I once was a writer...

Honey made sure to buy a desk for me, a work desk, so that I could comfortably sit there and, well, work. And write. He has been begging me to write again since that night we met in that bar 4 years ago. However, the desk is too tall, and the chair is not so comfortable, so I am not a big fan of the desk. Like Herr Siedenburg would say, the desk is not my baby . But I have found a new baby --a wonderful Ikea chair (donated by the Tunca family), set right by the heater, and facing the window. During the so-called Summer, I enjoyed the rays of sunshine. During the seemingly-year-round Autumn, I watched the rain incessantly drench the world. And now, during Winter, I delight in seeing the snow fall: first small, clumsy flakes, then slowly big, chunky bits of ice that dance like whirlwinds as they fall. Perhaps the chair has been inspirational. Perhaps the reason I had not written in such a long time is that I didn't have an inspiring nest. Perhaps the weather has been inspirationa...

I've had my fair share of foreign experiences. Nine years of experiences. I've lived in four countries, which means I've had to learn and speak four languages. Four cultures. Five cultures, actually, because the cachaco culture in Bogota is quite unlike the costeño culture of Barranquilla. I've had to adapt--a friend of mine, Kat, sent me a wonderful present to Thailand after hearing me complain for about 3 months: Not home sweet home? ADAPT!  I've had my fair share of adaptations. Ranging from silly things, such as clothes, to more important things, like food, and then to necessary things, like traditions and values. It's been fun, though. I think it's more fun to learn a culture than to learn a language--and I love learning new languages, so that's saying something. I remember the first time I said y'all  naturally. I remember the first time I bargained in Thai. I remember the first time I spoke in formal voice in Spanish. I will most certai...

A friend of mine recently sent me a copy of a Barranquillero's diary in Canada. (For those of you unfamiliar with the term Barranquillero , it refers to a person born in the Capital of the Republic of Atlántico, Colombia. Or, more simply, a person from Barranquilla.) It detailed his first experiences with first-worldliness and snow. After about a month of having nothing but beautiful things to say, he gets tired of all that stuff and yearns going back home. That happens to me every single time the temperature drops below 20°C... which is every day for the past 3 months, 3 weeks, 5 days, 11 hours and 10 minutes ;-) But I have managed to find little things to make me happy... of course raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens are a few of my favorite things, but I have no rose garden and no kitty. So, I've managed to compile my own little list of reasons for WHY I LOOOOOOVE DEUTSCHLAND--so far. 1. Because I get to speak a language with almost no foreign influences. You see, a...

Love is when Honey goes to watch a movie he does not like because I like it. REAL Love is when Honey genuinely enjoys the movie as much as I do.

Dear Natalya, I write you from the most remote corner of your being, where I have been since the day you left your home 9 years ago. You meet with your Conscience almost daily, and your Ego is constantly roaming freely around. But alas, poor me, I have been totally neglected. It's been a while since we last spoke. I'd ask what has been going on, but I know the answer to that question. I'm well aware of all the stupid things you do (like crashing against poles embedded in the ground). And, although you might not believe me, I do have answers to all your questions. I know, I know I am not German, but being who I am has a lot of advantages. I was actually quite fond of Pearl when you two lived together; I remember her favorite phrase: Nattie, if you have to ask, the answer is yes . Why didn't you pay attention to Pearl? Because your Conscience was saying something else. Well, there you go. So, now that I've caught you off-guard while you're in the mirror with...

Querida Natalya, Te escribo desde el rincón más remoto de tu ser, donde desde que te fuiste de tu casa hace 9 años me tienes encerrado. A tu Conciencia la sacas casi todos los días, y tu Ego se mantiene en total libertad. Pero yo, pobre yo, estoy en el total olvido. Hace mucho que no hablamos. Te preguntaría, ¿qué más? , pero ya conozco la respuesta a esa pregunta. Estoy al tanto de todas las barbaridades que haces (como cuando te estrellas con postes empotrados en el piso). Y aunque no lo creas, tengo respuesta todas tus preguntas--sí, yo sé, no seré yo alemán, pero ser Yo viene con muchas ventajas. Yo me hice muy amigo de Pearl cuando Ustedes dos vivían juntas; recuerdo la frase predilecta de Pearl: Nattie, if you have to ask, the answer is yes (Naty, si tienes que preguntar, la respuesta es sí ). ¿Por qué no le parabas bolas a Pearl? Porque tu Conciencia te decía otra cosa. Bueno, tome pa' que lleve . Ahí tienes. Como dice tu papá, más marica tu . Entonces, ahora que te co...

I like to know what happens. When I get a new book, I always read the last 3 or 4 pages first, just to know how things are going to end. When I go into a movie, I like to know how it's going to end. Going into "The Sixth Sense", someone tried to ruin the movie for me, saying, "He's dead!" That made the movie so much better for me. Maybe that is precisely why I enjoy Gabriel García Márquez so much: his writing style includes always telling you how the story will end. Do you know why? Because what makes the story worthwhile is how it happens. How it gets to that point. What the characters do to make that happen. I read a joke recently, about some guy not reading the Bible because he already knew how it ended: Jesus dies. Well, yes. He does. But the story about why he dies is fascinating. The Bible, from a literary point of view, is a magnificent work of art. But then again, this comes from a person (me) who thinks Harry Potter is a brilliant masterpi...

Liebe Familie Siedenburg, Tatiana, Fede, Honey: Es ist sehr schwierig, da ich gerade erst meine B1 Prüfung gemacht habe und nun soll ich alles auf Deutsch schreiben und sprechen. Bitte entschuldigt meine Fehler… 1988 war mein erstes Jahr in der Schule (natürlich Kindergarten), dort habe ich eine schöne Sache gelernt: es gab einen speziellen Tag nur um DANKE zu sagen. Seitdem feiern wir in meine Familie, wie die Nordamerikaner, jedes Jahr “Thanksgiving”. Für uns war die Geschichte dieses Feiertages über “Pilgrims (Pilgerväter)” und Indianer nicht so wichtig. Es war ein Feiertag um Pute zu essen! Wirklich. Meine Oma macht nur zweimal im Jahr Pute: einmal an “Thanksgiving”, und einmal an Weihnachten. Das ist natürlich nicht genug Pute für mich. Zu Thanksgiving kam immer die ganze Familie zusammen. Es gab keine Geschenke wie zu Weihnachten, aber wir saßen und sprachen zusammen. Es war immer sehr schön. Nachdem mein Opa gestorben war, haben wir entschieden, dass wir an diesem Tag DANKE s...

I arrived in Germany late one Saturday night. On Sunday, I was invited to a "Willkommen in Deutschland" brunch. On Monday, after Honey went to work, I worked hard to understand, believe and grasp the fact that I was in Germany. OMG. On Tuesday we went out to dinner with a couple of Mexican friends Honey had made during the summer. As I ordered the food, I knew I was going to be sick. You see, about 10 years ago (my gosh, am I old...), a doctor diagnosed me with chronic gastritis. That meant that I would have to be careful with what I ate for the rest of my life, and I would have to carry anti-gastritis medication at all times. That was no problem, it was just a simple pill. It usually worked wonders in just a few minutes. But as those 10 years went by, I would have to take about 4 pills in 2 hours to feel a little bit at ease. I knew which foods would bring about these gastritis episodes. Too much lemon/lime, too much spice, too much pepper, food that was too hot (but tha...

As I was riding my bike up-hill, with the unforgiving wind blowing against me, in it-really-is-only-5-degrees-celsius-out-there-but-it-feels-like-zero weather (0°C = 32°F), the cold, hard raindrops hitting my face (and my eyes!), my fingers freezing, my nose running (why do I get a runny nose when I'm cold?), my cheeks--well, I don't know what was happening to my cheeks, but I was feeling pretty cold, and tired after a 1-hour excercise session at the gym and a 3 km bike ride to the gym, and a 3 km bike ride from the gym... As this was all happening, I saw a German family in a park (I'm assuming they were German; I can't imagine who else would be out in a park in that hideous weather. Maybe they were Scandinavians...).Two adults, I'm guessing the parents; two kids, maybe 10 and 5 (I'm totally guessing here. I have no idea what kids those ages look like, and I was quite far from them); and a dog. The dog was frolicking in the grass, he had a park all to himself, a...

The cachacos , people born and raised in the Colombian capital city, Bogotá, have very peculiar comparisons to eggs. For instance, when they want to say that something is extremely cheap, they say, ¡Eso está a precio de huevo! , that has the price of an egg. But when they want to say that something is extremely expensive, they say, ¡Eso cuesta un huevo! , that costs an egg. I think I have to ask whether in both cases they are referring to the same kind of egg; or whether in one case they are talking about an egg,  that which is laid by a hen, and in the other case they are talking about an egg, one of two which hang in between mens' legs. In any case, in Germany an egg costs an egg. Why must they be so expensive? And what is this whole 50 cent difference between 10 eggs from an egg-industry, and 6 eggs from bio-hens, which are free to roam about? (The latter is more expensive.) And what is with the whole dozen eggs  concept, or lack thereof? Why won't the Germans sell me twe...

(Apologies to my Non-Spanish-Speaking Followers... but this post just felt more natural in Spanish. Also, my Dad just might decide to read me... or not.) Yo soy la primera en decir que uno tiene  que adaptarse a la nueva cultura en la que vive, porque uno eligió irse a ese nuevo mundo. Si no te gusta, vete de regreso a tu país. Cuando vivía en Estados Unidos, me aseguré de que mis amigos fueran sureños de verdad (no damn Yankees for me), aprendí a que el y'all  me saliera naturalmente, y me adapté a la comida de la región... y me engordé. :-) Cuando viví en Tailandia, aprendí el idioma, el sawat dee kah  (con reverencia y todo), y comí grillos, y pasta de pata de ganso, y sapo. Cuando viví en la capital de mi República (por si las dudas, Bogotá), aprendí a hablar de Usted, aprendí a poner todo con diminutivos (agüita, tintico, pancito...) y aprendí a apreciar al Transmilenio. Ahora que vivo en Alemania, no me voy a quedar atrás. Confieso (sin miedo y sin pena) que ...

For the past week or so, I've been trying to think about something witty to write about the wind. Since I've come up with nothing so far, I'll attempt to explain my current situation as best as possible. You see, we've all experienced a windy moment. Maybe you've been on a cliff and felt the wind push you back; or maybe you've ridden in a convertible and you've felt the wind make your face-fat wobble; maybe you live in a windy city and you've experienced the wind push you sideways... I live in a windy city; and it is currently windy season in this windy city... can you imagine how windy it is? I continually experience this aweful, mean, unfair wind pushing me back as I try to ride uphill. It's terrible! And I've always wondered, if there is wind pushing me back, holding me back, that is, there must be wind blowing not against but with me, and thus propelling me forward. I kept asking about that wind, and wondering whether or not it existed. ...

Dear Angie , You're awesome. And your country is awesome too. I am so grateful that you, personally, took the time to evaluate my visa application and decided to approve my request. I think it's super that you have this tremendous girl-power and that you single-handedly manage to run this amazing country. A country so rich that can close every single store  on Sundays, and throw clients out of stores when the clock indicates closing time. I don't say this in a pejorative way, not at all. I am actually quite impressed that your economy is so  strong that you really can manage to close every single commercial establishment for one day, every week. That is, 52 days a year; that is, almost two months. In my country, we not only open every day, but we stay open until late and when the clock strikes closing time, we prefer to lock customers in until they buy something--never kick them out. Maybe (in retrospective, and from an outside perspective) your country is so rich because...

There are a lot of things I can do, a whole lot of things I can do very well, and a specific number of things I can do quite above average. For example, I can sew; but I can type very well; but I can edit your paper quite above average. It actually irritates me to read facebook posts, because I'm always correcting them in my mind (except for one friend whom I always publicly correct. I don't think he likes it that much...). Another example: I can cook (stop laughing, I can !); but I can understand and follow a map very well; but I can read quite above average (faster, and with better reading comprehension skills than most). However, this is not a post about what I can do, but rather a post about what I cannot do. Especially while riding my bike. I ride my bike every day: three kilometers to the gym, then about 300 meters to my school, then 3 kilometers back home (with the occasional stop for groceries 300 meters from my home). When I leave home, it's daylight (not b...

I take off my panties. I wanted to start this blog in medias res , but I opted for the more Gabriel-García-Márquez-esque style of telling you exactly how my story will end (which, with a title such as "Striptease", really is no surprise...) just to entice you to read the whole story. What's interesting about my Striptease is that it lasts about 15 minutes--not because I'm so sexy and all, but because I have so much clothes on! Poor Honey. At first he is into it-- quite into it .  But after the first 3 minutes of watching me take my layers off, like an onion, he turns on the TV and channel-surfs. Not that I blame him. Usually I myself get so bored, that I start either talking about my day or I turn on my computer... So, here it goes. Try to read it using your sexiest voice, and try to hear the "bow chiki wow wow" strip-type music. Or a hard guitar strum, "da da da da daaaa". Whatever floats your boat. Or whatever rocks your boat. And if you do...

It is amazing that I can perfectly communicate in what I consider to be flawless, fast, correct German with my classmates (from Morocco, Argentina, Chile, Ukraine, Philippines, Poland, Turkey, Albania, Holland, Thailand, Hungary, Brazil), but seem to be speaking and listening to a completely different language when I try to talk to a German... Maybe the Germans should join these Deutsch als Fremdsprache (German as a Foreign Language) courses to be able to communicate with me.

I do believe that the end of the world is neigh. Craters are popping up--or rather, making holes  in Germany  and  in Guatemala . Our world is falling down, quite literally. I wonder if these peep holes into The Underworld are tearing apart all the myths, stories and ideas about Hell. I really don't see all the levels of Hell Dante has described... that may mean that either I'm not looking closely enough, or that the holes aren't that deep after all. I mention this crater thingy specifically because it amazes me; but we are all well aware of the other environmental issues affecting our world. What's funny and sad about all that, is that we CAN do something about it, but we choose not to. However, our socio-economic-political environment is also changing--and quite drastically. Argentina became the first Latin American country to  legally approve gay marriage . Although I have to admit I am scandalized, I salute and congratulate the fact that a person's choic...

I love living in Germany. It sounds a little lame, because this country is soooo unlike me. But really--I love it. The Deutsch (the Germans; pronounced doh-itch ) will always say they don't speak other languages, but they will understand every word I say in English. Sometimes even in Spanish. We actually had an interesting event in a train a couple of weeks ago, when we were speaking Colombian and Mexican (because only the Spanish speak Spanish, of course) and a white, blonde, green-eyed, perfect-stereotype-of-Heidi German girl said, "¿Hablan español?" Yeah... watch out what you say in front of the Deutsch. The Deutsch will park their cars anywhere--in any corner, on any sidewalk (I do mean "ON"), dark, lit, safe-looking or what-the-hell-are-you-thingking type of alley... But their bikes--oh, gosh, don't get me started on their bikes. The Deutsch will park their bikes in bike racks, and then they will tie two or three knots (I initially spelled "not...