I once was a writer...

(This Pre-Christmas Post replaces the Monday post for December 26. Back to the normal Monday schedule on January 2, 2012) As you may already know (oh, come on, I'm sure you know), we have very large, illegal, guerrilla leftist movements in Colombia. We have tried to combat and defeat them for over 60 years, and we are slowly winning the war against them.. but we still have a long way to go. Before I go on, please allow me a little of your time to get on my soapbox and explain a couple of things. Listen, dude, we (Colombians) are not against leftist movements, like people (such as Chávez and his dictatorial regime, for instance) want to make you believe. We welcome the left, because we are well aware that without a left there can be no right, but rather meaningless unilateralism . Our nation was founded in 1810 based on leftist ideals. We, all of us, all of us Colombians, used to be leftist rebels who stood up against the Spanish monarchy. And we won. We understand and celebrat

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

Honey hates birthdays. At least so he claims. Last year, I "forced" him to have an awesome birthday party - and he had a blast! We all did. We all had loads of fun. We began at 8 p.m., and 6 a.m. we were still singing. Actually the singing began only at 4 a.m., but that is beyond the point. The point is we had fun. And the best part was (for Honey, at least, who was paying the bill) we payed a little over 100 Euros for more than 30 guests in a private room at an awesome bar. So, seriously - wow. But this year Honey really didn't want to to do anything. He said that he did not feel like inviting both friends and acquaintances to drink at his expense, but that he did not know how to not invite the acquaintances; he said it was too complicated, and too expensive, and that he didn't have any ideas for a venue, and and and, but but but. After trying to convince him for a couple of days (that was waaaay back in early November), I came to a realization: You know, I told m

I am somewhat of a world citizen. I have lived in four continents, I have learned new languages and new cultures; I have seen and done things that most people would only dream of doing. I have ridden exotic animals, I have prayed in thousand-year-old churches and temples, I have had water (or, let's be honest, Coca-Cola) in 80 cities, I have gotten wet with rain in 15 countries, I have gone swimming in three different seas... You might say that I have seen and done so much, that I am difficult to amaze. But you'd be wrong. I am amazed by snow . You need to understand why, though: as much as I have traveled, and as old as I am (I have been informed that my new hair cut makes me look my real age...), I still grew up and spent more than half of my life in Barranquilla , on the Caribbean coast of Colombia, where the average temperature is 35ºC and the daily weather report shows a bright, shiny, beautiful sun. We have rain, of course; but somehow the sun manages to shine throu

Dear Santa, I hate being a housewife. I do. I really, really do. And I realize how unorthodox it is to begin a "Dear Santa" letter with a statement of hatred, but I just need for you to understand how important my first world problems  are, and thus help me by sending me a maid for Christmas . If you're going to send THIS maid, make sure you let me know so that I can send Honey  far, far away from home during her working hours! Santa, I hate being a housewife. I love Honey, though he has not yet made me his wife, so maybe I am not technically a house wife - perhaps next year I will ask for a big rock on my ring finger. But look, Santa, look at how pressing this maid issue is: I need a maid more than I need to be legally married! Santa, God blessed -and simultaneously cursed- me with great attention to detail. Which means that a task (like washing dishes or folding laundry) that would take the average housewife 15 to 20 minutes, takes me 30 to 40 minutes. Becau

There are so many things wrong with that phrase. The first one being, I am not a jelly-filled doughnut, although I do eat so many of them so often, I might as well be. Also, I am more than three hours away from Berlin, so if I were to be some sort of German I would be a Kieler, not a Berliner. And no, "Kieler" is not funny, and no, it does not sound like "Killer". Long and short vowels are there for a reason. In addition to the previously stated, I would never say "Ick", like the famous person said it, nor would I say "Ish", like the foreigners say it. I would use a perfect "Ich", thus actually reinforcing my point: I am a German. I found this out as I was trying to make a point in two different classes last week. In the first class, American 20th Century Short Fiction , I was supporting my claim that there is a European-settler-vs-Indigenous-People trend in Hemingway's "Indian Camp". I mentioned how the doctor, Nick&#

On my way back home one day last week, my mom told me a very sad story: a friend of hers from highschool, one of her very best friends, was going to go through her second chemotherapy session on that very moment - breast cancer. Terrible news, and scary, too, because it could have been my mom. Or me. So I informed Honey that I would not be going home for lunch, and changed my plans and my schedule - something that the very German me does not do easily. I decided I would help her. Instead of going home, I went to the hairdresser and cut 27 cm (a little over 10 in) of hair. That was my hair. I had let it grow out for a little over a year. I cut off 27 cm! That's a little over 10 inches in American. A friend of mine had recently told me about Locks of Love , a non-profit organization that helps people with hair-situations due to chemo. I looked into a similar possibility in Germany and upon finding none, decided I would mail my hair to the LOL people. I was going to ma

A few days ago, we were in class discussing issues of culture and cultural studies (just as a side note, I am so German now, that I can't help but automatically type Kultur - großgeschrieben und alles!). You need to understand that I find myself in Germany, surrounded by 12 other Germans (girls in this case, plus the male teacher), and of course the most obvious examples in trying to define and explain culture come from German culture. And wouldn't you know it: Even the Germans consider their punctuality a German characteristic of their German culture! I like German honesty. I mean, I would never describe me and my people as "unpunctual", although we most definitely are. So there we were, talking about how the Germans are punctual and how that defines them because the Germans are punctual and punctuality is important and that important characteristic defines them and their culture because punctuality is a trait that shapes a cultural habit which in turn also makes

I think there is nothing worse in life than being average. That is actually my biggest fear - well, right alongside the crocodiles under my bed finally eating my toes, and the guy sitting in the corner of the living room walking towards me. There are (thank god) no monsters in my closet. No, but seriously: I am terrified of being average! I think it is terrible to get lost in the masses. Especially now that the masses have reached 7 BILLION (and according to the BBC World Citizen Counter I am number four billion six hundred ninety-seven million six hundred and one thousand eight hundred twenty). I mean, we have got to find a way to stand out. But then again, if all us, if all seven billion of us try to stand out, we will, ironically, not. So I guess some, the majority, would have to actively NOT stand out in order for a few of us to do something *special* that will differentiate us (whether positively or negatively is up to each of us) from the rest. It's not easy. And that'

When learning a new language, we all make mistakes. That's normal. Native speakers are generally patient and kind. Generally. The thing is... there is only so much I (as a foreign national, trying my best to learn their language) can get away with. Take Thailand, for instance. Thai is a damn hard language to learn: they have 46 graphemes (symbols, so to speak) that with 10 "accent marks" represent more than 100 possible sounds. In my mother tongue, Spanish, we attach one (1) phoneme (sound) to every grapheme. It's super simple. It's easy. English is not quite as easy, what with short and long vowels and all, but it's easier than Thai. I could get away with my Thai because the people noted I was trying real hard. Also, I made it my mission to learn only a few phrases to help me survive - but to learn then perfectly . My mission was to pronounce them so well that, if with eyes covered, even the Thais couldn't tell my nationality. My plan worked. My numbe

Today's post is an exception to the normal Monday-publishing schedule because it is part of Blog Action Day 2011. I've always been complicated when it comes to food. People who know me only now (now that I am mature and grand and magnanimous) may *think* I am complicated - but I am the loveliest dinner guest, now that I've grown up. And I have my father to thank (I don't thank my father for many things, so you know this must be important). I believe in the "tough love" theory of upbringing. I believe in it because it works. It's not nice, it's not pretty, and it hurts a little - but it works. I had issues with food all along. I used to eat nothing but chicken. The story goes that we went to the beach one day to eat fish - what else would one eat at the beach? When the waiter offered all the varieties of fish available, I asked about the chicken. He gave me a weird look, but my mother was quick to interrupt: "Yes, please, she will have the chi

I got good news today. News so good, that I almost forgot that my heart is broken because the owner of the cat took away my cat. News so good that a friend of mine thought I was pregnant - no, not pregnant. Let's hope for a ring before we hope for anything further, yes? So the good news - ready? I finally have the official, signed, sealed and delivered documents that make me a Masters student at the Christian Albrechts Universität zu Kiel. YAY! I get to begin my masters! Finally! Just in case you're wondering, it's called "English and American Literature, Cultures and Media." And it will be amazing. But don't worry - not that you are worrying. I still have to continue with my German course. Some crazy thing about "When in Rome..." Only, for me it is more of a "When in Germany..." thing. And so, because it was my huge dream and all, I ain't allowed to complain no mo' . When it's too cold outside and I must be off to stud

I really enjoy being at home. I have no problem at all staying home all day - I actually rather enjoy it. Especially when it is cold and gray and rainy outside (which in northern Germany could very well be every single day). But a few days ago, I have to admit it was actually pretty beautiful outside. So beautiful, in fact, that I made it a point to find an excuse to leave the house (because I clearly need an excuse to leave the house, right?). And so, I left. But I only made it to the door. As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, a cute little tiny baby cat ran inside. My first reaction was, "OMG! I have a wild animal in my home. I should call the Animal Control Center so that they may handle this ferocious creature!" The poor ferocious creature was running all around like crazy, looking for something that he couldn't find. He ran into the living room, he ran into the bedroom, he ran into the kitchen - he ran everywhere , except outside. This is the ferociou

I'm one of the most jealous women I know. But (I like to think) I also have some class, so I'm not one to make a scene. I'm the type of jealous person who will disappear. Move to a new continent, perhaps. *hint hint* Also, I'm no longer a big party girl... two things which don't go very well with my party-loving-beer-drinking-salsa-dancing-flirty-boyfriend. Lately, though, in order for us both to  be happy, I have decided that, for me, the party is over when I want it to be over; and, for him, the party is over when he wants it to be over. That means that, in party days, I come home at 10 PM and relax and enjoy me-time (which lately means blog-writing-time), and Honey comes home sometime in this lifetime and falls dead asleep. It's a very German lifestyle, and I'm not sure I like it very much. But I sure do appreciate having a little me-time, and not having to endure situations I don't want to endure. He comes home every night, mostly unharmed (I have

I know I shouldn't write when I'm bitter - especially when I'm bitter now , today, as I write this, and who knows when you'll read this. And then you'll think, "OMG, what a bitter person!" and that day, the day you read this, might be my most charming day. And you'll have completely missed it. So just trust me on this one: I'm super charming. But right now - right now, I'm kind of glad I am 8,765 km away from the people who I kinda want to hurt for being such careless, self-centered, selfish, mean, evil, stupid people. *Whew* I feel better already. We're all heard the phrase before, If you want something done, you have to do it yourself . I know it exists in English, Spanish, German, and some sort of version in Thai (which I, of course, can no longer pronounce). I bet you have it in your mother tongue as well (that might be interesting: write a comment on how YOU say it!). And we (or I; yes, I. I will take responsibility for myself

Since I turned 23 for the fifth time, I have come to think a lot about what it will be like. What it will all be like. In the future, tomorrow even. What will it be like when I finally turn my real age (which, fyi, I have decided will be next year in Barranquilla. Stay tuned to learn what that "real age" is!), what will it be like when I turn 30 or 40 or 50... if I ever turn 30 or 40 or 50. So far, I've come up with this: I will be a tea-person. Not an Earl Grey sort of person, not a Darjeeling sort of person, never ever a Cinnamon spice type of person. But a tea-person nonetheless: peppermint, apple, cherry, wild fruits, but maybe not a mango-tea sort of person. I will be a tea-person, having one for every occasion, before I sleep, when I awake, when I face writer's-block (which is more often than I am willing to publicly admit), when I am stressed (which, thanks to my new life, is, like, never ), and when I need to lose weight - which, if a woman is truly honest

I've been privileged, I can openly admit that. I have been free and independent and, yes, even a little crazy and wild at times. But I have been free and independent and crazy and wild because I've always known that I have a "pillow" to fall upon, should I ever need such a thing. Let's say, for the sake of simplicity, that I have a secret Swiss bank account. This is not a bottomless bank account that I access at any time; this is, rather, my safety net. I have only used it twice. Well, three times, really. The most recent time was earlier this year when I had an insurance "situation". This situation shall be another post... In any case, it was good to know that my secret Swiss bank account was there, ready to help at any moment, ready to be used. Since it's in Switzerland I pay no taxes, regardless of where I live or regardless of how much I withdraw. It is set up in such a way that it requires no deposits to be kept active, only a sporadic online ch

I have been told that my erratic publishing schedule (that is, my inexistent publishing schedule) makes it hard for my readers to keep up with the blog. Sometimes I publish all too often and readers fall behind; sometimes I have too long a break and readers forget to come back and check if something new has been posted. So, in order to strengthen the loyalty of my current readers, and with the aim to gain the loyalty of new readers, I shall establish a publishing schedule: Every Monday, a new post will be published. I wished I could also state a time, but I don't want to make promises I know I won't be able to keep. But Monday, Monday I can commit to. Yeah. That's all. Stay tuned for Monday's blog. I think it will be awesome. *I hope*

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

I don't know why I used that phrase - I hate it, and I'm not sure I quite get it. But I'll give it a try. Why must we (or is it only me?) have the need to have our cake and eat it too? Why can't we just let the cake be, knowing that the cake is ours. Why must we eat it? To not make the analogy more complex than it needs to be, why do I want to get married?! I live with a wonderful guy who loves me, who cooks deliciously, and who pays for all my expenses while in a foreign country (that last bit of information is sadly important, right?). Yes, we live in sin. But for all intents and purposes, we're married. Minus the document from the Holy Church. We do what married couples do: we sleep together (fully clothed, of course, just in case my parents are reading this!), we eat together, we go out together, we don't see other people, we don't behave ourselves inappropriately with other people; we go shopping together, sometimes I even manage to dress in the s

When a conversation begins with, "Do you have a fear of heights?", you should already know that whatever comes next is not going to be good. Unless you have the opposite , some kind of acrophilia. Neither are my case. My answer was, "I have fear in general , but not specifically of heights..." --and I should have left it there, but I proceeded to ask, "Why?" I was then invited on a climbing trip  to a Kletternpark, or Hochseilgarten. Of course I said yes, because I was sure Honey would say no; it was to be on a weekday, and Honey works. In my mind, it was a perfect plan. Only that Honey took the day off and, before I realized what the heck was happening, a couple of days later a young, handsome man was asking my name while attaching my harness, my rope and my carabiners. "You do speak German, right?", he asked, because I was not answering any of his questions (which were, "How are you?" and "What's your name?").