I once was a writer...

The Problem with the German language is not the language per se - it's us , those of us who don't speak the language fluently, who think that everything in German is over-complicated... when it actually is quite simple. Like, the food-processer that you more than likely have in your kitchen - what does that actually do? It's a machine that makes food smaller. That's exactly what it's called in German: der Verkleinerer . It's not a machine used to process food, it's a food-smaller-maker. But my issues with the German language go way beyond kitchen devices. I have made a fool of myself many times, with help from no one. While I was in the hospital last year, I kept trying to ask for a nurse who spoke English - even a little bit. The doctors kept telling me that my sick sister would come very soon. Nini (my sister) was in fact sick at that time (something with her eternal flu or something like that), but how did the doctors know that she was sick? And if ...

My friend Julie recently survived an attack from a horrible, enormous, human-eating sea creature while swimming in the Cayman Islands (to see the creature, click  here ). My friend Stacey also recently survived a terrible, near-death experience with a deadly cobra-viper-anaconda in her bedroom (to read about her experience, click here . Trust me, you want to click on the link). That got me thinking that perhaps I have friends who are just too adventurous - you know, swimming in the open waters of the Cayman Islands and wrestling deadly black mambas at 4 a.m. But then again, that got me thinking that perhaps my friends are just freaks who can't really admit that they're ridiculously fearful. Exactly as I am.  Perhaps the reason why we remain friends to date. So these past few days it's been really warm in Kiel. So warm, that I'm about to openly admit that there is actually summer in Germany. In Kiel, at the very least. So warm, that I've been riding my bike to ...

I had quite an adventure last week. Although, now that I find myself trying to organize my ideas to write down my awesome adventure, it seems that it was not so awesome, and also not so much of an adventure. In any case, what happened afterwards was cute. The bus on which I was riding home last week crashed. It was a little scary and very, very stupid. It was not our driver's fault: the other bus actually came into our lane and broke the window of our bus with his side-mirror. Busses here are so long that the driver did not hear the sound of the glass crushing; thus began the most funny process of communication. "Hey, tell the bus driver he had an accident", said someone at the very back; "Hey, tell the bus driver the window's broken", said someone closer; "The window's crashed, tell the bus driver", said someone else. OMG. The message was drawing closer to me. So I started thinking: Window = die Fenster . Broken = gebrochen , but a window ...

As my birthday comes nigh, I find myself trying to decide how old I will be between July 14th, 2011, and July 13th, 2012. For the past 4 years I've been 23 (which is funny, because when I actually turned 23 I claimed to turn 24, and when I turned 24 I went back to 23... so I guess I wasn't technically 23 for a little while, although it was the only time I actually was 23...), and I don't know that the fifth one's the charm. And turning my real age - well, that's just NOT an option. In trying to stop thinking about what age to celebrate, I started to ponder, wtf is my problem with age? And I realized two things. First, I have ridiculously high standards as to what one should have done by the time one is my [real] age. As far as I know, only one person has accomplished what I wish to have had accomplished - but (a) he's 5 years older than me, and (b) he's about a million IQ points smarter than me. Damn Engineers. So, in normal-IQ-people-world, that leaves me...

Everything I see that I like, I add as birthday or Christmas present to my wish list - whichever is closer. So far, my birthday wish-list (29 days and counting...) includes a squirrel, a cat, a dog, a garden, a bird with blue and black feathers (no idea what it's called), a full-grown cherry tree, cherries, strawberries, a liposuction (or better yet, the magical disappearance of my fat), skittles (I added those today, thanks to Irina), and my glallbladder. Yes, I'd like my gallbladder back, please. Honey hears me say that I want something more on my wish-list and gets a little annoyed. He gets that some things are just a joke - or, well, things that I want, but that I don't really want. Like the full-grown cherry tree thingy: seriously? Who wants a full-grown cherry tree in a tiny apartment? I want the cherries, of course; but the cherry-tree is just me being Veruca Salt, you know? Also, mostly, what I really want I purchase for myself, by myself. Because I can. Honey...

In many languages, such as Spanish and German, there is a formal and an informal way to address "you" (second person singular): tu  and usted  in Spanish, and du and Sie  in German, respectively. The problem is, the pronouns for the formal voices are very similar (if not identical) to the pronouns for other voices. Let me make the situation VERY clear with what I did yesterday. In case my teacher is reading this, es tut mir SCHRECKLICH leid, wirklich!! My classmates exasperate me. That's unfair, not all of them do. Actually, only two of my classmates (out of 12) exasperate me. Seriously. I want to hit them sometimes (but physical aggression is illegal here in Germany). They get into these absurd, pointless discussiones with false (and fake) arguments. Tuesday is my least favourite day, and at the very last class (tired, sleepy, hungry and cranky), they got into this discussion: The Police is Singular and Plural. Well, no, the teacher explained: you can't count ...

Honey was born in Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. Bogotá is 2600 m above sea level, on the Centran Andean Mountain Range. It's always cold in Bogotá; during the "winter season", it's like the stereotypical London picture: grey, muggy, rainy, cold, ugly. But during the "summer season", it's like perpetual spring: warm during the day (20°C/68 F) and cold at night (may go down to 10°C/50 F). There is no water, except for some lame water parks two hours away, and some cheap streams. I, on the other hand, was born on the beautiful Caribbean coast of Colombia, in Barranquilla, Golden Gate to my country. Between the Caribbean Sea and the Magdalena River, and the countless country clubs, I can't actually remember a holiday not spent on the water. It's always wonderfully hot in Barranquilla: we have no idea what this "winter" word (or concept, for that matter) means. We have dry summer and wet summer. But summer in any case. When it's col...

This post is dedicated to my dear friends Cris, Cata and Luisa, who knew that one day I would adapt to the European Lifestyle - and stop wearing winter panties in German-Warm-Weather. It only took me 10 months! My European lifestyle dictates that every day is a good day to wear a skirt. What I wear under the skirt depends on the weather. But also, every day is a good day for rain - so I always carry a European-style, fashionable rain coat. My European lifestyle dictates that, when possible, riding my bike to and from Uni is not only environmentally-conscious, but also fashionable, sporty and sexy. Also, every day is a "possible bike-riding day". Also, as above, every day is skirt-day, and every day is rain-day. My European lifestyle dictates that curls are in - because so few Germans have them. Also, volume is in, and the more the merrier. Since, as above stated, every day is rain-day, frizz and humidity beautify my voluminous curls all the more. My European lifestyle...