I Wanna Travel Around the World, Too!

I remember reading the book Eat, Pray, Love a few years ago, and liking it. I don't have a mad crush on it like I do for say, Lolita, but I like it enough, like the way I like a warm fuzzy blanket. My reading tastes tend to be so extreme. I like Edgar Allan Poe, even when he's talking about beating hearts under footboards and walling somebody up in a dungeon, so I sometimes like to cancel it out with the wooly little blankets like The Time Traveler's Wife.

Because of the hype surrounding the movie Eat, Pray, Love, I re-read the book and discovered that I still liked it. It's an adventure book for girls, not unlike the Nancy Drew detective stories of my youth. Nancy Drew was a detective, but she was also a girly-girl. If anything, some of the issues mentioned in the book resonated to me even more now than they did a few years ago, still in my twenties and childless.

So I don't understand the Eat, Pray, Love hate going around. The word >narcissist is being thrown out there a lot. Self-involved too. The author Elizabeth Gilbert has a career that I would kill to have, and she was paid a hefty advance by her publisher to travel around the world, then write about her year abroad to heal from her divorce.

This is an ugly side of the American public that I don't like. Americans take their entertainment pretty seriously, talking about yesterday's episode of Mad Men the next day in the office. Germans are exactly the opposite, and it is no wonder that German TV is the way it is: A 24-hour Discovery Channel special. Any talk about pop culture is considered shallow and embarassing. Many would rather talk about or pretend to like Schiller and Goethe. So when they like a TV show, they LOVE it. They hate it, they HATE it. I swear like a stevedore, but I don't like to throw the words bitch or cunt around, aimed especially at other people. Especially against people I don't know. But there is that word. Liz Gilbert, bitch. narcissist.

Look, there is nothing wrong about thinking about yourself first before helping other people. There are people who are naturally giving, a wellspring of generosity that can be mistaken for being a doormat. But not everybody is like that. I cannot give if I don't have anything to give. Germans sometimes comment on how selfish it is of me to eat first before breastfeeding Antonio, or to send Antonio to a Tagesmutti for seven hours before he's a year old. First of all, none of your business. Second, I need to work because my government money has run out. Third, I need to be around adults again, stat. I like to think of it as the airplane oxygen mask policy. In the event of rapid depressurization, you have to put the mask over yourself first before you assist your neighbor. Giving when you have nothing is mighty noble, but very few people work that way.

As for the book, no, Liz Gilbert is not a narcissist. In fact, she is the opposite. She is a seeker of adventure, curious. I find her highly entertaining, and people who never set foot in a third world country have no idea what it's really like, so they don't have to damn the part of the book where she buys a house for an Indonesian lady. It was a private act of generosity, and since it is a memoir, she had to write about it. Believe me, I know a narcissist when I see it, I used to live with one. It's not like she hurt anybody doing the thing she loves. I think that if she didn't leave her really nice husband, if she had a child even if her inner voice told her don't do it, she would be as unhappy as the closet queen next door, and we don't need another miserable human being in this world because s/he isn't being true to their person. And she would have hurt even more people in the process.

Ants in the Pants

My mom and I were talking on the phone when she told me about how bothered my sister was over an SMS my sister read in my niece's phone. If you're weirded out as to why my sister was snooping around her daugher's phone, you have to understand that we come from a very paranoid and neurotic family. My mother could have been a Stasi spy, I swear.

"She read that Christen was texting a male classmate about the love scene in the Twilight movie!"

"So what ma, that is no big deal."

"No big deal?!"

I have to say though that my views on sexuality is very liberal for Filipino standards, they always have been.

"I guess I'm too German already," I said as an explanation. "Kids as early as 12 get to see sex scenes in movies at school."

"But she's only 10!"

"But see, that's the reason why they lose ther virginity at age 12!"

I remember thinking back to the time when I promised myself that this would never happen to my child. I still find the thought disturbing, but now I am a bit more...open-minded.

"Well that's not true for everybody here. That still depends on upbringing. Thomas did not lose his virginity at age 12. In fact, he was a late-bloomer. Besides, what's better, sex at 12, or teenaged pregnancy?"

My mom was silent, because I hit a nerve. "She just doesn't want her daughter to end up like her, you know."

That's what I find ridiculous about the hypocrisy going on. My sister throws a fit when a commercial even shows a whiff of immorality when her life is as unorthodox as it comes. I understand where she's coming from though. I guess my family is not yet ready for sex-ed.

Another friend of mine, also a Filipina, is incredulous that her 15-year old stepdaughter is desperate to lose her virginity. Their relationship resembles the mom and daughter in Forty Year-old Virgin. "Hello, that's normal! She's fifteen! Don't you remember the time when you just wanted to get it over with? I certainly do."

The German lassez-faire approach to teen sexuality appeals to me because I believe that teens are gonna fool around, there's nothing I can do to stop it, and I'd rather that they'd do it in a way that is safe for everybody involved.

Get back to me in 13 years though.

Potty Training and Socialism

Ask an East German about the GDR, especially those who are not exactly adapting to capitalist life so well, and s/he will most likely get defensive about how much better everything is "in former times."

Do you know that when four month old babies were shipped off to day care during the GDR, they were potty trained at the tender age of eight months? No, I am not kidding. After recess, they were all made to sit on a communal potty trench, very much like the communal outhouse huts in China I remember reading about. They were not allowed to go until they were done with business.

I have nothing against this method. Whatever floats your boat, I say. I was shocked when I was told of this, when I read about it, since I am pretty sure my parents started us off at the two year mark, if I remember my brother's potty training correctly. I've read that while kids can be trained to take a crap at such a young age, it is more a matter of "catching the right moment" and conditioning them to move the poop when they feel the toilet seat under them than free will. Of course avoiding diaper rash and washing all those dirty diapers is a good thing, but I would like to wait until my baby says he is ready.

Anyhow, MIL is trying to convince me that Antonio is ready for potty training. "I trained my kids to go to the potty as soon as they can stand." she says. Yesterday, I let Antonio hang in the breeze while I was running his bath. The pedia says that a baby should hang diaperless for a few hours a day to avoid diaper rash. He managed to shit on the carpet in these two diaperless minutes after marinating in his pee for four hours! MIL says that this is Antonio's way of signaling that he likes doing his business WITHOUT his diapers on. I think this is a one-time freak occurence. Parents of the world, when did you start potty training your kids, and why did you decide to do it when you did it?

While You Were Sleeping

I am a worry wart.

I listen to parents tell me to "enjoy my child," things go by so fast.

And they do.

Antonio, within a span of a few days, was able to sit up on his own, then prop himself up to a standing position. At his pace, I'll be a grandma in a few weeks.

Sure, he is a pain in the ass sometimes, but I don't mind, as long as he's still a baby.

For this reason, I am so glad that I live in a country that lets me savor these few precious moments with my baby.

Sometimes, I catch myself thinking, like Emily Webb, stop, it's all going by too fast.

Ang Paglalakbay ng Videoke Tourist

Mahilig ba kayong mag-videoke? Minsan, kapag nag-vivideoke ako, natutuwa akong makita yung mga retrato sa background. Kasi hindi ko na kailangang gumastos ng pera para maglakbay sa malalayong lugar!

Minsan, may kumanta ng Modern Talking, may Koreanang babae na nag-tatampisaw sa karagatan ng Boracay noong 1992. O yung babaeng blond chaka yung lalakeng brown ang buhok na nag-lalandian sa San Francisco kapag lumalabas yung "Zombie" ng Cranberries. Tuwang-tuwa ako noong nakarating akong Prague kasi talagang yun na yun ang hitsura niya sa videoke na kinanta ko minsan!

Noong nag-cable car kami sa San Francisco, natawa na lang ako, at sinabing, "nakita ko na ito sa videoke!"

--
Die Reise von einer Videoketourist

Videoke singen ist eine von meiner Lieblingstätigkeit. Es macht mich froh, wenn ich die Hintergrundsbilder anguke. Ich brauche kein Geld,um reisen zu können!

Ich hab einmal zugeschaut, als ein Mann ein Lied von Modern Talking gesungen hat, und am hintergrund war eine Koreanische Frau die im Meer spielt. Es war Boracay in 1992! Oder ein flirtendes Paar in San Francisco als ich "Zombie" von den Cranberries gesungen hab. Ich hab sogar Sehenswurdigkeiten in Prag erkannt weil ich sie mal im Videoke sah!

Deswegen als ich das Cable Car in San Francisco mitfuhr, dachte ich, ich hatte das hier schon im Videoke gesehen!

Freeze Dried Space Ice Cream

"Amazingly, the ice cream sandwich looks and tastes like the original. As you eat the sandwich, your mouth rehydrates the ice cream, restoring it to its original state."

NOT. From the Atomic Testing Museum, one of the most interesting museums I've been in a while. Adam, you'll love it. The museum will speak to anyone who grew up during the Cold War. Now I'm thinking of giving my extra pack either as a prize, or as a moving away present.

America, Please Explain

There are certain things in life that I take for granted, things that I grew up with, and things that make sense in context of the environment in which I live in. When I moved to Germany, things were, of course, different. So I reverted into a three year old and incessantly asked--why?

Now the things that I have seen here and the things I want to ask of you, my American readers, are specific to the West Coast/Vegas. Now I ask, why?

--are there so many freeways here? Seriously, highway built upon highway. And more highways, even to just get to the next town. Manila has them out of necessity. I have seen exactly one flyover in Germany, and that is in Berlin.

--are you so wasteful on gas and drive everywhere? Even in San Francisco, which has good public transport infrastructure? It's the reason why everybody is so obese. They all eat normally here, but exercise less, and spend so much time in their cars, driving around. I swear, the traffic in LA is not normal for the size of their freeways. In Germany, that kind of traffic only happens there in the Ruhrgebeit and the Main area, or during holidays.

--do you hate vegetables?

--are your cities so spread out? The suburbs here are so far from the center, and the government doesn't even bother building a public transportation network.

--would you drive around for thirty minutes to find a parking spot near the door/establishment? Don't you think that's a waste in gas?

--is In N Out the best burger in town? It is just a burger. Definitely better than what passes for hamburgers in Germany, though. But In N Out fries rock.

--are your cars so huge?

--do you watch TV all the time? Don't you guys have a life?

My comments section is open!

Welcome to the US, Bitch

Note: If you haven't seen the show The O.C., you wouldn't get the reference.

It was a verrry long flight to the US, an hour longer than the one to the Philippines from Germany. It was pretty uneventful for the most part. For now I am enjoying discovering Amerika. You see, the US is the most idolized and fetishized country where I come from, and separating fact from the hype is proving to be an educational experience.

Well, the trip hasn't been entirely uneventful. First of all, I will never fly domestic via U.S. Air ever again. I can't believe that the Charlotte Airport doesn't have automatic baggage forwarding. Second, my first ever encounter with US Immigration Authorities in Charlotte, North Carolina, proved to be quite interesting.

While waiting in line, the "Welcome to America" video played on loop in the airport. I feel that the content is meant to strike fear or at least insecurity into the hearts of men. Is my chocolate roll allowed to pass through? My camera? Do I have my passport? My e-ticket?

Then it was my turn. The man behind the counter was friendly, and asked me several questions, where was I from, why did I have an American accent, why didn't I sound Filipino. All very relevant. He seemed to know a good deal about the Philippines.

Then he looked intently at the computer screen and said. "Well, we have a slight hitch here. You have a name similar to someone who doesn"t like the United States. A lot."

Uh-oh. "Really? Oh wow. Drug-related?"

"Well, let"s just say that the person is a part of a terrorist group, like the Abu Sayyaf."

"That can't be, they're Muslim. I have a Hispanic-sounding name."

"I said like the Abu Sayyaf." A great furrowing of brows. "The State Department should have informed us of this."

"Well, it must be the FARC then."

More typing. "Look, I"m pretty sure you're not this person. But I still have to alert my supervisor about this. I can't make this call." He gave me a card with the number 1 written on it, and put all my documents in a plastic folder. "The problem is that you have a new passport (issued March 2009) and your visa is also new." A great stamping of documents. "We'll give you your luggage when we're done." Then he seemed to have a change of heart and said," You know what, why don't we already pick up your luggage, then we'll lead you to questioning."

A uniformed officer picked me up from the booth and led me to the carousel to pick up my luggage, then led me to a room full of other sad, nervous, or pissed-off looking people. I am pretty sure that no-one was looking, but it was still mortifying doing the "Walk of Shame" with a baby carriage, my luggage, and a uniformed officer beside me. Ohmigod, please don"t let the others think that I am a mule, I thought, thinking of the movie Maria Full of Grace.

I was called out, an this time a dour-looking man faced me and asked sternly. "From which country did you fly?" " Where was your passport issued?" " Can you give me your birthdate, please?" "Do you have a return flight?" "Show me your ticket please."

Bleary from the 9-hour flight and jet lag, I answered in short sentences, monosyllabic if possible. Seemingly satisfied with my answers, he handed back my documents and said, "The door is over there."

And onwards to freedom.

I want to make clear that I bear no ill will to the US Government and know that they are just doing their jobs, and this is all just a case of miscommunication. I saw that the first gentleman felt badly about sending me to his unsmiling supervisor, and really tried to expedite my processing and minimize my inconvenience. I also know that the US State Department did their job thoroughly. They even pulled out my old Petition to Immigrate from 1987, the reason why my parents are now in the US.

But still, nothing says welcome to the US than being escorted by a uniformed officer into a room. Welcome to the US, bitch.

The Times, They Are a'-Changin

I was in the supermarket today when a cute guy passed by. College-aged, probably a student at the university.

Hmm, how cute! He could be Antonio...

I caught myself in mid-thought. Stop!

When did I start to think of cute guys as my son's future self instead of potential sexual partners?

When did I turn into such a...mom?!

Logging Off

I've been quite busy these past few days, correcting a thesis and preparing for my trip to the US. I am not so excited nor anxious about this trip. I see this more as an obligation since my parents haven't seen the little one yet.

Pardon me if things are slow around here.

Das War's?

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

--A Dream Deferred, Langston Hughes.

Ich hab diese gedichte sofort geliebt, als ich sie das erste Mal las. Ich war in High School, wollte unbedingt schreiben, Journalistin werden. Mein Traum war so groß, ich hatte das gefühl, ich werde platzen. Plan A war Kriegskorrespondentin bei CNN sein, dann mit dreißig Kinder und Haus und Beruf unter einem Hut bringen. Ich wollte wie Christiane Amanpour, Veronica Pedrosa.

Das Kind habe ich bekommen. Sonst nichts.

Ich liebe das Muttisein. Ich liebe mein Kind. Ich werde alles, alles für ihn machen. Aber irgendwie wenn ich die Frauen höre, das ihren Kinder das A und O von ihrem Leben sind...ich kann das überhaupt für mich nicht vorstellen.

Ich bin 30, und ich habe das Gefühl, das ich so viel verpasse. Ich war eh nie das großte journalistische Erfolg gewesen. Telegen bin ich auch nicht. Mehrere Castings auf den PH haben das schon bewiesen.

Außer diese Gebiete, bin ich sonst erfolgreich. Ich habe einen hübschen Mann, ein hübsches Kind, Erfolg als Englischlehrerin, mein eigenes Geschäft. Aber manchmal kann ich CNN oder BBC nicht angucken. Manchmal denk ich mir, warum sitze ich hier und bin ich nicht da?

Ich glaube nur das mein Mut und mein Ehrgeiz gefehlt hat. Ich hatte das Gefühl, dass mein Können mangelhaft war. Das ich nicht gut genug bin. Das ich in die falsche Familie geboren wurde. Das ich in der falschen Uni studiert habe. In mir, in meinem Magen, ist ein Loch so tief das ich nicht mehr wegschauen kann.

Ich will jetzt irgendwie wieder in dem Beruf einsteigen. Aber wie? Ein Studium? Eine Ausbildung? Ich weiß nicht was mir vorkommt, aber irgendwas muss sich ändern.

Marunong ka bang Mag-Tagalog?

I met a Filipina in the supermarket last Thursday, and we chatted for a good hour, catching up on each other's lives. I told her that I am looking for a Tagalog-speaking baby sitter for Antonio, in the hopes that he would pick up the language. She looked at me strangely and said that Tagalog was an "unnecessary," language, because everybody speaks English in the Philippines anyway.

This, in my opinion, is a very provincial German, and sad to say, a Filipino perspective. The German concept of "überflussige Sprachen" has always annoyed me. My husband thinks the same, and has discouraged me from speaking Tagalog to Antonio. As I have mentioned before, his best friend's parents bungled up their attempt to teach Greek, German, and English to him, which gave Thomas a bit of a phobia.

The ironic thing about Filipinos is that except for the Tagalogs, the average Filipino is effectively trilingual. Most Filipinos speak their regional language (for example, I cannot understand Cebuano to save my soul), Tagalog, and English. But when Filipinos emigrate, you would be hard-pressed to find a family that passes on the language to their children. We are so willing to assimilate into our new environment, we want to get along with our neighbors so much, there isn't even any special effort in the US to market their products to Fil-Ams, even if they are the second largest ethnic group in many US States.

Fil-Ams - impossible to classify

To begin with, Filipinos are caught in some form of marketing limbo. Even the US government sometimes identifies "Filipinos" as an ethnic group apart from Asians, as if we were not from Asia. Being relatively proficient in English, we are also considered "fully assimilated" and, therefore, do not require dedicated advertising and promotions campaigns...
Even the number of Filipinos in the US has been uncertain. Because the 2000 US census, for the first time, drew a distinction between the "single race" and "bi-racial/multi-racial" population, demographers often tend to pick the single race figure when citing the official number of Filipinos in the US. What is not fully appreciated is that Filipinos are predominantly multi-racial because of centuries of contact and intermarriage with people from around Asia, the Middle East, Europe and the Americas. In fact, the Philippines is, quite likely, the only other country with an ethnic mix like the United States, with racial strains markedly Malayan, Spanish, Mexican and Chinese.

Anyhow, I believe that being in a strongly monolingual environment is not conducive to raising a bilingual, or trilingual child. I was raised bilingual, and did not learn Tagalog until I was three, but I picked up the language so quickly that I also consider Tagalog my mother tongue. I think that is the reason why it didn't work for Thomas's friend, but it worked out for me, and many other kids that I met in Barcelona.

Now, what does this language exclusion of Filipino do to immigrant children?

I have met a number of very conflicted second generation Fil-Ams, just like Augusto in the No Reservations episode featured on this blog. Some have embraced their Filipino legacy, some are disappointed by returning to the "motherland," expecting to find themselves. I met a third generation Fil-Am who considered herself American, and rejected adopting Filipino as a part of her identity, just acknowledging it as part of her heritage. I'm cool with that. I can't expect her to identify herself with a country to which she has tenuous relations.

What I'm not cool with is that almost all of the Filipinas in my area have not passed on their language to their children. Which is to me a very sad thing. A central part of Philippine cuisine is dried fried fish, an acquired taste I admit. But I love it. In one of our gatherings, the son of the Filipina in the supermarket remarked in German, let's get out of here, they're cooking that "stinkenden asiatischen Zeug."

I do not want my son to call fried fish "stinkenden asiatischen Zeug." I don't want him to not be able to speak to his cousins. I want him to be proud that he is Filipino and German. I want him to be able to identify as both. I know it will be hard for him, since he isn't Filipino, but not German, either. He doesn't have the benefit of looking like he belongs, something that Thomas and I took for granted growing up.

I don't want him to grow up confused, but what is better, growing up not knowing a part of you, or growing up conflicted because your inter-national heritage? He will end up confused whichever path we take as parents. He may ultimately reject being Filipino when he grows up, but at least I am giving my son a choice.

Flying the Unfriendly Skies

I am JUST SO FRUSTRATED with DELTA AIRLINES that I am just about to be SICK!

Really, airlines should just stop outsourcing customer service since they really couldn't do anything. These 1-800 numbers are just out to pilfer money from their customers without really giving any service!

It all started when I tried to book a flight to Las Vegas to see my parents. According to the DELTA website, Customers traveling with infants are charged 10% of the ticket, along with any taxes. The ticket I wanted to buy cost 303€, and a whopping €200 in taxes. I wanted a final figure, I didn't want to end up paying 1000 $ for the flight. But the call center told me that I would have to book the flight first and then call them again to add Antonio's name to my entry. I booked the flight and called the call center again, and asked for a final figure.

They took my call. I gave them my credit card number, my three digit code.

Then my call was dropped.

I started panicking at this point. I just gave some stranger my credit card details and still didn't have a figure of how much the flight was actually gonna cost. It was already almost 1 a.m., and calls from Germany were forwarded to the American call center only until this time.

After a fitful night's sleep, I called Delta in Atlanta, not an 800 number (thanks, Adam!) and cancelled my flight. My confirmation number doesn't appear online anymore, but I'm still waiting for my refund to book a new flight. I maxxed out my credit card in the whole fiasco.

But wait! There's more! I called Atlanta to follow-up and "Amy" told me that I will not get a refund cos I'm in Europe! She gave me a customer care number and it took me 45 minutes to iron out this mess. Turns out my refund application isn't on queue, and it would take 3-4 WEEKS, not 5-7 business DAYS as promised, to refund my money.

Meanwhile, I still have no flight, no e-mail confimation that I've asked for a refund despite x requests, and time is running short before the costs of my flight skyrocket. THANK YOU DELTA.

The Mess We're In...

One thing that made alarm bells ring in my head was the price on my sister's electric bill. The month wasn't even over, and she got another electric bill. That's two bills in one month. Each for three thousand pesos. Golly. In Germany, my electric bill is 15 euros per quarter. That's half of her bill. And I live in a first world country, where everything is supposedly more expensive.

I asked my sister about her electric bill, and she just shrugged her soldiers. Eight people, one house. Air conditioning. What can you do? she seemed to say.

A trip to the grocery store just showed me how impossible life in Manila is becoming. I had three thousand pesos with me, confident that with 50 euros in my pocket, I could buy a week's worth of groceries for a household of eight. My jaw dropped when I bought 1/4 kilo of potatoes in SM for thirty fucking pesos. Dude, that's fifty euro cents for a tiny plastic bag of potatoes. In Germany, I could get a kilo for that. Rice, 50 pesos per kilo, Sugar too. And to think that we produce sugar!

My sister told me that prices of goods went up after Typhoon Ondoy (you know, that typhoon where the guy was floating on a jetsam of trash), and stayed that way.

I don't know guys. I think we're being screwed over.

Hopefully, Filipinos have reached a saturation point wherein they would say enough and try to actually put our fucking country in order? So I would be confident enough to say, hey, screw Germany, I wanna go back home?

But that is a dream. I think that we're getting there, though. When the rich start complaining about the status quo, you know you're getting somewhere. I think I would drop dead if I get a P 41 thousand peso electric bill. That's 650 euros! For a house!

A lot of people are saying we should go nuclear. Guess what people? Former President Marcos did build a nuclear power plant. Sorry to Cory Aquino fans out there, I have love for the yellow too, but she mothballed the opening of the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant (BPP). I remember that RJ Miranda even did a commercial to push for its opening. But it was the era of Chernobyl, there was no way that the BPP was gonna get opened. I remember the outcry against the opening of the BPP. I don't know if our country would also have been able to maintain the power plant in a condition that would not endanger our country.

Shortsightedness is another reason why former President Ramos entered into deals privatizing the supply of electricity and why we are indebted to private American companies that make a tidy profit of selling electricity to power distribution companies for P 11 per kwh!

Per Yahoo news: http://ph.news.yahoo.com/mb/20100408/tph-meralco-hikes-power-rate-020e1c8.html

Meralco's higher generation charge for this month's billing was mainly due to higher cost of supply procurements from the WESM which reached as high as P11.36 per kWh, and the fuel cost accounting for the condensate shift of its contracted independent power producer First Gas because of the maintenance shutdown of the Malampaya gas facility from February 10 to March 13.

A few months after a mega typhoon that dumped a month's rainfall within six hours, Manila is again suffering from the effects of El Niño. Same as last year, drought, rationed water. Why? Goddamn it open the fucking Wawa Dam already. Why do people think that La Mesa Dam has enough water for the 13 million people living in the Greater Manila Area? And now they want to tap Laguna de Bay? Geez, they allow tilapia farms to pollute the water. I don't know if that is such a great idea.

Reading the news in the PH makes me so sad, it's no wonder that my sister's TV is tuned on 24/7 to Wowowee, and Manny Paquiao makes the front page. I think that it's the Pinoy way of preventing ourselves from putting a pistols against our heads. Geez government, why don't you just kill us already?

Wait a minute, we are the government! I think we just did.

I Went to Manila and All I Got Was a Lousy Conscience

Well, if you wonder where I went these past few months, I went back to the homeland. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures to show for it, since our camera was stolen from my husband's checked-in backpack (goes to show that when you fly Cebu Pacific, you get what you pay for).

Somehow, saying goodbye to the folks this time was much harder than it was the last time. I decided to step on that plane was the impending summer heat, and the fact that Antonio has a brighter future in Europe. That's it.

Seeing the passage of time in how much my nieces and nephew have grown, and the knowledge that Antonio will not grow up with his cousins, was really sad. The fact that I don't have the luxury of household help in Germany was another. Haaay...Do all expats have this, I wonder.

Fight or Flight

I have learned to deal with racist comments in Erfurt, but this is the only time I've really been thinking about moving out of here. I don't mind being the subject of taunts, I've got a thick hide. But how about Antonio?

Ermutigung und Dank an couragierten jungen Mann

Ein Überfall auf einen jungen Mann am Ostermontag wurde gestern in der Landeshauptstadt diskutiert. Vergeblich hatte er auf dem Anger um Hilfe gerufen, als er eine Asiatin schützen wollte und dafür selbst angegangen wurde. Der Weiße Ring forderte mehr Sicherheit in Bahnen und an Haltestellen.

Erfurt. Weil er sich in der Straßenbahn schützend vor eine Asiatin gestellt hatte, wurde der 28-jährige Mann am Anger von einer pöbelnden Truppe überfallen und geschlagen. Die Polizei war sehr schnell am Ort des Geschehens. Erschüttert war der 28-Jährige, weil keiner der zahlreichen Passanten auf seine Hilferufe reagiert hatte.

For those that can't read German, it basically says that a 28 year-old-man tried helping out an Asian lady, who was being harassed by a group of thugs. Nobody came to his rescue, and he himself was beat up by a gang of two women (!) and a man.

The more details come out, the more angry I become. This happened on an Easter Monday, a holiday, in Erfurt's main shopping drag, and many people were out and about! The man tried asking the tram driver for help. The tram driver's answer? The Man should call the police himself. The gang later kicked the samaritan's cell phone out of his hand.

It also happened to me almost exactly a week before that. I was in a tram, and parked my baby carriage in a spot surrounded by teen-agers. A group of teenaged idiots tried insulting me in Chinese by giving me the chink-eye and calling out "Ni-Hao," then reverted to Spanish, for good measure. I guess they couldn't figure out my ethnicity. The girl in the group saw that I had a child, and feebly tried to stop her pals. Then the ignorant fellow who was doing the most of the insulting then tried to insult Antonio, who was sleeping in his baby carriage. How pathetic. I yelled back at the brutes in English, since I knew I was just gonna get sassed by these punks in German.

It has happened to me before in Erfurt and in Jena, but having Antonio has made me somewhat testier on the subject. I know that I can't shield my son from heartbreak in the future, but I will do everything I can to protect every hair growing on his head. I feel paranoid and paralyzed. What can I do? How can I change this situation? Move out? Join a group that is trying to do something about it? The latent racism of these uneducated thugs disgust me to no end, and they are giving the people of Erfurt a bad name. For people who don't know better, they would generalize and say that Germans are racist. But I do know better, and the Germans who aren't racist should do something and help with the cause.

Boob

Is there any other female body part that arouses more emotion in women as the breasts? Love it or hate it, a woman can never remain indifferent to her breasts. I think it is because nothing defines femininity physically more than breasts. The ass and ovaries are a distant second and third.

It's kind of like the female version of penises. There's the cliche of men naming their johnsons. Heidi Klum has named hers Hans(R) and Franz(L). I would not be surprised if well-endowed women privately name theirs, too.

As for me, breasts have always aroused an emotion. When I was stick-skinny, I always felt insecure with my figure. I especially cursed my flat sixteen-year-old chest. As I grew older and my body started to fill out, I was proud of them and flaunted them any chance I could get.

The thing is, what are breasts for, actually? Men have them but they don't really serve any special purpose.

Germany has taught me to make use of everything I have. I have taken to planting herbs and trying to kill my husband's useless ornamental thorn collection. I hate useless objects that don't really add anything to my quality of life (designer bags do not belong to this category. They will always be useful. Always, you hear?).

Then I had Antonio. Suddenly, my A/borderline B bust became C in a matter of months. They've never been so huge! Then I started nursing. I have to say that I have a love-hate relationship with nursing.I love nursing, because being a cow feels so useful. My breasts have a purpose. A raison d' etre for the grief and ecstasy aroused by my bosom. I would like to breastfeed as long as I could. I would like to be a professional wet nurse, nourishing an army of famished children with my fountains of nourishment. Alas, breastfeeding also means being chained to a child for hours on end. There were times when I would impatiently look at my child and plead for my freedom. Well, there is the breast pump, right?

Not to mention that leaking breasts make for awkward sex. Going into this, I didn't know that milking boobies leak. They leak when a baby cries. The left one leaks when the right one is being sucked. They leak when they're exposed to fucking air. Air.

Nursing is an intense experience, but in no way sexual for me. Milk spurting out is for me unsexy. We unfortunately don't swing that way. So here we go again.

Love 'em or hate 'em, There is no way I can remain indifferent to my breasts.

Who's With Coco?

I just caught the last episode of the Tonight Show with Conan O' Brien.

You know those sappy endings of those four-hanky movies where the terminally-ill patient instead of being sad gets a life-affirming send-off to the next phase of his/her journey by people from his/her past present and it becomes a day of joy and celebration?

Yeah, it was like that, sappy.

But it was also fun

The best part was Will Ferrel's sketch at the end. Gawd, ZZ Top and Beck cameos rock!

Zuhause und doch nicht

Ich bin wieder hier in meinem beliebten Manila, und ich bin froh wieder hier zu sein, und natuerlich weil ich den deutschen Winter vermieidet hab. Obwohl ich nicht ganz wohl in DE fuehle, meine Entscheidung mein ehemaligen Freund und jetzigen Mann nach DE zu folgen hat auch damit zu tun, dass mir hier in Manila ein gewisses etwas fehlte. Mein Mann hat gesagt dass ich anders als die anderen Filipinos war, und das hab ich auch gespuert, aber nicht verstanden warum ich anders war.

Dass hier ist mein zweites Besuch seit 2006, aber mein erstes als neue Mutti. Ich bin sehr froh dass ich hier Maids hab, da in DE ich etwas ueberfordert in meiner neuen Rolle fuehlte. Und ich fuhlte mich wie ein Gefangener in meiner Wohnung. Wer wollte bitteschoen in der Kaelte mit einem kleinen Baby spazierengehen?

Es gibt viele Grunde hier in Manila sich zu freuen. Familie, Freunde, das Essen, das Wetter. Aber jetzt hab ich genug Abstand von meinem ehemaligen Leben hier und mein Leben in DE um zu vergleichen, was besser in DE ist oder auf den PH mir besser gefaellt. Und jetzt verstehe ich was mein Mann meinte, als er sagte dass ich anders war.

Ich liebe meine Familie in DE, aber Weihnachten hier ist immer schoener als in DE. Ihr wisst dass ich Schwierigkeiten mit meiner Schweigermutter hab. Weihnachten auf den PH ist eine Zeit in der die Familie alle Probleme verschwunden liess. In DE in einem kleinem Raum mit Familienmitglieder den man nur einmal im Jahr sieht ist Stress pur. Die Deutsche muessen immer ihren Meinung aeussern, obwohl es waere besser wenn Sie ihren Mund halten. Ich hab diesen Weihnachten geweint weil meine Schwiegermama das genau gemacht hab! Meine Erziehungsstil ist nicht Deutsch, aber ich mache es bestimmt nicht ganz verkehrt!

Aber ich kann es mir nicht vorstellen, wieder in Manila zu wohnen. Da ich jetzt mein Kind hab, weiss ich schon dass die Umgebung in meiner Stadt in DE besser fuer Kinder als in Manila ist. Ausruestungen, Aktivitaeten, Freizeitmoeglichkeiten foerdern die geistige Entwiklung des Kindes. Meine Grosseltern haben mich genau so erzogen. Jetzt sehe ich eine verschlechterung der Qualitaet von Kinderfreizeitmoeglichkeiten. Die spielen nicht mehr drausend wie damals, kennen die alte Spiele nicht mehr. Und die Maids, weil sie nicht besser wissen, lassen die Kinder von dem Fernseher erziehen, und gucken nur entweder Disney Channel oder Fernsehenmuell. Oder eben Computerspielen. Das liegt an meiner Schwester, aber in ihrer Nachbarschaft sind alle Kinder so. Obwohl es ist schoen, ein sauberes Haus zu haben, ist dass genug ein vernunftiges Umgebung fuer die Kinder zu schaffen?

Und da jetzt Malls ueberall angebaut sind, kontrolliert Sir Henry Sy und Co. die ganze Freizeitmoeglichkeiten meiner Niechten und Neffe.

Es macht mich traurig, dass Government Services immer noch als Kampagnematerial von Politiker ausgenutzt werden. Die nutzen Steuerngeld fuer Werbematerial! Warum soll ich dieser Mann waehlen? Weil er die Strassen beleuchtet hat? Und er liess es uns wissen mit seinem Initialen auf jedem Mast? Dass wir helle Strassen haben sollte eine Selbsverstaendlichkeit sein, oder? Und dass die Leute dass immer noch nicht kapieren kotzt mich an.

Ich bin zur Zeit zwischen zwei Welten. Hier ist ein System dass ich verstehe, aber nicht mehr mitmachen moechte, und in DE ist ein System dass ich immer noch nicht ganz verstehe, in einer Umgaebung in der ich nicht wohl fuehle, aber weiss dass es besser fuer mein Kind ist.

Hilfe! Ich Will Kein DIY Machen!

Wie jede frischgebackene Mutti festellen muss, Kinder kosten viel Arbeit, Kraft, und Mühe. Ich bereue meine Entscheidung nichts, und mache das alles gern, aber heutzutage wünsche ich mir dass ich zurück auf den Philippinen bin.

Ich will nicht arrogant klingen, aber fast jeder Mittelschichtfilipino hat ein oder zwei Dienstmädchen zu verfügung. Und auf den Philippinen, die Leute in den Westen tun uns etwas leid, weil wir denken, die Arme, sie mussen alles selbst machen! Tja, naturlich ist die Arbeit, die diese hilfskräfte leisten nicht zum deutschen Standard, aber das scheint die Filipinos nicht zu stören.

Ich bin mittlereweile sehr "eingedeutscht," in dem ich jetzt gerne sehr viel selbst mache. Ich koche meine eigene Marmelade, koche das Essen selbst, putze die Wohnung. Klingt alles doof, aber auf den Philippinen keine Selbstverständlichkeit. Aber ich bin nicht sooo Deutsch, das ich Hilfe nicht annehmen werde. Und Zeiten wie diese macht es klar, ich brauche zur Zeit ein Dienstmädchen.

Anders als Thomas. Vielleicht er ist sehr Ostdeutsch in dem Sinn dass er nach keiner Hilfe fragt wenn er denkt dass er etwas allein schaffen könnte.

In dem Auto am Freitag hatten wir für X Mal diskutiert, weil ich endlich Putzkräfte anheuern möchte um die Wohnung sauber zu halten. Seit meiner Entbindung habe ich einfach kein Bok die Wohnung zu putzen. Das Kind hält mich wach, ich muss ständig stillen, und ich möchte gerne etwas Zeit für mich genießen.

"Aber deswegen kriegst du Elterngeld! Um da für das Kind zu sein, und natürlich der Haushalt zu halten."

"Thomas, ich hab keine Energie mehr für die Wohnung sauber zu halten. Was ist dann so schlimm wenn wir Leute haben, die einmal pro Woche die Wohnung putzt?"

"Das will ich einfach nicht."

"Ich glaube, das hier ist ein kulturelles Problem. Ich hab nichts dagegen wenn ich zum Beispiel mein Leben einfacher machen möchte in dem ich jemand bezahle um meine Webseite zu gestalten. Aber du zum Beispiel wollte nicht mal das ich zu einem Steuerberater gehe!"

"Das kann sein. Ich nehme Hilfe nicht gern wenn ich etwas selbst machen kann."

Ich hab dann aufgegeben. Ich weiß nicht ob das Deutsch ist, oder ist er einfach Mann? Tja, wenn jemand vorbeikommen möchte um meine Wohnung zu putzen, lass uns über ein Preis reden!