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!

Dodging Bullets

There are times when the the universe places people at the right place at the right time.

Thomas needed to go on a business trip which he scheduled a week after the baby's due date. This was very important for him and for our future, I knew. Both of us didn't want to spend the day he was gone alone, nor did I want to spend it at either of my in-laws. FIL was packing, he was going on vacation. I didn't really want to disturb him. Besides, I wouldn't classify our relationship as warm. MIL...well you know that story. So I said I was coming along. We went to the hospital. The midwife said that she wouldn't travel in my shoes, but if I felt well enough to go on a 6 hour trip, it was my decision. CTG scan was normal, I felt fine. We looked for possible hospitals along the way in case I go into labor. On our printed list was the Landes-Frauen-und-Kinderklinik which was near our destination, a small town near Linz.

Thomas slipped and told his mom. His mom freaked and tried to convince me not to go and it would be better if I would stay at home, alone. She brought me to tears, painting all sorts of worst-case scenarios. She offered to either stay with me, the thought of which I just found odious, or that I stay in her apartment in Jena, a one bedroom construction site. I said no. She called her other son, and her sister, in an effort to snowball pressure to get me to stay that one day. "I tell you, you will give birth in some Kaff in the middle of nowhere, and that is the most dangerous thing you can do for the baby!"

She successfully was able to insert doubts into my mind on whether this was the right thing to do. But I didn't want to spend the day alone, a week after my due date, nor did I want my meddling MIL nor my cold FIL at my side at the deilvery room. I wanted my husband. So I went.

The six hour drive was uneventful. We had dinner with the man my husband wanted to do business with. Then we went to bed.

I started feeling contractions at 4 am. I thought they were another false alarm, so I thought nothing of it. I went to the bathroom and saw that I was bleeding.

"Thomas. I am bleeding. We need to go to the hospital."
Groggily, he told me to relax. Spotting could mean anything to now up to two days. So I should go back to bed.

But the contractions started getting stronger, I was sure that this was it. Thomas, so stupid, left the car keys with his colleague, whose room number he didn't know. So we left the hotel at 6 and got to the hospital at 630. I was lying at the back of the car the entire 30 minute drive, howling, screaming, cursing at Thomas.

We got to the hospital, and was hooked to a CTG. Man, is labor a bitch. I was barking orders, being a general bitch. It all looked like a textbook birth. I was either lying on my back or on my side the entire time, so one of the nurses told me to go for a walk or sit down, saying that this would make the contraction less painful (as if!).

Forty five minutes later, as they were about to remove the CTG machine sensors, the machine started beeping. On the roll of paper coming out of the machine was one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life: From 140 beats per minute, the jagged line just went one direction: down. To 60 BPM. With a snap of a finger, the mood shifted, right out of a scene from E.R. I saw the helplessness and fear etched in Thomas's face as three people descended upon me to prep me for an emergency C-Section. I didn't really know what was happening, I was confused, it didn't dawn on me that I was in the middle of an emergency.

The doctor jabbed a stick into the infusion thing they stuck to the back of my right hand, and my heart started to race. "Mein Herz! Mein Herz! Es rasst!" I shouted.
"Das ist gegen die wehen," the doctor explained, as I was being transported to the Operating Room with a gurney. "Wir mussen eine Notoperation machen, das Baby ist in Gefahr."

"Kann ich nichts dagegen tun? Kann ich nichts etwas machen?" I pleaded, but my questions fell on deaf ears as they lifted me on the the table with a 3, 2, 1. I started shaking involuntarily. "Warum zittere ich?! Warum zittere ich?! Agh, ich hab einen Krampfader in meinem rechten Fuß!"

In the midst of all this, all I could think of was thank God I spoke German. A man in a green operating face mask appeared above me and asked me for my weight and height. Then another person in a mask put a breathing apparatus over my face and asked me to breathe deeply. Then again.

The next thing I remember is another face, this time a woman, above me. Two hours have passed, said the clock. She told me I was in a recovery room because I just had an operation. I remember swimming in light. Do you want to see your son? I was pretty out of it and I think I was speaking slowly, like a drunk. They showed me Antonio and put him over my chest. I remember asking why does he have a cut above his eye. My throat hurt and I felt numb everywhere. I remember Thomas talking to me but I don't really remember what he said. Later he would tell me that I must have been on pretty serious drugs because I asked a question he said he already answered in the recovery room.

I was later wheeled into another room for observation. I was more lucid by then, but my throat was itching like crazy. I kept asking for water, but all they gave me were lemon flavored cotton buds to suck on. They said it was from being intubated during the operation, a breathing apparatus since the anaesthesia meant that my involuntary reflexes stopped functioning for a while. The doctor came in and explained to me that my placenta separated itself from the uterine wall too early, robbing the baby of oxygen, and sending his heart rate plummeting. The stress was too much for him because his amniotic fluid had turned green when they pulled him out of me. After that my uterus didn't contract to the rate it needed to, and they had to inject something to prevent massive hemorrhaging. Despite this, he was born healthy, with an APGAR rate of 8, then 9.

They stressed I was very lucky to be in this hospital, which specializes in gynecology and pediatrics, and to where all the worst cases in Austria are flown. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had stayed in Erfurt and had given birth at the hospital where I was registered at. They're good, but I know that they don't have the capacity to take care of the baby in such an emergency, and would have needed to drive him to another hospital 20 minutes away. These were 20 minutes we didn't have.

My MIL is convinced that the trip was the reason for my emergency ceasarian. I had no history to indicate that I was under risk of placenta abruptio before this. However, I am convinced otherwise. It happened in our hotel room, not during the trip. It would have happened anyway if I had stayed in Erfurt. I am glad that my husband was with me, that a team of experts are around me to take care of us, in a hospital capable of dealing with the situation. The care here is top notch, and my mother is convinced that God led us here. Believe what you want to belive, I say.

All the things that I worried about during my pregnancy seem so trivial now. I gladly deal with the indignities foisted around me. I would silently endure all the enemas, the catheters, the infusions, the shots, and my painfully rock-hard San Fernando valley porn star tits again, just to know that my baby and I are safe.

Soy una Mama

Antonio

2 November 2009
Linz, Austria (long story)
3754 g/8.27 pounds
52 cm / 20.5 inches

T+ 5 days

No baby yet.

But I did find this funny list over the intarwebs, and pasting what applies to me.

What it feels like to have your ribs used as footrests...from the inside.
That sometimes it appears like you have a strange alien creature with 10 arms and legs about to burst out your belly button...ewww!!
That by the end of your pregnancy, you will need a forklift to help get you off the couch or bed (or at least one really strong person).
That even the silliest of things will make you cry your eyes out.
How many times you will have to call the doctor about all your super embarrassing female questions.
That the toilet will become your new "best friend" or "second home" for at least one reason or another.
That you don't really know the meaning of a full bladder until you've had to do an ultrasound....or been kicked there from the inside.
How bad those mood swings really can be...watch out everyone!
That you will get so big, you will have to stand sideways when washing dishes, doing laundry or brushing your teeth.
That everybody else around you apparently is a pregnancy expert, especially your mother in law.
That you won't be cutting your own toenails for quite a few months if you can't get anyone to help you.
Forget about shaving for quite a while too...unless you REALLY trust your partner!
That it becomes really hard to squat over the toilet with all that extra weight...talk about good leg exercises!
That the simplest of things, like walking up a flight of stairs or walking to get the mail, would make you feel like you really need a nap.
That people suddenly feel like they have the right to rub and pat your growing belly...like it's not attached to the rest of you.
That the word "discharge" would become a common part of your vocabulary....and the scary thing is...you won't be embarrassed!
That they just don't make sexy bras in DD's. It's all about support, support and more support!
Sexy underwear...you can forget those too! Comfort and cotton...that's it!
That you will never look at your husband quite the same again.
That your breasts start leaking BEFORE the baby is even here yet.
What it actually feels like to be kicked or headbutted in the cervix..owww!!
That rolling over in bed from one side of your body to the other is a huge chore requiring lots of huffing and puffing.
That the sleepless nights begin BEFORE the baby is born.
That you had better buy some slip on shoes for when you get real big...unless you are going to have someone around to tie your shoes for you.
That you will spend so much time cleaning and re-cleaning the same exact things over and over again in preparation for the baby's arrival.
That you won't care how much of a pig you look like when you gobble down your second full plate of food...much to every one's amazement!
That memory is.....darn it! What was I going to say?
That you can both hysterically laugh and hysterically cry within the same few moments.
That your sense of smell is a lot better than it used to be, especially when it comes to the things that make you nauseous.

Hmm, I wonder if other people have had the same experience?

The Waiting Game

T + 1 Day.

Dear Baby,

I know it's very nice and comfy in my belly. Warm. Not like the dreary weather outside. Cold.

But sunshine, it's time to come out. You are becoming very heavy, and Mama's body isn't designed to carry an extra 40 pounds all the time. Ich bin keine kräftige Frau, mein Liebling. Mama's body is starting to hurt. And you taking after your father makes it hurt even more. I read that fetuses at the end of pregnancy are no longer so active because of space issues. But somehow you defy that, just like your dad did when he was in his mom's belly. Lack of sleep when you come out is no biggie for me anymore, since I already can't sleep with you kicking my ribs and lungs, and I can no longer move without some sort of pain. So really, I would welcome your arrival. The pain of childbirth doesn't scare me anymore, because I just want the pregnancy over with. No offense, dear.

I know it's difficult to come out when Ma takes very good care of you. Like when the doctor told me that instead of two, I have three arteries going into my belly to feed you. But really, growing up means letting go. You can't stay in my belly forever. Someday, you will find out that you can't live with mama and papa forever. In the meantime Sweetie, please understand that it's not that I don't like you. I'm just saying that it's time.

We are hoping to see you soon,

Love,

Mama and Papa.

German Vice Chancellor Gay: Nobody Cares

When I asked my husband who he was voting for last Sunday, he automatically said FDP, the yellow party. I guess with the baby coming, he has taken a huge interest in the direction Germany will take regarding family politics. People can say all they want about Thüringen, but I'll doubt you'll find a state that is as family oriented. The state provides excellent and cheap whole day child-care for working parents. The schools are good (if a bit lefty-oriented), Kindergeld, Erziehungsgeld, the works. And companies don't discriminate against working mothers, because they were used to that in the former Eastern Germany. I was supposed to go on maternity leave in the middle of September, but because I am a freelancer, I could extend it until the end of September. It wasn't a big deal.

I have seen the party head, new Vice Chancellor and Foreign Affairs chair Guido Westerwelle on TV. He seems like an ok chap, a bit arrogant, but one needs that in politics.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that he was gay. Not only that, he's been out since 2004. Yet nobody cares, and his party still won and is now out of the opposition and leading with the incumbent party CDU.

I don't care if he's gay, and I am actually happy that his sexuality is not deemed a liability or a hindrance in his ability to lead. I am actually amazed at how Germans and Europeans are so open-minded about these kinds of things, in contrast to Filipinos and in some cases, Americans. In some countries, admitting to homosexuality is political suicide.

I don't want to become a German citizen. I've made that clear. I don't feel German, I don't feel that I "belong" to this country. However, accompanying my husband to the elections, I could not help but feel a pang of envy at seeing how peaceful, fast, and orderly their elections are, in comparison to the circus in the Philippines. I have volunteered in the Philippine elections in the past, and seeing how politics works over here made me almost want to renounce my Filipino citizenship, just so I could participate in the direction my adoptive country is taking. Good job Gérmany!