Tell me what kind of coffee you like and I’ll tell you what kind of person you are. Tell me what kind of writer you are, and I’ll tell you what kind of person you would like to be.
Who told you dreams do not define you?

I once told you about the process of making coffee. Like you put water and then coffee and then you heat it and wait until coffee’s done.
I never told you about the process of writing. Like you put thoughts into words and then you reread it and wait until the feeling comes.
Who told you writing is about meaning?

It was a nice evening in a nice restaurant with nice people and everyone was smoking and drinking coffee, like we were all one and we all loved each other and we were all wide awake.
It was a cold night, full of loneliness and possibilities and you were going forward and letting out words as they came to mind. The few words that you wrote had so much meaning. While you were all asleep.
Who told you you cannot write your history when you are dreaming?

If dreams define us and dreams are feelings and dreams are histories, then it is the histories and the feelings about those histories what really define us.
So unreal that they are.

With milk and sugar for me please, a bit cold even.

If there is one thing that I am still struggling to practice on, it’s maintaining the eye contact when talking to people. Back at home, I would be considered rude in fact disrespectful to gaze directly in to the eyes of an elder when talking to them or even greeting them. In some communities you were even supposed to bow your head, as sign of humility and in some you were required to bend or kneel just to avoid the direct contact with the eyes. Here in Germany I am required to do the exact opposite, look directly in to the eye of someone when greeting them and when speaking to them, a complete u-turn to what I am used to.

Just last week I had the opportunity to meet my supervisor for a discussion on an oral presentation that I am supposed to present this week. I must confess it was really hard trying to balance between the eye contact and the conversation. It is something that am not used to, yes I believe that it is rude to look away while speaking to someone but its also quiet uncomfortable staring in to someone’s eye ball, more so in Europe where the eye coloration varies. Some have blue eyes and others have green eyes, and its unfortunate our cultures are so different that what is considered a sign of respect in one society is considered utterly rude in the other.

There are only certain cases when an elder or your parents would require you to look directly in to their eyes. It is somehow synonymous to the current lie detector that most of the industrialized countries have adopted, such that you are connected to some cables in specific parts of your body such that when you answer a question it would be transmitted to a screen and based on the waves that your body generates It will be determined if you are telling the truth or not. When an adult or your parent thought that you were not being honest, he or she would require you to look at the eyes and answer to his/her question, its like the eyes would be piercing directly through your heart to decipher whether you are honest or lying. And if you managed to answer while looking in to the eyes then somehow you would be free, if you were lying then you would shamelessly bow your head unable to respond.

However, the current generation has almost adapted to everything, I see young boys and girls back at home staring directly in to their parents eyes and answering back without even fidgeting, in fact its now the parents who are forced to bow their head in shame and sadness unable to put up with such a behavior. Unable to look straight in to people’s eyes can also be considered a sign of weakness or shall I say shyness. Anyway, call it whatever you like, just don’t judge me if I don’t maintain the contact while talking to you, its not that am rude its just that that’s the way I was brought up, I will try to adapt to the trend here but trust me it isn’t easy as you think!

Sehr verehrte Leserinnen und Leser,
Liebe Constipendiaten,

als aller erstes entschuldige ich mich für den verspäteten Eintrag. Aber nun als Praktikant in einer neuen spannenden Stadt ist man bekanntlicherweise wenig zu Hause.

Gestern durfte ich einem Freund die ehemalige Reichsstadt Frankfurt zeigen. Denn ab Ende dieser Woche arbeite ich an dem rein juristischen Teil des Praktikums, was im Gegensatz zu dem diplomatischen Teil keine festen Bürozeiten erfordert. Bevor ich aber von den Sehenswürdigkeiten berichte, muss ich vielleicht Ihnen und Euch sagen (viele Leser wissen das schon, wohl aber nicht alle), dass das besagte Praktikum an dem mexikanischen Generalkonsulat stattfindet. Deshalb auch einen diplomatischen Teil, in dem ich die Geschichte, Organisationsstruktur und Funktionen des Auswärtigen Dienstes kennen lernen durfte. Mit Freude und Nostalgie zugleich las ich die vertraute Geschichte der deutsch-mexikanischen Beziehungen, so geprägt von meinen Vorfahren, von meiner Schule und schließlich auch von meiner Studienstiftung, also vom DAAD.

Nun habe ich meinem Freund vor dem (mit Recht) berüchtigten Städelmuseum getroffen. Es war wirklich eine große Erleichterung nicht in der übermäßigen Schlange für die Botticelli-Ausstellung stehen zu müssen. Denn wir hatten ja Gutscheine. Die Ausstellung war tatsächlich sehr gut; mit vielen hauseigenen Werken versehen. Am besten hat mir das Verkündigungs-Fresko aus den Uffizien gefallen. Wie ich den Saal betrat und das Werk sah, kamen mir fast die Tränen vor Entzückung und Freude. Die großzügige Renaissance-Räumlichkeit des Gemacht Mariens, die erfrischenden und zugleich wohltuenden Blauen und Grünen und Roten und Weißen, sowie die historische Tat in sich, schlichtweg einer der Kernaussagen des christlichen Glaubens, bewegten mich sehr.
Nach der Ausstellung sahen wir auch die normale Sammlung mit der guten Mischung aus Van Dycks, und Canalletos, Giacometti-Skulpturen, mittelalterliche Dyptichen und so weiter.
Die weiteren Museen der sogennanten „Museumsufer“ haben wir nicht besichtigt. Wobei ich erzählen darf, dass als ich letzte Woche das Liebighaus mit ihrer gewaltigen Skulptursammlung sah, mit Empörung beobachtet habe, wie ein Wächter auf barbarischer Weise ein Kopf des Mark Aurels mit bloßen Händen angefasst hat. Ich sagte nichts und beschäftigte mich lieber mit dem marmornen Athleten. Der Sportler sah nach 2000 Jahren mit Abstand lebendiger aus als die „lebendigen Statuen“ die sich samstags an den deutschen Marktplätzen und Promenaden hinstellen.

Der Bartholomäus-Dom, wo die Wahl und Krönung des deutschen Kaisers stattfand und wo eine Baßgeigenkassel, die von den Kardinälen E. Pacelli und K. Woytyla vor ihrer Papstwahl benutzt wurde, beherbergt wird, wurde auch gesehen. Auch die römischen Ruinen vor dem Tempel und die Schirn-Halle mit der gegenwärtigen Ausstellung mit Werken von Georges Seurat. Wir sind aber nicht direkt von dem Main ins Zentrum gelaufen, sondern begaben uns zuerst in Richtung Taunusanlage. Hier sahen wir die Gold Euros in dem Laden der Europäischen Zentralbank und gingen weiter bis zur Alten Oper, wo der Bekannte die konsularische Vertretung sehen konnte. Von da aus gingen wir die ganze „Fressgasse“ bis zur Mündung, über einen Ausweg bei dem Vaterhaus von J. W. v. Goethe, in die Paulskirche entlang. Wie der Name der Fußgängerzone schon sagt, gab es ein reiches Essangebot dort, was wir mit Freude entgegennahmen. Nach dem langen Tag war icham Sonntag an der Saalburg, das berühmte, von dem Kaiser Wilhelm II und von dem Romanisten Theodor Mommsen so geliebte Kastell an dem römischen Limes.

Ihnen und Euch allen wünsche ich noch eine schöne Woche.

Hallo,
am letzten Dienstag habe ich einen schönen Abend mit meinen Kollegen verbracht. Wir haben zusammen in einem thailändischen Restaurant gegessen. Ich habe nicht nur gut gegessen, sondern auch war es eine gute Gelegenheit für mich, mit meinen Kollegen zu reden und besonders zu lachen. Danach sind wir ins Kino gegangen, um Sherlock Holmes zuzuschauen. Der Film hat mir gefallen. Das war persönlich kein totlachender Film. Allerdings gar kein langweiliger Film auch. Es war mir eher lustig, wie intelligent Sherlock Holmes die Verbrechen löst. Nach dem Kino sind wir heimgegangen. Ich zumindest mit Zufriedenheit. Die anderen auch vermute ich.
Viele Grüße,
Hery

The last few days have been really strenuous with the work but also very great as I bond more with my german colleagues and get to know them better. It has been a time of helping out each other and coming closer.

I got hold of a complete set of used furniture for a fair price from one of the Professors in the linguistics department who was shifting to another city and giving away his furniture. For moving them into my new house, I needed help. My colleagues at the lab suggested me to hire a wagon from the University which was quite a cheap and sensible option – about 5 euros per hour and a small security deposit fee of 10 euros.

lars, me, daniel and philip

Then we (myself, Philip, Daniel and Lars) got on the job one Friday evening after finishing work at the lab. Philip offered to drive and the wagon was really huge and just about enough to fit in all the stuff. The moving was a really a back breaking job. I thanked them a lot and felt very grateful to have got such helpful colleagues.

The next week Philip had 2 things to worry about – an impending quarterly report on his work and a literature seminar. He asked me if I could help and I was glad to help him back in some way and we exchanged our seminars and so I had to do mine in short notice but I managed, since I had to present my Masters thesis project and I was quite confident about it. This took some pressure off Philip and he was quite thankful.

Over the next 3 years I would be needing help in many instances from different people and also helping others and working together, since there is nothing that could be achieved by someone all by himself and without depending on help from different people and more so for a PhD..

The end of the week was celebrated with a small party at Maurice’s WG where we made burgers and also had a deep discussion of vegetarianism, religious beliefs etc. since I don’t eat meat and they had got particularly for me, a vegetable-based burger filling. That was quite thoughtful of them!

I still had a few more things to buy and bedding material was one of them. At IKEA (where household goods are normally bought) I learnt many new words while trying to shop for bedding.

Last Friday, I made a sudden plan to go to the Schüco Arena here in Bielefeld with my colleague Thomas to watch a match between Bielefeld and Duisburg. I was looking forward to a personal first time experience of the german passion for football in the Stehplätze among the cheering crowds, where most of the action takes place, as informed by Thomas, who has no interest to sit quietly in the Sitzplätze seats.. It was a great experience to cheer among the fan crowds of the home team, and although sadly we lost the match 1:2, it was a wonderful experience overall

Both the teams were equally good and were trying to reclaim their positions in the first Bundesliga, as informed by Thomas.

thomas with his daughters and friend

I am looking forward to more fun as I get absorbed into this Arbeitsgruppe and work together as one with the people here.

.

Fangen wir mit der Ankunft an. Als allererstes war es sehr hilfreich dass ich mich an dass Internationale Zentrum gewendet habe. Dort findet ihr eine nette Person, die für alle DAAD Stipendiaten zuständig ist. Was auch sehr schön vom DAAD war, dass es eine zuständige Person in der Unistadt gibt. Im IZ Zentrum wie es auch hier gennant wird bekommt man ein kleines Heft indem alle nötigen Informatioen geschrieben sind. Wie z.b Eröffnung eines Bankkonto, Anmeldung an der Ausländeberhörde etc. Und natürlich der Zulassungsbescheid der einem zugeschickt worden ist und echt sehr viel Zeit spart. Mit diesem Zulassungsbescheid geht man an das Ausländerseketariat und macht die Immatrikulation an der Uni. Der wichtigste Schritt ist die Auslandbehöerde.

Dort musste ich ein Termin ausmachen bevor ich hingehe. Der Termin wird aufgrund des Nachnamens gemacht, für jeden Buchstaben gibt es ein bestimmtes Team. Dort wurde eine Menge Papiere verlangt wie Anmeldung, Mietvertrag, Krankenversicherung und die Finanzierung. Es gibt an vielen Unis auch Tutoren, die dabei helfen können, falls man sich rechtzeitig früh anmeldet. Ich hatte leider keine Chance einen Tutor zu finden.

Meine Erfahrungen waren soweit sehr gut eigentlich. Da ich aber schon Deustch kann, durfte ich schon meine Familie mitbringen. Da ich noch kleine Zwillinge habe (Einen Jungen und ein Mädchen), die erst zweieinhalb Jahre alt sind, musste ich natürlich nach einer passenden Wohung suchen, was das grösste Problem bisher für mich war. Als Kind hab ich zwar in Stuttgart gelebt und war sogar sehr zufrieden, aber wusste nicht wie schwer es ist, hier als Erwachsene mit einer Familie zu leben. Die Wohnungsuche in Stuttgart mit Kind ist schon wenn man sagen darf etwas unmögliches. Ich hab drei bis vier Monate gebraucht. Ich war im Sommer auf meine eigenen Kosten hier mit der Hoffnung alles zu regeln bevor mein Stipendium beginnt. Aber leider habe ich es nicht geschafft. Mein Tipp für ledige Leute: Im Studentwerk nach einer Wohung zu suchen, das ist dass billigste hier.

Obwohl ich beim Studentenwerk auch kein Glück hatte. Dort wurde mir gesagt, dass ich hier promoviere und deshalb kein Student bin und aufgrund dessen keinen Anspruch habe mich für eine Wohnung zu bewerben. Ein netter Mann hat mir aber empfohlen, mich doch zu bewerben, aber schriftlich und per Post zu schicken. Vielleicht würden sie das verstehen und tatsächlich meine Bewerbung wurde angenommen. Deshalb nehmt nicht immer alles so hin, wie es euch gesagt wird, sondern fragt immer nochmal nach oder lest weiter.

Aber meine Erfahrungen bei der Wohnungssuche waren sehr schlecht. Ich habe nur eine gefunden. Kinder scheinen in den meisten deutschen Mehrfamilienhäusern nicht willkommen. Meine Tipps für euch: Erstens an das Studentenwerk wende und  zweitens im Internet zu suchen. Folgende Websites waren mir bei der Suche sehr behilflich:  Studentenwg.de, Wohnungsgesuche.de und wohnen.de. Wovon ich abraten muss, sind die Makler natürlich.

Denjenigen, die mit Kindern hier sind, rate ich,  sie so schnell wie möglich in allen Kindergarten anzumelden da es sehr schwer ist, hier ein Platz in einem Kindergarten zu finden. Ihr könnt auch im Studentenwerk nachfragen, dort können sie euch auch helfen, einen Platz zu finden. So dass reicht mal fürs Erste. Nächste Woche erzähl ich euch weiter wie es mir ergangen ist.

Sehr verehrte Leserinnen und Leser,
Liebe Constipendiaten,

Nun darf ich Ihnen und Euch für die kommenden drei Wochen aus Frankfurt am Main begrüßen, wo ich derzeit ein Praktikum mache. Quer durch Deutschland bin ich am vergangenem Dienstag in der Heimatstadt Goethes angekommen. Bevor ich aber angereist bin, habe ich eine kleine viertägige Haltestelle in München gemacht, wo ich Verwandte besucht habe.

Nicht so närrisch wie die Städte am Rhein und mit einem Schneemantel bedeckt, zeigte sich die bayerische Haupstadt schön und prächtig in diesen Faschingstagen. Ich habe das neue Museum Brandhorst kennengelernt und wieder die berühmte Alte Pinakothek gesehen. Auch den Justizpalast, wo das mythologische Bayerische Oberlandesgricht beheimatet war (die einzige letzte Justizinstanz, die von dem BGH-Karlsruhe unabhängig war) und die vielen Rokokokirchen durfte ich besichtigen. Meine einzige Faschingsaktivität war dieses eingeartige Süßgebäck mit mehreren Bezeichnungen als die der Eskimos für den Schnee auf dem Marienplatz zu essen, aber nicht nur dort sondern kontinuierlich seit den letzten Freiburger Tagen. Damit meine ich natürlich die Krapfen, Kreppel oder Berliner.

Wie ich hierher nach Hessen kam, ging ich zum Kaffetrinken in einer Bäckerei. Und infolge dass es noch der Vorabend des Aschermittwochs war, entschloss ich mich meinen Kaffee mit einem letzten nennen wir es mal das „Brötchen“ zu begleiten. Und wie ich auf dem Gebäck mit meinem Finger zeigte, sagte der Bäcker: Oh, Sie möchten ein Kreppel. Dann habe ich nur genickt und lernte so eine neue Bezeichnung dafür. Also habe ich in dieser Woche drei unterschiedliche Dialekte gehört, habe ich in drei Bundesländern übernachtet und habe die Messe in drei unterschiedlichen Diozösen besucht. Vor noch 204 Jahren, die Abdankung des Kaisers Franz fand erst im August 1806 statt, wäre ich ja in drei unterschiedlichen Staaten gewesen; wie Fritz Reuter, wessen Tatort sich in Thüringen befand, obwohl der mecklenburgische Staatsbürger in Preußen verhaftet wurde.

So wünsche ich Ihnen und Euch allen aus der Stadt zwischen Rhein und Main eine wunderschöne Woche noch.

Suicide is a taboo. As much forbidden to write about it as it is to act on it. An uninvited guest in any blog. Researching the Spielberg Holocaust Archives, home to some 52,000 survivors’ testimonies, doesn’t only put you face to face with their miraculous tales of survival of the Nazi beast, but also their survival of themselves – for this archive is perhaps the largest accumulation of suicide-survivors ever assembled. The percentage of suicide survivors within Holocaust survivors may have never been questioned, perhaps because the answer would be too alarming. It’s a sad topic, no doubt, but there’s something beautiful in listening to it told from the lips of those people – for they are still alive:

Decisions regarding suicide

This all happened a long time ago. Today you can analyze it and try and come up with an explanation, but I’m trying to be authentic, that is, I’m trying to put myself back in my old shoes – or non-shoes for that matter – and what I can clearly say, is that the humiliation and our way of existence – if you could call it that – was so unbearable, that I simply didn’t want to go on with it. It wasn’t a moment of fear or a moment of bravery, but simply a moment of I’ve had enough. No matter what – I’m going for the electrified fence. So I jumped out of all that formation and went for the wire, which was rather close to me, but I was noticed, captured, put back in line. I managed to get as close as one centimeter from the fence; if the photo-finish camera existed then, the referee would have definitely ruled to my favor – let her fry – but it didn’t, and inside this centimeter lay six more years of hell and sixty of life.

As soon as we reentered the block I got a hell of a beating. Twenty five whippings. Five and twenty. In German you count the ones before the tens. When speaking about whipping, that’s definitely the right way to count; first you feel the ones – one, two, three, four, five – and then the remaining twenty are like a single blow. However, that didn’t seem to be enough, so they had me standing on my knees opposite the oven, holding bricks in my raised arms and if I was to lower them, I would get beat up again, naturally. The only thing I realized then, is that not only did I lose my will to live, I was also not allowed to die. Life in the camp was put on hold, like the menstruation which suddenly stopped in all of us, after the first cup of coffee.

Suddenly a theatrical figure stormed into the block, like a Roman conqueror; wrapped in a white sheet, hair of fire and a torch, jumped on the oven and said:
Von hier ist kein Weg
Von hier ist nur ein Weg
Himmel-Kommando!
And then she disappeared like a bad dream. I’m sure I wasn’t dreaming, I have no fantasy-problems. Later on someone told me she was the Kappo; a young woman, horribly vicious, with a tragedy of her own. Needless to say, my hands remained aloft long after that episode.

The very next day a polish girl who had cancer asked me to get her some poison. All of the sudden I had an assignment. It was always difficult to determine who was superior to whom, who had the right to keep on living and who didn’t. But when it came to dying it was rather easy: you’re suffering more than I, you should commit suicide before me, so I will help you.
She had the poison already in her mouth, when her folks came out of nowhere, believe it or not, and said: Mira’le, by Jews you don’t do that… Parents remain parents, even if they are mere scraps of humans. So she spat it out. There’s always more time to commit suicide.

My parents, however, weren’t around anymore and in the far corner of the room I spotted the poison she spat out. I said to myself: why bother living? Suicide seemed like a nice way out; becoming a nun seemed appealing; becoming a selfish person seemed interesting – I mean, after all, so many of those survived and went on to lead a nice life. Maybe that’s the way to go, live for pleasure. I just didn’t know anymore. But if I didn’t take the poison, I wanted to live, probably.

I thought back of the time when I had parents, when suicide was a decision to be made within the family-unit: the task was given to my mother, a nurse. She had to inject it into our veins, otherwise it wouldn’t be effective. So she prepared a little metal tray with enough syringes to go around and beside every syringe she put a little cotton ball soaked with alcohol, to disinfect the skin before the injection. I pointed out that this was not necessary for the last injection and everybody laughed, but she was kind of offended and simply said: what do I know? I’ve been doing it like that all my life.

Now I see that this entire liberation was pointless. A delayed understanding which sneaked in only recently, three months after it was all over. Every person I meet on the street asks me: you’re still alive? as if the fact that I’m standing there right in front of him still needs to be reinforced by the pronunciation of the words: yes, I am still alive, I’m standing right here in front of you. At least you survived, is the common reply. So what – I came out alone.

Three months after it was all over was also when I got to see my first dinosaur-film; the dinosaurs were still quite clumsy – certainly not the accomplished creatures Steven Spielberg created – with men inside of them, working their limbs, and a mechanic head, smiling. Unlike Spielberg’s film, the villain of the story was not the most vicious lizard among them, but a man, who, for some reason, wanted to make sure that the extinction of the last remaining dinosaurs – male, female and their descendant, discovered in the Amazon jungle – was final. He shot the two adults without as much as a blink and then he turned to the little lizard, looked her peacefully in the eye – she was no longer smiling – and said: now you are truly one of your kind.

Time is really running fast, just yesterday we were wishing each other happy new year and today we are fast crusing past the month of February. For the chinese collegues and friends let me take this opportunity to wish you a happy new year, it is the year of the Tiger! So for all those born during the year of the rabbit and all years associated with small animals beware because the tiger is going to pounce on you. I honestly don’t know what am talking about so will any chinese friend come to my aid, the only thing I know is that I was born in the year of the dog and how that is to turn out with tigers I don’t know.

I will ignore Valentines day that passed by, lets just say that I have never marked my calendar for that day because I don’t understand why everyone should put pressure on the flower production just to be reminded that he/ she loves somebody. I mean we have 365 days to love, why pretend that on this one day our intensity to love has suddenly peaked. I am not being negative just because I did not receive a gift, but beacuse I am mad at the number of people who are crazy about the day yet they don’t understand the origin nor the main purpose of that day.

At the moment I have no control over my schedule, I am simply at the mercy of the lecturers, can you imagine that each single day I have to sign the attendance list? That’s how serious it is, you miss a single day and you have to explain why failure of which you risk facing serious consequences such as not sitting for exams. That is just to remind you that I have another batch of exams next week yet am still attending lectures. Who invented exams? What was the real intention? In life there are exams, they may not be written and they may not be graded, but they bear serious consequences in our lives. I still remember vividly like it was yesterday, my first ever exams to determine which kindergarten I would join. I was asked to draw a cow, I passed even though I drew something that looks like a car with horns and it was painted blue.

Talk of blue cows! I guess it is one of those days that you wake up on the wrong side of the bed. It must be the winter, it must have finally gotten to me, it feels as if i have lost track of time. I have been advised to take some multivitamins because I may be lacking vitamin D due to lack of sunshine. So many explanations yet so little help, I guess it has something to do with lack of rest, I don’t know but I am certainly feeling funny nothing is painful yet I wake up with this funny feeling that something is wrong, could it have something to do with the year of the Tiger?

Pictures are biased representations of reality, the substitutes of lost memories. A cheap attempt, a briefly cheap one, to reproduce what we try not to forget, or what we have already forgotten. An attempt to make things better, happier, sunnier, prettier. A faint unsuccessful attempt to make ourselves believe that those pictures are reality and that reality is ours and that we are someone else happier and funnier and smiling who has never seen the rain. Let the others raise an eyebrow with jealousy and envy us for our happiness. So perfect that we are.

How I wished I were you, with that bright smile on your face, you, so pretty and happy and perfect and shiny.

Pictures, then, pictures are the construction of a new reality, rather than the representation of an old one. The capturing of a single instant from a single perspective by a single eye at a particular location. And the grimace, not even real. One’s always smiling for pictures, no good sample of reality. I’ve always hated pictures myself, like you lose the present moment in an attempt to try and have a written memory, a fake one, for the future. Like you miss up on the present for the future, for a future constructed upon the past, a fake one. No good future can be constructed upon a fake past. So far away that it will be.

How you wished you were me, with all those sunny places and people, hat on the head, hand in hand, so happy that I was.

Pictures, after all, pictures are a substitute for relevance. The image of all those things for which we need an image, a written one. For otherwise one would not remember them. Pictures, then, pictures are a substitute for relevance. Either something is relevant or you’d better take a picture, not that it faints with time and you lose yourself on the way. The concretion of abstract thoughts in a faint fake attempt to tell yourself that the things you have seen and the people you have met and the places you have been to are relevant. If they were, mind you, if they were your memory would keep them. No need for paper.Words and thoughts and times and spaces written on paper.

How she wished she were I, with a real past and no troubled future and no need to lie to herself. Handkerchief in the hand, green cheek, pictures in the bin.

Door shut, paper red. It will be sunny out there.