I once was a writer...

My situation this morning is what people make movies from.  Scary movies, that is.  Dude, if you don't find a new blog by next Monday, or if you don't notice me on Twitter or Facebook or LinkedIn or BBM, it might very well be because I got murdered in the lecture hall. Olsenhauserstraße 75.  And my bet is, it was the janitor lady who murdered me.  I was the ONLY ONE  at the bus stop at 7:27 a.m., and there are always more than 20 people waiting with me. There were less than  10 people (including me and the driver) on the bus, when I generally cannot find a free seat. I was the only one who got out on my stop at 7:32, which is one of the three main stops for a university catering to over 23,000 students.  The bus driver asked me, "Why so lonely?", which of course creeped me out even more, making me for the first time realize, OMFG, I'm actually alone...   I smiled, managed some sort of answer (which I later realized was wrong, because I shoul...

It's been 6 months here. Six months of winter. That's all the Germans have--winter. Don't let them fool you: they will speak of myths and legends, fairy tales if you ask me, of some weird thing called spring , and then comes the completely unfathomable tall-tale of summer , which makes unicorns seem like normal, everyday boring stuff. But there are other things they Germans say. Things so cute, or so weird, or so plain interesting, that make me pleased to have enjoyed their winter, with sunrise at 9 a.m. and sunset at 4 p.m., and during this "daylight" time, no sun. How can you have a sun rise when no sun rises? Anyway. That is totally not the point. Not today. Not now. When I met with my German friends, Isa and Chrissy, in Barranquilla in May of last year, I think what they were most surprised with was our waking-up attitude. I used to sing them the song my mom used to sing to me (we sing it to each other every once in a while, still), which loosely translat...