Thomas and Cathy do the Philippines, Part 2

Landed in Manila, and did the Carlos Celdran Tour. I have been following his blog for sometime now. Most of the things he said were things I already knew, but there were things that I didn't know, and I am all the more grateful for that info. Just knowing how Manila became what it is, in comparison to what it could have been (see: Barcelona), means we can all do something to change it.



Snake Island, our first stop in Palawan, and part of the archipelao out of Honda Bay. Government owned, so we didn't have to pay to stay on the island, although a small donation would be appreciated. You have to pay the boatman 600 to get there, but if you are able to find another tourist willing to split the cost, then it would be a lot cheaper. A boat is able to carry up to 6 people. No amenities, no fresh water, so better bring a bottle of tap water, a tent, and a spade in case you want to do number 2 in the wild. If that's too much for you, hop over to Pandan island nearby, where they have toilets and showers with fresh running water. The photo on the hammock (see January) was taken on Pandan Island.



Looks like a hotel room, doesn't it? We wanted to catch the first bus to Sabang, home of the Underground River. After a futile search for a camping site. (I mean mygulay Thomas, we're in the Ph not in Europe, walang camping site dito!), a kindly furniture maker/vendor who had a stall at the marketplace beside the bus station offered us a wooden bed in his stall. In exchange, I guess, for us manning his shop for the night. Robbers are wary when they see people sleeping in the shop. We were woken promptly the next day at 6 am by the squealing of pigs from a slaughterhouse 100 meters away. Fun.



The bus turned out to be this giant monster all-terrain jeepney, which was packed to the brim, complete with people on top. So full, that this guy was standing on the hood of the jeepney. I have had the fortune of riding on top of a jeepney twice! It's like being on a roller coaster! The terrain going to Sabang, where the Underground River is, was very rocky, to say the least. It made me think of an old brake fluid commercial of the Sex Bomb dancers: "Laban Laban! o Bawi Bawi!"



Entrance to the Underground river. Beauty Pageant ang dating, Odiva?



Me facing The Bayawak. I think this is the Philippine Komodo Dragon? Anyway, I can't imagine anybody eating such a creature, although people assure me its meat is delicious.



Mama Macaque with Baby Macaque. Be careful, she might steal your glasses! She has a special fondness for handbags, I've heard.



I remember seeing several of these when I was a kid in Cavite. Now that Cavite has become a suburb of Manila, and I hope that this sight won't become extinct on our islands.



Falls near Sabang. A very rocky two kilometer hike to get there from the main beach. I wouldn't say that the falls were woth the hike, but the rocks are good way to train and test for balance. There is a Chinese temple nearby, where people give donation for "maintenance." I imagine that a lot of wannabe kung-fu artists train here.



The thick jungles of Sabang. I came up with the brilliant idea to climb Mount Apo, an idea that burned so bright in Thomas' head, so we decided to hire a guide to trek the jungle in preparation. Hungry mosquitoes fed on my legs despite mosquito lotion, and I was a bit scared that I was going to come down with Malaria. Although northern Palawan is malaria-free, you never know.

If you want to try trekking that jungle, bring a good hat, a machete and extra clothes. You think of rattan, all nice and beautiful, the stuff your wicker chair is made of. In the jungle, rattan is nasty, its bark covered with big, dangerous needles that pierce your forehead if you're not careful. Filipinos think of Pandan as that nice leaf you put into your rice for flavoring. In reality, Pandan is a spiky monster. Better bring your hat.



This was our destination, the source of the Underground River, called the Daylight Hole. See that rise? I climbed that with only flip-flops on!



Where we were.



After a dusty seven-hour jeepney ride, we reached Paradise. In between San Vicente and Port Barton. Too bad that speculators got there first, and somebody is going to build a resort out of paradise.



Our tent, facing Port Barton beach.



The biggest pothole in history. Our jeepney barely made it through. Note the man walking on the road.



Our next stop after Palawan was Cebu, where we caught this Cessna bound for Camiguin. Thomas took a picture of the plane because he didn't believe me when I told him that was our plane after I saw it land on the runway. Not until the last minute. This is akin to Thomas saying "Takot ako!"



The hardest climb I've undertaken: Mt. Hibok-Hibok on Camiguin. the terrain was rocky, and the rain made everything so slick. We also didn't get a good view of the island because of the rain.



Note the names of the island's governor, congressman, and mayor on this billboard in Camiguin. And the mango-carrying Santa!



This is the life: Ardent Hot Springs, Camiguin.



Sunken Cemetry off Camiguin. This used to be a part of the island when Mt. Hibok-Hibok erupted in the 1870s, and the seismic forces drowned this part of the island. A white cross marks where the cemetery used to be. Snorkeling is great fun, and a bit eerie, seeing how the coral has overrun the graves, exposing their interiors. It's like visiting a normal cemetery. I was reflecting on the lives of these people as the colorful clownfish passed by. I think it is a good idea to be buried underwater and have the coral grow over you. Kind of like the people who want to be buried under trees, their bodies to be used as fertilizer after they pass on. Very ecological, doncha think?



After Camiguin, we took the ferry to Butuan and took the bus to Davao, and went to the Agusan Marsh, where Thomas hoped that we could get a glimpse of crocs in the wild. We couldn't find a campsite. This being Mindanao, there was a general fear among the people for our safety. It isn't unusual to see people carrying high-powered weapons here. We were first holed up in a place that had the temerity to call itself an inn, when we contacted some military people we met, who let us graciously stay in their compound. They were puzzled by the idea that people would want to stay in a tent.



A basketball court in the middle of the Marsh.



This is the habal habal, or Skylab, in honor of the satellite look-alike. I have a very nasty burn scar now just above my right ankle when a habal-habal I took tipped over and the exhaust pipe touched my skin. Transportation being tight and roads being decrepit, this is the method of transportation in many islands. This baby can sit 10 people.



We then moved on to Davao and climbed Mt. Apo



If I would move back to the PH, I would probably choose to live in Davao or Cebu. Can you imagine having a beach within city limits with crystal clear waters? Samal Island, Davao.



Had a small farewell party afterwards. A nice way to end a vacation.

I asked my students to open a blog for their school assignments, so I don't have to schlepp paper everytime I go to class. I am very disorganized, you see.

I just read the blog of one of my students, and it scares me to realize that they are looking for somebody who actually gives a fuck, just as I wanted somebody to please, give a fuck.

I wonder how long I will last giving a fuck.

Topsy Turvy

I am a firm believer that language is a reflection of the people's culture. Just as the people of Nigeria have 34 different words for Green, Filipinos have a lot of words for Rice.

For the Pinoys out there, think about how many words we have for rice? From Palay to Bahaw, we've got it all covered. Just to show you foreigners that rice is life. In a lot of SEA countries, the word rice is the same as the word eat. In Tagalog, Kanin and Kain don't sound so dissimilar.

As you know, I am currently studying Spanish in preparation for my trip to Spanish. It's actually harder to learn a language that is very similar to my own. What made retaining German hard was its similarity to English. I still have difficulty switching from English to German, but it's a cinch from German to Tagalog, because the languages are so different. I suspect that I will have the same difficulties with Spanish and Tagalog.

I have to get over the fact that in Spanish, Almozar means lunch, not breakfast, that my casa has four paredes, not pader, , that the accent of panaderia is at the "ia ," and not at the "pa."

But what really blows me away is that most of the verbs that Tagalog adopted from Spain are in the third person singular, which is the way Spanish issues its imperatives! I participated in one of Carlos Celdran's tours, and I was struck by something he said: That Filipino street food is a cuisine of tira, or leftovers, a slave's meal. I was struck by the fact that while Alipin seems to be a Malay word, Amo, or Master, is Spanish.

I can imagine how Tagalog picked up certain words because these were the only Spanish words that the poor muchachos picked up, from the orders of their masters. Puede became Pwede. In Visayan, Saka means to climb, which is of course the third person singular of, guess what? Sacar. Cierra? Sara. Sigue? Sige!

I am not begrudging the Spanish for not teaching us the language. I thank them for it because they preserved Tagalog, a very interesting mix of Malay, Chinese, Spanish, and English. What has been done has been done, and I am grateful for the variety they introduced to my language. I actually damn the Filipinos that followed. For all our words for rice, they have failed us by failing to implement Land Reform and actually have our country self sufficient enough to minimize imports. For a country that eats rice morning, noon, and night, we need to import 90 % of our rice, and we are currently at the mercy of ballooning rice prices.

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

I would like to apologize in advance if I am not able to update my blog. I am having a very busy stretch right now, studying Spanish in preparation for my trip to Barcelona, and trying to get more private work to finance my trip.


I still have to upload photos of my Philippine trip, so I hope you could bear with me!

Armaggedon

As Eurotrippen put it, some serious, end of times shit has been afoot. Today and yesterday saw some crazy weather go down. It was sunny, snowy, and cloudy all at the same time!

In other news, Paris Hilton will be headlining the "Wetten, dass..." show this weekend, which will be filmed in Erfurt. Coincidence?

Of Basil, and other things

Can anybody help me out with my basil? My basil is acting up. I bought my plant from Lidl, and at first it seemed fine but it has developed clusters of black spots, which seem to be eating the leaves.



The basil is in long planter with rosemary and chives. The rosemary and chives seem fine, but the basil has always acted up. My first basil plant and my chilis died from aphids, but it did not kill my rosemary and chives.

Secondly, I just wanted to share my current favorite song, Superstar from Lupe Fiasco featuring Matt Santos (yes, he's part Pinoy!) Santos has an amazing voice, reminds me of Chris Martin and John Mayer, but just check out his other songs, his range is amazing!

Those Who Can't Do, Teach

I was a pretty precocious kid growing up. I learned to read when I was three, and my linguistic capabilities were miles away from my peers. It ran in the family. We were bookworms, English teachers, journalists, polyglots.

In the fifth grade I joined a drama group, and I spent my high school years with the drama club. I was such a drama queen growing up, it was the perfect outlet. As I entered my senior year, I asked myself, should I take up drama or journalism next year?

The answer came in the form of Mrs. Guevarra, my fourth year English high school teacher. She had just come back from a scholarship in Japan, and was the second person in the world that I wanted to be like when I grew up (My grandpa was the first). I thought she was so refined and elegant, with the way she walked, and how she sipped her diet Coke in can everyday on her way to class before the first bell rang.

She recognized something in me, me who was so insecure and was bullied to pieces by my schoolmates. She actually validated my existence and recognized that I actually had something to offer the world. For the first time in my life, I thought I knew what I needed to do: I needed to be a writer. It was a plan that I hatched when I was twelve, but I felt that this was the push that told me, to just do it.

So I spent four years in college pretty much immersing myself in the writing craft. It was one of the best times in my life. I may have failed algebra four times, but hey, who cared? I was there to become a writer.

Then I graduated and the real world ate me up alive. It was so cruel and brutal and mean, that I just drifted along in life, trying to become an adult. Classic quarter-life crisis.I never wanted the government journ job I was doing. I thought, maybe I'll leave after two years, which became, I'll leave when I pass my civil service exams. Two years turned into four and a half. The pay was too cushy, the hours too comfortable that I basically vegged out on life. I was just getting my journ career back on track when I met Thomas. I wanted to stay because I was going to miss my family and friends, but a part of me wanted to grow out of my skin so badly that I thought, it's now or never.

I started to learn German two years ago, and discovered that I had a knack for languages. I started to teach English on the side. It was a rough beginning, but I could honestly say that this is the most fun I have ever had working. I swear, the cockles of my heart tingle than to hear a student exclaim "Ach, so!" I get it!

The weird thing is that I am currently teaching Essay Writing, International Affairs, and Public Relations to a group of kids aged 18 to 20. These kids finished Realschule in Germany, meaning they left school at 16. They are on their final year of school, after which they would earn the German equivalent of an Associate degree. I was stupefied to learn that their teachers in school had never required a book report in their classes, nor had these kids written an essay! In my high school, we were required to turn in four essays a year!

Now that I have become Mrs. Guevarra, I take my job pretty seriously. I got pretty good feedbck from my classes. The principal said that the students have asked for more of me, could I teach all of their classes? I teach half of the four hours of English they get in a week. I am completely blown away and humbled by this. This is definitely a long way from life in Manila, but I love what I am doing right now.

My aunt in the US calls me, keeps asking me, when are you going to go back to journalism? I have a few projects tilling in my head, and I feel completely guilty for not pushing through with them. It's the Catholic in me, I guess. She has this feeling that, like her, I have abandoned my dreams to take a menial job. But to be quite honest, I don't think that that life is for me. The stress of the profession is not conducive for raising a family, which is what I want to have someday. I don't miss having to drop everything that I was doing because something is happening in some other part of the city. I don't miss the parola journalism practiced in Manila.

Is it possible to think that you have one calling, and find yourself fulfilled in another?

Barcelona in Pictures/ Barcelona en Retratos

San Jose de Montanyana Church. An ancestor of mine is supposedly buried there. No dice. I will get to the bottom of this!



Churros and Chocolate near the Picasso Museum. Yum.



For 19 euros a day, you can see all the sights in Barcelona at your own convenience.



Gaudi is a major architectural force in his day. I don't get it. Sorry, man.



Under construction. Please come back in 2022!



This was how high school felt like.



Barcelona at night.


Colon Tower at Las Ramblas, near our apartment.



Thomas: Not as drunk as last year!



This little piggy went to market...stupid pig.



Bubble artist's bubble at Parc Güell



The insect and the lizard.

Barcelona

I remember reading Heidelbergerin's post on Dresden, and how she fell in love with a city.

Well, I've fallen in love too. My city's name is Barcelona! I love it because the city seemed so alive and electric, gritty and beautiful. Where Manila is a deranged woman, Barcelona is her passionate, tempetuous sister. She has her rough parts, but her beautiful parts are fantastic! Manila, look at Barcelona. This is the city you should have been. It makes me weep thinking about how we have destroyed my hometown.

The best New Year's party I've been to was in the year 2000, when 700 partygoers turned the middle of Paseo de Roxas and Ayala Avenue into a dance floor till 7 am. This party comes quite close! Don't you just love marching bands?



I like the city so much that I'm planning to move there! I'm subletting my apartment here in Erfurt for three months to teach English while learning Spanish in Barcelona. Oh, how I love the flexibility of freelancing! Barcelona, here I come!

The Loneliness of Being Alone

Am home with the parentals and the family. I am quite happy to be home yet not home at the same time. New house, new life, grown ups grown up growing up children.

My brother, mother, and I have spent a part of our lives abroad and I told the brother come to me to Germany I'll even pay for your flight if need be. Husband doesn't understand the mixed happiness and loneliness of experiencing something new and wonderous like snow for the first time and wanting to share it with some of the most important people of your life and they aren't there couldn't be. I saw snow for the first time last year. That was sad.

Brother said the same thing about his half year in Las Vegas and mz mom's two year stint in Italy. I guess I don't suffer this loneliness alone.

Out of Office

PALAWAN--The blogger is currently not available. Please try again in February.

¡Hola Barcelona!

Currently in Barcelona, my first pit stop before going back home. I feel oddly at home here. The words aren´t alien to me, and I can understand the people here. I get to practice my broken Spanish, and I am using the chance to look for an ancestor, a century removed.

My great-great-great grandfather was Catalan, born and raised here. He and his two brothers were sent to the Philippines, members of the military service. Here´s hoping that his grave is where they say it is!

Pakistani's Bhutto Killed in Attack

When I read today's Yahoo Newsreport on Benazir Bhutto's death, I knew that it was an inevitable conclusion to a very long and storied life.

When she returned to Pakistan, narrowly escaping death a few hours after arriving, I already had an ominous feeling that she was living on borrowed time. How sad that my intuition was proven correct.

I had interviewed her before, and she struck me as a very strong person, yet she was not arrogant at all. She took time for little old me, a 21 year old cowering in fear of this world-renowed woman, at the corridor of the Manila Hotel.

Will Pakistan do an EDSA? They have their Ninoy. But the problems in Pakistan are a many-headed beast. Musharaf is not the main problem. People there can't help but abet Islamic-fundamentalist terrorists, after glorifying it's existence for 30-odd years.

She loved her country. She was a wonderful woman. I wish her a good journey into the afterlife.

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays from us!

We're having fun with the parentals, split Christmases (You have the 25th, I'll have them the 26th) catching up with family gossip (they broke up? what?) and preparing for the long, sweet journey home.

See you pinas! Can't wait!

Amazing Race Asia Makes Me Sick!

What's the point of a reality show when almost every contestant is in showbiz?! Dammit I'm not downloading you!

P.S. Terri is the best thing on that show

Sa Aking Mga Kabata--Jose Rizal

Sa Aking Mga Kabata

Kapagka ang baya'y sadyang umiibig
Sa kanyang salitang kaloob ng langit,
Sanglang kalayaan nasa ring masapit
Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid.

Pagka't ang salita'y isang kahatulan
Sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharian,
At ang isang tao'y katulad, kabagay
Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan.

Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita
Mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda,
Kaya ang marapat pagyamaning kusa
Na tulad sa inang tunay na nagpala.

Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin
Sa Ingles, Kastila at salitang anghel,
Sapagka't ang Poong maalam tumingin
Ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin.

Ang salita nati'y huwad din sa iba
Na may alfabeto at sariling letra,
Na kaya nawala'y dinatnan ng sigwa
Ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una.


Nakakalungkot isipin na sa mata ng aking mga kababayan, mas nakahihigit ang Ingles kaysa sa Tagalog. Ako ma'y pinalaki sa wikang Ingles, hindi ko masusuklian ang mga guro , mapa-Ingles o Tagalog, na nagturo sa amin ng baybaying wika. Isang taos-pusong salamat lamang ang aking masasabi.

Kahit pa noong nasa Pilipinas pa ako, hindi ako mag-iingles kung hindi naman ako kinakausap ng ingles. Kung Tagalog ang usapan, matatas din naman akong mag-Tagalog, hindi naman ako mag-Ingles hangga't hindi sa akin ikinusa.

Nakakatawang isipin na nuong ako'y bata, pinagtawanan ako ng aking mga ka-klase dahil sa tatas kong mag-Ingles. Ngayon, dahil sa mga call center, pilit nilang ginagaya kung ano ang dati nilang pinagtatawanan. Pilit nilang ginagaya ang salita ng mga dayuhan nguni't katawatawa minsan ang resulta nito.

Dahil sa aking trabaho bilang guro, naiintindihan ko na mayroong mga taong hirap sa ibang lengguahe. May kanya-kanya tayong mga talento. May mga taong pinalaki lamang sa iisang wika, at kung minsan hanggang doon lang talaga ang kaya nila. Pero nakakalungkot isipin na may mga taong nagsasabing hindi nila kayang sabihin ang kanilang saloobin sa kanilang inang wika, at pilit na pinipilipit nila ang kanilang mga dila sa isang wikang dayuhan. Isang biyaya ang pagkakaroon ng isang bansang may dalawang wika. Bawat wika ay isang pintuan sa isang mundo, at posibilidad. Kaya't hirap man, pilit kong inusisa ang wikang Aleman. Ang salitang Ingles ay hindi nakahihigit sa salita natin, ang wika ng ating mga ninuno.

Kung magsusulat o magsasalita rin lamang kayo sa dalawang wika, pag-igihan ninyo ang baybayin sa dalawa. Alam niyo ba na ang wikang Tagalog ang isa pinaka-mahirap na matutunan sa Indo-Malayan group of Languages?

Total Eclipse of the Mind

When was the last time that you did something that you wanted to do for a really, really long time, but never had the guts to do it because you were afraid people would make fun of you?

I look so straight-laced, but I am actually naturally insane. Really. I don't need no drugs to make an ass out of myself.

I've always wanted to do an interpretative dance in public ever since I saw Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion.



And I actually got the chance to do it!

I was at a friend's farewell party last Saturday, and it was a blast! They had karaoke and dancing, and somebody sang Total Eclipse of the Heart, by Bonnie Tyler. I realized that this was a perfect song to do interpretative dance, and I actually went for it! Thomas just stood at the corner, shaking his head in embarassment, but it was so much fun, I didn't care! I couldn't dance for shit, but hey, this is MY moment, fucker.

Marcus, Adam's co-worker was the only one who actually "got" what I did and congratulated me by saying that my dance touched his heart *sniff*.

The Strangest Job Offer in the World

One of the worst stereotypes about being an Asian is that people think I am a prostitute. Well, the worst part is that even my fellow Asians would think that I would like to be one.

The word "Thai massage" does not have any sexual connotations where I come from. Since massages have a rich tradition in Asia, almost everybody gets a massage once or twice a month, at least in my family.

Here in Germany, however, especially in the small cities, the words "Thai massage" automatically have a sleazy meaning. Big places like Hamburg are fine. Thomas and I went to this tiny place when we visited Hamburg and it was the best massage that I got since I arrived in in Europe.

I have had no such luck here. I am always on the look-out for a good massage parlor/practitioner in Thüringen. The German masseuses I have tried don't really have a feeling to how much pressure they should exert on a person. They have a uniform pressure for everyone that always equates to OUCH! until I tell them to go easy on me.

About two months ago, I saw a place here in that advertised Thai Massage on it's door. I rang the bell and an Asian woman in her negligee, with eyes blacked with a deep purple eyeshadow opened the door for me. In German, I asked her for her rates. She pointed to the wall--

30 min: 50 €
1 Stunde: 100 €

With those rates, they were obviously offering more than massages, so I thanked them politely, and walked away.

Last Wednesday, near the Ausländerbehörde, I saw an apartment with a very conspicuous sign, "Thai Massage" It had bright yellow arrows pointing to the door, and a reflexology chart on the window. It may be legit, I told myself, so I rang the door.

A woman very similar to the lady I met two months earlier opened the door to me. When she saw me, she asked me in a very excited voice, both in Thai and in German, if I was her kababayan. No, I said, I'm Filipino. An older lady appeared, just as heavily made up and as scantily dressed. I told them I wanted a massage. How much are your rates?

She pointed to a wall:

30 min: 30 €
1 Stunde: 60 €

Though they were more reasonable, an hour-long massage in Hamburg cost me 40 €. With those prices, I don't think they do just massages.

Then the first woman asked me if I wanted to work for them! I explained to them that I already work as an English teacher. The younger woman didn't quite understand what I said, but the older woman, whose German seemed to be better, slightly rebuked the younger lady. I wish I understood what she said.

Then the door rang, and the older woman ushered me into a room, apparently their living quarters. She gave me their card and showed me their Gutschein. You want one? I said no. Outside, I heard a man's voice, and the younger woman's shrill, broken German.

The older lady was really nice. I think they're legit, but I'm not sure. I'll probably go in and try them one of these days.

The Random Facts About Myself List

Was tagged by Heidelbergerin.

Let's turn this into a Letterman Top 7 list!

7 Reasons Why Cathy is the Weirdo that she is!

7. She talks to herself when she's alone or really, really pissed off.

6. She likes being an English teacher.

5. She should get off her ass already and pursue her dream of being a travel journalist.

4. She blew her entire life savings to fund her plane ticket and her first month in Germany.

3. Used to work for a high-ranking politician back in the motherland, and left it behind for a blonde.

2. Is liberal, but didn't start taking the pill until the age of 27, because the Catholic Church said that it is poison, and didn't want to risk poisoning her body.

1. She's a trilingual Asian living in East Germany. 'Nuff said.

to Dr. Mitsuru,
Adam, and
Eurotrippen,

here are the rules.
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself: some random, some weird.
3. Tag 3 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.

Ich kann nur träumen!

I am currently trying to piece together an article on Jose Rizal, hopefully for web publication. It never ceases to amaze me how amazing the man was. I am a big admirer of polyglots, like Jose Rizal and Vladimir Nabokov. Rizal could speak 12 languages fluently, write in 5 proficiently, and had knowledge in 20 in total. To think that I consider having learned the intricacies of German a feat! I would still like to insert Spanish and maybe Japanese.

Heto ang kopya ng mga sulatin ni Jose Rizal kay Ferdinand Blumentritt. Isinulat niya ito sa Aleman, at humingi siya ng paumanhin kay Blumentritt sa kanyang "bastos na Aleman." (kitchen German, as he put it.) Galing sa ufrey.geocities.com



Mahirap basahin ang Aleman ni Rizal dahil nuong panahon na iyon, iba ang pagkakasulat ng Aleman. Mayroon silang sariling titik, parang Cyrillic. Mahirap, pero posibleng basahin ang Aleman nuon kung ito ay inilathala sa isang libro o sa diyaryo. Pero kapag sulat-kamay na, patay kang bata ka. I tried reading a handwritten text once from the 1930s, the English notebook of a German schoolboy, and it was really in vain. It looked like a bunch of squiggles!

And here is another letter from Rizal to Blumentritt, in English! God, his English is almost flawless! And to think that English at that time was not yet the lingua franca that it is today!



Und hier ist die Fortsetzung von dem Brief. Einen Teil davon ist auf Französisch. Apol, please read this letter and rate his French. How good is it?



Ich muss mehr daran arbeiten, bis mein Deutsch perfekt ist!

The Weirdness in Me

Being a Manila girl through and through, I have acquired a taste of the bizzare. In fact, it is once of the things I look for it in a city. I find comfort in the city life's strangeness. One favorite expressions is, "That's so weird!" because life in Manila IS weird.

Thomas couldn't live in Manila. The pollution in the air gave him a nasty ear infection , which made him admire the fact that I am Manila's cockroach: I can take the rancid air, the confusing streets, and the darkness in people's hearts.

One of the things that I miss about big city life is the edge that it gave me. It may not have been healthy, but these are the things that defined who I am. Dinner at 2 a.m. at a tapa joint after a one night stand, deep conversations with strangers with whom you'll never meet again, deranged lunatics raving at streetcorners, the occasional flasher.

You can take me out of the big city, but you can't take the big city out of me.

I liked Jena, but one of the things that I could never get over was the fact that it is postcard pretty. Too pretty. In it may lie a heart of darkness, but the green of the hills and the smallness of ordinary life was just too...normal. It scared me and freaked me out, because for me, it was truly weird.

I don't like the city where I live better than Jena, but I find more comfort in the fact that because of its size, weird things can still happen to me here in my new city.

I was hanging out with a co-worker and a couple of his friends at his balcony. Suddenly, a naked man materialized at the window in the building opposite his. He was smoking. Naked.

All the girls huddled excitedly at the show. The naked man, in his 30s, a thin, dark Italian type, would smoke a fag every hour. Watching us, watching him. At his third appearance he sat at his windowsill and started pulling on his man bits. The girls started to scream and laugh their heads off.

Me? I just sat back, satisfied that life was back to normal.

My First Suman Latik

It's a bit too late to include this post in the whole Suman Latik movement of last year, but slap an apron on me and call me Betty Crocker. I made Suman Latik Baby!



I followed the recipe from the English Patis blog. Thanks so much Leila for sending me lihiya for my birthday! I can now make a piece of home whenever I want!



It all started when a student of mine told me that he had to cut down his banana tree for the winter. I asked for all of his banana leaves to make suman! Suman is glutinous rice cake, with lye water mixed in. Before asking me whether suman is toxic, lye water is a staple of SE Asian desserts, and the Germans also use it to make pretzels. It's actually some sort of sodium-potassium mixture, or potash (?)

I had a hard time finding lye water here in my city. I went to the Vietnamese stores, but they all told me that they didn't have it! I think they do have it, but they didn't know what I was talking about. I tried to find the Vietnamese name for lye water, but I didn't find it on the internetz. So if you know the Vietnamese name of lye water, help a poor Filipina sister in need and send me the name! I don't want to trouble Leila of sending me lye water all the way from Darmstadt again!

Love+Marriage= Children?

I have reached a certain age, and I am at a certain point in my life, where people feel entitled to assume that I want to get pregnant. You can pretty much tell a woman's age by the questions people throw at her.

When I was around 23-25ish, people bugged me when I was gonna get married, regardless of the fact that hey, I'm SINGLE! or that I haven't met anybody I was willing to suffer for more than 2 days. Nowadays, MIL, my sister, and most mothers I know are bugging me when I am gonna get pregnant.

My MIL, probably wanting a new purpose in life, has pointedly proposed that we either a)move back to Jena or b) that she move in with us, without any regard for our ambitions or career chances or the fact that I want my privacy, dammit.

I think I am ready for children. However, not now, not yet. I have too many things to do and too many ambitions left unfulfilled. Besides, if childcare were just as easy as it is in the Philippines, where I can hire a nanny for 50 € a month, or in the old GDR, where childcare is institutionalized. But we're not in the GDR anymore, sweetie.

I was glad to know that my mother and my aunt support my decision. Not now, not yet.

Pilipinas, Gising!

Nakaka-frustrate basahin ang balitang ito.

Doctor to honor Ramadan rituals in space

By VIJAY JOSHI, Associated Press WriterWed Oct 10, 4:56 PM ET

A Malaysian doctor who will spend the last days of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan in space has vowed to follow the rituals of his faith even as he hurtles around Earth at 17,000 mph.

Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor lifted off Wednesday in a Soyuz spacecraft from Kazakhstan, en route to the international space station where he will spend about 10 days.

The spacecraft — which also carried an American and a Russian — will take two days to reach the station, a period coinciding with the last days of Ramadan, the month when Muslims fast from dawn to dusk. Sheikh Muszaphar has said he will fast and pray in space, even though clerics said he could delay the fast.

"I am not sure how it would be done but I will share my experiences (with) all the Muslims all over the world when I get back," the 35-year-old Sheikh Muszaphar wrote in his Web journal. "After all, Islam is a way of life and I am quite sure I would not face much difficulties."

Sheikh Muszaphar is taking vacuum-packed Malaysian food, including skewered chicken, banana rolls, fermented soybean cakes and ginger jelly to mark the end of Ramadan.

A bachelor who has become a national heartthrob, the orthopedic surgeon will not be the first Muslim in space — Saudi Prince Sultan bin Salman joined the crew of the shuttle Discovery in 1985 and there have been several others since.

Still, the mission initially presented a dilemma about fulfilling religious duties such as fasting, kneeling for prayers in zero gravity or facing Mecca to pray.

After all, praying five times daily on a craft that goes around Earth 16 times a day would have meant praying 80 times in 24 hours. Also, it is virtually impossible to face Mecca continuously in a craft traveling at such high speed.

Muslims are required to wash their hands, feet, face and hair before prayers — a luxury on the Soyuz where water is so precious that even sweat and urine are recycled.

To get around these problems, 150 Malaysian scholars, scientists, and astronauts brainstormed and published an 18-page booklet of guidelines for Muslim astronauts.

If he follows the guidelines, Sheikh Muszaphar can forgo fasting in space and make up for it when he returns to Earth. He can pray three times a day instead of five, facing any direction, and he can do without the ritual washing.

On Tuesday, Sheikh Muszaphar told reporters his trip will be an inspiration for his Southeast Asian homeland as well as to other Muslims worldwide.

"It's a small step for me, but a great leap for the Malaysian people," he said, rephrasing Neil Armstrong's words after the 1969 moon landing.

Pilipinas, GISING! Imbes na asikasuhin niyo yang si Teri Hatcher at Big Brother, isipin natin kung saan patungo ang mga buhay natin!

I mean, hello, si Manny Paquiao na lang ba ang greatest Filipino? Mga OFWs? Bago tayo gumawa ng mga kung ano-anong online petitions, alisin nating ang kakitiran ng utak natin, huwag tayong masyadong padadala sa sulsol ng mga pari at pulitiko at mayayaman. Napaka-insecure ba natin na hindi tayo makapag-isip sa sarili natin? Huwag kayong tumingin sa Amerika, huwag kayong umasa sa Simbahan at sa Puliloko. Nasa atin ang solusyon.

Sa totoo lang, hindi na ako nagbabasa ng balita mula sa Pilipinas. Nanggagalaiti lang ako sa galit!

Die Wochenendebeziehung

Ich habe ein Geheimnis von euch versteckt. Wie millionen anderen Paaren in Deutschland, Thomas und ich führen eine Wochenendebeziehung. Er arbeitet als Leistungserhöher (wenn es den Begriff überhaupt gibt), ein Art von Consultant, in die Schweiz. Ich bleibe hier in Erfurt als Englischlehrerin. Wir sehen uns nur am Wochenende, und sogar nur für einundhalb Tage.

Ich rede immer von einem Leben zusammen, aber seit ende Mai diesem Jahr, wir haben nur am Fritag um 23 Uhr bis 14 Uhr am Sonntag Zeit.

Es tut schon weh für uns. Es tut mir Leid wenn ich sehe wie eine acht stunde Reise ihm belastet. Ich kann nicht richtig schlafen wenn er nicht hier ist, aber was sollst? Wir sind jung, und wir haben Karriere, Ziele, und Traüme. Und Kinder, Hof, und Küche ist noch nicht Priorität. Es klingt egoistisch, es ist aber so.

Es war wirklich schwerig am Anfang. Ich war neu in Erfurt, alle Leute waren Fremd. Ich hatte nur meine Arbeit. Ich habe schon allein gewohnt, ich hatte meine eigene Wohnung in die Philippinen. Aber diese neue Einsamkeit war fast unerträglich, weil natürlich ich schon mit einem Leben zur Zweit gewohnt bin. Die Erwartungen, die ich hatte, war eine Wohnung mit zwei Leute. Die Enttäuschung war irgenwie besonders schwerig. In die Phlippinen, Manila war der Ort, wo alle Sache herkommen. In Deutschland, in Europa, Dezentralisation bedeutet, dass Gelegenheiten irgendwoanders liegen kann.

Ich kann nicht umziehen weil sein Vertrag nur bis Dezember läuft. Wir wissen nicht, wo sein nächsten Auftrag ist. Ich glaube, dass unsere Beziehung stark genug ist, und solche Situationen werden unsere Beziehung nicht belasten. Aber die Hoffnung bleibt, dass wir irgenwann in einer Stadt arbeiten und wohnen würden.

Finally...the One?

One book that led me to view life from another frame of mind was "The Commitment," by Dan Savage. He put into question our concept of a "successful marriage." According to him, "til death do us part" marriages are not necessarily happy nor fruitful. There are several marriages, like his own parents', that did not withstand the test of time but from all aspects were actually successful.

Thomas and I had a dicussion last year about the fate of our relationship. He said that should a point in time come that we aren't happy together anymore, we shouldn't view our relationship with regret. That I, in case we break up, should not think that our journey together was a waste of time.

At that time, I didn't understand him, and I viewed his belief as a sort of defense mechanism developed by kids of broken marriages. I viewed it then suspiciously, like the way I viewed pre-nuptial agreements back then.

Reading my old posts about how I wanted my future husband to be makes me laugh! They sound so childish and immature, familiar and yet alien. Was this me? Was I really that crazy? Thomas, if anything, is the opposite of the guy with whom I imagined myself married. The guy I wanted to be with is moneyed, articulate, well-read, a city boy. Thomas is proud of the fact that aside from his school textbooks, he has only read one book his entire life, The Da Vinci Code. I met Thomas as a "poor German student," now he is a "stuggling young professional." Thomas is not verbally articulate, and we settled here in Erfurt as a compromise. He hates big cities.

Yet, we get along really well. We can occupy the same space for extended periods of time without killing each other. Are we two halves of a whole? Probably not. I would describe our relationship like a fusion dish. You never thought that chili and chocolate would taste so good together, but they do! I guess if ended up with my New York Kinda Guy, he would be so insufferable that we would implode.

Before Thomas, I was really wounded by a guy. On paper, we sounded so compatible. We liked books, we were both into the arts, we were both geeks. We wined and dined, and made love because I felt, this was it, he was the one. I rushed into things so strongly that I was blind to the fact that this guy was a neurotic who could crash into a hysterical breakdown at any moment.

So is Thomas the one? Could be. I don't know. I'm not saying. But it's fun having him along for the ride.

Everything fell into place.

Come to think of it, there was never really a definite point in time when he asked me to marry him.

We just knew.

There was no proposal, no 5,000 € engagement ring, no flowers, no bended knees. I guess we're not romantic like that.

It was a fact that we took for granted. I guess it started when we were still living in the Philippines, when sentences like, "I want to name our daughter ---" or "What will happen then when we get married?" started winding its way into our conversations, about four months into the relationship.

This weird inner knowledge that we were going to end up together saw us through our toughest times, like when his father didn't sign the affidavit of support so I could get my German visa, when a land mass separated us for four months.

And even during our darkest moments last year, when I was thinking about calling it quits, he was most determined to keep the relationship going. He refused to accept that I was going to call it quits because of a mistake he made, and negating all of the hard work we have invested in a relationship he knew hasn't yet reached its peak.

We had no definite plans of when to do it, but we knew it was going to happen.

Then came the time that we had to do it. We shrugged our shoulders and said, why not? We want to get married anyway.

We wanted to have a proper wedding here in Germany, but many things came in the way. German bureaucracy, internal family problems. So we said, "Screw it, we're going to Vegas, baby!"

We rented a car, and took a week off from work and drove to Denmark. No parents, no friends. It was just me and him. Just how we wanted it. Just how we have always done it. Me and him.

We always get by with a little help from our friends. Thank you for supporting us!

Our Dirty Little Secrets

Warning: Adult Content

What women like me don't understand about men is how they think that we're hypersensitive jealous insecure bitches on PMS. That we are not normal, that we're from another planet, that we won't understand.

For example, Thomas's friend Sophie once discovered all of her boyfriend's porn as she was tinkering (with his permission)on his computer. It was hidden under an innocuous title. And she laughed.

"I don't get it with men," she said. "Why would he think that I would be offended if I knew he downloaded porn? Every normal guy I know downloads porn!"

And for some reason, men don't like to acknowledge that women masturbate.

People who have read my blog from the very beginning know that I like porn. You all know that this blog started out as an anonymous sex blog until I had to give up the ghost because I was discovered. You all know that I am very comfortable with myself and my sexuality. Thomas knows all that, and we're together partly because he was the only boyfriend I've had who was actually more than ok with the fact that I wash my dirty linen online.

I think it's cute that he sometimes asks me for permission to masturbate. "Is it ok sweetie? I feel like it and I hope you're not angry."

Of course I'm not angry. I completely understand. While I prefer sex zur zweit, there are times when I want to spend some quiet time by myself, and do some good old-fashioned Selbstbefriedigung. One great thing about our relationship is that we are willing to let the other person alone when he or she wants to be left alone.

I won't get much into detail, but I will let these things slip. He is, uh, aided by his computer, and I have a favorite pillow that I always have around when I do my thing.

However, Thomas has come to hate the pillow. "Nimm den Feind weg!" He exclaims, tossing the pillow to the other end of the room at bedtime. Sometimes, when I have the pillow beside me before I go to sleep, I will find it pushed to the floor when I wake up. I think it's hilarious. I have an idea why he feels threatened, but there goes the theory that women are hypersensitive jealous insecure bitches on PMS. Maybe we should be looking at the men!

The Bride Wore Purple

Wir sind jetzt verheiratet!

Welcome to the '80s!

First up, hanapin niyo ako sa Chuvaness! Nakakatuwa!



It's a bit late, but Thomas and I were invited to an '80s party last July 27. It was a lot of fun and I went as



Aja from Jem and the Holograms! It wasn't an accurate costume, but what the hey.



Thomas as some random 80s dude. No, actually he's wearing his father's wedding tux, sans the coat. So his outfit really came from the 80s. Styling: Arashi-Kishu



This woman was so chica I wish I thought of her outfit. She kinda reminds me of Janeane Garofalo. Janeane was so pretty before all of the plastic surgery, and hella funny.



I thought that they were well-dressed as well.

The guys generally didn't put as much effort into their outfits as the girls (boo!) although, there was some random guy who I think came as one of the Flock of Seagulls.

A Eulogy for Mommy

Taken during Mommy's Oathtaking. Ipinanganak siyang Pinoy at namatay siyang Amerikano.

Hello everybody. It pains me that I can’t be there right now physically, but I am with you in spirit.

Nita Llorente, Tita Nitz to you and Mommy to her family, was a very important person in my life. She, along with my grandfather shaped the person who I am today. It has determined my career, my life, and the road I have travelled. With them gone, I truly feel that I have been orphaned.

Her departure was very unexpected. We all know mommy to be a very healthy and vibrant person, tough as nails, always game, up for anything. In fact, she was at a party hours before she passed. That was typical of mommy. I never saw her sick or weak. I think she also didn’t want others to see her that way, so she decided to trump old age, in order gave us a memory of a very alive, very active mommy.

Come to think of it, mommy left the world in the same way she lived her life: She was a very impatient woman, always in a hurry, “Bahala na si Batman,” Schnell, schnell schnell! My mommy is not difficult woman to understand. For better or for worse, she is, at her very core, Filipino.

I would like to relate several anecdotes that show the quintessential mommy, at her best and the worst. Mommy is the kind of woman who can strike up a conversation anytime, with anyone. She has so much “P.R.,” my people skills are miniscule compared to the PR that she had. She gained valuable contacts, given away bottles of noni wine, and even my old cellphone, just because she had the happy accident of sitting next to someone, somewhere.

The last time mommy and I spent good, quality time together was the summer of 2004. Since I was a child, she promised that she would take me to her hometown of Carigara, Leyte. It was the place where she grew up, and where her family hid during the second world war. The prospect of travel excited me, and I asked her about it every summer. Ten years of promises later, she finally said that this was the year and off we were. She packed her suitcase full of clothes. “Mommy, why don’t you use a duffel bag?” “Ayoko,” she said. And that was that.

We first spent a few days in Cebu, where I cajoled and begged her to go to Malapascua, an island north of Cebu, touted in a magazine article I read as “the next Boracay.”At first she refused, but she thankfully changed her mind. With no clue and no place to stay, we left at noon, on Maundy Thursday. We took a non-airconditioned bus from Cebu City to Bogo, the next city before reaching the tip of Cebu island. We got there at 4 p.m. Because it was Holy Week, there were no more buses or FX taxis that would take us to the shore. We discussed the matter for a bit before Mommy said, “Let’s take the habal-habal!”

For those who don’t know, a habal-habal is nothing more than a motorcycle used as a public utility vehicle. Straddle yourself behind the driver, say a quick prayer, and off you go. Because of the lack of easy public transportation in the provinces, there are the most accessible means of movement.

After negotiating a 50 peso fare, the driver said yes and scratched his head, trying to figure out how we were all going to fit on the motorcycle.

Imagine this: A motorcycle. On it were a suitcase, the driver, mommy, then me, with a heavy backpack! I had to endure a 30 minute ride through unpaved jungle road as the handlebar at the end of the motorcycle seat poked uncomfortably at my tailbone. I clung to mommy, desperately trying not to fall off.

We got to the end of Cebu island, and we were able to easily charter a motorboat to take us to Malapascua. With her knowledge of Cebuano, mommy started chatting with a young man, who turned out to be the son of the boat’s owner. We said that we didn’t have a place to stay, and asked whether we could stay at his house. I wanted to shush up mommy, because I felt she was pushing her luck, but surprisingly, he said yes! He offered us to stay in his house, for free! Ang galing ni mommy no?

Our Malapascua experience was the best part of the trip. Even mommy said so.

As we moved on to other islands like Leyte, through meandering bus trips through winding roads, I felt I got to know mommy more. I guess this was God’s way of giving us time to get to truly know each other, because it was next to the last time we saw each other. We passed through Ormoc on our way to Carigara, where I was to be introduced to her relatives. She told me that she studied first grade in Negros, because her father had business there. She told me many other stories, the war, her relatives. We spoke about how our lives have turned out. We spoke about my grandfather. Most of the time, however, I just listened and tried to learn as much about this woman as I can. It is this summer that will be forever etched in my memory.

We are all the more poorer for having lost her, but heaven has gained a woman rich in passion, imagination and creativity. I love you mommy. We all do.

Thank you for teaching me about life, giving me love and protecting me. Thank you for teaching me about antiques, about beads and tamburin. Thank you for teaching me how to appreciate culture. Thank you for the afternoons we spent together at Treasure House. Thank you for taking me to Tita Ting’s old house in Horseshoe Village. Thank you for teaching me how to make ampaw and loofah. Thank you for cooking breakfast for me. Thank you for giving me jewelry that I always misplaced as a child. I will always treasure the coral necklace you gave me. Thank you, thank you. I know you know how much I loved you, and how grateful that you loved me too.

I would also like to ask everybody to say a prayer for Mommy, and to thank her for whatever she has given you, whether it be friendship, her company, or even for just knowing her. We are all the more richer for having known Juanita Conchas Llorente.

We Don't Need No Religion

Before my grandma passed away, my aunt sent me a package containing my SLR camera, Filipino noodles, and old issues of Kerygma, a very popular Filipino Christian/Catholic magazine.

The presence of these magazines in the package raised my eyebrows mile-high. I am in my second year of "living in sin" with Thomas, and I have absolutely no regrets. Despite my Catholic schoolgirl upbringing, I have abandoned my inhibitions about sex and my Catholic schoolgirl masturbation guilt. I know that my family will never see it the way that I do, that living a morally upright and spiritual life CAN be mutually exclusive from religion. I had the distinct feeling that the magazines in that package were a secret jab at my life decision of moving to Germany and living with somebody who is not only NOT Catholic, but doesn't have a religion.

People may think that it's a bit hypocritical of me to still be a regular churchgoer and live my lifestyle. I actually don't see it that way.

There was a time in my late teens and early 20s when I tried my darndest to fit myself into the Catholic mold. I worked for a Catholic magazine and a Catholic news organization. But try as I might, I never fit in. I just didn't believe in everything that the Catholic Church said, and still says. I once had a very enlightening discussion with an old co-worker about religion. People may leave because of misbehaving priests and other church scandals, but my ex-officemate said it the best:

"People who lose faith because of priests have a very shallow faith in the first place. You don't go to Church because of the institution, the institution is human and therefore weak. You go to church because you believe. If you believe in God, why would you base your faith on other people's actions within the Church?"

That hit a nerve. And you know what? Despite the Catholic Church and all its failings, I believe in God. I like going to church. I like the peace it gives me. I am aware that the priests are human. They make mistakes, some unforgivable. But why should I let the institution tarnish what I believe in? I grew up with the Catholic model of a God, so what is the point of changing?

Two months ago, I got into a discussion in Jena with a Brit who grew up in Switzerland. I generally avoid talking about religion, but this guy was fascinated by it and talked of nothing but. I told him of my belief that if Thomas's mom had some form of religion, she would be in a better state emotionally after her separation with her husband. Three years after and she is still as broken up about it as if it were yesterday.

He said that his father found religion after his divorce. With a fascinated tone, he revealed that although his father was not deeply religious, he became an active Anglican after his separation and his emotional healing was apparently very fast.

I offered my two cents. "It's the feeling of being needed, I think. It's the knowing, through these organizations, that there are worse problems than your own." He agreed.

Thomas may not be religious, but he respects my Catholic faith and goes to Church with me. He doesn't have a religion, but he does believe in a God. I will probably raise my children in the Catholic faith, but I won't pressure them to be Catholic. They may choose to be Buddhist or Muslim or Agnostic, I don't care. As long as they are good people with good hearts, that is all that matters. After all, being religious doesn't automatically mean that you are a good person.

I am convinced that although I have not taken the straight and narrow path, I am still innately a good and moral person. And Nobody is going to convince me otherwise.
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