I once was a writer...

Say you have a friend. A very dear friend. And one day, he tells you he met someone. And you're all, like, OMG that is so awesome! You encourage your friend and, in trying to show your support for the relationship, establish some kind of virtual connection with the new girl he's seeing. It's all going great: you like her, she likes you, your friend likes her, she likes your friend, you and your friend like each other - it is like the mecca of friendship/love relationships. And then you decide to hold a birthday party. Only this is a very special birthday party, because it's one of those milestone thingies and you will hold a huge party -- not huge enough that every single contact on your facebook friends list is invited, but huge enough that you are spending all of your savings in said party. Family from around the world is flying in... like, OMG WOW. Of course your friend is invited -- he is your very best friend, after all. And since you like the girl he is dating...

I had my first ever oral exam last week. I had never before had an oral exam. I don't consider my thesis presentation an oral exam, because I had two hours to present and support my thesis, and then answer questions from my panel - questions which I had already discussed with each one of the panel members individually. So that was no stress. And my thesis was awesome. But the German system is very interesting, and I had to take one 15-minute oral exam for The Alamo Seminar. It was one whole semester on The Alamo and how it was represented in film, literature and popular culture. I am now an Alamo expert. I challenge my historian friends Julie and Joe to ask me anything they want. Not everyone is required to take this oral exam for this seminar, so out of a class of 30, I think I was one of three who took this exam. I figured that the teacher would let us go easy and just make sure that we did do the readings; since I event to every single class (perfect attendance) and particip...

What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet - right? But then, when remembering who you are, you need to know where you come from, or so said Mufasa. And both of those require your name. So your name is you . And changing your name changes you. Right? If a rose were called "violet" it would not be a rose. Yes? I don't know. I'm not even sure what side I'm arguing for. Or against. All I know is that right now I am faced with making the decision of what the heck to do with my name. My name is really long (last name, that is), because in Colombian culture people use both their father's as well as their mother's last name. It used to be that when women married, their name would be legally changed: They would lose their mother's name, keep their father's, and become "of" the husband. For example: my aunt was born Graciela Murillo Salazar. But when she married (a half a century ago) she legally became Graciela M...

I'm not the God-fearing person I'm supposed to be. And I'm alright with that. Having gone to university in the US Bible Belt, though, I had my fair share of people trying to "save" me, which I appreciated. I mean, you have to really care about a person to want to save them from going to hell, right? I was lucky (blessed?) to have all those people around me, and am still lucky (blessed?) to have them put up with me and my agnostic ways after 10 years. The thing is, I don't believe in blaming nor accrediting God with everything. If something good happens (something over which you had some kind of control, like a good job offer or a raise or that your self-made dinner tasted delicious), then why should you claim that God did that? I mean, God surely gave you the talent to be the best you could be, and He (She?) even "blessed" you with strength and courage and whatnot. But there are certain things that YOU do for yourself. No one does them for you. At ...

It was in that moment when she realized that she had to make a decision. Right then and there. There was no time for stalling or doubting or waiting. A decision had to be made, and she was the only one who could make it. It had to be her decision, because it would change her life forever. Yes, it would of course also affect the lives of the many people who surrounded her, of the many people who surrounded her because they loved her - because they love her. Yes, their lives would also be affected by her decision; but they would not be woken up in the middle of the night with the question, "Did I make the right decision?" circling in their heads. Their lives would too be affected, yes, but with time they would forget, the pain would go away, the anger would fade, the incomprehension would wither. But not for her - no, most definitely not for her. This decision, the one that she was facing in this very moment, would transform her in ways she had not even become to fathom. This d...

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...

I miss my friends. I miss them so much. We had fun together, yes; but I have fun with my "German Acquaintances", too. We did stuff together, yes; but I do stuff with my "German Acquaintances", too. We used to talk very often, not to say all the time ; but I talk with my "German Acquaintances" all the time, too. I miss my friends because they get me. I miss my friends because they are like me. You see, I'm a geek. Or a nerd. Or a book-worm. Whatever you wanna call me, I'm that: I'm that girl who always does her homework, just because, well, you should  do your homework. I'm that girl who does her homework in a clean sheet, just in case it needs to be handed in; and I'm that girl who uses colors to emphasize different topics. I'm that girl who takes awesome notes in class. I'm that girl who does not need to study for a test the night before, because she has been studying since the chapter began two weeks ago. I'm that girl ...

We had the loveliest Skype-chat with Honey's sister and her husband. She's about 7 months pregnant and looks so cute and chubby, and her husband is so sweet: he talks to her belly and caresses it. They are such an amazing couple, such a real couple, such a successful couple. I envy them - in a good way. We're actually pretty good friends, the husband and I. We understand each other and our position as outsiders in what is a very close, tight-nit family that ALWAYS has a thought that must be shared and an opinion that must be voiced. Not to forget, they also hold the undeniable truth. But then again, I could very well be describing my family to an outsider, or more than likely, yours. Families are "interesting", to say the least. And all we can do is learn to love them in spite of themselves. So anyway, we were talking and talking, quatsching , like the Germans say. About the weather, about our dinner, about cost of living in Peru and Germany and Colombia... and ...