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.

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?

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.

Thank God.

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!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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!

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!

¡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?

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.

"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.

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...

The Thrill of the Chase

As a single woman, I was a shameless flirt. In some circles, I was known as a slut. I have no shame in saying that, and in fact, I kind of reveled in my ill-repute.

Do you guys know how I met Thomas? It wasn't that he sized me up. I sized him up. I spied him from across the room, and made sure that he asked for my number by the end of the day. It's so easy to play, especially when the two people involved are adults who know how to play the game.

I have been so far faithful to my husband. I have no plans in cheating on him. If I wanted to, I could've done so in Spain. To be honest, I was repulsed by the machismo in Spain, in how they made it so obvious that that wanted me, and not because they found me pretty. Remember that Friends episode where Joey and Chandler got free cable porn? I think that free access to pornography has spoiled the id in those men, and thought that every elevator encounter would end up in bed. And another thing, I am very discriminating when it comes to taste and looks. If I don't find you hot, your chances with me are zero. Barcelona is an anomaly in the Mediterranean: The girls are unbelievably hot, the men are ugly. I swear, the ratio of hot girls to guys is 4:1.

Sometimes, the predator in me misses the chase. Thomas and I have no fast rules when it comes to flirting, and it never really occurred to me to do it. I haven't found anybody worthwhile to flirt with...yet. However, I have this weird craving for attention, to flirt with someone, to make myself pretty and make somebody fall in love with me and crush their hearts with my heel. I don't want to deny it, since that will make it worse. I want to channel it to something else. I need to chase after something. I don't know what.

Name That Statue!

Where is this statue? What is its relation to Jose Rizal? Answers until December 31. First to post the answers in the comments section wins a treat from Breslau, Poland, my next destination!

EDIT: What? No answers?

Get Me Out Of Here

Every day of being here reminds me how much I miss Barcelona. How much I miss living in a big city. See that photo? That was me last Halloween. I dressed like that a couple of times in Barcelona, at a '30s-themed bar. The owners, who were also dressed in '30s get-ups themselves, loved my look that they even gave me free drinks. People loved my victory rolls (a kind of 1940s hairdo), told me I was the swellest-looking babe in the joint. And these were from strangers, people who were dressed normally.

I dressed like that today at our company Christmas party. It's the only time of the year I get to dress up in bland, gray Germany, because people here normally don't do make-up. That suits me fine, but I need one day of the year to look fancy, you know? And people here just had to rain on my parade. A colleague told me that my red, shiny lipstick made me look like a clown. I didn't think much of it and let it slide with a witty comeback. Later, some of us from the party went to a club, and a random guy who I don't know from Adam told me that I wore too much lipstick and to tone it down. WTF?! It's part of the look! I mean, you are entitled to your opinion, and I'm sorry that I don't conform to your standard of beauty, but you're not the kind of guy I would be interested in anyway, so scat outta here! I just ignored him.

You know, living in Barcelona made me realize how negative I've become. Germans in Spain were taken aback at the vitriol I had against Germany. All of them were Wessies, so they told me to move out, head west, or head to Berlin. Get to know the "real" Germany. "The non-racist part," they said. Go somewhere more liberal. I would love to move to Berlin, but Thomas hates it--it's too big for him, too spread out. And teachers don't earn so much there, so scratch that. I tried to convince Thomas to live in Barcelona, but he refused because it lacked forests. And you know how important that is for Germans. So with a heavy heart, I resigned myself to the fact that living in Barcelona was not in the cards for me.

So I said, I'll give Erfurt a chance. I'll try to remain upbeat and positive, create an energy around me to make new friends. I am not the only person who thinks finding friends here in Erfurt is difficult. Several people have told me so as well. But I will try to let the beauty of the city shine, and forget about the rude people who make life here a living hell.

Thomas finally agrees that maybe, just maybe, Erfurt has been too hard on me. He finally agrees that people here are narrow-minded, and it is possible that life here has been a sad experience. So there is a possiblity that we might be moving to another place. However, reading other expat experiences in the area, I am not so sure that it would be any better than Erfurt. If anything, it could be worse.

Gosh. I pray that I will be able to remain positive and upbeat. Please, for my sanity's sake. I don't think I can tough it out here anymore. If wearing shiny red lipstick is a crime, may lightning strike me down!

Spliff from the Joint

Warning: Adult Content

Hi, I am Arashi, and I am an occasional pot smoker. A social smoker. I don't go out and look for it, but when the opportunity arises, why not?

I may not be a pothead, but I have noticed a difference in the way We (the Filipinos and Americans) and They (Europeans) smoke a joint. The Filipinos have access to home-grown quality grass, super cheap. If you buy directly from the source (Mountain Province), you could get 200 grams for 5 euros. Hash, 10 euros for ten grams. So we tend to be wasteful with our joints. We enjoy unadulterated, rolling-stick full joints. Bursting at the seams.

In Europe, I noticed that people like to smoke spliffs. When I told my husband that we Filipinos smoke joints pure, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "Do you want me to die?" and indeed, I think he would have. I remember this time when I had to drag him 100 meters to our tent when he passed out after smoking a spliff. People, a spliff.

When I told a friend in Barcelona that Filipinos smoke joints, and a Canadian in the group agreed, saying that in Canada, we only smoke joints, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "That's so strong! I would die if I smoke one!"

Look, to be quite honest, the way one smokes a joint is the way one enjoys wine. I take a drag, hold it in my lungs, and exhale. Marijuana smoke is smooth, and holding it in my lungs is easy.

Mixing a joint with tobacco makes it taste nasty, and cigarette smoke to me is really abrasive. I try to hold it in but the tobacco smoke makes my throat itch and my lungs ache and I fall into a coughing fit because I can't hold it in. It really tastes, and is disgusting.

Even the way Europeans mix their joints remind me how stingy they can be. Some spliffs I have smoked here are more tobacco than joint. It may also have something to do with the fact that pot is more expensive in Europe. Weird, since Europeans are usually more open to admitting that they have tried pot than Americans or Filipinos.You would think that with that openness,the price of Marijuana would drop.

And you know what the other weird thing is? I am not a cigarette smoker. I hate the smell and the taste. Nor have I taken other drugs, like meth or coke. There goes the "Gateway Drug" theory.

The Land of Ice and Snow

I did a bit of traveling this week. Thomas and I were snowed in in Andermatt, Switzerland, as Mother Nature dumped 70 centimeters, or almost three feet of snow in that town. A lot of people hiked up the next day to ski or snoword on freshly laid snow, as winter season hasn't officially begun yet. It was my first time to see snow covered mountains, so blinding that I thought I must have been a vampire in my past life. It was enough to give me a headache. For those wondering why, it doesn't snow where I come from. The first time I experienced snowfall was 2006.

Back. Drudge. Work. So help me God. I need a drink.

Martyr

Women, lease enlighten why do we play martyr and guilt-trip other people?

Why do we valiantly scrub the floors and overload ourselves with housework in the valiant hopes that one day, someone will recognize our efforts?

What do we women actually want to achieve by playing martyr?

It just made me hate my mother more. I don't do it myself. When my husband complains that a corner is dusty even if I cleaned it yesterday, I tell him to clean it himself if he is so displeased with it.

Really, we womanfolk should stop doing this woe is me schtick. It doesn't work. It antagonizes the people around us. Let us get our collective stick out, and try to be less anal about things.

Breathe. Take a break. Go to the spa or something. Don't make other people feel guilty, don't make other people resent you, because you want to be deified.

Sie Liebt Dich

I was at Jeweled Concrete's blog when I chanced upon a clip of the Beatles, IN GERMAN! I knew that they spent time in Hamburg, but that they sang in German? Sau cool!

Hier sind die Beatles, mit Sie Liebt Dich. Für alle Leute, die gerarde Deutsch lernen.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

I started playing Ultimate Disc (or Frisbee) in Erfurt about a couple of months ago. A group of friends and I were playing an easy version of Ultimate when a real Ultimate team also started playing. We played alongside each other, and my P.E. hating self decided that Frisbee may not be a bad thing after all.

I played my last game with the Patatas Bravas/Crema Catalanas today. Who are they? They are one of the best Ultimate Disc teams in Spain. The photo was taken today, November 16, at the beach. And what on earth are we still doing at the beach in November? Playing frisbee, that's what. It's still warm enough to play frisbee at the beach. Then I go back to cold Erfurt while I bundle up to play Ultimate in the freezing cold. I will miss Barcelona, but they haven't seen the last of me yet!

The Battle Within

This article from the Singapore Strait Times paints a pretty accurate picture of the state of the Philippines and the effects of the Church's influence over my country. As a conflicted Catholic, I understand the reluctance, even opposition, of people to pass a law that is clearly, sorely needed in an impoverished third world nation. To people from the West, what is taking place in the Philippines is ridiculous considering we are in 2008. For Filipinos, this bill is akin to giving women the vote in the United States.

For the Filipino middle class, family planning and contraception is a quiet, personal decision undertaken by many married women. For the poor, it is a question of resources. In a country where many people eat once a day, the cheapest 30 peso pack of pills is out of the question. While the middle class have the luxury to flout the Church's stand on Family Planning, the poor who depend on free social services can't.

If you wonder how can the Catholic Church have such a far-reaching influence over the government, take this social mindset into account. For the majority of Filipinos, the question whether or not you believe in God is moot. The proper question to ask is: What religion do you have? Are you Born Again Christian? Protestant? Catholic? Clearly, religion is a major force in the lives of the people. People vote for whom the Church says.

Since there is no divorce and no abortion, the question of whether or not to end an unwanted pregnancy or an unhappy marriage is also moot. People who can no longer stand each other get an annullment, if they can afford it. For those who can't, informal, unrecognized separation is the answer.

I was born Catholic. I still officially am. But I have always struggled with my faith over the years because of the iniquities inflicted by the Church on people. I have seen the Church do both good and bad. It is not a bad Church, but of course I would be stupid to believe that they don't have an agenda. I believe that if people could only see how economic prosperity has emasculated the Catholic Church in the West, the battle for Contraception in the Philippines would have been over a long time ago. As in many Latin American countries, a church needs poverty and strife to exist.

Intellectually, I believe in the right to family planning. As a Catholic, I feel conflicted, especially because of old prejudices I had growing up. I have seen my evolution as a person over the years, but I cannot erase 15 years of Catholic schooling. I went to a Catholic school and a Catholic university. I had been taught natural family planning methods, that the Philippines is not overpopulated, that it has a "population displacement" problem. That I could get pregnant in a swimming pool if a boy ejaculated in it. That I should remain chaste until marriage.

I would be a hypocrite if I said that I was an ideal Catholic. I am not. I never have been, because I never believed in remaining chaste. However, I would be lying if I said that I was never affected by the things that the nuns taught me in school. I only felt confident enough to use the pill two years ago, after being assured by my German gynecologist that I will not be rendered infertile by it.

My story is reflected by most of the Filipino middle class. Most of us went to private Catholic schools. Most of us were told that we could get pregnant in swimming pools by nuns. And most of us, even though we know that the Catholic Church is spreading bull, are too weak to resist pressure from our families to be good Catholics and sign that little paper on the Church door against the Population Bill.

So for the people who are fighting for that the Family Planning Bill in the Philippines, I believe that lobbying for the bill in Congress is just one part of the war. They also have to convince the middle class that ousted Erap that the Population Bill is in the country's economic best interest. It is an intellectual and spiritual battle, which is unfortunatley a battle fought within.

Homeland vs. Motherland: Chocolate a la Taza

Chocolate is one of my most favorite things on earth.

When I was a child, I would eat Milo or Ovaltine straight from the can, and consume ten packs of Horlicks (meron pa ba nun?) in one sitting. My Grandmother would bring home tableas of chocolate, flat and round chocolate tablets an inch thick, stacked and rolled into paper like coins, from Bicol, where she went every year to join the Peñafrancia festival. She would brew the chocolate in milk or coconut milk, to make a thick soup known in the Philippines as tsokolate-eh, or would add rice to make champurrado.

I remember the rich, nutty, chocolate-y taste of the tsokolate-eh. Sometimes, I would forego the dissolving in water and just eat the tableas raw (read: papak), munching down on the tableas. Sometimes, if I decided that I was a princess that day, I would ask my Grandma to take out the good china from the cabinet. I had a special glazed demitasse set, gilded at the rim and painted with faded purple on the outside. My grandma said that it was my special cup for special occasions.

Fast forward twenty or so years later, I am in Spain after a lifetime of dreaming. I seek out tsokolate-eh, knowing that the Spanish have their version too, called Chocolate a la Taza. It is not the Tsokolate-eh of my childhood, but it is similar. A thick chocolatey liquid, although the Spanish blend is much smoother and milkier than the Filipino blend. The nuttiness in the flavor doesn't come from Coconut milk or from the crude quality of Filipino chocolate, but from the toasted flour that they add to the brew to thicken it. And instead of biscocho, I dunked in churros in my chocolate. It is not earthy like Filipino tsokolate-eh, and I realize that comparison is futile, as they are two different genus of the same species.

VERDICT: It's a tie! I like the both. Yay to chocolate!

Estoy harta de español

Have you ever heard of the term language saturation? Guess where I am? I am not complaining, it's just that my brain feels very, so very tired and heavy...

Odio el subjuntivo. ¿Porque existe?

Homeland vs. Motherland: Filipinos

Around the world, Filipinos are known to be a smiling, friendly people. Not afraid of working overtime, asking for even longer hours, working in cramped, small places, not heeding the pains in their back as long as Junior gets a new pair of shoes for graduation.



In Spain, Filipinos are also a kind of cookie, and there is a pervading myth that these cookies originated from the Philippines, hence the name. I don't remember seeing these cookies back home, but I do remember a kind of galletas that has a hole in the middle.

Many people find it offensive that there is a chocolate-covered cookie named after us, saying that this is racist. I don't see this racist. Then maybe the Dutch should howl in protest over the connotations of "Dutch treat," or the Danish asking that the pastries be re-named. Or that the French would have heaved a sigh of relief after the Americans started asking McDonalds for "Freedom Fries." Besides, there are also white chocolate covered Filipinos,how is that representative of us? So c'mon, don't be so sensitive. It's just a cookie.

Verdict: "Matam'is ya'an!" for the Filipinos the people! Not the cookie! Really, the cookies are so dry that I could not enjoy the chocolate coating.

Be You.

"It cost me a lot to be authentic. . . Because a woman is more authentic the more she looks like what she has dreamed for herself."
--Agrado, Todo Sobre Mi Madre

I have a pretty manic personality, and I have really no control over what to fixate upon. I don't know why I like something, and when I do, I just go crazy with it. I think it. I eat it. I breathe it.

Sometimes this mania will last for years. It will die out just as suddenly it started, and no amount of force on my part can make me want to revisit my manias. Sometimes it stays with me. Some manias I have had when I was 16 or 17 are still with me to this day.

I have always had geeky interests. When I was 8 or 9, The Real Ghostbusters (the cartoon) was on air, and I would never miss an episode, ever. I would park myself in front of our TV, and I would write down which ghost appeared on what day on one of my school notebooks. When I was 14, I wrote fan mail and poems to Gillian Anderson and
David Duchovny.

I have always been interested in traveling to other places, even when I was a kid. I just didn't really have the opportunity to visit other countries, but I would say that I knew Manila well by the time I was 10. My Grandma took me with her on her trips whenever she could, and she had itchy feet. I guess I caught her bug, and I wanted to travel the Philippines, too.

But what really made me dream, and dream big, was a TV show on the Discovery Channel called Travelers. I was 16, about the time my parents decided to subscribe cable TV. I watched it whenever I could. The show revolved around six Americans who visited obscure festivals around the world. I loved it so much that I also had a notebook wherein I wrote down the country and city they went to, date of airing, hosts present. This show made me dream that someday, I would go and see the Boi Bumba festival. How do I get there? How can I be a part of it? It was one of the reasons why I went to Journ School in college, because I knew I had a gift for communication, and journalists go places, right?

My parents had other ideas for me. You want to travel? Go be a stewardess.

This short-sightedness frustrated me for so long. When I got my degree, I wanted to embark on my great Philippine adventure. I wanted to travel the width and breadth of my country, but my parents forbade me. Too dangerous, they said. I listened to them, and stayed put. This is not strange in the Philippines, as my 25 year old brother still lives at home and gets "Wer r u?" text messages from my mother at 12 midnight.

I slugged away at my job, got a boyfriend, split up, ended up depressed, and became obsessed with anime, eventually cosplay. It was the only thing that made me smile at the time. I would sit and watch anime an average of 6 hours a day. I was around 22 or 23.

Then I met Thomas.

He gave me the courage to actually use all the money I have saved all these years at the bank and with him, I discovered the Philippines. I had also seen parts of the Philippines with my Grandma, and we embarked on our great adventure together in 2004. But with Thomas, I had the courage to visit unknown places, not just places where we knew people. Basically, he gave me the courage to continue something that my Grandma started.

And now I am here in Barcelona and learning Spanish! I still can't believe it, and I am eternally grateful for having this opportunity, and the opportunity to become my real self: A citizen of the world.

Enlighten Me, Please

For anybody out there who knows Latins or Spanish guys: Is it just me, or do they think with their penises 100% of the time? Or is the word "intercambio" (language exchange or tandem in German), actually a ruse used by men to look for dates, girlfriends, and sex partners?

Doing this intercambio thing in Barcelona almost has a feel of a blind date. Really, looking for the perfect "language level" match, anxiety whether you guys would get along, and the whole "did he/she like me?" question.

I mean, two guys I'm doing intercambio with think that I am into them. Yuck and double yuck. They interpreted completely innocuous things I've done as attempts to seduce them.

Upside is, I am learning the best places to go to here. And my Spanish is getting better.

Where the Boys Are

One of my complaints in Barcelona is that I am always surrounded by pretty girls, but the good looking guys seem to be a rare species in this jungle.

I found out where ther natural habitat was last night when I went to a club here in Barcelona. It seems that the male population is nocturnal, and the cutest guys come out in droves in these clubs.

So a group of female acquaintances and I were in this club, and I observed that the men began to pick off the girls one by one. They first picked out the prettiest girls in the group using the normal pick up cues: Lighting up a cigarette, bumping into her "accidentally" on the crowded dance floor. The next to be picked off were the girls who looked "game," girls who seemed up for anything and would be fun to hang out with. Next came the slutty-looking girls. If you were not picked up by the end of the night, woe is you. If anything, these Spanish guys are quick. By the end of the night , my companions were in some dark corner of the club necking with one of the boys.

I didn't really like electronic music, so I would switch between the large dance floor and the smaller area upstairs that played indie and retro music. A guy kept stealing glances at me while I was dancing, and I noticed him from the corner of my eye. I wasn't really thinking about flirting with him or anything, but he came up to me and asked my name.

"Arashi."
"Arthur."

And we attempted to make small talk in between lulls in the songs. It was just too loud, so he invited me to go outside to grab some air. I wanted out of the smoky bar, so I said yes, and he took me by the hand and made our way out of the club.

Once outside, he in his broken English tried to pull me to the bushes in front of an abandoned building outside the club. Uh-oh. These hipsters don't waste time, do they? I'll be damned if I would let another 30 year old dirty boy fuck me behind the fucking bushes. What am I, 19? How do I get out of this without him getting violent? So I took a risk, and kissed him.

"I'm sorry, but I am married." as I came up for air. I held up my right hand, hoping he wouldn't question the position of the ring. But hey, if he didn't eve check that I had a ring, how could he notice even that?

"Ok, ok. That's ok." He continued to kiss me and still tried to lead me to the bushes. Fuck. Persistent, and he doesn't even care.

We kissed again, and I was reminded why I stopped dating smokers after my first boyfriend. But he does kiss nice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I said, and pulled away and headed back to the club.

"Yeah...." he said sheepishly. Dejected, he called out "I really like your shirt," pointing to my t-shirt that had a Clockwork Orange logo on it.

Thanks.

I grabbed my stuff, looked for my missing friends, didn't find them, and decided to go home alone. On the way out the bouncer commented, "Nice film," pointing to my shirt.

"Yeah, read the book, hadn't seen the film."

The Filipinization of Spanish

Despite the pendantic nature of this piece, I still find the differences between Spanish and Filipino unendingly fascinating.

There are some words in Filipino that I never knew were Spanish, given that they could pass off as Malay or Indonesian.

For example, who knew that the Tagalog word KALBO was Spanish? Did you? Nitso?

And I am also amazed that much of the Spanish-derived words used in Tagalog are actually Latin American. We use esposo rather than marido. They say cacahuete here but we say Mani. Cucharita instead of cuchadita.

But on the other hand, we do say Kotse instead of Carro.

There are other words that have changed meaning over the years. The name Casillas would evoke laughter or a nguso to the restroom, but here it has a more innocuous meaning: the little squares that you see in your notebook or crossword puzzle. Averia implies a mechanical problem, but is used to mean all sorts of troubles in the Philippines. Sencillio means easy. In Cebu, sincillio means small change, coins. Don't even get me started on the word coño. Am I even allowed to say that?

And there are other words that are downright bizzare, and I don't even know how the Spanish word for message, recado, became the Tagalog word for ingredients!

There are other words that seem spanish but aren't,like Candila.

If you can think of any other words, just holler. I would like to extend this list!

Wake Up and Smell the Indifference

Before you read this post, I would like you to take time to read this from Howie Severino's blog. Many Americans don't know about the Filipino-American war, how America perfected Vietnam and Iraq in the Philippines.

What really gets me is a commenter on this thread who asked.

"i'm glad to hear that obama won in the elections because it will really bring change. but i wonder kung ano ang impact nito sa ating mga Filipino..."

You know, before I left the Philippines, I had a not so nice impression of Americans. Americans are idolized and treated like kings in the country, much to the consternation of other nationalities. Everytime Thomas walks around the Philippines, he is greeted everywhere by "hey joe!" or "Kano!" which is short for Americano. I had a job interview once where the American interviewer talked down to me, and I had another acquaintance who thought I wanted to sleep with him just because I am Filipina, and all Filipinas wanted to marry a Joe, right?

When you are Filipino living in the Philippines and has a myopic view of the world, meaning that the world you live in revolves around the P.I. (as servicemen call the Philippines) and the USA, you think that wow, we are so important in the world.

Please, I hope that Filipinos wake up to the reality that America doesn't give a fuck about us. They don't care. Americans don't know that Guantanamo, Guam, and the Philippines are all tied to the war of 1896. We are never going to become the 51st State of America. Americans don't even know that we speak English in the Philippines! I, for one, am tired of having to explain my not-quite-so American accent and how I got it. "Wow, your English is so good!" Americans would say.

Give up the ghost, Filipinos. I don't agree with the Socialists in the Philippines, but the term "Tuta ng Kano" (America's Puppy) is a good adjective to describe the Philippine government. Look, my grandad also believed that the Philippines should have been a state. But you know what? They never wanted us to be a state. They just wanted (and want) our gold and copper, without having to cower behind environmental watchdogs. To Canadians, google Marinduque Mining Disaster if you don't know what I am talking about.

And this article just to see how sad and desperate we look, like a lunatic bride chasing after George Clooney. Please President Arroyo, I know you went to Georgetown with Bill Clinton, but we shouldn't have any illusions that America will take care of our problems. Please, let us grow a spine and think of ourselves first. America's President will of course take care of Americans first. We should do the same.

Our history of colonialism has made us unable to self-govern. This is not a rant against Americans. They are at a high point in their history, and I congratulate them for achieving the unimaginable 40 years ago. This is an appeal to the Filipinos to wake up and think for ourselves.

Thank God.

Glad to see the end of idiocy. That was a really vicious and nasty campaign.

Move on, nothing to see here.

What Turns You On?

I saw this video on Deusexmalcontent and I have discovered a newfound love for Rilo Kiley. By jove, is this song and video hypnotic! And Giovanni Ribisi! I always thought of Ribisi as the guy who plays freaks or sidekicks in movies, a character actor type, never the leading man. But in this video he looks sooooo sexy and smoldering that I think I have another actor crush aside from Daniel Brühl.

I mean look at his eyes! And the nape!

Yes, his nape.

Filipinos have a weird thing for intimate and normally unseen body parts. I once spoke to a taxi driver in Manila who had a thing for Mexican singer/actress Thalia's armpits (In his words, "they are so smooth and white!"). Jose Rizal (our national hero)in his novel Noli Me Tangere spoke of Cris Ibarra's fondness for Maria Clara's "pearly white nape" in 1886.

And there's a shot in the video that focuses on his nape and I swore I melted. You see, napes are not created equal. His nape was so...delicate yet manly, you know? I mean, I would get turned-off with handsome men who have ugly napes. I don't know what makes me like napes. It's the slope of it, and how the hairline begins at the back. Sometimes when I am walking down some street and a guy has his back turned to me and he has this most wonderful nape that I really bite the inside of my cheek to resist the urge to go up to him and kiss his nape.

And there's Tide. The laundry detergent.

It's one of the things I miss about the Philippines. The smell of Tide laundry soap. Sure, we have Ariel back home as well, but I have this weird thing about smell. The reason why I never dated smokers (well, except for my first boyfriend) was because I was very particular about how guys smelled. I once turned down a guy because of how he smelled. He didn't stink, it's just that he smelled like syrupy sweet cough syrup. Gosh, I once acted for a theater troupe composed of Catholic seminarians (!) and I couldn't get enough of one actor. He wasn't my type but he smelled so gorgeously of Tide and had an amazing nape and I kept following him around only from behind, of course, because I loved how he smelled. And his nape.

So here I am playing this song and video over and over again because I love the song, I love the video, and I love Giovanni Ribisi's nape. Thank You.

Salon de Manga Barcelona

Just came back from Salon de Manga XIV and those two above just won the Cosplay Skit competition, the guys who will represent Spain in the World Cosplay Championships 2009 in Nagoya, Japan.

I can't help but think, wow, the Philippine cosplay community hasn't even sent any reps to the World Cosplay Championships. We can do so well, so much better than a lot of the acts that I saw. And Japan is so close!

A cosplay insider told me that it was only this year that Japan started accepting applications from countries instead of inviting countries to participate. The Philippines has a very well-developed and flourishing cosplay community, it's about time they recognized the Philippines!

Let's Do The Time Warp Again!

Please please please, can I live here? Like, really? I am having so much fun and indulge in my geeky costuming nature here. *sigh* ayaw ni Thomas but there has got to be a way!

I had the most fun I have had in the last two years I've spent in Europe last night, at the Halloween screening of the Rocky Horror Picture show of the RHPS club. It's the first time in years that I joined a cosplay contest as Dita Von Teese (haha, well, if she were Asian). I loved the atmosphere, so unlike the competitive and insecure cosplay scene in Manila. Last night people talked back to the screen, recited lines, threw rice and confetti, and basically made RHPS an interactive experience! So goofy! It was like watching a movie in your friend's den, just that it filled the whole theatre. Everytime Janet showed up on screen, the crowd chanted ¡Zorra! (Bitch) and Brad ¡Gillipollas! (Asshole). God, I was orgasming geek last night as people came up with witty one liners in Spanish at the screen, the kind that someone came up two years ago and everybody would repeat hereonafter.

The winner of the cosplay contest was a woman with a pet rat and a gun. I think she's Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, but I am not sure. Help?

Gimme Freedom. Gimme Shelter.

One of the things that I like about my relationship with Thomas is that he gives me a lot of personal freedom to pursue my interests, something that I have always believed in and something that I reciprocate wholeheartedly. A lot of people, Germans and Asians alike, could not understand how I could spend three months here in Spain on my own volition, to pursue a dream, without having my husband constantly at my side. Or why am I willing to work and support our family in times that Thomas, who is also a freelancer, takes time off from his job to focus on his ideas (I am not kidding. As a kid Thomas's ambition was to be an "inventor").

As individuals, one of the most binding aspects of our relationship is that we both crave freedom. The freedom to be ourselves, and our dread of the stifling obligations that people expect from their partners when they are in a relationship. Actually, one of our biggest communication problems is that neither knows, or knows how to express in a way the other would understand, the personal boundaries that they have and wish that their partner would respect.

Not to say that we don't want a safe haven. Of course we want that the other person will remain a stable rock for the other.

It has come to a point where I am considering babies. Yes, babies. I see babies everywhere. I find them adorable. For many people, children cement a relationship. For some they are the catalyst for its unraveling. I think that our relationship can handle children. Thomas said that being the typical GDR kid, he is not averse to having children at such a young age. The catch is that it was only recently, he said, has he sensed my willingness to have children. He is right.

I look forward to having a bratty baby, then a bratty teenager, in the hopes and in my smugness that I will do a better job than my mom. Being a typical woman, I have imagined conversations with my future child and how I would raise him/her, give him/her "the talk" and how to handle issues.

I asked myself am I willing to raise this child as a single mother, if it comes to that. The answer is yes.

On the other hand, I also fear the loss of freedom. The loss of freedom to pursue my own interests because I have a child. It is true that it is easier to raise children in East Germany, for that I am thankful. Day care and Kindergartens till 4 p.m. is a blessing for parents. In the Philippines, I grew up with yayas or live-in nannys, so my mother definitely had enough time to be herself when she needed to be. One of my greatest fears that I might bite off more than I could chew and find out that I have too late. If I move to West Germany or any other country, how am I gonna deal with lack of child care? What about my plan to live in Japan for a year to learn Japanese? What's gonna become of that? I know I sound selfish but ultimately, wanting children is a selfish endeavor, and I think that wanted children are mostly better off than unplanned ones.

Anyway I know that children will restrict me in a lot of ways, it is up to me to still exercise my identity. I hope I I don't end up resenting my child for "lost opportunities" or stuff like that. Maybe I need to redefine the meaning of freedom. Basta.

So Today Is Your Birthday

Thanks for everybody who greeted me during my birthday! How did I celebrate it? Well, I just had the most kick-ass party to be ever had for my birthday! I cooked Philippine rice noodles and spring rolls, and served super yummy chocolate cake from the baker next door.

I have to say, it was one of the coolest parties I've attended. It was fun, it was chill, it was organic. The best part is that it was my party and I organized it myself! Well, to be honest, it organized itself. A happy flood of coincidences made my party special. My brother-in-law and a friend of his are here on vacation. Thomas came to visit, and Thomas's best friend was also here for a month-long internship at the local hospital! WOOT! How cool is that to not be alone in a foreign country during your birthday, with people you know? Then I invited a couple of people I have gotten to know here in Barcelona, and what happened next was soo amazing. There were at least five different languages spoken at the party, and no, English was not THE language that dominated. The German delegation were so relaxed that when my roomate's dog started humping Adi's (my BIL's friend) leg, we all laughed so hard! Even Adi! I guess we got a bit too noisy because our neighbors showed their displeasure, Barcelona-style.

They dropped a water balloon made out of a supermarket plastic bag on our patio. Priceless.

After that, Thomas and I spent two cloudy but relaxing days at Lloret de Mar, chilling and clubbing with all the unhip Russian kids and English chavs and their unhip music. After that we spent a brilliant Sunday afternoon in Casteldefells.

It was a great birthday, but Woof, I'll be 30 next year! I'm thinking that next year will be the last birthday where I will reveal my real age to people who don't know me!

Homeland vs. Motherland: Celebrities

I was walking along Gran Via de Catalanes when I stopped and did a double take: Cherie Gil, is dat chu?



Her name is Gemma Mengual and she's a famous synchronized swimmer born in Barcelona. She's famous, as in kaliwa't kanan ang endorsements, akala mo si Kris Aquino. She competed in the last Olympics.

Here's Cherie



A Filipina actress of Spanish-German descent, she is very famous for her to the hilt contravida (villainess) roles.

VERDICT: "You are nothing but a second rate, trying hard copycat!" Sorry hindi ko feel and teefs ni Gemma.

Homeland vs. Motherland: Ensai(y)mada

Since the Philippines used to be a Spanish colony, we have a lot of things in common with the Spanish. Words, traditions,culture have transferred, mutated, and have become uniquely Filipino.

While here, I'll be running a series called Homeland vs. Motherland. Basically, comparing things that exist in both countries, and judging which is better. I hope rabid nationalists won't object to me naming Spain as Motherland, but in a lot of cases it is true, and we do owe some aspects of our culture to the colonial period, indelible and undeniable. Other suggestions are welcome!

Ok first up is ensaymada.



The Spanish ensaimada is a creature similar to the Filipino ensaymada, except that it is fluffier, more like a croissant. It is either glazed or covered in powedered sugar.



(From Tagaytay econoinn website. Fair use po!)

Like what Carlos Celdran says in his tour, the Filipinos tend to overdecorate and overdo everything. Ensaymadas in the Philippines not only have a layer of granulated sugar over it, even the most bakya versions have a thick layer of Star Margarine over it (for non-Pinoys, it is the most artificial tasting yellow lard that passes for margarine in the Philippines). In the fancier versions, grated cheese and even itlog na maalat (month-old eggs pickled in salt) feature on the ensaymada. The fluffier versions (like Mulach Ensaymadas) are similar to the ones in Spain, but they are much softer, and less flaky than the Spanish Ensaimada.

VERDICT: Pinoy Ensaymada FTW! Mas nakakabusog!

The Towering Castells of Catalunya

A lot of things move me to tears. Lately, the realization of a dream made my eyeballs moisten.

You see, as a young girl growing up and dreaming of adventure, I had always wanted to watch the Castellers of Spain do their thing, live. I saw it once on the Discovery Channel one day, and thought, wow, I would like to be part of that.

I am so happy to be able to witness the Castellers, live! And I am so grateful to have an old Catalunyan by my side actually explain the whys and hows of the Castellers, who are just so amazing. A devoted fan of the practice, he even gave me a hand-out of the different formations and explanations in English and German, and we spoke in a mish-mash of Spanish and English.

I wish you were here with me to see this



Molts Merces, Catalunya! Featured are the Minyons de Terrassa.

We're Not Gonna Pay/This or Last Year's Rent

Well, living in Barcelona is definitely giving me the vibe that I am in New York City. Had an interesting fiasco with getting my keys, had to schlepp my ass halfway across the city to get it. Then I find out on the second day that I am living in an illegal sublet (super: who are you? my roommate. I live here! super: you're not in the contract!) So they know that she lives there but they don't know that I do. So if anybody asks, I'm the cleaning lady. If there's a time to capitalize on a stereotype, this is the time. Meanwhile, the German girl who actually rented out the place is still in Germany.

I am having a grand ole time, out all night wrecking havoc on the city, I came home one fine 2 a.m. to the sound of my hot roomie having sex with her second boyfriend. I have seen sex before, but it seems so invasive to listen to someone who doesn't want you to listen. Somehow the thump thump thump of the headboards and their ughs ugh ugh made me feel like I was 10 again in my bedroom praying for the love of god, please make my parents STOP so I went to bed without peeing and brushing my teeth.

Yup, life is interesting and I spend my free time at the beach. Dear J. I am a convert. Germany does suck.

If I Were White

Whenever I am at the receiving end of some sort of injustice, I always ask myself: Would this person have done the same thing if I were white? If yes, I let it go. If not, I feel really sad because I know that I cannot change this person's prejudices whatever I do.

My Father-in-Law and I have not had the easiest of relationships. He didn't sign the affidavit of support I needed to get to Germany. I understood his skepticism. I mean, I am this Asian girl he doesn't know from Adam, and he has to theoretically shell out 600 euros a month in case I didn't make it here. Besides, Thomas also had a history of being enthusiastic about something at the beginning, then plateuing at the end. Who knew that this wasn't some short-lived romance?

His current partner is not the monster my MIL portrays her to be. She is quite nice, and we get along well. In fact, I took her, and not my MIL, to go wedding dress shopping because she's more kikay like that. My MIL is not the fashionista.

I dozed off for a few minutes on my reclining chair after having brunch with them and Thomas last Saturday. I was in that hazy area between sleep and consciousness when I heard my FIL refer to me as the "Hausdame." (Housekeeper). I didn't catch the first part of the sentence. It could be in reference to the constant jabs I make at Thomas because he rarely keeps house. I feigned sleep as I heard his partner say that I am his fifth child, in reference to her two biological children and his two biological children.

Then they dropped the subject. I decided to "wake up" a few minutes later.

The question now is, should I let this go?

Could the conductors track you down if you give them a fake address

The straßenbahn conductors caught me today, gave me a 40 euro ticket. I remembered too late that I have the stamp on ticket today and not the monatskarte, which you just have to show. My karte expired two days ago, so I bought the vierer karte yesterday. I was about to stamp it when the checker covered the machine and said that I had to pay. I guess he really needed the money to make the quota.

They asked for cash, I didn't have any. They asked for my passport, I said I didn't have it (although I did), and gave them my insurance card instead. I decided at the last minute to lie, so I named the address three doors down.

I tore the ticket to shreds before I got home. Fuckers.

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iOVAYA!

A plea for help: Does anybody here know anybody in Barcelona, (as in Spain, not Zamboanga)? Are you currently living in Barcelona? If so, please contact me! I am pulling hairs because I still don't have an apartment in Barcelona. I am leaving on the 31st of August, arriving in Barcelona at 1 pm. I would really like to have an apartment by then, weil kein Bok habe 20 euro pro tag für ein Bett zu zahlen.

End of ad.

On the topic, here's a very funny ad from Spain!

Prague

Went to Prague and tried to do it in a day--never again!

Anyhoo, I will go back in May with my friends, and I would definitely check out the Museum of Sex Machines and the Museum of Medieval Torture. That's the great thing about living in Europe! Proximity to amazing cities, and crazy museums.



National Museum,Prague



King Wenceslas Statue



Wide Boulevards



Prague may suffer from poor urban planning, but its beauty are in its details.



Tyn Church



Tower where the Astronomical clock is located.



Loved the intricate design on the door.



The clock itself.



Museum beside the Clock



Fountain near the clock



Tower at the start of the St. Charles's Bridge



Sts. Norbert, Wenceslas and Sigismond on the bridge

Dopen oder Nicht Dopen?

Ich war total langeweilt letzter Mittwoch als mein Mann das Fernseher nicht umschalten möchte. Ich wollte einen Dokumentarfilm über gemischte Ehepaaren hier in Deutschland, er wollte aber einen Film über Die Olympiade, besonders über Doping, gucken.

"Das ist total dumm," sagte ich. "Sie sollten eigentlich Doping legal machen, weil Sie alle eh dopen."

Auf Tagalog, werde ich sagen "nagpantig ang tenga ni Thomas." Er hat mich gestarrt und hat fast geschrien "Was? wie so kannst du das sagen! Natürlich sollte das illegal werden! Sie stellen ein schlechtes Beispiel für die Kinder! Das schadet doch anderen Leute!"

Ok relax Mann. Ich wusste, dass Thomas, damals ein Leistunsgssprortler war, und sich besonders an Fahhradfahren interessiert, wird meine Meinung nicht nehmen.

"Andere Leute nicht schaden? Wie bitte? Was ist dann mit deinem 'jointily-ointily'?"

"Ich schade dadurch niemand."

"Aha. Und was dann mit Rauchen? Sie haben das wieder in Kneipen erlaubt. Wenn Eltern rauchen, sie sind auch ein schlechtes Vorbild für ihren Kinder, und sie schaden doch viele Leute mit dem Qualm."

"Naja, aber Doping ist tödlich..."

"Und Rauchen? Ist das nicht tödlich für den Raucher und die Leute herum?"

"Naja, aber das ist doch unfair für die Leute, die nicht dopen."

"Hallo, wenn Doping erlaubt ist, dann alle werden Dopen, und dann wird das wieder fair, und ehrlicher. Kuck mal Amerika an in den 20ger Jahren, sie hatten Prohibition vergeblich eingesetzt."

Also, wir hatten uns dann für ewig diskutiert. Was denken Sie dann it Doping?

Be Sweet by the Afghan Whigs

Ladies, let me tell you about myself
I got a dick for a brain
And my brain is gonna sell my ass to you
Now I'm OK, but in time I'll find I'm stuck
'Cause she wants love, and I still want to fuck
Now that I'm ashamed, it burns
But the weight is off
Now that you're out of the way
I turn and I can walk
You showed no sympathy, my love
And this was no place for you and me to walk alone

On my grave, am I OK?
I'm sure I'm not
Ladies let me tell you about my love
She kept giving me more
But it wasn't enough
So understand
Now that I come to you
To understand my little self
To understand my little self

And baby you be sweet

Let's Talk Shop

I am to be found banging my head against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why am I stupid? Cause I am crap at negotiations.

I am a crap businesswoman. I am the sort who would buy a piece of candy wholesale for 50 cents a piece and sell it for 25 retail.

Let's start with School A. I have been working for B for two years now as a freelance English Teacher. The pay is crap, around 12.50 an hour. I say crap because compared to other language schools, who pay freelancers 18 an hour, you would say that I am getting the short end of the stick. However, the fact I can roll out of bed and teach because I've got the material down pat and don't have to spend hours preparing for the lesson counts for something. The fact that I am also paid a unit for a test I didn't even write is a major plus.

School B is a trade school that I started working for last March. I asked for 24 an hour, they said that all they could offer me is 18 during the probationary period. I said ok.

But shit it is GD hard work.I spend as much time in the classroom as I do preparing for lessons and checking homework. I earn 9 euros effectively, as I put so much effing work into each effing lesson.

I had renegotiations today and I blew it. I settled for effing 20 an hour, which was they made clear at the very beginning was how much they were willing to pay. I don't mean to sound greedy, but geez I am basically settling for so much work, and I have to pay for my own health insurance and taxes. She started by already planning out the next semester, before talking about pay. I mean, I am very interested in what I am going to teach there, it's more challenging than the grammar shit I do at school A. I really need to get rid of this Filipino thing of being afraid to talk about money.

Aaargh, I just think money is money, no matter the source and the work I did to get it. But sometimes I wonder if I always sell myself short?

Wir Sind Vom Selben Stern

I have always had what my husband considers an unhealthy fascination for homosexuals. I am myself not one, but I have always been strongly attracted to, or completely at ease with, homosexuals.

I started to read up on FTM (female to male) transgendered people. I was randomly surfing the net two years ago when I came across Buck Angel, a former model turned porn star and FTM advocate, and I was hooked. Even before that guy in Oregon got pregnant, before I saw Boys Don't Cry and Transamerica, I was fascinated at how people can transform their outward appearance to suit how they wanted to look, of how your life choices and lifestyle affect your body.

It is unfortunate that I lump transgendered people with gay people. They are obviously not the same thing, but my point is that I am pretty open-minded and well-informed when it comes to people with sexuality or gender-identity differences.

I recently discovered that one of my good friends is a MTF transgendered person. An acquaintance had a Freudian slip (? I don't really believe that it was accidental), and told me. I was quite shocked, but I acted as if I suspected all along. I mean, I've always noticed that her hips were so slender for a woman. But then again, many women have slender hips.

I really had no inkling that she was transgendered. Honestly, it does't matter to me, she is still a person after all, deserving to be treated with respect and dignity. It really wasn't nice of the person to reveal this tidbit to me. I would have preferred for the truth to come out of the horse's mouth. Now I am left wondering how to act when we meet again. Of course, she would notice something amiss if I treat her differently. Should I continue the charade of pretending that she was born female? What if I tread upon a topic that inadvertently steps on her feelings? There was this one time when we talked about anal sex, and she seemed awfully quiet.

How should I react when, in her own due time,she decides to reveal to me her origins? How do I react? Should I ask questions? Should I pretend indifference? I will accept her all the same, but the method of my acceptance could be something that could make or break our friendship. She is a lovely person, and I don't want to say the wrong thing.

Only time can tell, right?