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?