have been successful in shows like American Idol and Britain's Got Talent. Now, it's Marc Jentzen's turn to conquer the German version of AI and BGT, Deutschland Sucht den Superstar.
Born in Bonn from a Filipina mother and a German Father, he had a rough childhood. His parents divorced as he was 2, and spent a year in an orphanage when he was 14 because his mom had to fly home to care for her ailing mother.
Filipinos in Germany, please vote for Marc!
Born in Bonn from a Filipina mother and a German Father, he had a rough childhood. His parents divorced as he was 2, and spent a year in an orphanage when he was 14 because his mom had to fly home to care for her ailing mother.
Filipinos in Germany, please vote for Marc!
Saturday, March 07, 2009
HInahanap-hanap Kita, Manila
For some reason, these past few weeks have been rough on me. I have been so homesick that this is the first time I've considered leaving everything behind and just go back from whence I came.
I don't know if it was the weather, or a certain bit of news that I've received. I just want to get out of here so bad.
Do I just want out of my city? Or out of Germany? Do I really want to go back, or just go somewhere else?
I wonder if this is something fleeting, or is this something real? Do all expats go through this?
I don't know if it was the weather, or a certain bit of news that I've received. I just want to get out of here so bad.
Do I just want out of my city? Or out of Germany? Do I really want to go back, or just go somewhere else?
I wonder if this is something fleeting, or is this something real? Do all expats go through this?
Friday, March 06, 2009
Mga Kababayan
I feel so sad to hear that one of the greatest rappers of my childhood, FrancisM, has passed away. His song "Mga Kababayan ko" (My Countrymen) was THE anthem of my childhood. He was only 44!
And he didn't talk about pussy or bitches or stuff like that. He talked about love, peace, and country. He was a devoted family man with 8 (!) kids!
Wow, R.I.P man. Peace.
And he didn't talk about pussy or bitches or stuff like that. He talked about love, peace, and country. He was a devoted family man with 8 (!) kids!
Wow, R.I.P man. Peace.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations Philippines!!!
Goddamn, I want to go back home RIGHT NOW! I miss Philippine food!
Walang sinabi ang Spanferkel dito bai! Lechoooon!!!
I think the problem if Philippine identity is nicely described here. This is the problem: Filipinos integrate themselves pretty quickly in a new environment. With acute regionalism, worse than in the US or here in Germany, and many different languages, there is no one "Filipino identity."
But I really want me some of that pig.
Walang sinabi ang Spanferkel dito bai! Lechoooon!!!
I think the problem if Philippine identity is nicely described here. This is the problem: Filipinos integrate themselves pretty quickly in a new environment. With acute regionalism, worse than in the US or here in Germany, and many different languages, there is no one "Filipino identity."
But I really want me some of that pig.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
P*tangina Nakakagigil!
Pasensya na kung napa-mura ako. Filipinos, have you seen this BBC documentary? I am so ANGRY at Lito Atienza. And please, Joseph Estrada is not some sort of martyr! Yes, he was targeted and became a victim of the church. He may not have toed the Church line, but he is just such a hypocrite! What, the allegations of corruption aren't real?! He's an Ateneo boy after all (Ateneo is the Jesuit-run school in the Philippines where the rich send their kids to study), a self-styled man of the masses without actually being one of them!
That's it. You know, I really believed in the Church. I toed the line. But when you see the Lito Atienza say that the leaders have to decide for the people, in a country where leaders exploit the people, you just have to wonder when is it going to end. Looking back at my life working in politics, I am glad of the opportunity Europe has given me, for opening my eyes to reality. That I am no longer part of the problem.
Tomorrow, I am going to renounce Catholicism. I still believe in the Catholic God, but the religion has nothing to do with me or my money.
That's it. You know, I really believed in the Church. I toed the line. But when you see the Lito Atienza say that the leaders have to decide for the people, in a country where leaders exploit the people, you just have to wonder when is it going to end. Looking back at my life working in politics, I am glad of the opportunity Europe has given me, for opening my eyes to reality. That I am no longer part of the problem.
Tomorrow, I am going to renounce Catholicism. I still believe in the Catholic God, but the religion has nothing to do with me or my money.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Who Wants to Read "Wetlands"?
I was waiting for the bus in the train station bookstore when I saw the English version of "Feuchtgebiete," that raunchy, raunchy novel about love, longing, and avocadoes.
I have a high tolerance level for dirty words, but even Feuchtgebeite was too much for me. I had to lay it down for three weeks and mustered all my courage to finish the damned thing.
It seems that instead of going for the subtlety, the translators seem to have gone the "American Pie" route. Same shocking pink cover, but "Wetlands" was written in '70s porn font superimposed over half an avocado.
The translation seemed clunky and literal. I can imagine a German teenager talking like Tina Mehmel, but I can't imagine an English-speaking teenager talking like the Helen Mehmel in Wetlands. The English syntax was lifted from the German, it seems. I would like to buy it, just to compare, but I don't know if I could stomach reading the book again.
I have a high tolerance level for dirty words, but even Feuchtgebeite was too much for me. I had to lay it down for three weeks and mustered all my courage to finish the damned thing.
It seems that instead of going for the subtlety, the translators seem to have gone the "American Pie" route. Same shocking pink cover, but "Wetlands" was written in '70s porn font superimposed over half an avocado.
The translation seemed clunky and literal. I can imagine a German teenager talking like Tina Mehmel, but I can't imagine an English-speaking teenager talking like the Helen Mehmel in Wetlands. The English syntax was lifted from the German, it seems. I would like to buy it, just to compare, but I don't know if I could stomach reading the book again.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Vice Mayor is the DAWG
For those who personally know me from the Philippines, I used to work for a major politician.
Today i found out that one of my students is the vice mayor of a small town, all 1,300 residents of it.
He has a day job with the Deutsche Bahn. He doesn't drive a pimped up car. He has no bodyguard. He is the church organist of the town. And he is also a member of the church council.
My students laughed at how incredulous I was about the entire thing, at how down-to-earth he was, almost embarrassed at even mentioning the entire thing.
And back in my country, people are killing each other for a chance to become vice mayor. Tsk tsk.
Today i found out that one of my students is the vice mayor of a small town, all 1,300 residents of it.
He has a day job with the Deutsche Bahn. He doesn't drive a pimped up car. He has no bodyguard. He is the church organist of the town. And he is also a member of the church council.
My students laughed at how incredulous I was about the entire thing, at how down-to-earth he was, almost embarrassed at even mentioning the entire thing.
And back in my country, people are killing each other for a chance to become vice mayor. Tsk tsk.
Monday, February 09, 2009
A Crisis of Faith
I know that I write a lot about sex and dirty things here in my blog. In the Philippines, I found it easy to reconcile these things with being Catholic, because in the Philippines, everybody is Catholic, but people still go on with their merry lives. What we have are men and women who engage in pre-marital sex, but are afraid to use contraception because of Church teachings.
I am ashamed to say that I only took responsibility for my own fertility at the ripe old age of 27. All because my mother in law gave me an incredulous look and dragged me to the nearest gynecologist when I said that I used the natural family planning methods. What can I say? How can I expect you guys to understand my position? I have always been sexually liberated, but I was never taught artificial contraception in school and in University. I went to a Catholic University and an all girls Catholic school. We were taught natural methods but not artificial contraception. When artificial contraception was mentioned, the words "evil" and "abortifacient" and "cause for future infertility" came up. When I had a yeast infection, my gynecologist suggested that I "get married" to "save myself these worries." Luckily for me, I have regular periods and the natural family planning methods worked wonderfully. And I also used condoms, but not always correctly. My bad, but I dodged a bullet. However, my sister was and is not so lucky in that respect.
Here in Germany, religion is less a social tradition and more a personal belief (überzeugung). And here in Germany, I became more mature, mentally and spiritually.
And here comes my personal crisis, a philosophical question, if you will. I like being Catholic. I like the traditions, I like the sense of unity. I believe in God. I like the Catholic version of God. I don't regret being baptized, and I will not reject the overall values of the Catholic Church. I pay Church tax willingly.
However, I can't reconcile it with what the Church is doing in the Philippines: butting its nose in government affairs, forcing its views on a country, where not everybody is Catholic. I am considering stepping out of the Church, but I am still agonizing over this decision. Should I stay or should I go?
I am ashamed to say that I only took responsibility for my own fertility at the ripe old age of 27. All because my mother in law gave me an incredulous look and dragged me to the nearest gynecologist when I said that I used the natural family planning methods. What can I say? How can I expect you guys to understand my position? I have always been sexually liberated, but I was never taught artificial contraception in school and in University. I went to a Catholic University and an all girls Catholic school. We were taught natural methods but not artificial contraception. When artificial contraception was mentioned, the words "evil" and "abortifacient" and "cause for future infertility" came up. When I had a yeast infection, my gynecologist suggested that I "get married" to "save myself these worries." Luckily for me, I have regular periods and the natural family planning methods worked wonderfully. And I also used condoms, but not always correctly. My bad, but I dodged a bullet. However, my sister was and is not so lucky in that respect.
Here in Germany, religion is less a social tradition and more a personal belief (überzeugung). And here in Germany, I became more mature, mentally and spiritually.
And here comes my personal crisis, a philosophical question, if you will. I like being Catholic. I like the traditions, I like the sense of unity. I believe in God. I like the Catholic version of God. I don't regret being baptized, and I will not reject the overall values of the Catholic Church. I pay Church tax willingly.
However, I can't reconcile it with what the Church is doing in the Philippines: butting its nose in government affairs, forcing its views on a country, where not everybody is Catholic. I am considering stepping out of the Church, but I am still agonizing over this decision. Should I stay or should I go?
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Ah Em Puuublished
Und auf Deutsch sogar! It took me two weeks to write that article! Bad trip nga lang wala akong by-line. Sana tuloy-tuloy na 'to!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I Left My Heart in Barcelona
I have been so miserable since coming back to Erfurt. It's just not the same. The weather is cold, the people unfriendly and defensive. It wouldn't hurt them to smile a bit, but they don't. I just...can't take this anymore. I am doing everything in my power to get out of this city by yearend. Ich habe kein Bok mehr auf dieser Stadt.
Because of this, I have decided to take the CELTA course (a training seminar for English teachers) in Barcelona! I will spend seven wonderful weeks there again in September, in time for the Merce! I could do it for a lot cheaper in Berlin. Berlin is a lovely city, I love it to bits, but would like to build a life in Barcelona. I already have a favorite bar, I already have acquaintances. It will take a toll on my finances, but Barcelona, here I come again!
Because of this, I have decided to take the CELTA course (a training seminar for English teachers) in Barcelona! I will spend seven wonderful weeks there again in September, in time for the Merce! I could do it for a lot cheaper in Berlin. Berlin is a lovely city, I love it to bits, but would like to build a life in Barcelona. I already have a favorite bar, I already have acquaintances. It will take a toll on my finances, but Barcelona, here I come again!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
¡Viva El Chabacano! ¡Viva Castellano!
I am SO determined to make Spanish my fourth language as a tribute to my grandfather, the last Spanish-speaking person in my family, and as a nod to my remote Spanish heritage. Daddy, I may not have been so disciplined when I was 14, but I am determined to make up for that now.
I am so psyched that there is a new Chabacano renewal going on in the Philippines!
But what is Chavacano?
From Christopher Sundita of the Salita Blog (please update!)
So I was basically wiki-surfing (the evolution of my geeky dictionary surfing habit) when I chanced upon this Chavacano band! Soooo cool! If you click on "more info," you'd get the Tagalog translation of the lyrics. If you understand Cebuano or Tagalog and Spanish, then you'd understand the song, without translations. I am so a fan of Comic Relief! Their vocalist is cool.Go Philippine bandas!
And lastly, I am so psyched that Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has made Spanish a national language and re-instated it in Philippine schools. I was lucky that I went to the University of Santo Tomas, (go USTe!) where Spanish was the mandatory foreign language subject (I had it for two semesters, my aunt and mother had four). I am going to make it a point to listen to ¡Filipinas, Ahora Mismo! (or Pilipinas Ora Mismo!) over the internet. It is an initiative to revive Spanish in the Philippines. It was never really lost, but has mutated into it's foreign cousin. We can't deny that the Spaniards have exerted a huge influence on our country, and it would be pointless to quibble about how evil and cruel they were. It's all in the past. C'mon guys, it's part of our legacy.Indelible. And besides, won't it be sooo cool to be trilingual?
I am so psyched that there is a new Chabacano renewal going on in the Philippines!
But what is Chavacano?
From Christopher Sundita of the Salita Blog (please update!)
So I was basically wiki-surfing (the evolution of my geeky dictionary surfing habit) when I chanced upon this Chavacano band! Soooo cool! If you click on "more info," you'd get the Tagalog translation of the lyrics. If you understand Cebuano or Tagalog and Spanish, then you'd understand the song, without translations. I am so a fan of Comic Relief! Their vocalist is cool.Go Philippine bandas!
And lastly, I am so psyched that Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has made Spanish a national language and re-instated it in Philippine schools. I was lucky that I went to the University of Santo Tomas, (go USTe!) where Spanish was the mandatory foreign language subject (I had it for two semesters, my aunt and mother had four). I am going to make it a point to listen to ¡Filipinas, Ahora Mismo! (or Pilipinas Ora Mismo!) over the internet. It is an initiative to revive Spanish in the Philippines. It was never really lost, but has mutated into it's foreign cousin. We can't deny that the Spaniards have exerted a huge influence on our country, and it would be pointless to quibble about how evil and cruel they were. It's all in the past. C'mon guys, it's part of our legacy.Indelible. And besides, won't it be sooo cool to be trilingual?
Friday, January 23, 2009
Before Dawn
It seems the world is growing more and more uncertain and pessimistic. Is it just me or is everybody going through shit?
I have been following B.'s blog, and my heart goes out to her family.
English lessons have tapered off in these cost-cutting times.
I am still battling the flu.
And I am soo hoping that we will get the green light for the move.
I hope everybody will be ok.
I have been following B.'s blog, and my heart goes out to her family.
English lessons have tapered off in these cost-cutting times.
I am still battling the flu.
And I am soo hoping that we will get the green light for the move.
I hope everybody will be ok.
Monday, January 12, 2009
"Was Er Nicht Weiß Macht Ihn Nicht Heiß"*
It all started on a really shitty Sunday two weeks before Christmas. It was dark, cold, I was alone, and felt really lonely. I walked from the train station to the tram stop when a man looked to me and asked, "What's wrong?"
I was in such an emotional state that I answered, "I'm just having a really shitty day."
"Me too. Wanna have a burger?" as he handed out a Burger King baggie.
We got to talking. I enjoyed his company so much that I missed the tram. We walked home. His apartment was a stop before mine, but he kept me company until the next stop. I hugged him, because he restored my faith in humanity at a time I needed it, gave him my number, and thanked him.
I told my husband about it that night, that I met this great guy, who was so nice to me. I thought nothing of it when he sent me an SMS days later,asking me if I wanted to go to the local Weihnachtsmarkt. We made candles from a candle-making stand. It never occurred to me to tell him I was married because he never asked, and I saw no reason to.
Christmas Eve he sent me a text message "How's my darling kucing?" Kucing is the Malaysian word for kitty, close to the Tagalog word for it, Kuting.
Uh-oh, I thought. I felt that it wasn't proper to tell him through text that I am off the market, so I decided to wait until he wanted to see me again.
So today he asked me to go to a local Chinese restaurant. We met in front of the City Hall, and walked to the restaurant. As he suggested that we order to go and eat dinner and drink wine over at his place, I said, maybe that wasn't a hot idea.
"Why?"
"I'm married."
At first he didn't believe me, as I related my life to him. He kept on saying boyfriend, as in, "So, where does your boyfriend work?"
"You honestly didn't notice the ring on my right finger?" (In Germany, wedding rings are slipped on the right finger, not left)
"No, why should I? It could've been your Grandma's ring for all I know. Besides, men don't really pay attention to these kind of things."
He insisted that we eat at his place, since I was married anyway and he won't mess around with a married woman. "Did you tell your husband that we were meeting today?"
"No, I hadn't had the chance. Besides, I think he is a bit jealous of you."
"I understand. Better not tell him. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.*"
He ordered for us, to go. I put my house keys in my jeans pocket, in case I need to poke his eyes out if he tries something funny.
* * *
We ate dinner in front of his TV at his living room. I told him that I felt it was better to tell him personally that I was married, and he thanked me for my honesty. He acted kind of funny, kept on saying "I can't believe you're married." or "I won't light the candle, since you're married anyway and I don't have to impress you with my charm or wit anymore." I told him that we are trying for a baby, and his face fell. "I guess I really don't stand a chance." He gave me a grand tour of his apartment, and my eyes spotted a 9mm gun under the coffee table. " What's that? Is it real?"
"This? No, it isn't." He took out the cartridge to reveal the rubber bullets inside. "I just moved in and hadn't had the chance to pack away all my stuff." I looked around, and nodded.
"So anyway, I have papers to grade tonight. Maybe we could hang out on Wednesday. I am going to a Tarantino-themed party. You could come with us."
What I didn't tell him that my single friend Katja was coming, and maybe they could hit it off. Hopefully.
I was in such an emotional state that I answered, "I'm just having a really shitty day."
"Me too. Wanna have a burger?" as he handed out a Burger King baggie.
We got to talking. I enjoyed his company so much that I missed the tram. We walked home. His apartment was a stop before mine, but he kept me company until the next stop. I hugged him, because he restored my faith in humanity at a time I needed it, gave him my number, and thanked him.
I told my husband about it that night, that I met this great guy, who was so nice to me. I thought nothing of it when he sent me an SMS days later,asking me if I wanted to go to the local Weihnachtsmarkt. We made candles from a candle-making stand. It never occurred to me to tell him I was married because he never asked, and I saw no reason to.
Christmas Eve he sent me a text message "How's my darling kucing?" Kucing is the Malaysian word for kitty, close to the Tagalog word for it, Kuting.
Uh-oh, I thought. I felt that it wasn't proper to tell him through text that I am off the market, so I decided to wait until he wanted to see me again.
So today he asked me to go to a local Chinese restaurant. We met in front of the City Hall, and walked to the restaurant. As he suggested that we order to go and eat dinner and drink wine over at his place, I said, maybe that wasn't a hot idea.
"Why?"
"I'm married."
At first he didn't believe me, as I related my life to him. He kept on saying boyfriend, as in, "So, where does your boyfriend work?"
"You honestly didn't notice the ring on my right finger?" (In Germany, wedding rings are slipped on the right finger, not left)
"No, why should I? It could've been your Grandma's ring for all I know. Besides, men don't really pay attention to these kind of things."
He insisted that we eat at his place, since I was married anyway and he won't mess around with a married woman. "Did you tell your husband that we were meeting today?"
"No, I hadn't had the chance. Besides, I think he is a bit jealous of you."
"I understand. Better not tell him. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.*"
He ordered for us, to go. I put my house keys in my jeans pocket, in case I need to poke his eyes out if he tries something funny.
* * *
We ate dinner in front of his TV at his living room. I told him that I felt it was better to tell him personally that I was married, and he thanked me for my honesty. He acted kind of funny, kept on saying "I can't believe you're married." or "I won't light the candle, since you're married anyway and I don't have to impress you with my charm or wit anymore." I told him that we are trying for a baby, and his face fell. "I guess I really don't stand a chance." He gave me a grand tour of his apartment, and my eyes spotted a 9mm gun under the coffee table. " What's that? Is it real?"
"This? No, it isn't." He took out the cartridge to reveal the rubber bullets inside. "I just moved in and hadn't had the chance to pack away all my stuff." I looked around, and nodded.
"So anyway, I have papers to grade tonight. Maybe we could hang out on Wednesday. I am going to a Tarantino-themed party. You could come with us."
What I didn't tell him that my single friend Katja was coming, and maybe they could hit it off. Hopefully.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Why Did His Penis Cross the Road?
Happy New Year, everyone! As a treat, I present you this hilarious, dirty, misogynistic ditty from Canadian Jon la Joie E=MC Vagina.
Good times in Poland...
Good times in Poland...
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