a ball of yarn

http://jill-twentyten.blogspot.com/

2009-10-19T12:12:00.004+02:00

I've moved, in more ways than one.

Check out the new place at
Twenty Ten.

It still has some bugs, and I'm still not sure about the banner design, but with all new beginnings, there's always trial and error, and new discoveries, and feeling out a different style.

Some things will be the same--like my love for photography and my general geekiness :o) But there will be new additions--more links to design goodness, and shorter entries, if I can help myself :o) It's also going to be about the next chapter as an almost-married person with an apartment to keep, and about my life as an MBA student in a new city.

I hope the new blog will feel like home soon, and will be able to reflect what I am now and what I'd like to be in the future.

A ball of yarn, thanks...I'll miss you :o)

dear an der esche,

2009-07-21T22:47:00.005+02:00

It seems I would have to leave you sooner than expected.

Did you remember our first meeting? It was not a pretty sight....

...literally.

The previous tenants left in such a rush, that they sort of forgot the teeny matter of cleaning up. But since the previous tenants are my good friends, I'll let it go. Plus, they left a small army of quarter-full whiskey bottles. Ah, how bribery works its magic so easily.

They also generously bequeathed to me a kitchen with rusty, but useful, arsenals; as well as a blue sofa bed, which I eventually found after shoveling my way through unmade and unwashed blankets. (Eep.)

But it was precisely because you required a lot of work that I grew to like you more and more. (And the fact that you're relatively cheap ;o)) I invested in you, and the peace of mind you provided back was more than enough ROI.

I gave you a facelift...now the green scars are gone, and the bright orange rash is an even white. I also plugged in your unsightly holes with fast-drying cement. I got half-covered in paint doing so, but it was such a fun learning experience.

And did you remember when I agonized for days on which color to paint the buffet table / long cabinet? (It had been originally an ugly birch.) After driving the helpful handyman at Knauber crazy, I finally ended up with color palette #61--a cool shade of sea green--which matched quite nicely with the ceramic knobs I had picked up at a local alternative hippie store. Now, I just have to put up the tiles as accents for the cabinet doors. We still have to work out somehing for the TV stand and the living room table, but that's for the future.

Someone once told me that a person is not a grown-up until he/she has cleaned a bathroom. I've cleaned bathrooms before, but yours...my gosh! I went into your bathroom as sprightly 28-year-old with a bucket of soapy water in hand, and came out as a 40-year-old with... ...you wouldn't want to know what's in the bucket afterwards. 'Important thing is, you are now sparkling clean, and no old moldy shower curtains to cramp your style!

Your bedroom, which was a warzone of deadly unwashed towels and underwear (!!) with hidden landmines of crumpled-up tissues (!) is now a tranquil haven. It's still missing window treatments, but now that I'm moving out soon, we'll sadly never know, shall we?

And finally, your kitchen. Behold, a distant memory:

Once the empty Coke bottles and beer bottles were disposed of (there were so many I got enough deposit money back for 3 döner lunches), and the fridge was rid of molds, I couldn't stop concocting one dish after the other in that room. Thank you for being such a good setting for brunches with friends, for dinners with colleagues and the Pinoy gang, and for cozy meals with K.

So thank you, An der Esche--you who are technically my first and last bachelorette pad, you who are the four walls that endured my attempts at learning the guitar, you who allowed me to fill your space with laughter and late-night talks with friends.

I still have a couple more weeks with you once I come back from the Philippines, but I already suspect I will miss you.

Love,
Your 4-month tenant chinita_jill

i finally have found what i'm looking for

2009-07-19T22:26:00.007+02:00

It was at the Olympiastadion in Berlin, on the 18th of July 2009. And it was maaaagniiiiificent! (Oh-oh, oh-wo-oh, oh-oh, oh-wo-oh!) :o)

I was never a die hard fan girl, but when I heard the news that U2 was coming to Germany for their 360 Tour, I toyed with the idea to go. It is, after all, U2. As my sis said, "They're iconic! You can tell your future grandkids that you've seen Bono live!" Hehe.

The original plan was to see it in Paris, but with train tickets expensive, I bowed out. Plan 2.0 began clicking into place one evening, when I was hanging out at Ka Dencio's place after a particularly tiring workday. It was one of those weeks where you already start talking about the weekend, it the hopes to fast forward Monday through Friday.

"What are you doing this weekend?" I asked, whilst forlornly popping crackers and cheese into my mouth.
"Oh," Ka Dencio said. "KG and I are going to Berlin this weekend for the U2 concert."
There was a projectile of crackers and cheese. "You're what?! You didn't tell me!!"
"Come! Come book and join us lah!" He was putting on his Singlish accent again, acquired after 6 years of working in Singapore. "KG and I will be happy to have you!"

And that is how, after a few phone calls and mouse clicks and a trip to the local seller, that I found myself an excited ticket holder of U2's 360 Tour in Berlin. (That was also how I sneakily avoided a meet-and-greet with K's friends at the sleepy village of Stendal. Hehehe, I kid, I kid.)

The days leading up to the concert was akin to cramming for an exam--I was listening to their latest album No Line on the Horizon every chance I had. But unlike your typical exam, it was enjoyable cramming, and every bus ride to work became a bopfest. The beats were catchy, the lyrics superb, and the instrumental work electrifying.

From the moment we entered the stadium-turned-concert arena, we could feel the pent-up anticipation rumbling through the crowd. (To release the excited tension, the crowd--80,000 strong--did human waves around the arena about 7 times, including several botched-up initial attempts.)

When I thought my knees couldn't take the human wave thingy anymore, U2 finally took the stage...and the crowd just exploded into a cacophony of cheers, shrieks, and wild applause.

It was well-deserved, too. U2 gave such a magnetic performance, starting with "Breathe". From then on, they kept on upping the tempo, playing one new song after the other--the title song "No Line on the Horizon", the funky "Get On Your Boots", and the beautiful celebration "Magnificent". And when you think the crowd couldn't get any more pumped up, U2 worked on our nostalgia by singing "Beautiful Day".

They were engaging performers, mentioning their previous times in Berlin, and singing a couple of songs they wrote while in this city. Of course, there was the requisite let's-speak-a-few-sentences-in-the-local-language, which never fails to enamour me and, apparently, 79,999 other people.

"Wie geht es euch!" Bono yelled into the mic. "How do you like our space junk?" he asked, referring to their circular stage decked with bridges so they could cross over to an outer circular stage orbiting the first. Between the first and second stages were mosh pits crammed with excited fans. Four claw-like support structures rose up from the center stage to hold a 360-degree screen--it was an interesting set-up. While Bono spoke, the overhead screen provided German subtitles. "We built this because...and you might projectile vomit--try to translate that," he cheekily explained, "--so that we can be closer to our audiences...thank your for giving us this wonderful life!"

The band also paid a brief homage to Michael Jackson. After singing "Angel of Harlem", the guitar riffs melted into the melody of "Man in the Mirror", of which Bono sang snippets of, followed by a quick refrain from "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough."

It was during this time that they had some people from the audience come up the stage and play their instruments! "This is an experiment," Bono announced, as the band members gave up their guitars and drums to the lucky, wannabee rock stars. After the song finished, Bono tried to talk to the guys by asking them their names. But all one guy could manage was a euphoric, "Thank you, thank you! Danke, danke!" It was too funny :oD As the aspiring rockers left the stage (in a happy daze, I'm sure) Bono deadpanned, "All I can say about rock stars, is that they're short." Teehee.

Towards the end of the concert, the band injected some of the political activism that is signature U2. "Sunday Bloody Sunday" was followed by "Pride (In the Name of Love)". They dedicated a song to Aung San Suu Kyi, and encouraged audiences to support the ONE Campaign. During their encore, we sang happy birthday to Nelson Mandela.

Night has long fallen by then, and camera flashes around the stadium went off in rapid succession like mini supernovas. From our vantage point, the vast mass of people standing on the stadium field seemed to have blended into a sea of skin and outstretched arms, their upturned faces reflecting the lights of the stage. It was amazing to see how a band can have so much power over people, and how 80,000 different individuals can act as one because of a band. In that sense, I admire how U2 uses their fame to make people aware of issues that matter.

U2's last song for the night was "Moments of Surrender". The whole concert would have gone without a hitch, if not for an overzealous fan running onto the stage and being semi-tackled by security and dragged off the stage. Idoit that he is, he made my big concert experience complete. Haha!

When Ka Dencio, KG, and I walked out of the arena, we were on such a high that we couldn't stop belting out U2 songs. We tried to extend the experience by giving one another concert play-by-plays, as if we hadn't been there together a few hours ago. Unbeknownst to me, I have become a U2 fan girl.

Finally, Ka Dencio, bless his sensible head (and his poor stomach flu), had the sensible idea that it was time to head back to our hostel. "Okay, let's see which U-Bahn line we need to take," he said, consulting his map.

And what do you know. It was U2.

Videos from YouTube's U2TourFans and CaliKat1208.

sour and sweet--which one's which?

2009-07-09T00:17:00.004+02:00

This music video,'Hibi no Neiro' (Tone of Everyday), by a band called Sour had me glued to my seat. Quite a creative effort by whoever thought of it, and quite a logistic effort by the fans of the band. Nicely done!
Via Neatorama.

---

Just came back from watching Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen.

Verdict? The only thing that kept me from "rolling out" of the movie is my nostalgic fondness for the Autobots. (Hi, Optimus Prime! Hi, Bumblebee!)

The movie went overdrive where it should have been mellow--too much slapstick, too many cliches, too many robotic limbs and you can't figure out where one robot starts and where the other one begins. It sputtered where it should have accelerated--the CGI work on the first movie is somehow better than in Revenge of the Fallen.

Cue in Bumblebee playing "Wreck of the Day" from its speakers.

traffic advisory: crossroad ahead

2009-07-04T12:33:00.008+02:00

Crossing the desert in Morocco--a vast expense where possibilities are endless, but also where getting lost is a risk.

I can't believe it's been more than a month since I last wrote in this blog. I know I should be more consistent in writing down what's happening with my life, for I know I'll cherish it when I click back on my old entries. But the past month has been a roller coaster that would rival even the rides in Six Flags.

Without further ado, meet the latest victim of the economic crisis.

It has been expected, but it's still quite shocking to be in the situation. And very, very emotionally draining. The thin thread of trust between the employer and the employee has been unravelled, and one tends to second guess everything the company does from now on. Ugh, another item on the growing list "Why I Do Not Like Corporate Life."

But onward and forward. Or something.

I may have something under my sleeves, but it is too soon to tell. And even then, I wonder if it's the right decision, or whether it'll end up with me living under a bridge after the next 1.5 years. I don't even know if the next step is "me" or if it's an act borne out of "what everyone says it's the right thing to do". Traffic advisory: another major crossroad ahead.

Generally and somewhat naively, I'm hopeful. I'm not an optimistic person to begin with, and I've been genetically programmed to worry...A LOT. But K's influence must have been rubbing off on me the past years, and I tend to find myself searching for silver linings these days.

One immediate silver lining of this whole redundancy circus, is that I suddenly find myself with so much time. (Why I Do Not Like Corporate Life item #3 is "too less time to do what one loves", which is related to item # 14 "shackled to the desk and deprived of sunlight", and so on and so forth.)

So I did one of the things I love--I bought a flight ticket home! :o) It was a last minute cheap deal, too--the cheapest flight I've ever booked. If this isn't dramatic enough, I get to rendezvous with my family in Hongkong first and go around the city for 4 days, before continuing on to my lovely home islands. Whew, what a silver lining!

It will be great to get away from it all, and focus on another much-anticipated event...the wedding! Oh, would you imagine the surprise of my modista when I walk into her boutique?! Oh-hooo, but perhaps not of joy, but of consternation. I can almost see her whipping out her measurement tape and admonishing me, "I said 'maintain', not 'gain'!!"

Oops. I've taken to chocolates to calm my nerves, what can I say? :o(

But anyway. Point is, if there's already a silver lining so early on, my reasoning assumes hopefully that there are more to come, although it's not obvious all the time. So yeah, I'm generally and naively hopeful.

where has my milk tooth gone?

2009-06-04T17:46:00.003+02:00

Nope, the tooth fairy didn't get it.

They're actually in this blog, taking center stage as stars.

Check out My Mik Toof. So creative and cute!

I'm not sure where I got the link from anymore (maybe the tooth fairy?), so no link credit--sorry about that!

then we came to the end?

2009-06-04T16:09:00.003+02:00

The sun's been playing peekaboo with us denizens of Bonn, but at least the weather's warm enough to take out the summer shoes I bought in the Philippines back in December 2008.

And I absolutely adore these Charles & Keith shoes I got. *heart*

You have no idea how many times I peeled back the protective tissue during wintertime to catch a glimpse of these babies, only to wrap them again and place the box back on my shoe rack. Parting is such sweet sorrow. (Drama.)

Now that I get to wear them, my heart and outfit is happy, but my feet are not. Ouch. I still need to break them in. I guess some sacrificial blood needs to be spillt.

---

I am yet in another crossroad.

Things are not going too well in our company, and people are getting antsy. Rumors had it that there will be an announcement next Monday. Today, our heads were called to a meeting with HR. After a 30-minute absence, our bosses were seen to go back straight to their rooms.

It was quite funny, actually. Their footfalls were fast and efficient, and they spared no eye contact. My cubemate and I were deliberately whether we should tackle one of them and drag them into an abandoned conference room for interrogation.

And torture, if necessary. We merely have to force feed them canteen food, and we're sure they're going to capitulate.

Strangely enough, I am approaching this situation with the optimistic naivete of a child. Not because I don't believe I won't be sacked, but because I think whatever happens, there will be other opportunities out there. Other paths.

and the "toni" award goes to...

2009-06-03T10:33:00.004+02:00

Okay, so it's not an award really, but it doesn't make it less nice! In fact, when I read it, butterflies were pleasantly fluttering about in my stomach. :o)

So thanks, Toni, for the wonderfully unexpected shout-out! (This is definitely a first.)

---

P.S. I have to get back into the blogging groove. Not having an internet back home is throwing me out of whack. Plus, a crazy amount of stuff coming at an indefatigable rate to take care of.

Indefatigable means "tireless", and is brought to you by the book PopCo. It's my current before-bedtime and on-the-way-to-work read, and is a story that revolves around ciphers and code-breaking. I didn't know this before--I only picked up the book because the whole thing was painted in blue, even the sides/edges of the pages! :o)

a random conversation during lunch

2009-05-29T09:55:00.005+02:00

Yup, I made in back to Bonn from Morocco.

My internet connection guy, however, did not make it to Bonn at all. So after 3 weeks of moving into my new apartment, I am still living in the Stone Age. (People living in Germany, do not...and I repeat...DO NOT use Congstar.)

On the other hand, while I can't make past chiseling my letters/mails into stone, I found out today that my Nepalese friend is living in the future.

"Look at my Nepalese driver's liscence, "he said, fishing out a card from his wallet during lunchtime. "It's issued on...", he prompted.

"30th of June...2064?" I blinked at the card. I blinked at him.

"Yeah, I had to pay the department issuing these licenses extra money so they'd put on the date the rest of the world uses. Can you believe it? I had to pay them extra!" he chortled.

"You come from the future!" I replied in an exaggerated gasp.

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Yeah, you're looking at the future."

K, who at this point was quietly focusing on his pizza, piped up in mock horror, "That's the future? Then there's nothing to live for anymore!"

Hold on, hold on. Before we start screaming Armaggedon, this is the point I tell you that according to my buddy, in Nepal, they use a different calendar system.

"Nepal follows a different calendar system than in the West. According to this system, 2003-2004 is Bikram Sambat 2060. The New Year begins in mid-April. Like the Julian system, there are 12 months, each month beginning around the middle of a Western month. Festival dates are, however, determined by lunar calendar."
-Nepal Homepage

So yes, the future still looks bright :o) (Just don't go about ordering a Congstar box for your internet connection.)

Morocco pictures, coming up!

salam alaikum

2009-04-29T00:54:00.003+02:00

Just checking in from Morocco. Super *exclamation point*
(Typing on a French keyboard and can;t figure out half the symbols)

The people are so warm and friendly, that I can't help but be in a good mood all the time.

So good a mood, that I agreed to whole-day hikes, walks across the dessert, and no shopping whatsoever.

So good a mood, that I am getting along superbly with K's friends.
(Some new interesting blood helped a lot, too. One reminds me of Kenneth from 30 Rock. Hihihi.)

Can't wait to upload the pictures and share it with you, too.

'allo

2009-04-22T15:38:00.005+02:00

I thought with the 4-day Easter break, I'd be able to update this old chum. But what was I busy doing instead?

Packing up and preparing to move to a new apartment. My own apartment. *wide-eyed* Time to pop the champagne!

I know this isn't the wisest thing to do in an economic crisis, but I can't stand my shared apartment anymore. I can't stand the skid marks, I can't stand the piles of dirty dishes, and I can't stand the sounds my 2 flatmates are making. :os

And I still can't update my blog tonight, because...

I'm flying to Morocco tomorrow! Tonight, one of Daniel's friends is picking me up, and we're driving to the Frankfurt Hahn Airport.

K is already traipsing around Morocco with 4 of his other friends since last Sunday.

Yes, siree. If you think it's a romantic getaway, it's not. K and I will be joined by FIFTEEN. OTHER. PEOPLE.

In total, we are seventeen wanderers. (All K's friends.) One more, and we'd be freaking 18 candles. Urg.

It'll be an adventure, in more ways than one :o) After 10 days in Morocco with 15 Germans, I should be fluent. FLUENT!

See you on the 2nd of May, where I'll be blogging (in German, kuno!) in my new apartment.

Oh crap, I won't have internet connection then.

w update

2009-03-19T16:07:00.006+01:00

A teaser of things to come :o)

Planning a wedding is like planning a production number or launching a brand campaign...or maybe a little bit of both, plus giving birth to a baby on the side.

(Maybe. I don't know how giving birth exactly feels, but it must be painful...but rewarding in the end. Anyway, I digress.)

I've been spreading myself thin the past week--cramming for my German proficiency exam, trying to attend gym regularly, attending guitar class every Wednesday, and finalizing our wedding website.

Oh, the wedding website? Yes, I'm glad you asked.

I am sooo proud of the wedding site. :o) Finally, a website with a cohesive topic to work on. (I mean, I like my blog, but it is kind of, well...for lack of better word...sabog. An explosion of discombobulated things. Like it's owner. Haha!) Although I do lack the skill to create something high-tech for the wedding site, I think I did okay with what limited HTML knowhow I had. Mr. Google helped extensively, of course :o) Apart from that, I'm happy with the information I've culled for the website. Hopefully, our guests would be happy with it, too.

Along the way, I'm constantly stumbling into websites which give me more and more wedding ideas, or geek sites that...also give me more and more wedding ideas. (Every interesting thing I now see is processed by my brain as follows: "How would this apply to the wedding?" I'm such a dork.)

And today, I found this site which documents abandoned places in the world. If K and I were to have our photoshoot in Europe, these are definitely the places I'd consider. How hauntingly beautiful.

Okay, so I'd better go back filling out the email addresses in our guest list. We hope to send out the save-the-date's by this weekend...which means the launching of the website, too!

Busy, busy, busy.

Oh, and did I mention I'm taking guitar classes now? Gak.

signs

2009-03-16T23:48:00.002+01:00

What a beautiful, beautiful short film. *tears up*

I'm going to watch it again and tear up some more.

a word from the wise

2009-03-13T16:55:00.008+01:00

"Individuals high in trait dominance attain influence because they behave in ways that make them seem competent -- even when they actually lack competence."
- C. Andersen, Journal of Personality & Social Psychology
(February 2009)

In Umgangssprache or common speech, "fake it until you make it, baby!"

I need me some of those, but I can't shake off the feeling that I would be such a fraud if I behave that way. Then again, sometimes you just have to, I guess.

Especially in the corporate world, in my case. *sigh* Sometimes, I feel so out of my depth.

I saw this quote on my manager's white board. A psychologist at heart (but a suit-wearing executive by day), my manager likes putting up "weekly learnings" trawled from newspapers and journals.

Once he posted a quote that went something like: Feierabend (leisure time), like obesity and acne, is fast becoming a phenomenon for the under-educated. Being a workaholic, I believe that quote was subtly directed to himself.

But this quote about trait dominance, I believe, is for me. In our yearly review, his only ~~complaint~~ constructive criticism about me is that I should speak up more. But how, when I feel the people around me always know more than I do?

Advice, anyone? Much appreciated.

relics

2009-03-08T15:46:00.003+01:00

K's currently sorting through his boxes of old stuff. Souvenirs of the past show that in some ways, what interests a person as a kid follow them through adulthood. For K, these are maps, photographs, postcards, travel books, and a random tea strainer :o) And apparently, when Germany was still divided into east and west, K--in his little village that borders Poland and former Czechoslovakia--indulged in the hobby of kings.

Photos of the past show that the behavior of a child is still intrinsically his in adulthood, too. He smiled a lot before, and he's still smiling a lot now. (And hopefully, even after we've tied the knot!! :oD )

---

Speaking of the past, say hello to the faces of Pont Neuf (picture above). Pont Neuf, while literally meaning "New Bridge", is actually one of the oldest bridges in Paris, having been opened in 1607.

According to our engaging tour guide*, King Henry IV, who had ordered the construction of the bridge, had thrown a party one balmy evening in the Middle Ages, and had invited his statesman and politician friends to attend. When statesmen and politicians were sufficiently drunk, King Henry IV then called on his other set of friends--the artists, painters, and sculptors--to join in and sketch the faces of the drunken men. These sketches showing the whole gamut of inebriety were finally immortalized as sculptures on the Pont Neuf.

It's like Facebook for the Middle Ages :o)

---
* If you are in Paris, I would highly recommend taking the free walking tours by New Europe Tours. One is a 3.5-hour walking tour of the general sights in Paris, and the other is a 2-hour walking tour of Montmarte, which our guides claim to be "what Paris is all about". Both tours are highly entertaining and informative, and are run by friendly and energetic people. (For the Montmarte tour, I'd recommend getting the evening slot--you'd really feel the bohemian ambience then.)

New Europe tours also operate in other European cities, so for your next trip around Europe, go check their site out!

peekaboo

2009-03-05T02:50:00.003+01:00

http://www.urbancamouflage.de/

Tickled me silly :o)

(via swissmiss)

---

Was in Paris,
then in Frankfurt,
and finally just came back from Brussels.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Leipzig.

I promise to write as soon as I get my bearings back...and as soon as I clear out the pile of laundry teetering ominously over me.

sound check

2009-02-28T01:03:00.004+01:00

Created by Train Horns

(via Neatorama)

I think I have sensitive ears. When the plane I'm in starts descending for landing, I'd have to be awake. Otherwise, if I'm not able to gradually adjust my ears to the change in pressure, and I would end up with sharp pain in my ears long after I've exited the airport terminal.

When I was a kid, I could sometimes tell if the TV has been switched on in the adjacent room, even if the sound's on mute. I can't explain it, but I thought our TV gave off a thin, barely susceptible screech (?) a few seconds after it's been turned on.

Sometimes, too, I think I'd hear a change of pitch in the air. I never knew what it was, and thought that my ears were just reacting to some environmental stimulant. Air pressure dropping maybe? Humidity levels changing? Brain between my ears expanding?

But after clicking the link above, I think I may have finally figured out what I've been hearing from time to time. Could this be it?? (Quite an interesting test--go for it :o))

If not, then I just might have to resign myself that maybe some aliens from outer space are trying to establish contact.

Now that that's solved, what about the strange sound I hear whenever a chocolate bar is placed in front of me? The barely susceptible buzz seems to sound like, "Eeeeaaat meeee."

...

2009-02-18T01:57:00.008+01:00

Maaan, you're one honest fruit.

Teeheeheehee.

Meet UGLI, a produce of Jamaica, as the label states. Saw a rather unsightly pile of it in my local supermarket, Rewe. But after a name like that, who wouldn't resist buying one? :o) (Plus, my eternal curiosity for all foodstuff new won over.)

I'm not exactly sure what type of fruit it is...a mandarin, an orange, a grapefruit? But I'm not the type to quickly judge the cover. Can't wait to see--and taste--what the inside holds!

Update: Ooh, here's what Wikipedia have to say. UGLI even has an official website, but could it be that it has acquired an affliction common in celebrities--photoshop and air-brushing? :o)

dear germanwings

2009-02-17T11:48:00.005+01:00

I like you, because you are my wings to Leipzig.

I like you, because your service belongs to a category name with "discount" attached to it. And who doesn't like discounts, especially in this belt-tightening era of economic crisis?

I like you, because you have this genius service called Blind Booking. For a reasonable fee, one click of a button can send me to any country in your destination grouping. It's like jackpot roulette for traveling, with no "game over". Unless you send me to Dresden again.

And I especially like you today, because you showed me you have a sense of humor, too.

Teehee.

Til the next flight,
Jill

the church

2009-02-12T14:10:00.006+01:00

One of the most nerve-wrecking things while planning for a Philippine wedding is that somewhere out there, approximately 82.8 thousand couples are scrambling to book the church you want, the reception venue you dream of, the photographer you admire.

This is Bride Wars taken to a national level! :o)

But a few Saturdays ago, my rockstar sister and maid-of-honor Hazel, together with my parents, made the trip to Silang, Cavite to finally book the rustic San Antonio de Padua Parish for the 20th of February 2010. The groundstone has been set.

---

Daniel and I first found the church online when we had been home in the Philippines for Christmas '08. As the pixels sharpened to reveal a quaint, slightly-weathered church with a small belltower of its own, we were instantly charmed. The following day--1 day before Christmas--we dragged my best friend Denise and her boyfriend for a 2-hour drive to check the place out.

San Antonio de Padua was nestled inside the little-known district of Pook in the township of Silang. Outside the compound was a one-lane road; and across the road stood a squat army of sari-sari stores and local tambayans. It was quiet day--so different from Manila, where, the closer the holiday gets, the noisier and busier it becomes. Instead, the place felt at rest, languid, and dreamy in a barrio kind of way.

We stepped inside the church to take pictures. There was a smattering of people sitting on the pews--waiting, praying. Beside the altar, the parish priest sat on a simple chair, quietly talking to a man--confessions were underway. Muted light pooled into the aisle through stone archways. It was beautiful in its simplicity.

I think even at the beginning, it was Daniel who knew without a doubt that this was going to be our church.

random conversations

2009-02-09T11:22:00.006+01:00

Cast: A Filipino intern living with a bunch of Bulgarians and Serbians.
Setting: Dinnertime in the common kitchen

J takes out his precious Mang Tomas all-around sarsa and places it lovingly on the kitchen table.

The East Europeans huddle around. "What's that? It says 'Mang Tomas all-purpose sauce'."

J replies, "Oh, it's a sauce you can mix with pork, with chicken...whatever you want."

"'All-purpose sauce...all purpose...,"they muse. "Soooo...can you also clean the dishes with that? What about oiling the hinges? No? Washing your clothes?..."

Nyehehehe. Hindi lang pala tayo ang corny.

---

A politically-incorrect joke as told to me:

Q: What do you call a Malaysian on the moon?
A: A problem.

Q: What do you call 2 Malaysians on the moon?
A: Two problems.

Q: What do you call it when all Malaysians are on the moon?
A: Problem solved.

---

Between 2 colleagues / friends:

T: So I go inside this meeting room. And since it was around Christmas time, they had placed little freebies in our places. The freebies were finger puppets which were supposed to be little black elves. Turns out in Netherlands, Santa's "helpers" are black and are called Black Peter, and are supposed to be really mischievous, even slightly sinister because they're the ones doling out the coals to naughty children.

M: Yikes. Imperialism much?

Does Black Peter really go back to the days of African slavery? You can read more about its origins here, and what the Dutch think of it now, here.

---

It was Friday evening, and we were due to have Thanksgiving dinner at a friend's place. Indian S, fellow countryman D, and I were stuck at a railroad crossing.

"The last train was 10 minutes ago. Should we just cross?" D ventured.
"Are you crazy?" I said through chattering teeth.
"No, but I'm sooo cold," he riposted.

Around us, various Germans on all modes of transports were also gathering and listlessly waiting. Feet were tapping, car engines were purring, bicycle bells were giving out half-hearted tinkles.

Suddenly, an RE train thundered past.

"Well, that wait was worth it." I raised by eyebrow at D.

But still the crossing remained barred.

"I can't feel my nose anymore," S mumbled at one point.

After 10 more agonizingly freezing minutes, the bar was finally raised. From both sides of the crossing, people poured forward, some even semi-yelling with relief and joy.

"This is probably how it felt when the Berlin Wall fell, no?" S deadpanned. And off we went to Thanksgiving dinner.

a pleasant surprise

2009-02-08T20:12:00.003+01:00

A photo of mine has been briefly featured as "the daily click" in a photography blog called Shutter Sisters.

I've been a lurker in some of the blog founders' blogs for years. And for my picture to actually appear in their collaborative blog is quite...flabbergastingly, stupefyingly wonderful. :o)

---

This photo was taken whilst K and I were traipsing along Beijing's 798 Space art compound. It was a tree wrapped in swaths and swaths of red yarn. I was instantly charmed by its whimsy appearance.

Maybe it was the underground art vibe of the place, but it made me more daring in exploring my camera's manual function. Ever the obsessive-compulsive-everything-should-be-aligned, I had never thought of overexposing my image to the max. But I finally did, and here's the image. :o)

what made me go "lol" today

2009-02-04T12:17:00.008+01:00

So a couple of days ago, I received a Facebook notification saying bestfriend D's boyfriend Y tagged me in a video.

Video? I don't recall Y filming us at any point when we were home last December. Maybe it was one of those secretly filmed, I'm-casually-digging-out-a-wedgy shot. Ooh dear. Or, one of those I'm-sleeping-at-the-backseat-and-my-head-is-lolling-and-my-chin-is-almost-hitting-my-knees shot. Oh noo.

I put off looking at it--I have a phobia of seeing myself on pictures or in videos. Like Medusa, but only in a wired, post-mythological world. (With the same effect though.)

But then bestfriend D insisted--and voila, non-stop smiles the whole day and non-stop thankfulness from my heart.

D was so sweet to offer to take care of our wedding video, and Y's enormous talent (as evidenced by the video) backs up that promise. They plan to set up a wedding photography and videography business soon, and with a talent of that caliber, I can only imagine the Philippine wedding industry opening their arms wide in welcome.

Without further ado, the making of a wedding, part 1 of n.

lost

2009-02-03T18:06:00.004+01:00

Last seen: Figaro, outside Ninoy Aquino Airport

Subject: A pocket-sized travel journal, where I scribble on-the-spot thoughts and observations while traveling. This includes favorite gelato flavors in Italy, changes in Beijing, characteristics of Hungarians, and Hindi words. Accentuated with silly drawing and actual sketches (bad ones, but sketches nonetheless). Lifespan is still 60+ pages strong--lots of stories yet to be written. :o(

History: A flea market buy in Bonn's monthly Flohmarkt. It originally came from India, and has a patchwork quilt cover typical of the "hippie" style.

Reward: My eternal gratitude...and money? Free dinners? Eternal taga-plantsa?

*glum*

Looking at this picture makes me sad. This had been the first and last photo taken of the Travel Journal, moments before it disappeared from my life. Did I leave it behind? Did it drop out of my bag? I can't imagine what had happened, and its gnawing me to bits.

This journal has been unique for me, because for once it did not contain the complete, "lyrical" proses of my old diaries. Instead, this journal contained all those silly, precious details that I would otherwise forget, written in a random, scrapbook style. And yes, I am forgetting those details already :o(

I guess it just means that I have to travel more and start filling out a new one. That surprisingly semi-optismistic thought gives me a bit of comfort.

"her morning elegance" by oren lavie

2009-02-02T11:05:00.000+01:00

As I was searching for wedding suppliers online, I somehow managed to stumble into this video.

Beautiful song, fantastic video. I love the girl's expression, although the guy creeps me out a bit. The video's done in stop-motion style, and it's wonderfully creative. A must see.

banaue-sagada, part II

2009-01-29T11:08:00.008+01:00

The Road to Sagada

We only had a mere 2.5 days to cover both Banaue and Sagada. So the second day saw saw us zooming off further up the mountains.

Hold on, did I say zooming off? It was more like bounced along the dirt road for 3 hours. But every butt bruise was worth it, because the view is simply spectacular. Plus, you get a midway stop at a sari-sari store that sells one of the best baluts ever.

Balut, yummm.

K, of course, cringed at the idea of biting off the unformed embryonic head of an unborn duckling, but he was brave enough to taste the bitter nut—a concoction that locals chew to help them keep warm in the cool mountain weather. (I thought it was called betel nut?)

Up and Down and All Around

Once in Sagada, our first stop was Sumaguing Cave.

Ten of us in our smart hiking attire descended into the cave’s dark pit. Ten of us emerged after a few hours, hands, legs, and shorts smudged with bat poop.

Inside the belly of the cave. Lanterns perched on the guides' heads light up the rocky way. Picture taken by our tour operator Albert.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. Grabbing hold onto guano-encrusted rocks is definitely much better than, say, falling into an inky ravine. See, it’s all about perspectives :o)

S, one of my younger cousins, was such a little cave monkey; he seemed to hop from one slippery stone to another without any effort. Although, once I heard him mutter, “Darn, I think I just touched a fresh one.” Fresh bat poop? Eh, no thanks.

The proliferation of guanos was only at the start of the expedition though. Once you clamber lower into the cave, you’ll find pure clean water running over flowstones (live limestone), subsequently forming pools.

There was a point in the trip where our tour guide Albert confronted us with the question, “To dip or not too dip?” Not too dip means your journey ends there. To dip brings you deeper into Sumaging Cave, with slightly more difficult pathways and a cold plunge into a waist-high pool.

After a quick deliberation (and good ol’ cousin peer pressure), we chose “to dip”. And boy, was it the correct adventurous choice :o)

We all agreed it was an exhilarating experience, even K. But the environmentalist in K guiltily pointed out that this would not have been allowed in Europe. One, it’s dangerous; and two—well, we’re stepping on live minerals with our big, stinky, bacteria-ridden feet! This also made me feel a twinge guilty, and wondered if there are any conservation efforts being done in Sagada. Already, the Banawe Rice Terraces has been bumped off the UNESCO World Heritage list. *Little chinita waves to Department of Tourism head.*

The Yoghurt House

Since we traveled with an organized tour, we were ~~mostly forced~~ scheduled to eat in restaurants of the travel agency’s choice. However, one thing us cousins insisted on trying was the famous yoghurt at Sagada’s The Yoghurt House.

True cuz L heard about it from a classmate, but we only really believed the classmate’s testament when we showed up at 7.30am at the place to find that there was a queue!

At 75 php for a cup slightly larger than a taho serving, the yoghurt was steeper than the mountains of Sagada. But it was beyond yummy. Banana slices, muesli, with a dash of coconut and almond taste mixed into natural yoghurt makes a hearty energy booster for the day’s hike ahead.

Let’s Hang

A trip to Sagada, of course, would not be complete without a visit to the hanging coffins. The guide brought us to Echo Valley, where we found out that the most recent addition to the hanging coffins was in 2007. I feel it to be a romantic, earthy tradition--man returning to nature at the end of his life, not six feet under, but on the serene mountains, at once close to the sky and overlooking the places where he once trodded.

(For more info on the lives of the Igorots, I would strongly recommend visiting The Bontoc Museum. It's small, but packed with interesting information (including their burial traditions) and some beautiful, intricate works of art by local artists.)

The short hike to the viewpoint was gorgeous--such tall trees. I've never experienced such a thing in the Philippines before.

Soon, it was time to turn back. We started hearing the rhythmic beats of choppers. Someone told us that GMA was coming over for their annual holiday. I'd rather not catch a glimpse of Gloria, especially since the trip was going on so well. K, on the other hand, was so mesmerized by the choppers that he pointed our huge 200mm lens at them and kept shooting. I asked him to stop since the lens might be mistaken for a weapon from afar. K dismissed my comments as ramblings of a paranoid mental institution escapee. Hehehe.

Photo credit: K

Final verdict? The trip was a blast. It was a much-needed escape for the elders from their daily work, and a new adventurous glimpse of the Philippines for my cousins. For K and me? It was the icing on the already delicious vacation we were having.

We heard that Sagada had several more good hiking spots to explore. With us only having 2.5 days, we barely inched along. I wouldn't be surprised if we'd be seeing Banaue and Sagada again soon.

banaue-sagada, part 1

2009-01-15T17:39:00.006+01:00

Photo credit: K

We woke up groggily, not knowing exactly where we were.

“Okay, everyone, off the bus! We’re here!” someone hollered.

I rubbed my eyes. Wha-? Weh? We’re here? We’re in Banaue?

Hmm, that 8-hour bus ride wasn’t so bad after all. Well, at least for me. (Thank you, Jetlag!) But ask K, my 13 other family members and their genetic stork-like legs, and you’d probably get pummeled by kicks in the shin.

---

It’s All About the View

The view of the rice terraces with the fog wafting between the mountains was a sight to behold. Finally, what had only existed as gray and brown prints in our Civics & Culture books, I can now behold live--in real techni-color! Surreal.

Can’t take your eyes off the amazing landscape? The People’s Lodge in Banaue solves this problem by having a window with an unobstructed view—in its public toilet! :o)

---

Batad

If Rome has The Colliseum, then Banaue has The Ampitheater.

Batad, with its gentle, sloping steps, is the largest stretch of terraces in Banaue. From Banaue’s town proper, it’s a 30-minute bumpy ride to Batad—but the journey does not end when you disembark and unfold your 5’8” frame from the jeepney. The jeep deposits you on cliff, from which innumerable steps descends down to a 2-hour hike through winding paths and over occasional streams.

Photo credit: K! :o)

When pressed on how our group was doing, our agreeable tour guide Albert conceded that we’re the slowest group ever. Haha! :o) I do think we could’ve made the hike in less than 2 hours, but with the rain transforming the route into a quagmire of slippery, muddy paths, I’d say we did quite well.

Some of us even invoked MacGyver on the way:

What do you do when the sole of your sandals come off? Keep the sole, put several socks over it, and tie them all together with vines and twine.

After the 2 hour hike, the Batad's pretty view, a family of chickens, and the best fried chicken ever awaited us.

(Oh no! Wait. The chicken didn’t come from the brood, did it??)

Oh, and a quasi-Igorot also welcomed us to the “pit stop”. (Sana siya na lang daw keysa kay Luli Arroyo.) She looks oddly like my youngest sister.

Up next: Sagada

tell me if this wouldn't make you furious

2009-01-13T11:08:00.007+01:00

I didn't hear about this when I was back home in Manila, so caught up I was with family, friends, wedding preps, and the shiny new billboards along EDSA advertising "One Night Only" or "Desperadas 2" during the wholesome holiday of Christmas.

But beneath the carefree gaeity is a reminder that it is not all well in the Philippines. That the country I was born in, the country I call my home, the country I love for its beauty and love despite its misgivings--is in a painful downward spiral, because people whom we trust to become our leaders are the ones pulling our nation down.

At around 1:30 PM today, at Valley Golf and Country Club, Antipolo City, Mayor Nasser Pangandaman, Jr., Mayor of Masiu City, Lanao del Sur, his father, Secretary Nasser Pangandaman of the Department of Agrarian Reform, and company, beat my defenseless 56-year-old dad and my 14-year-old brother to a pulp because of some stupid misunderstanding on the golf course.

The full story here.

Why do we end up choosing such disgusting people into leadership positions? Are we to blame, as unaware electorates? Or even if we're not to blame, and we say these people cheated their way up, is our country's political situation so maligned with corruption and dishonesty that there is no system of check and balances anymore?

My heart goes out to Decidido and her family. I applaud Decidido for bravely bringing their story out in the open. It is a reminder that--somehow, sometime--we have to fight these abusive "leaders" who draw their false sense of supremacy from bodyguards and guns. If being aware of their atrocities is the first step to a long journey, so be it. We musn't let them get away with this. We musn't.

a christmas powwow with pow

2009-01-11T23:24:00.009+01:00

My litany of homesickness continues: I cannot believe it has just been a mere week since I left Manila.

On the bright side, browsing through last year's Christmas pictures never fail to get an outburst of hapless giggles from me.

Every Christmas, our family gathers at our Grandma's place to celebrate the Yuletide together. This includes round-the-clock eating, and an evening segment of gift-giving. As the cousins grow up year after year--faster than any magic beanstalk--the aunts and uncles of our clan face a conundrum. Which gifts would please the tastes of these erstwhile kids, who are now maturing into varied individuals?

Eureka! said one aunt a few years ago. And, ever since then, it's back to basics as she has given us with presents that hark back to our 1980's childhood days. Hence, began an absurdly fun new tradition that is equal parts hilarious and nostalgic.

Excited wrapper-tearing from Year I revealed remote-controlled cars for the boys, and darling dolls for the girls. Year II brought forth miniature Transformers for the guys, and Play-doh for the ladies. This year? Toy laser guns.

Genius.

Suddenly, all the MBA-holders, all the budding entrepreneurs, the managers, the corporate analysts, the environmentalists, the university students, the exchange students have regressed from responsible adults to how we were 15 years ago, minus the sumbungan. Hahaha! Eat our dust, Benjamin Button.

When we were kids, we'd probably been most concerned on who had the flashiest gun. Now that we're--er, "grown-ups"--I think our utmost concern now was who had the flashiest pose and smile. Oy. Seductive looks, anyone? :oD

ich bin zurueck

2009-01-08T13:00:00.009+01:00

A Banawe breakfast. The perfect recipe to zap you awake after a gruelling 8-hour bus ride from Manila. More on our family's Banawe-Sagada adventure soon.

The cruelest thing one can inflict on a flawless mani-pedi* is too hide them inside gloves and boots, respectively. (They're even in Orly's bright, happy "It's up to blue" shade, no less!)

But how can I not? When, from one day to the next I was transported from 25-degree weather to minus 15-degree weather?! Global cooling, anyone?

Yep, I'm back in Bonn. A Bonn that is hit by a cold wave originating from Ukraine, to be exact. I'm currently figuring out how to maneuver my way through the city with a scarf coiled around my whole face. Ideally without a head-on collison with lampposts.

I'm in the process of sorting out my photos of my trip back home. I stumbled onto a picture of my longsilog breakfast in Banawe (see above)--and I swear to you--I drooled. Ohmygulay, can you see the mantika on the picture?? Nakakagigil! What I would give to have a bite of longganisa--now!

Home was really, really good. To have seen my sisters again and have chats with them. To have gossipped with my parents on family matters. To have bantered with my cousins--some of whom I hadn't seen for 2 years! To have caught up with old friends, to have been a bridesmaid in a kabarkada's wedding. Apart from that, K and I were mostly kept busy wedding venue hunting--and I'm happy to say that we have some prospects!

It has been extra hard to fly back to Germany this time around. I suppose it's because it was Christmas, and everyone I love were home. But just like my Orly pedi--which, while entrapped inside boots, the mere thought of which makes me cheery--I suppose while I can't see my loved ones right this moment, I can draw on those happy December memories to see me through this winter gloom.

*Salon review! :o) Orly mani-pedi was by the Emphasis salon in Rockwell. While the atmosphere was oddly cheerless and the receptionist unaccommodating, they did a wonderful job with my haircut and nails. I reckon I could survive 2 hours of unsmiling faces, so I think I'll go back to Emphasis again during my next trip home, if only for the skill they wield their scissors and nail polish brushes. Verdict: great output and cozy interiors, but improve the customer service, please!

oops!

2008-12-11T11:49:00.002+01:00

Hehehehehehe.

---

Looking forward to our 3-day stopover in Beijing before we continue on to the Philippines. K and I will be back in The Place Where It All Began after 6 years. With all the developments besieging the city, I'm not sure if we'd be able to recognize our Beijing anymore. Nevertheless, we are excited to see all the changes, to be in the middle of bustle and noise and confusion.

shake it

2008-12-04T14:29:00.004+01:00

There's something about waiting for a polaroid picture to develop in front of my eyes that keeps me captivated. I can just imagine the little color molecules jostling each other to their respective positions--"Blue, go the eyes section! Black, fill out the hair section...no, not that far up the forehead! Now, everyone! Shake! Shaaaake!"

Psycho. Harrumph.

So as I was saying, I am captivated by the Polaroid. So captivated that I joined the "3...2...1...meins" frenzy on eBay and got a vintage SX-70 for a friend's wedding. Instead of flowers, my friends and I presented the couple with a bouquet of Polaroids with best wishes inscribed on them. Ta-daaaah! :o)

However, with Polaroid stopping production of its instant films, the prices of the much-coveted films are sky-rocketing on the photographic stock market. When K got me my films, the store owner advised K to get a couple more, and to re-sell them in a year's time. (K got 2 packets of 20 films each for a whopping 70 euros! This trigger happy girl must remember not to get too trigger happy.)

Enter the internet. With all things going digital (albums, e-invites, check-ins, friendships...), why not Polaroids, too?

The Poladroid allows you to convert your normal digital images into Polaroid's endearing square format, with a retro colors thrown in. Currently, it's just for Mac users, but they're in the midst of developing a version for PC users so us pot-bellied, bespectacled, pie-chart-loving corporate geeks can have fun in our gray cubicles, too. :o)

I'd say nothing can replace the real Polaroid--the crisp click, the mechanical whirls, the square photo suavely sliding out. But with the production halt leaving us little choice, I think the Poladroid can very well be the digital substitute surfacing to color up the dark void. As a hat tip to the analog era, I heard you can virtually shake the pictures, too.

here's looking at you, kid

2008-12-02T00:43:00.012+01:00

Hassan II Mosque. One of the largests in the world, and also one of the most high-tech. It has a retractable roof which they open on sunny days so that the praying faithfuls can see the sky.

My movie whims come and go in spontaneous bursts and erratic choices. I'm by no means a movie buff, but when the desire to see a movie hits me, it can go anywhere from Hollywood summer flicks, to foreign film, to Oscar winners, to indie productions, or to classics.

Mostly, I go by the recommendations of the best critics--my sisters :o) Sometimes, it could be a sudden urge to learn more about history but finding myself too lazy to research the real thing, I decide to rent a close semblance of it. Plus authenticity points if it won an Oscar. Hahaha :o) (Btw, I watched "The Last King of Scotland" because of this logic, and what do you know--what an arresting movie with a fantastic portrayal by Forest Whitaker.) Sometimes, I'd google the top ten movies of the year at Rotten Tomatoes. (This is how I discovered "Once", and LOVED it.) Sometimes, it's a triggered thought--me sitting in a hair salon and watching my neighboring customer getting doused with hairspray. (The movie, of course, was waaay more fun than the salon variety. More environmental friendly, too.) ~~And then most of the time, it's my obsession over Brad Pitt.~~

And then sometimes, it's because I can relate to a situation (Lost in Translation), or I've been to where the movie was set.

The last logic is exactly how I came to watch "Casablanca" last night. I didn't expect much in the beginning. My roster of classic movies are few--"Love Story" (only because it was shown within "Sleepless in Seattle") and "Roman Holiday" (my former Indonesian roommate rented it and fell asleep while watching it). Both movies, while beautiful in its nostalgia and subtlety, could be a bit too slow-paced for me, so with that pre-biased thought in mind, I had set up the ironing board before pressing the play button for "Casablanca".

But before long, I quickly lost all interest in multi-tasking and had just wanted to focus on the movie. "Casablanca "was set in World War II, with Casablanca, Morocco as the backdrop for Europeans in transit and escaping to America. The story centers on the romance between Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), the cynical owner of an American cafe in Casablanca, and Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman), a beautiful, mysterious woman who, years ago, had disappeared on Blaine when they were about to flee Paris to Casablanca. The tension emerges again when Ilsa one day appears in Rick's cafe--together with a famed Resistance fighter hunted down by the Nazis.

Bogart did well to portray Rick--a bitter man who owes no one loyalty, and yet is a sentimentalist underneath. (Come on, who doesn't love a cynic with a soft heart?) Apart from Bogart's and Bergman's quietly magnetic acting chops, the movie was filled with colorful supporting characters who provided witty comebacks and understated amusing moments. All, of course, were done in a wonderful subtlety that is largely missing in today's fiber optic lightings and special effects.

If there are more classical films like "Casablanca", then all I can say is, "this is a start of a beautiful friendship". ;o)

The art deco Cinema Rialto in Casablanca. Opened in 1930.

---

Casablanca, of what little I saw from my business trip, is a bustling port city with an old world charm to it. You'd see seamen in their smart uniforms milling about at the harbor, and colorful art deco buildings peppered throughout the center. Numerous corner cafes (frequented by a largely male clientele) conjour memories of French colonialism. Nearby in little hidden courtyards snake open-air markets selling vegetables, flowers, fruits, parakeets, etc. Meanwhile, against the blue Altantic backdrop stands the tall, majestic tower of Hassan II Mosque--a testament of the country's Muslim faith.

Being a lone woman traveling is slightly intimidating, if only because I didn't know if I were breaking any social rules. I definitely got stares, were approached by a couple of curious bystanders, and was sometimes dismissed unceremoniously. But I think that's just because they're not used to a Chinese female wandering the streets alone. Generally, I found the people to be warm and helpful. My business contacts there made me feel at home, and they showed me a Moroccan hospitality similar to our Filipino culture back home.

Sugar rush. They sure love their breakfast sweet! The famous Moroccan mint tea is made out of smoky green tea, mint leaves, and a shovelful of sugar. Oh-so-unhealthy, but oh-so-yummy.

One of the highlights was meeting my translator. Ever since I saw Discovery Channel's Eco-challenge Morocco (like, 10 years ago) I've always wanted to visit the country. And guess what my translator did 10 years ago? He was working for the show! WOW! He obliged this star-struck fan by regalling me with short stories in between focus group discussions :o)

The Old Medina. Beautiful, but also a tourist trap.

I hope I can go back to Morocco one day, and this time not as a business traveler. If Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund will "always have Paris", I'd like to always have Morocco.

paris deux

2008-11-26T13:39:00.009+01:00

Louvre at night. Taken during this trip, Canon 400D.

So I got my wish.

Before the year was over, I made it back to Paris. Although, it wasn't in the most ideal situations--it was a business trip with my boss (eep!). But still, Paris IS Paris, and even if my heart broke a little knowing we wouldn't have time to set foot inside Musee d' Orsay, or stroll around Montmarte, or revisit the places I've forgotten, I was still enthralled to be back.

---

Big, exciting city, many exciting people. Taken in September 2005, Canon Powershot A75.

"When was the last time you were in Paris?" asked my boss as we settled into a cab on our way to the hotel.

"2005?" I quickly tried to remember what I saw then, but found the details hazy. "And it was only for 3 days, I think."

Each of us were looking out of the cab windows, drinking in as much of the city as we could, because tomorrow, we knew we were going to be trapped in a stifling beige-colored rectangular meeting room, sharing O2 and CO2 with random people in gray suits.

I spied an avant-garde corner boutique, several crowded cafes, and a girl wearing a blue plaid shirt and skinny jeans tucked into boots. My mental camera was going click-save, click-save, click-save.

"I can't believe I'm back in a big, cosmopolitan, bustling city," I breathed. (After 3.5 years in Bonn, I feel dangerously close to becoming a promdi.)

As if on cue, our cab driver swerved to avoid a car parked in a street corner. He braked beside the car, rolled down the window, and let loose a tirade of crème de la crème obscenities.

My boss peered at me over his spectacles and said wryly, "Yes indeed, you're back in a city."

I couldn't be more happier.

---

Say cheese! Taken in September 2005, Canon Powershot A75.

Despite my initial "eep" at the beginning of this post, traveling with my boss on business trips is quite okay. Doc (and henceforth he shall be baptised as such in my blog) is an eccentric, kind-hearted man with loads of curiosity, and he takes the time to talk about other things apart from the usual business blah-blah.

For this trip, he insisted I try escargot.

"I can't even pick up a snail! How do you expect me to eat them?" I grimaced.

"Oh, they're my favorite, you'll see," Doc said happily. (All I see was that he wasn't just content at afflicting me at work.)

Soon, the waiter brought over the instrument of torture--tongs to grasp the hot shells and small forks to ease the cooked snails out.

Then all too soon, the waiter brought over the celebrated dish.

Somehow, I was overly concerned whether I'd see the snail's antenna.

But in fact, it didn't look too bad. The shells were choked with butter, garlic, and pesto, deceptively camouflaging the slimy gastropods buried underneath in eternal slumber. Ew.

While contemplating on their fate...and mine, Doc was already digging enthusiastically into his first shell. He poked and prodded--et voila!--out comes the curled up, muddy-brown, disembodied snail. Doc chomped it down with gusto. "Your turn," he grinned sadistically.

After fumbling with mine, I found myself staring at my snail speared at the end of my fork. My snail wasn't so compact, and its end (which I imagined as the head) was left dangling under the prongs. (I also imagined a tiny tongue lolling out of its imaginary mouth, and its wilted antenna.)

I closed by eyes. Some of my favorite "disgusting" food--oysters, sea urchins, isaw, balut, at kung anu-ano pa flashed before my eyes. Fear Factor also flashed before my eyes. This should've been a piece of cake...but it wasn't.

Out of the corners of my vengeful eyes, I saw Doc giggling hysterically as I ever so slowly eased the escargot into my mouth.

Chew. Hmm, buttery and garlicky--very tasty.

Chew. Hmm, nice gummy texture.

Chew. But...it's a snail! It's a snail! It's a snail!!

Ewwww! I swallowed it in one hasty gulp. The slimy gastropod free-falled down my throat with a whee!

"I'm so proud of you, J," Doc said, laughing uncontrollably.

But I was already thinking how to import balut over and get him to eat it.

---

Taken in September 2005, Canon Powershot A75.

How do you distinguish a German from a Frenchman?

A Frenchman, upon seeing you with a luggage, would immediately pick it up for you and carry it down the stairs. When you smile and say, "Oh, no, thanks, I can carry it myself," he ignores your protests, and makes a detour from his usual route home so he can gallantly lug it for you until the subway station. Along the way, he keeps up a charming chatter about life in Paris. At the point of departure, he makes sure your luggage is safely back in your hands and kisses you adieu.

A German, upon seeing you handed back the luggage by the Frenchman, would politely ask, "May I help you with your luggage?" When you smile and say, "Oh, no, thanks, I can carry it myself," he smiles back, nods once, and briskly walks away.

(K, why couldn't your forefathers have stayed in France??? Hahaha!)

---

Along the Seine. Taken in September 2005, Canon Powershot A75.

And the final trivia from my brief Paris business trip:

In French, there's no word for the number "80". When the French want to say "80", they actually have to say "four twenties". When they want to say "95", they have to say "four twenties plus fifteen".

Cool, eh? And I had thought my grade school multiplication tables were difficult!

---

Can't wait for my next trip to Paris--leisure, business, or otherwise--and be enthralled all over again. Who knows what other interesting experiences Paris would bring?

&

2008-11-18T17:04:00.012+01:00

Overnight, NYC somehow sprouted a heavenly haven of shoe tiangge's. Never the ones to miss some shoe-shopping action, Carrie and I were right in the middle of the bustle, trying on shoes as fast as we can grab them off the shelves. Across the alley, Mr. Big winked as I looked over my shoulder.

All I could think of was, "Holy crap! What a fanta-bulous blog entry this will be! Shopping with Carrie!! 'Guess I'd have to postpone my big news to a later entry yet again!"

Then I woke up. Bwisit.

Well then, I guess this means the "big news" doesn't want to be postponed any longer. K and I are finally engaged :o)

I was waiting for the perfect moment to write it down, but work came up, business trips happened, and a drama of high school proportions unfolded. Then I realized--as K had realized when he proposed--that there is no perfect moment. You just have to take the leap.

K took "the leap" during our Tuscany trip.

And here, at this point of the story, my relatives would always go, "Wooo, how romantic!"

But really, the proposal in Tuscany sounded more romantic than it actually was. :o) It happened in a nondescript, gray Italian beach. (Refer to visual aid above. Pati Photoshop skills ko, na-challenge.) It was on the last hour of the last day of our 5-day road trip--having had done the Volterra-San-Gimignano-Sienna-Montalcino-Montepulciano-Montechillo circuit. To deviate from the "usual" Cyprus trees and wiggly countryside roads, K had suggested the Italian coast for our final, spontaneous destination.

K was adamant in finding a tiny seaside alcove called Villa Margherita, but with me navigating, you'd be lucky if I'm holding the map right side up. So we ended up in a bigger, more public beach at a place called Castagneto Carducci. (If I had known what was about to happen, I would've had made more effort making sense of the squiggly lines! Haha!)

In our Under-the-Tuscan-Sun-brainwashed minds, we imagined rocky outcrops and glorious sunsets. But it was outcast, and since beach season was over, there was a lack of tight and toned bodies lounging around. Instead, all that were left flopping on the beach had a forgotten, melancholic quality to them.

K and I started walking along the coast away from the scraggly crowd, reflecting on our Tuscany trip and lamenting how we'd miss it so.

After awhile, we found a relatively quiet spot, took off our flipflops and sat on them. In the usual K & J way, we were bantering with each other--when K paused (electrifyingly, if there's such a thing) and started, "May I ask you a question?"

And then I knew. I knew! Oh my goodness, I knew what was going to happen! So like how any fiance-to-be would naturally react, I started frantically pulling up pebbles under the sand and building a miniature Stonehedge. If K hadn't continued on, I probably would have gone on to construct a 10-minaret sandcastle complete with moat and drawbridge--it was that much of an overwhelming moment.

K made a sweet, short speech of our years together. (Six-point-five years!) We giggled so much (with sniffles), that I don't know how we'll ever go through the wedding vows when the time comes. Finally, with solemnity, K popped the question...just as a really obese woman with jiggly cellulite channeling Pamela Andersen was jogging in front of us.

I shall remember that moment forever.

Hehehe, whoops :o)

So see, I'm not exaggerating--it was not romantic at all. But it was sweet and private, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. And so, with a single syllable answer to one of the most momentous questions in life, I took the leap with K.

my first arroz caldo

2008-11-08T22:36:00.008+01:00

The first arroz caldo I cooked, that is. I had to photograph it; otherwise, no one would believe me. :o)

If you still don't believe the photo, my Versuchskanninchen ("experiment bunnies" when translated literally, or what we know as guinea pigs) all survived to vouch for it, and will also throw in a two thumbs up each for good measure. Because--thank beginner's luck--it tasted kick-ass. (It helped that all of my guinea pigs are German, and don't know any better how it should really taste. Hahaha! See, I even had to substitute lemon slice for calamansi, because no Asian store here, no matter how magical and well-stocked, carries calamansi--unfortunately. Boo.)

The recipe was passed on to me by friend/ colleague / fellow kababayan D. And to kick-off The Season of Spreading Love (and Calories!), here you go:

Ingredients:
60ml (1/4 cup) olive oil
1 kg chicken, cut into serving pieces
1 head garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
100g ginger, peeled and cut into 1cm slices
300g (1 1/2 cups) uncooked rice
1 3/4 - 2 liters (7 - 8 cups) chicken broth
3 tablespoons patis (fish sauce), or to taste
1/4 cup chopped spring onions, to garnish
6 - 8 calamansi

1. In a casserole, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Brown the chicken pieces lightly then remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.
2. In the same casserole, saute half of the garlic until lightly brown. Remove the browned garlic from pan and set aside. Pour in remaining oil. Saute ginger and remaining garlic.
3. Add the rice and stir to coat the grains with the oil. Pour in the 1 3/4 liters (7 cups) of chicken broth. Add the chicken and patis. Allow to simmer until rice and chicken are fully cooked, about 40 minutes. Add more broth (and fish sauce) if necessary. The mixture should have a soupy consistency when fully cooked.
4. Spoon into individual serving bowls and garnish with the browned garlic and spring onions. Serve with calamansi.

Serves 6
Preparation time: 10 mins
Cooking time: 35 minutes

Described as "a rice porridge rich with the flavors of chicken broth and ginger, this dish is a favorite on cold, rainy nights", it certainly brightened up my blustery, pre-winter evening in Germany. (And I hoped it also soothed K's post-wisdom-tooth-removal battered gums.)

Arroz caldo has always been one of my comfort food (along with other Pinoy favorites such as puto bumbong, pichi-pichi, bibingka...*drool*), and inhaling the tangy, gingery smell in the warm kitchen was almost like being back home. Almost. I can't wait for the real thing when I fly home with K this December. :o)

cause you had a bad day, you're taking one down

2008-11-05T18:08:00.005+01:00

I've been meaning and meaning and meaning to write, but things have been just so hectic. I have good news to share and 2 good trips to share, but before I could, it seems that someone just bulldozed and dumped bad news all over them.

So in the meantime, I am posting a random picture I took in the last flea market of the year in Bonn. (Yet another sign that winter is upon us!) Instead of buying all of them junk up, I was happy enough to photograph them. Sweeeet :o) Unfortunately, this practice doesn't work as effectively when I step into a Mango or Zara store! Hahaha.

As for the little text on the upper righthand corner--call it a whimsy dream, a fanciful wish. I thought the picture needed some text, but I couldn't think of any words. Then those words popped into my head, and stubbornly clung on until my brain was so consumed by the sound and look of it, that I couldn't think of any other text to put in. So there you go. :o) Makes me want to cry...

...especially with all the drama going down in the workplace. Some of which are work-related, and some, colleague-related. More specifically, colleague-turned-friend-but-maybe-not-anymore-related. Urg. It's so high school. I'm half-expecting Ashley Tisdale to bop in and break into a villainous song. Sigh, and I thought I left all of these in 1995.

A good friend / kababayan / fellow corporate slave consoled me today by imparting these words of wisdom, "Impulse makes us angry, pride keeps us angry." And nope, it's not me who's impulsive or prideful this time. Nope, nope, nope. Although I am deeply disappointed by the unfairness of it all.

Anyway! Anyway! I promise better things in my next post. I've been focusing a lot on my photos lately, because they make me happy. Words are more dangerous--they tend to come alive on their own, and before you know it, you're pounding out a crappy post like this on your keyboard. Oooh, boy. Haha.

Things will get better. It will, it will.

airing out the laundry

2008-10-02T12:09:00.013+02:00

Seriously. It is time to find a new home.

Last night, as I opened the door to the shared apartment, shaking the last bit of raindrops from my umbrella, roommate N pounced on me. "There's a homeless person living in our basement, " she announced.

"There's a what!" I turned around, half-expecting a bedraggled psycho with an eyepatch lumbering up the stairway. (Don't look at me. I don't know why I imagined an eyepatch.)

"No, no, " she hastily tried to calm me down, ushering me in squeaky wet boots and all. "He's not that big. He's tiny...and polite...but he smells horrible, like alcohol."

"Polite?! Since when is entering a private property and squatting in our basement...polite?"

"Well, I discovered him when I went down to get something from our storage room. He was sleeping on old mattresses the neighbors put out for garbage day. He scared the hell out of me...so he kept apologizing, 'Sorry, did I scare you? Are you mad at me?'...But, he really smells."

I was still dumfounded on how my roommate is trying to justify the homeless man's manners. That's how polite and trusting Germans are, no kidding. :o) "Wait, wait--so what did you do?"

"The man said he asked for our neighbor's permission to stay, and that they said yes--"

"They said yes?!" My voice rose to a crystal-shattering octave.

N smiled apologetically. "Yeah, so I spoke to our neighbor--you know that frizzy-haired woman? She told me that she had been approached by the homeless man a couple of times to ask for lodging, but she has never allowed the man to stay. And now she said she's gonna call the cops to evict the man. But I was here the whole afternoon and no cops came. So may guess is, our neighbor really allowed the person to stay, but just didn't want to admit it."

The logic eludes me, but there is a more pressing matter than analyzing the mental stability of our neighbor. "And now? Can't we call the cops?" I'm not really the most proactive person in the world, but I think this situation calls for some top-priority butt-busting action.

"We wait." N smiled apologetically.

I blinked at her.

"The neighbor said she's going to call," N reasoned. (Right, the neighbor who presumably let the man in.) "Besides, "N continued, "we don't really know if he's still there or not."

"Hmm, " I ventured. "Er...do you want to check then? I mean, us? Together check?" With sticks and kitchen knives, preferably?

"No." N winced. "Do you?"

"No," I answered quickly, quicker than Speedo Gonzales.

We looked at each other. I thought of our laundry machine in the basement.

"Well, I guess I'm not going to do my laundry then. I'll just buy new underwear, " I said matter-of-factly.

"Good idea."

And that was that.

---

There are four of us in our Wohnunggemeinshaft (WG), or shared apartment--two German guys, one German girl, and one of your odd Asian varieties.

In the beginning, I had thought that living with local would be a fun way to integrate into the Bonn society, but I quickly found out that our schedules and interests are too different. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice (except for the hyperventilating, hallucinating media guy), but it’s not really a home.

More and more I find myself gravitating to the idea of renting out my own space, decorating it to my heart’s delight, and hosting people for dinner or cocktail parties. If only I wasn't so torn about finances. The money I save up in housing is equivalent to my yearly trip home...and some occasional shopping splurges. Hehe.

Living in a WG has given me plenty of fodder for small talk though. Like when one of my roommates had his girlfriend over and had a candlelight bubble bath for 2 hours—and we only have one bathroom in the whole apartment! Man, my poor bladder. To be fair, my roommate did come out wrapped in a towel and pieces of bath foam, and told me in all sincerity, “If you have to go, my girlfriend and I can come out for awhile.” Eh, no thanks. I’ll just run to the pizza place around the corner. Hahaha! Oh dear.

So yeah, an apartment to call my own would be nice :o)

---

Then again…sometimes you think, who needs a home when the whole world can be your home? A friend sent me this link:

http://de.youtube.com/watch?v=bNF_P281Uu4

The “Where the Hell is Matt?” series is composed of short clips which show a guy—I guess, Matt—dancing his funny little dance in every place he’s visited around the world. It made me chuckle and teary-eyed at the same time.

Still haven’t got enough of Matt? Here’s another one. (Apparently, a company decided to sponsor him this time around. Cool :o))

http://de.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY&feature=user

Up next: Tuscany and some news

all discoveries should be like this

2008-09-16T11:01:00.006+02:00

A recent delectable discovery.

Raspberry and figs in wheat-flavored yoghurt--a wonderful and healthy companion to autumn mornings. (And such a visual treat, too! The colors are delicious.)

---

Experimenting with the vintage look in photography. Not quite there yet--by a mile! I'd like to have my food photos in softer, pinkish / beige-y tones. Any tips, blogging world?

---

While surfing for food photography in Flickr, I discovered La tartine gourmande's photostream. It makes you kind of wish you can reach into your computer monitor and grab her kitchen creations.

A few clicks here and there, and I found her official photography and styling website. It is a must-see. Her food and travel photos are gorgeous.

---

We're flying to Tuscany tonight! I hope Béatrice Peltre's photos will serve as inspirations as we discover fresh pasta, sun-kissed olives, and chianti wine!

K and I even watched "Under the Tuscan Sun" last Sunday. Hahaha! We are so psyched!

heartbreaker

2008-09-15T10:39:00.003+02:00

Yesterday, K and I accompanied a couple-friend our ours to a dog breeder living in a village one hour out of Bonn. Our friends are planning to choose a pup for their parents to motivate their parents to walk outside and exercise more often. But, they also have a hidden agenda--since our friends want a 4-footed companion themselves but cannot maintain one due to their busy working schedule, they're convincing their parents to get one instead! How sneaky! How smart! :oD

I didn't realize how technology has also influenced dog breeding. Each pup was injected with a tiny chip into his/her ear for tracking and information purposes. The breeder only needs to hover a device over the ear, and information about the pup shows on the device--vaccines administered on the pup, registration number, whether the pup has already been chosen by a buyer, etc.

We lingered at the dog breeder for awhile, snuggling the pups and playing with a full-grown yellow lab. (The yellow lab was named after the German footballer Poldi. And interestingly enough, the dog Poldi was very good at blocking our football kicks!) We went with the couple's parents in mind, but we all ended up wishing we could pick out one chocolate lab pup for ourselves!

Hmm, I wonder if we can convince K's parents to get a dog as well??

still alive

2008-09-11T11:57:00.004+02:00

Amongst the brouhaha of editing pictures, cramming for GMAT, planning for the Tuscany trip, working, and breathing, I don't have much time for anything else. (Oh, I did manage to wedge in a viewing of Ironman and Transformers the other week--yuppers, I live under a rock--but more on that later.)

The experience of shooting at K&W's wedding was freaky-stressful yet invaluable. It taught me one major thing--that there is still so much to learn, and I have not yet even scaled a kilometer of the Mt. Everest of photography. I still goof up on something as basic as sharpness. As long as my subjects are immobile, then I'm fine. But as soon as they move--as living human beings are wont to do--then my photos come out all Jackson Pollock.

One other thing that came out of this experience is how my love for Photoshop has now been totally, irrevocably chiseled in stone. Photoshop, will you marry me?

---

Before I tuck myself into bed, let me just say, Ironman rocks. And I think this is largely because Robert Downey Jr. gave such an impressive performance as Tony Stark--coming off as a brilliant, over-confident a*hole and yet very likeable at the same time. Stark's chemistry with Pepper Potts also brought in a surprise kilig factor that is light-hearted yet palpable--something absent from many superhero movies.

Then, there's The Transformers. It was a thrill to see them on big screen--and the CGI was impeccably done, too!--but other than that, I didn't find it much to my liking :o( (I'm sad that I don't like it, because I very much had wanted to like it.) The storyline was somehow...flat, and I didn't find the human characters endearing. Now the Autobots, that's a different aspect altogether. :o) That Bumblebee--he played that old Player's song "Baby Come Back", and now I have a major case of LSS for days! Haha!

---

I can't wait for my GMAT to be over. D-Day is on the 25th of September. After that, I can go rejoin the human race once again. More movies to watch, more books to read, more photography, more meet up with friends, more cooking, more German-learning, etc. etc.

But, one step at a time, dearie.

And for now, the next step is directed towards my bed. G'night.

my first polish wedding

2008-09-04T10:15:00.009+02:00

Getting ready. My Polish friend K preparing for her big day, and for the rest of her life.

If the P and A's Indian wedding last October was the most populous, this Polish one was the most personal of all weddings I've ever been to. One can truly, truly feel the love the family and friends have for the couple.

I was honored to be the bride's personal paparazzi for the day, for I was able to witness Polish traditions normal guests wouldn't have seen otherwise. One ritual was so intimate, that I didn't even dare to click the noisy camera shutter for fear of ruining the moment.

In the Philippines, the couple are not allowed to see each other before the actual ceremony. However, in Polish weddings, it all starts when the groom and his family go to the bride's house to pick up the bride. The mom of the bride then gathers everyone around to bless the couple in the privacy of the 2 families.

I didn't understand the Polish words being said by the mother, but what I did understand was the tremble of her emotion-laden voice, the quiet "oh, Mama" of the bride, and the sniffle of a family member. The prayer-blessing ends with the couple hugging each family member, and family members hugging one another. A beautiful moment unfolded where one can see that 2 families are becoming one because of the union of the bride and groom.

While pouring The Best Egg Cognac in the Galaxy into little goblets in preparation for a toast, the mom of the bride turned to me and said, "This is a very, very special moment. I cannot even describe it to you." A pause, and then, "I think I need a cigarette." Hahaha! She is a lovely woman, and provided me with sound bytes throughout the day. :o)

Soon, the moment of quietness and intimacy started to dissipate, to be replaced by the frantic logistics involved in a wedding day. The next time I would see the bride was when she was silhoutted against the church door, with rain pouring behind her, about to be led down the aisle by her father.

As the groom turned to kiss the bride, the mom shuffled sideways down the pew to me and whispered conspirationally, "I suspect they have been kissing for quite some time, but now at least it is officially legal." Teeheeheehee.

---

The reception was fantastic--and not just because they started serving vodka cocktails even before the 3-course meal + dessert buffet began. Despite the suits and pearls, the crowd was relaxed and friendly. Our 7-person AIESEC contingent easily mingled with the groom's super Austrain friends.

Hahaha--I can't find the adjective to describe them other than "super". Because they are. One worked in the film industry and was asked by the groom to be the videographer of the day. We would down shots of vodka, then pick up our respective equipments and yodel, "Okay, time to go to work!" :o)

"Work" was both easy and difficult, precisely because there were many things going on at the same time--how the bride and groom walked into the reception hall and was offered bread by the parents; how during the toast, all the guests collectively sang the couple a Polish song; how after the toast, the couple threw their champagne glasses over and behind their heads for good luck.

I couldn't get a clear close-up shot of anyone; all my pictures contained masses of people. It seems that the Poles do things collectively, and in close proximity. Throughout the night, guests lined up in front of the couple to wish them wedded bliss and to present gifts. The couple expressed thanks by hugging each of the guest that came up to them.

The Poles knew how/what/when to sing, too. After each of the fathers' speeches, the whole congregation of guests just stood up and started singing. Austrian filmmaker C and I were equally bewildered as we were suddenly enveloped by a towering crowd of singing Poles. He spun around with his videocam, trying to capture the moment, while I raised my camera up high to catch as much angle as possible.

During a Polish wedding, it's also customary to have the people closest to the couple perform. Groom W's younger brother strummed his guitar to a couple of Beatles songs, and the Austrians surprised everyone by galumphing in in traditional lederhosen and performing a dance number. It wasn't just the performance that blew me away, it was how their eyes spoke--the love, the pride, the gratitude. And the hugging! There was so much hugging!

At one point, amidst the revelry, it was announced that the bride was "kidnapped", and that the groom must do certain tasks to win her back. Their methods of torture was to make him sing, drink vodka, and recite a poem. When he was finally deemed worthy, the bride was "released". And here--I cannot believe it, it seemed something out of a movie--the bride came running through the crowd with laurels on her head, jumped into the groom's open arms, and the groom spun her around and around while the guests clapped. The family joined them and they wrapped their arms around one another, while the guests slowly formed a circle around them, and they all started swaying to the music.

Austrian C turned me in disbelieving wonder and whispered, "In filmmaking, this is where the camera pans overhead and slowly withdraws, and the screen fades to black."

So we decided just that--we put our videocams and cameras down, joined the rest of our friends scattered around the bar, the dessert buffet, the late-night grill, and partied until 3am.

to think it all started with a dwarf

2008-08-21T11:14:00.011+02:00

We are going to Tuscany!
We are going to Tuscany!
We are going to Tuscany!

If you want to go be precise, the inkling of a trip started years ago, when I first saw "Under the Tuscan Sun" on a plane.

However, as most travel plans are wont to be, they're chucked away for some other time in light practicality. Besides, at that time, who would have thought I'd end up in Europe??

But then, about a month ago, the Traveling Bug (the country cousin, not the city one) bit me hard. It told me to explore the European countryside.

I swatted it away, but the infection was already spreading all over.

The final straw came the other day, while I was having a meeting with my boss. He was rambling on and on (and on!) about research theories, when I finally realized who he looked like:

Doc, from Snow White!

Someone should have given me an Oscar for maintaining a poker face during the rest of the meeting.

While looking for a picture of Doc to prove to my colleague/friend that I am not a nutcase, I stumbled into a fantastic blog whose owner painstakingly recreates animation backdrops as a hobby. (Hat tip to Rob Richards for an amazing collection!)

And in that blog, I saw these frames--recreated from Disney's Pinocchio.

Don't the streets and alleys look positively rustic and charming?? And then I thought, hmmm, these must be based somewhere.

So I googled some more.

...And found that Pinocchio originated from a little Tuscan village called Collodi. How quaint!!

I spent a good chunk of my evening googling for villages in Tuscany. It gave me such a googling high! No doubt about it now, we have to go there.

K, who was looking forward to go away after his 6-month probation period in his new company, was so thrilled I was not choosing another metropolis this time, that he whole-heartedly agreed to the destination of choice.

After a few heart-quickening clicks on several budget airline websites, we finally settled on TUIfly. We'll be on our way to Toscana in a months' time!

And to think it all started with Doc the Dwarf, with the help of Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket :o)

*pause* *rethinks what she has just typed*

Fine, so I'm a nutcase. But we're going to Tuscany! Woohoo!

you learn something new everyday

2008-08-19T09:39:00.010+02:00

The vase is an spontaneous, 50%-off buy in an attempt to inject a bit of sculptural accent into my room. Sometimes, it looks to me like a heart which has not taken a breath for a hundred years. But hey, it's turquoise and it's funky and I like it :o)

Toni of Wifely Steps was kind enough to impart to me the Secret of Rounded Corners (see above). Simply go to Flickr, and edit your photos online via Picnik by clicking the "edit photo" button. It's a fun and frill-free way to tweak your photos (add frames, change tones) to give them that extra oomph. (Thanks, Toni!)

This little gem of tech knowledge reminded me of 3 links I saw once upon a time. Mentalaxis offers a list Flickr tools, with Photojojo following suite, while Big Huge Labs has a collection of Flickr toys to help you “do cool stuff with your digital photos”. They’re guaranteed to make you lose track of time. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Oops, one more thing. Linking to all this tech sites is a mental nudge for me to finally post a great article on how to de-clutter your PC. I stumbled upon this when my laptop almost gave me a coronary by snottily declaring that its scratch disk is sooo full that it can’t cram another single pixel into it. *clutches heart* You’ll find plenty of other fantastic, guide-to-life (computer or otherwise) articles like that in Lifehacker, including a piece on Top 10 Modern Life Survival Skills. :o)

Isn't it silly how my train of thoughts functions?

what made my monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday....

2008-08-07T16:57:00.005+02:00

Adorable photo courtesy of my sis.

GRABE, GIVE ME A MOP, BECAUSE I THINK MY HEART JUST MELTED INTO A PUDDLE. ANG CUUUUTE. *expletives of endearment*

If you want to check out what else our dogs are up to at home, surf over to my sis' link.

brush with blue blood

2008-07-30T13:39:00.006+02:00

I recently found out that I'm a friend and an office seatmate to descendants of aristocrats! (And I don't mean the Disney version.) My European trip is complete!

Who would have thought that not one, but two, of them walk in our hallowed office halls? Although the elegant surnames should have already tipped me off. One of them has a family name that very roughly translates to "from the hawk." (Pardon my rusty grasp of the old Germanic language.) While the other is such a mouthful, the parents may might has well named him Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious to match the surname. (His translate something like "to the inner house and [some other] house.")

I always had a feeling that they were somehow different from the rest of the Germans I've met. Their actions were more delicate and refined, their way of speaking more measured and gentle, their attitudes very polite and gracious. And their fashion sense--preppy galore! Does lineage inherently install certain traits in a person?

Another clue was that both guys knew each other, even if their jobs are not related in any way. That got me thinking...long surnames, same behavior, similar mindsets...what is the link here? A similar social circle. But what exactly? Little did my inner Nancy Drew knew then, that one of the guys hobby of restoring old castles meant more than an appreciation of Germany's heritage. Heck, he himself is Germany's heritage!

This guy, Y, had a grandfather who is apparently a key figure during World War I. I went home and googled, and--voila!--the family name is plastered all over my computer screen. Whoaaa, this is fierce.

When I found out, I decided I needed to "out" the other guy, C, as well. The intrigue and mystery is gnawing off my sleuthing cap!

The following day, on Free Ice Cream Wednesdays Day in our office, I happened to be standing beside C as we were wolfing down our icey treats. (Okay, I was wolfing it down. He was daintily attacking it.)

"Hey, I brought Y to our office the other day to show him around. He said he knew you?" I ventured.

"Oh yes," C replied, in the German version of a British accent. "I do know him. We're good friends."

"Sooooooo...are you a count, too? No? A duke? A prince???" (And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what separates a peasant from royalty--a four-letter word called tact.)

Luckily, C's baron-ly face broke into a smile. And that's how I got to learn a bit about his family history. That one of his great uncles was also a general. ("Although Y's ancestor is more famous," C explained.) And how, when one is born into aristocracy (at least in Germany), one's family history is inadvertently entwined with that of the country's. (Here, he pauses to smile a mysterious rueful smile.) And that while aristocracy as a class has been abolished long ago and is dwindling, the families still tend to know of each other.

Anything else?

"Our family also used to have a castle," C said matter-of-factly. "But it's location is now in Polish territory."

I tsk-tsked. "Oy, wrong investment, huh?"

"You could say that," he chuckled.

As we were heading back to our work stations after the ice cream break, he suddenly told me--with utmost sincerity, "Thank you."

Eh? For nosing around?

"Thank you for asking all that. I enjoyed talking about it."

Wow. What did I tell you about their graciousness? And next time, he said, he'd be glad to hear about my family history when we continue our chat.

It's a deal. My family's no aristocrat nor are we militarily decorated, but I'd say my granddad did some amazing things himself. Somehow, I feel that the turmoils of past has brought the people of those times to engage in courageous acts--aristocracy or no aristocracy. But that's another story.

For now, I'm glad that there are now more things than calories to look forward to on Ice Cream Wednesdays.

the id of my blog

2008-07-29T23:56:00.000+02:00

I've been seeing this in the blogosphere the past couple of weeks. Thought I'd try it out--it's easy fun, you won't break a sweat, and the design is really cute. (I'm into words and typography these days. :o)) I think it would even be nice to blow the image up into a poster to hang up on the wall.

Brought to you by Wordle, a site that generates word collage/art from text you type in, or from any website. You can even key in the URL of your blog (like I did), and be surprised with what your blog's been blabbering about.

Glad to see that despite the mental chopsuey, I still found a space to laugh. (Try to spot the tiny, teeny "Hahaha" amongst the chaos! :o))

different but same same?

2008-07-28T11:10:00.010+02:00

Smog here, smog there, smog everywhere. Jodphur, the blue city, India.

With the Beijing Olympics coming up, everyone's a-buzz with updates happening in the capital of the Middle Kingdom--from global network news to lunchtime conversations to emails from friends in Beijing.

I am not going to discuss the Tibet or Sudan issues here. I don't think I have the analytical clout to discuss politics--my brain would probably go booooft!--nor do I possess the mettle / folly to begin a debate on "hot" topics I merely know generally and would need to dig deeper.

Instead I'm going to zone into the tiny details, like the micro-managing person that I am. Whoop! :o)

First, there is the odd/even carplate coding in Beijing--an attempt to reduce the smog over the city, hovering thickly and unhealthily like a dude in a bar trying to score your number.

Good effort, but I can't help but think that it is also only a quick-and-dirty-and temporary solution to impress the world when all eyes are locked into Beijing.

"So," I said to Chinese colleague M, "I heard Beijing has implemented this car-coding thing to reduce air pollution."

"Oh yeah," she affirmed. "My friend is having some problems with it because her family owned an odd-numbered carplate."

"I guess she has to brave the public transportation then, huh?" I replied sympathetically.

"Oh nooo." M broke into a wide smile. "Their family simply bought a new car with an even carplate."

"And this is supposed to help China?"

"Yes, it's helping China's automobile industry!"

How generous, but wrong industry!

---

A couple of days later, K received an email from his "Italian mafia" in Beijing, saying that a new regulation has been passed banning blacks and Mongolians into bars to deter drug trafficking and prostitution.

What the--?! First off, I thought we're past the era of such blatant discrimination? Second, how could the government think that what may be true for some people is true for an entire race or ethnic group? And third, what about the Olympic ideals of unity and friendship? For crying out loud, the Beijing Olympics' slogan is "One World, One Dream"--not "193 countries, 4 human races with 30 subgroups, 5000 ethnic groups..."!

The fears of drug trafficking and prostitution is valid, but this is not a valid way of handling it. Once again, I have a feeling that this "solution" is only concerned with the surface, but does not tackle the real cause. It makes me wonder what would happen to these regulations after the Games are over--would they pull them out, would they continue imposing them? And then what--what is the end goal? Would they look into long-term solutions?

Having Chinese roots and having lived in Beijing for a year, I feel for the country and its people, and fervently hope that it would succeed in winning the world's heart during the Olympic Games. But it is already one of the more controversial Games we've witnessed over the last years, and if the government is going to make more superficial snap decisions, it's not going to help any.

That being said, despite the volatile issues that have marred this year's Olympics, I still wish a successful run for China. It is after all, a sporting event at its core, one that inspires the world and unites the people to transcend the daily politics and the controversies to become swifter, higher, stronger.

(As for myself, I wish for a successful TV/channel search in Germany, where I can follow the Games. My first Games away from home! Don't know why, but it's bittersweet somehow.)

snaps!

2008-07-02T09:46:00.012+02:00

Hollow. Taken while hiking near an abandoned miliary camp in Eifel, Germany.

Don't ask me how, but somewhere between my internet surfing, I stumbled into MTV's new reality series, Legally Blonde the Musical: The Search for Elle Woods.

And I've been hooked ever since. Who would have known that watching pink and perky girls could be so addicting?!

But I suppose it's largely because it revolves around theater, and I've always been intrigued by what goes behind the scenes in the secret world of stage. (Okay, Jill, stop trying to redeem yourself.)

And then somehow, I found this, and ended up watching the whole musical, when I should be doing other things.

At first, I thought rather condescendingly, This is nothing compared to Wicked. But no sooner had that critique bubbled in my mind, than I found myself humming to their songs, punctuated by my own shrill "Omygod, you guys!"

Having had forgotten the movie, I had a set impression that Legally Blonde was a stereotypical chick-flick with an offhand attempt at girl power. However, after listening to the musical version, I realized that Legally Blonde is less blonde than I'd originally thought. It's fun and frivolous, yes--but it's also about how a girl can be all Ms. Independent and Ms. Go-Getter, even if she starts off on that journey for the wrong reasons.

And oddly enough, I can relate. (Jill makes a quick hair check--okay, still black-tressed!)

When Elle studies for her LSAT with her pink pen, I am comforted that I am not alone with my GMAT slogging and rallies on with my blue butterfly pen. :oD

When Emmett sings: "You came out here to follow a man/ Harvard law was just part of that plan/ Man, what rich romantic planet are you from?", I am reminded that I should still try and pursue my own path, even if coming to Germany was "just" part of the plan to be nuture my relationship with K. (Question is, how? Heh.)

He continues with, "There's a chip on my shoulder/ And it's big as a boulder/ With the chance I've been given/ I'm gonna be driven as hell." I swear, inspiration bells are ringing inside my head.

By the time Elle belts out, "I'll be there on Monday nine o'clock/ And we will see who walks the walk/ No no I can't wait!/ I will be there at eight/ When they unlock the door/ Oh oh/ I'll even dress in black at white/ See I have not begun to fight/...I am so much better than before!", I am snapping in agreement.

I want to be better than who I am before, and I know I can find ways to become better. I just have 3 devils: laziness, complacency, and fear. But with the songs still wafting fresh through my head, and with my recent eye-opening London trip, I'm trying to fight my way out of my hollow cocoon of apathy, figuring out the next step, figuring out how to face reality head on.

My blackened heart has turned pink, and snaps for that.

the electroscope

2008-07-01T14:48:00.004+02:00

Mirror of Erised? Not quite, but similarly awe-inducing.

Don’t you love it when you get those “surprised gasp” moments? An amazed intake of breath so sharp that it feels like you’re sucking the atmosphere out of air?

Welcome The Electroscope.

When you peer into the huge glass, you’d be able to see the people peering into the other end of this telescope. (If you look at the photo carefully, you could actually spot the silhouettes of the people in the “tunnel”.)

And guess where the other end is????

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK!

I know. I gasped audibly myself. (The last time this happened was when someone showed me a corporate giveaway—a pen which also dispenses post-it notes! How cool is that?! Hahaha!)

And apparently, the Queen who celebrated her birthday a day earlier, went to visit The Electoscope! (Sayang, di naabutan. Brush with royalty sana! Teehee.)

[Edit: What a well-thought hoax, complete with an invented back story! Thanks, Sir Wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telectroscope . Glad to get to the bottom of this, but sadly with a price--now I am disillusioned.]

fi-na-le, oh-wo-o-oh

2008-06-26T11:05:00.009+02:00

Germans doing funky things with their cars. My camera doing funky things with its focus.

Finally, Germany got what it was denied 2 years ago during the World Cup--a golden ticket to the finals! Woot!

Germany won yet again (3:2), this time in a heart-clutching semifinal match against Turkey.

Although, truth be told, it wasn't one of Germany's best games, and most of the rest of the world were rooting for the fiery, determined underdogs that is Turkey. Normally, I like underdogs, but *glum*--I like my Mannschaft boys too much.

But here in Bonn, there was no one else was in their hearts but "Zuper Deustchland".

The Germans were revved up to celebrate...and to defy all laws there is by hanging out of the cars like Chinese Circus Troupe wannabees. (Safety laws, traffic laws, Laws of Gravity...you name it.)

I was afraid the Germany-Turkey match would bring out hostilities between the large Turkish migrant population and the "host" German population--as little sparks of friction undeniably do exist in such population mixes. But I only saw good sportsmanship (fan-manship?), and once again I am touched by how sporting events can bring people together.

Most cars boasted German colors--true; but there were also a few cars with Turks who were both clutching Turkish and German flags. (Unfortunately not caught on cam.)

And the best sign that German-Turkish relationship is still a-okay? The döner kebab houses are packed that night, and business has never been better. Who's the winner this time, ey? :o)

---

Museumsmeile set up a huge public viewing screen for the match, and unbeknownst to us, they were controlling the number of people entering the venue.

Of course, being me and my comrades being 2 Indians, we were late. And, being me and my comrades being 2 Indians, we still expected to be let in.

We flirted with the doorman at the main entrance--3 Asian girls versus 1 Caucasian--I think we got him outnumbered in more ways than one. You could see he was close to succumbing into our (rusty) wily ways, but he ultimately held up his principles.

We rushed to another entrance and this time was met with a doorwoman. Funny Indian A cajoled her, "We're Asians and this is our first time to experience such an event! It's a cultural experience! And cultural experience means you have to welcome us with hospitality."

Hah. All we got was hostility and the tent flap zipped shut at our faces. Ah, 1st world countries. There is a reason why you're a 1st world nation--discipline.

But there's also a reason why we're a 3rd world country--our twisted brand of resourcefulness. It is precisely because of this that we're a 3rd world country, but at the same time, we need it to survive.

And so we found an unguarded part of the tent, lifted the flap, and sneakily crouched our way in.

As we "blended into the crowd", Indian A gave out an excited squeal, "Oooh! This is sooo much more fun that coming in the proper way."

Unbridled, cup-runneth-over, let's-twist-it-around-so-it-sounds-good optimism--that's part of being 3rd world, too. :o)

chance encounters

2008-06-19T11:18:00.007+02:00

She affected me so much.

She was old and majestic, yet also up-to-date and pulsing with life.

I was lost in her energy, and I immersed myself in her grandness.

Sometimes she was a tad bit too sharp, but here and there I saw little pockets of love, too.

She understood me, and I understood her! (Lingustically speaking, at least :o))

I took note of her uniqueness and quirkiness and grunge-glam vibrancy in what very little time I had.

She made me cry but I told her, "London, I will be back."

oom ba whoom ba

2008-06-17T09:49:00.014+02:00

Lucky shot, unlike Ballack's precision with his free kick on the second half of the Germany-Austria game.

Nothing can make a man cry like football.

Nothing can make Germans lose inhibition like Germany winning over Austria with 1-0, and moving on to the quaterfinals of the UEFA EURO 2008.

After the game, the stream of football fans congealed at Bertha-von-Suttner Platz, where they literally stopped traffic. At the shout of "Hinsetzen!", the fans collectively sat down on the road. Fervent football chants followed, and at another signal, the people started jumping up and down like black, red, yellow grasshoppers, yelling, "Oom ba whoom ba whoom ba whoom ba!" Hehehe.

It's like speaking in tongues, but directed to the soccers greats of Germany.

---

In the meantime, nothing can make my friend KP stop posing for a picture, especially when she's wearing her blazingly patriotic Polska (Poland) hat. Not even a 0-1 loss to Croatia can dampen her spirit. But, aw, my Polish brothers and sisters, we will miss you from the game :o(

KP's getting married at the end of August in Warsaw, and she has touched and honored me by saying that she wants me (and my wingman--the real photo expert but unfortunately digital-less K) to take her reception photos and husband-and-wife-couple photos. Like any sane person, I insisted she take a pro. But she insisted back that she has faith in me and K.

GULP.

So, she and I will be surfing the net and talking in extreme detail on what type of shots she has in mind. And whenever she visits Bonn, I'll be practicing on her as much as I can.

When the above shot was taken, it came out grainy due to the lack of light and shaky hands. I was like, "Oops, it's blurry." Thinking about her future wedding pictures, KP gave out a mortified yelp, and pommeled me with little slaps all the way home.

Someone give me a crash course on wedding photos...and an external flash, stat!

leavin' on a jet plane

2008-06-12T02:34:00.003+02:00

Poppy field near Wolfen.

Going to London!

2-day business trip + 2-day weekend leisure = sporadic jolts of giddiness

(And panic attacks on what to wear!)
(And dishevelled internet moments on where to go! So many places to cover!)

Definite highlights: meeting up with good friend Indian R after more than a year later and more chocolate bars consumed than I care to think about...and snatching up tickets for the West End musical of "Wicked"!

Wicked! See you next week. Cheerio!

germans and their quirks

2008-06-10T11:03:00.011+02:00

"Move aside, we need a place on the bench for the crate of beer." When Germans go camping, somewhere in the Netherlands.

Last weekend, I attended the wedding of K’s childhood buddy. It was my first authentic German wedding, complete with ceramic smashing at the beginning of the reception. (Oh, my poor vintage-loving heart!)

Since my last German wedding didn’t go too well—what with the mail-order bride implication and geriatric, cataract-ridden ladies hinting for K’s ex—I thought it best to shovel as much food as humanly possible into my mouth all the time to avoid conversation, and have an automatic smile ready on cue.

But K’s affable ex-karate trainer won’t have none of it, and he made it a point to talk to me (like a proper grown-up, auf Deutsch!) on what I think about Germans, and if I find them too weird the longer I stay in their country.

I told him it all depends on my mood :o)

What I hadn’t told him was that I’ve mentally compiled a rough list of eccentricities. Eccentricities I don’t necessarily find weird, but which I have associated as being “German” and—could it be—at times, even find endearing?!

1. Germans love accuracy.

Neither a myth nor a stereotype. The description is actually—well—accurate!

One of my expat colleagues went to IKEA recently to shop for a mattress for her queen-sized bed. The IKEA salespeople (IKEAns? IKEAttes?) looked at her 4 foot 10 frame up and down, probably wondering if she was indeed royalty from the far, far East, Land of Munchkins.

You see, here, Germans refer to their beds as 90x200 cm, 140x200 cm, 180x200cm.

Likewise, they refer to their drinks not as small, medium, or large, but 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5—or when in Oktoberfest, 1 liter.

Call it anal, but they do have a point. In the end, my colleague’s German-bought mattress didn’t fit her Asian-bought queen-sized bed frame, because the dimensions are different.

2. Germans take their kitchen with them wherever they go.

Yes, they strap it to their backs when they go skiing down the slope.

Okay, fiiine, they don’t, but it certainly feels that way.

For some unknown reason, when moving out of a place to a new home, most Germans find it necessary to disassemble their kitchens and take it with them. Never mind that the new apartment’s kitchen dimensions might be different from the current one.

This arrangement makes it difficult for yuppies or short-term expats to move into German apartments, because we’d always have to invest 1,000 euros or more for a kitchen. And no, it doesn’t come with a naked chef.

3. Instead of flowers, Germans give trees.

On the 1st of May, in the area of Rhineland where I live, you’ll see trees covered in streamers sprout up overnight—perched beside apartment doors, tied to 3rd floor windows, or anywhere the love of your life lives. Still not obvious? Some even adorn these trees with a heart-shaped sign, on which the name of their loved one is printed…surrounded by blinking lights. Oy, disco.

Normally, it’s the boys who chop down (or buy) the trees and present them to the girls, but every leap year, the ladies get a go at heaving the axe and showing their love to their men.

4. Germans have a weird sense of humor.

Sometimes, they’re actually funny, in a dry kind of way. Like, when, after I spewed out a hastily constructed German sentence in class once, my German teacher shook his head and dead-panned, “So spricht Yoda.” That’s how Yoda would speak? Then, by golly, I am honored :o)

But sometimes, they just fall so flat, you could hear the splat. Like the time we all went to this fantastic Italian restaurant by the Rhine. While the food was molto deliziosi, their individual servings were gut-numbingly fit for a small Italian family, so that even I—formerly known as Human Hoover—had to concede defeat and request the waiter to pack up the leftovers. My colleague turned to me and quipped, “It’s for the dog, is it?” I looked at him, slightly perplexed, “But you know I don’t have a dog.” “Well, they call it a doggy-bag, don’t they?” Ba-da-bang-ching!

5. Germans are staunch supporters of BYOB.

When invited to a party or a BBQ, it’s normal to Bring Your Own Beer, Bring Your Own Beef, Bring Your Own Bites, etc.

It is not normal to Bring Your Own Bed. Germans like their privacy and rest, and after the clock chimes at a certain hour, the host will kindly--but firmly—“close” the party.

6. Germans’ don’t break bread, they break porcelain.

Germans have this saying, “Scherben bringen Glück”. According to Wikipedia:

The expression is derived from a time when the word “shard” referred to the unbroken clay pots of pottery makers, and not just the broken pieces. It was said that a full jar was a lucky thing to have, therefore the expression "shards bring luck".

These days, Germans show their well wishes to the wedding couple by throwing porcelain to the ground, at the entrance of the reception. (Sometimes, they devote a separate evening for this called Polterabend.) Although intrigued to be part of a foreign custom, the design-lover in me was getting cross-eyed with stress and horror as the old grannies pulled out pieces after vintage pieces of vase, cups, and bowls, loped them high into the air, and watched them smash into smithereens upon contact with the ground.

The lovely ceramics were not the only ones crushed that day. My heart was, too.

7. Hair-drying not included.

In many hairdressers, blow-drying by a salon hand costs an extra 3-4 euros. So you have the option of saying "no" to the service and emerging from the salon looking like a drowned cat, or you can opt to blow dry your mane yourself and emerge into the great yonder with your hair sticking out in 10 different directions. Whichever option, the effect of your new slick hairstyle? Gone.

---

You think I'm stopping at #7? My list is like those leafy vines outside my window--let it be and let it assimilate in its environment, and it shall grow and stretch out until you'd have to grab a pair of shears and go clipping. :o)

where do i go from here?

2008-05-27T19:18:00.005+02:00

[edit] Cyclist in Wittenberg--home of Martin Luther and Siemens. Close by is the town of Wolfen, home of Agfa. (What, Agfa is German?! Yeah, I always thought he was Japanese.)

I am very much confused on what to do with my life.

I don't know if I should just settle for a "normal" 9-6 job which I have right now, because it does serve me well (security, pays the bills), and the company could provide me opportunities on mobility should I decide to move back to Asia one day.

But this silly, idealistic, childish (childlike?) dreamer fraction in me--brightens up when she hears stories of corporate-people-turned-tea-room-owners; is captivated to no end when she finds something creative on the web; can sit still for hours in front of photoshop when she normally has an attention span of a fruit fly; listens raptly to advertising people and art students about their projects and ideas and experiences; pushes aside her GMAT review book guiltily after a hard day's work and instead finds solace in crafting to unwind.

But how?? How now, brown cow??

Man, despite all the blessings I've received so far, sometimes I can't help but think I'm screwed.

shutterbugs on road trip

2008-05-07T00:53:00.009+02:00

So K started his new job in Leipzig about 2 weeks ago. We both agree this is a promising career move, but unfortunately this sets us back 6 hours apart.

(Previously, we had been 4 hours apart when he used to work in Bamberg. Then while job-hunting, an offer had come from a company which was located only 30 minutes away from Bonn...but which we ultimately decided against. I know--we both have a screwed up sense of priority. Excuse me as we drop anvils on each other's heads.)

But we will weather this. (Invoking Ganesh, knocking on wood, and rubbing on my rabbit's foot :o)) I'm not exactly sure what the logistics involved in "weathering this" is, but for some unknown reason, me-the-usually-over-thinking-pessimist is quite optimistic about the whole thing. The tortoise got there; we'll get there, too.

Over the long 1st of May weekend, I decided to give K a visit to check how he's holding up in the untamed East (Germany). Despite his being a newbie in the city, K managed to organize a cozy road trip, which wound through the little towns and villages around Leipzig.

---

After the reunification in 1990, many towns in former East Germany saw an emigration of its people to the more prosperous West. (A colleague told me that one city saw it's 700,000 population shrink to half its size over the years!)

This movement resulted to numerous houses abandoned and unrestored, or villages gradually dying. It's sad to see tangible history slowly crumble away, but at the same time, this has left a certain kind of poetic rawness which freezes eastern Germany in time.

This has also left great backdrops for photo opportunities. ;o)

---

K and I decided to take turns being models. He was the one driving, I was the one shouting out "Stop the car! I just saw a nice location!" for--oh--only about a hundred times. (Thanks, K, for being SO patient and for tolerating your wacko girlfriend.)

Channeling the sexy, smouldering look? Or is it just the pointy stones under your bum? After so many takes, it was a wonder that K didn't tie me up and left me on the railroad tracks. (A note on safety: the tracks are now abandoned and disused. Don't try this at home, kids!)

How far do you go for a picture? Here, I wrestled with a kamikaze bee, waded through weeds, and stood under ominous cobwebs. Pero, smile pa rin! ('Yan ang Pinoy! :o))

And here in Exhibit 3.o, you see the Chinese version of a "deer caught in the headlights" thing. But instead of being wide-eyed, I get the case of extra-crinkly eyes. :oD I'd rather much be behind the lens than in front of it.

It was a fun, novel experience--to begin on an unassuming road trip and have it end as a spontaneous "photo shoot" with the great outdoors as our studio. How smart was Shakespeare when he said, "All the world's a stage"?

If the world's a stage, then I know I'd love to take more pictures of its actors. These pictures are certainly far from perfect, but it's a start--to always keep an observant eye, a dogged willingness to experiment, and the courage to fight off wayward bees. And I sincerely hope that in the future, I can do something with the photography skills I pick up one step at a time...or should I say, one road trip at a time. :o)

Shutterbugs: creatures of the camera.

in honor of a telephone conversation i had a few minutes ago

2008-04-27T21:38:00.003+02:00

Just got off the phone with a dear friend whom I miss more than I'd have thought. We reminisced a lot about high school days--the mischief each of us got into, the battle scars we earned from getting whacked by a wooden ruler, etc.

According to his hyperbolic-inclined brain, he was such a troublemaker. (But an endearing one, I suppose; no one with no charisma could have possibly gotten out of his messes :o)) Despite of that, he was also a high-achiever, and this combination of smarts and scamp confounded his teachers whether to present him with an olive crown or drag him off to the gallows.

His mischievous merry-making consisted of not wearing proper uniform, talking too much, looking too scruffy, asking embarrassing questions during sex ed class, bawling his eyes out to be transferred from Sanskrit to Hindi class. Rules, which when adhered to, were given praise, but when broken, were given a severe thumbs down. School shirt untucked?! Well, that's it--future career: big-bellied, beer guzzling garbage truck driver.

There was a point in his high school, when the students were asked to choose on which field they want to "major" in. Their classes would then be more focused on subjects related to the field they have picked. Science was the #1 major students with high marks were expected to choose. Commerce was deemed the #2 subject. My schizo friend, being a prolific student as well, chose science--and found, for the first time of his life, that he did not like chemistry and physics at all, and that he was failing.

He desperately asked to be switched to commerce classes, and his science teachers were only happy to see him go. But by the end of the year, when recognition were being handed out for high marks, my friend was awarded for outstanding performance in his commerce class. His former science teachers were duly surprised and were asking themselves, what in the name of Shiva just happened there?? They refused to believe how such a dismal student who failed in science could possibly succeed in another field.

Here, our phone conversation turned to one of the speeches we saw in TED Talks. It asks about whether education today have a tendency to kill creativity. Extend this hypothesis a bit, and this leads to another relevant question: whether today's education has a one-tracked mind on what construes to be a "good student".

Today, my friend is doing pretty well, I must say. His mischief from his earlier school days had extended to his university years, where he only managed a 3% attendance rate. But despite of that, in the working world, he's been in a senior strategy position, in a brand management position, and is currently applying for MBA. Oh, he still has that rogue in him--not wearing a suit and a tie on Fridays, coming up with unusual solutions that others may deem impertinent. But in the end, his unconventional style and ideas work out--with positive results. I bet no one would care anymore if his shirt is untucked.

in honor of earth day

2008-04-22T20:51:00.003+02:00

via swissmiss

food flashback

2008-04-21T22:54:00.017+02:00

Mom and Pop are caught with the post-modern Apple of Eden: Cupcakes by Sonja are sinfully delicious.

Spending holidays in the Philippines typically means catching up with family and friends on stories untold over YM Messenger; catching up on TV shows unwatched, music unheard, credit cards unswiped--in short--pop culture and commercialism; and finally, catching up on a year's worth of FOOD CRAVED YET UNEATEN.

Food. It deserves an all caps.

I ate sooo much on my trip home that I suffered the whole spectrum of stomach problems--from indigestion to...er...too much digestion--all at the same time! I ate so much that when I came back to Germany, Indian colleague S took one look at me and declared, "I see you ate well in the Philippines." (Eh?! What ever happened to "We missed you"?!)

Now, I am doing penance by going to the gym.

My top 5 food picks when I was back in Asia (in no particular order because my brain cannot logically function in the face of such awesomeness):

1. The Spirals Buffet at Westin Philippine Plaza

But a fraction of the awesomeness that is out there.

I think it was my sis Tami who dubbed it the "Mothership of All Buffets". Stations after stations of mouth-watering international cuisine, rows after rows of stunning desserts--it was Disneyland for the food lovers.

My family brought me there on my very first night home, because my mom was that excited. It took us slightly more than 3 hours to go through most of the food offering in the buffet. And we could have had shoveled a dent into the buffet some more, if it were not due to the slight logistical problem of us no longer being able to reach our forks and spoons over our ballooned-up bellies.

Juicy lamb slices with mint sauce, I am dreaming of you!

2. Cupcakes by Sonja

Fast, but not fast enough. In a camera click, a cupcake has gone missing into someone's stomach. *Looks at youngest sis C with utmost suspicion*

I remembered the first time I had these heavenly cupcakes was when college kabarkada J brought them over for our Christmas potluck/poker evening in December 2007.

Yes, 2007! Ever since then, I had been craving for it on and off for more than a year while I was stuck in the Land of Potatoes!

The Red Devil Cupcake is too die for, the Carrot Cupcake maddeningly moist and perfect. Last week, the craving has started yet again, and to think I still have a desolate 9-month countdown till my next homecoming.

I was so desperate that I googled for any semblance of their cupcake recipe...AND THERE IT WAS! (Google, you amazing thing, you deserve an all caps, too!) Cupcakes by Sonja has its roots from the Magnolia Bakery in NYC, and those good folks have published a few books on their famous cupcakes.

I'm sure the blobs coming out of my oven won't be any lightyears close to Sonja's, but I'm counting on the Placebo Effect to kick in until I sink my teeth into the real thing.

3. Home-cooked food

My mom comes from a family of 10 siblings. Those siblings went forth and multiplied with an average of 3.4 children. Amongst our clan, I think we have the main professions of the world covered. And what do you know, one of them just happened to be a talented chef.

Potluck, what luck!

4. Mudpie at Coffee Club, Singapore

A lofty tower of creamy vanilla ice cream resting on a delightful chocolate toffee crust, generously topped with cookie crumbles and drizzled all over with a rich caramel sauce. Best ordered after having a bite of Coffee Club's main dishes and refreshing shakes.

Best shared with a partner-in-crime. (Hi, R! You're the best ;o))

5. Fresh food from Sonya's Garden

Who says healthy can't be yummy?

Even though Sonya's Garden has been around for several years, this was my first time to go and dine there. (Thank goodness for a license-wielding sis who braved the Holy Weekend traffic jam to drive us all the way to Tagaytay!)

Not only was the food a delicious surprise, the whole ambience was, too. From the eclectic chandeliers to the native pasta forks to the bathroom with a view to the nearby breezy cottages, dining at Sonya's is nourishment for both body and soul.

I think someone's about to get a coronary over the creamiest mushroom dip ever.

---

I could go on raving about the food, but 1 of 2 things could happen: I will fall asleep in front of my laptop sitting up or I will go insane with craving. But before I end my food journaling, here are 3 quick special mentions: the Kopitiam in Boat Quay, Singapore which sells Coffee Spareribs; the bubble tea store in SM North; and the Greek restaurant in Trinoma.

Okay, that's it. My floor's starting to accumulate a puddle of drool.

sunday

2008-04-21T00:19:00.006+02:00

Today is the first day of the year in Bonn which one can qualify for as "warm". (Sunny 13 degrees, if anyone would like to celebrate / sympathize.)

So, I did what anyone with a camera and a pair of restless feet would do. I ventured out and got trigger happy.

I also finally broke in my vintage Kodak Duaflex from the 1950's (or so the E-bay seller claims :oj ). That's how these shots were made--through the viewfinder of the Duaflex via my dSLR.

"Through The Viewfinder", or TTV, is a lucky discovery I stumbled upon online. By shooting through the viewfinder of an old camera, the vintage feel is re-created--complete with blur, lens dusts, discoloring, etc.

TTV is fun, but tougher than I thought! Foremost is the fact that you're holding 2 cameras at the same time! (Ouch, my fingers and forearm were sore afterwards.) Plus, there's the glare of the sun reflecting on the lens of the Duaflex. But despite all that, it was indeed a fun and absorbing twist to picture-taking.

First lesson learned: when shooting TTV, the time of day is important. Shooting during late afternoon or at dusk lessens the sun glare problem tremendously! So this now leaves me only with the forearm problem, which I suppose I can only solve by heading to the gym. *groan*

(But seriously now--there are still so many things to learn about TTV! Browsing through the TTV Flickr Group and their gorgeous pictures makes me feel unworthy!)

Anyway, enough geekery. I hope you guys enjoy the cherry blossoms lining the streets 3 blocks away from where I live. I know I did.

---

The Bonn marathon happened today. (Was happy for the marathoners that the sun decided to cooperate! )

Even if I've been living in Bonn for almost 3 years now, this was the first time I made an effort to watch the marathon from the finish line. (Last year, I woke up one Sunday morning, sat up on my bed, happened to peep out of my window, and saw some runners devouring the concrete with their fleet-footed strides. 'Turned out last year's the marathon route passed by my street. So, welcoming this nice surprise, I leaned out of my window, cheered for about 20 runners, stretched and yawned, then got up to have breakfast.)

Like all sports events, it was fantastic to be amongst the tirelessly enthusiastic spectators. I was blinking back tears as runner after runner crossed the finish line amidst yells and cheers. It's the thought of these athletes' sacrifice--and how months of hard work, fear, determination, doubt, and courage culminate into that single moment of pride and achievement--which always gets me and my tear ducts...er, excuse the unintended pun...running.

So, if any Bonn marathoners happen to stumble into this wee blog, I just want to say how proud I am of you guys. (This extends to some ex-AIESEC co-interns of mine, who also ran this event a couple of years back! *waves* :o))

---

Whew. Now that I finally got started taking pictures and blogging again, it's probably time to revert back to my Singapore and Philippine holiday, and say a resounding "thank you, salamat, xiexie, Danke schoen" to my lovely friends and family who hosted, pampered, fed, and toured me around. Virtual hugs all around! Gosh, how I miss you guys! More soon.

the hundred and third reason why i heart k

2008-04-11T11:24:00.001+02:00

Shaggy 70's look are also "in" for pooches? Taken by E with her Blackberry.

Because K agreed* to take The Furball to the dog groomer's this afternoon, while we women (Colleague/Friend E and I) push up our sleeves, toil, and bring home the bread.

*"Agreed" could be relative.

i'm back at the other side of the world

2008-04-10T17:06:00.002+02:00

You know you have a new colleague by the presence of a new, unfamiliar ringtone in the office. In this case, I think he may be a classical music aficionado.

And you know you've caught the wrong airplane when someone e-mails you the above-posted picture. What a sick idea of a joke.

P.S. Peace, dear A! You know I love you and the whole "blackness" surrounding you. :o)

i am home

2008-03-12T11:17:00.001+01:00

So deliriously content and comfortable. More soon.

karneval is debauchery spelled in german

2008-02-22T11:39:00.003+01:00

Tathi, our pixie fairy, on- and off-stage. Nikon Coolpix.

Remember Alice, when she followed the rabbit and ended up in Wonderland? And just when the Queen was about to "off with her head!", she wakes up and realizes it was all but a dream?

Well, Alice has got nothing on Karneval week in Germany's North Rhine-Westphalia state. For one, the craziness is real.

Secondly, the cast has been expanded to include flamingos, sheep, Bavarian townsfolk, bus stops, sailors, Indiana Jones, Julius Caesar, transvestite nuns, and more.

The Karneval is the German Pandora’s Box. Usually reserved, presentable, and polite, this is the week that Germans living in North Rhine Westphalia release all inhibitions and just go wild. (They also try to be funny, but 51 weeks of seriousness kiiiind of make them out of practice. )

Plan and execute elaborate costumes? Check.
Start drinking beer at 9am? Check.
Mayor handing over the city’s key to the Prince of the Karneval? Check.
Women cut off men’s ties on Weiberfastnacht to symbolize end of male dominion (at least for a day), chase after them and do whatever to them without any consequences? Check, check, check.

The cynic in me of anything bawdy thinks that Karneval is merely an irresponsible excuse for debauchery. But when experienced with the right set of people (especially first timers), it could actually be wholesome fun. The international people in our office (who are making efforts to integrate into the culture), especially took care of their ensembles, and in true Karneval fashion, wore them on their way to work. Hence, it was not uncommon that day to peek into a conference room and see an afro-wigged hippie conducting a meeting with a medieval princess.

The only "structure" to be identified in this event (apart from the structured progress to A Bad Hangover), is the history of Karneval. Channeling The Da Vinci Code, the Karneval has its roots from Catholicism. Surprised? Shocked? Piqued? If yes, then it seems the spirit of Karneval has struck yet again.

how to make me laugh at work

2008-02-20T13:03:00.006+01:00

A chat session across the lands and seas, between a girl working in Europe, and a guy working on Europe-time:

Jill: love...job...i hope one day i would be able to say both of those words in the same sentence. hahaha.
Friend J: here you go:
Friend J: "I don't love my job."
Friend J: THAT WAS EASY
Friend J: like a great Atlas-type weight lifted off my shoulders
Friend J: ahhhhhhh
Jill: in a positive way!
Friend J: AHHHH
Friend J: "I love my job the way a kid loves a hepatitis shot."

Sira.

---

I cannot wait to go home to see my friends again, to talk and banter with them, and to listen to them banter with one another. At the same time I wonder how much we've "grown up" since we met more than a year ago. Or will I go home to find out that despite the job promotions and the marriage proposals and childbirths, we remain, at the core, the same, really?

This is the most excited I've been about going back home. Two weeks and 1 day to go!

currently obsessing on...

2008-02-19T00:32:00.004+01:00

Bagels from Bagel Brothers!

What more could be better than that?

Hold on...here's one: bagels from Bagel Brothers with a generous slather of cream cheese, washed down with a glass of cool fresh fruit juice!

Located across the main bus station, Bagel Brother's trademark happy orange is a slice of hip in Bonn's otherwise blah fastfood restaurant line-up. (And my savior to 3-years' worth of potatoes--steamed, broiled, sliced, diced, or otherwise.)

In a country where food is not splurged on (blasphemy!), and where culinary preparations are as platitudinous as potatoes, it's a pleasant surprise to find out that the Bagel Brothers brand originated in Germany. There may be hope for German foodie culture just yet--and for my tattered tastebuds as well!

I remember passing by one afternoon prior to a train ride to Dresden, on an offbeat impulse to try the place out. And it certainly did not disappoint! After the tangy richness of their Turkey Taste bagel first swirled around my mouth, that initial encounter has turned into a love affair.

I adore their huge selection of fresh bagels (parmesan, onion, blueberry, chocolate--to name a few), matched by an assortment of cream cheese (tomato, salmon, jalapeno, blueberry, raisin, etc). My favorite quick fix? Chocolate bagel with blueberry cream cheese. Ahhh, my blueberry nights. (And mornings, too!) Plus, I believe this is the only fastfood restaurant in Bonn which offers freshly pressed fruit juice, which reminds me of breakfasts back home in the Philippines.

So, buh-bye, steamed spuds! Helloooo, bagels!

furball

2008-02-13T22:52:00.004+01:00

Tobby, with his stuffed kangaroo in the background.

Yesterday, I scooped up my first dog poo.

I'm tempted to describe the whole experience as "warm and fuzzy", but that would be too disgusting.

But toilet turmoils aside, I'd say the furball--named Tobby--and I are getting along quite handsomely. It helps that he's probably the most mellow mutt in the world.

Calling Tobby "he" isn't being very accurate though. I suppose if Tobby were to be a German grammar syntax, he would be a neutrum.

Hmm, perhaps that explains his lack of aggression.

Until, of course, I simply happen to pick up the house keys and its tintillating dangle reaches the dog's ears. Then it is as if an internal earthquake erupts from inside his body, and he is wiggling and shaking and scampering around like mad. Keys means...door! Means...walk! Means...I can visit every fire hydrant on the street!!

It's funny how dogs can be conditioned to certain sounds and body signals. It shows that they're attentive and smart. So smart sometimes, that they christen themselves self-assigned food critics. Then it's not funny.

Tobby, in particular, turns his nose up at dog food that's been laid out the whole morning. Leftovers are chucked away, and his silver platter must be replenished with fresh dog food. (Are you surprised that his favorite brand is Pedigree?)

However, confront him with a garbage bin, and he immediately zones into it like an ant to a candy bar. Leftovers? No way. Garbage bin full of decomposing, fetid, stinking what-have-you's? Oh yes, I'll have two of them, please.

Go figure.

The only explanation for this is he's a brat. But he's not. Tobby is just adorable. When my alarm clock goes off at the break of dawn, he is the first one to greet me "good morning!" with a winsome sticking out of tongue. When I clomp into the apartment drained after work, he is the first one to run over and pounce on my calves and greet me "welcome back!"

Of course, I know this is only his deliberate ploy to get me to walk him so he could empty his pea-sized bladder, but that is not the point.

Unfortunately, Tobby is not my new acquisition in Germany. I'm merely dog-sitting for my friend E, who went back home to Singapore for a couple of weeks. No hurry though, I'm still more than happy to share my bedroom with Tobby...even if he does snore.

a new song with soul

2008-02-09T01:56:00.002+01:00

Music sets the mood for many instances, may it be a cozy evening with friends or a scene from a movie. It's also true in advertisements, more so in the case of Macbook Air's new ad.

I fell in love with the song so much, that I just had to google it out.

The song New Soul by French-Israelian artist Yael Naim provides the audio ambience for Apple's new ad. The song's lilting melody is deliciously addicting; Yael's voice angelic; and the lyrics down-to-earth and resonating with meaning.

If your ears are buzzing for more of Yael's songs, check out her MySpace site. Her song "Paris" (even if I don't understand a single French syllable) brings to mind lovely memories of the city.

meet the skelewags

2008-02-09T01:16:00.000+01:00

Could someone please show me to the door? A poster and graffiti caked building in Neustadt, Dresden. It actually has tenants!

Liking the urban grunge look for awhile now. There is something in its rawness which appeals to me. But when this grunge is further combined with something whimsy and witty, it simply transforms "raw" to "rawrrr!"

Check out Chewie's urban artwork called Skelewags, where he creatively utilizes the wear n' tear in city landscapes as backdrops to his lovable Tim Burton-isque characters. "Adorable" isn't normally the word I'd use to describe graffiti, but Chewie's just is! (Via Baekdal.com)

Official Skelewags website is currently under construction, but you can check out more of his works here.

---

Off to Amsterdam when I wake up. Having a mini-reunion of sorts with friends whom I met in Beijing 6 years ago, and whom I haven't seen since! Giddy girl! :o)

village people

2008-02-08T17:19:00.000+01:00

All in a day's work. Well, on the day of Weiberfastnacht anyway. More soon. (Picture taken by a colleague, artwork by Singaporean E.)

Work sucks. (Although bits of hope do flicker from time to time before being snuffed out.)

City sucks. (The only great thing in this city are the trains to Cologne, and bargain airfares to neighboring countries like France and the Netherlands.)

But, thank God for great new zany international colleagues/friends! :o)

a colorful tv ad and a beautiful epic film

2008-02-06T01:24:00.000+01:00

Gosh, what I wouldn't give to be part of a project like this.

I can't decide which one I'd like to be--the creative genius who thought up of this, or the equally adept animators who sculpted and placed the bunnies.

(For a slightly more detailed version of the "making of", click here. While you're at it, visit the Sony Bravia "Balls" and "Paint" ads. Waitaminute, have I blogged about the old ads before? I can't remember. I just know I like them so much :o))

Marveling on the amount of free-wheeling thinking coupled with technical wizardry involved in these ads, I can't help but bring to mind this quote:

"[Happiness] can come from work, and pride in what you do."
-Mahatma Gandhi

---

I recently watched Richard Attenborough's 1982 epic film, Gandhi. It is such a beautiful, moving, inspiring, and heart-wrenching film.

The biopic begins with Gandhi's seed of vision, that when nourished and guided in the hearts of the people, would grow to the realization of a united and independent India. The movie covers India from 1893 when it was still under British rule, until 1948 when Gandhi was assassinated amidst riots between India and Pakistan.

The film was beautifully made, giving you a glimpse of Gandhi's profound life and ideas, as well as a surprising glimpse of his smart and endearing humor. Moreover, it truly makes you feel for India and her people. The film showed no few examples of the sacrifice the people made for their country and their devotion to their Bapu.

The acting was also exceptional, with Ben Kingsley portraying the "little brown man in loincloth, who led his country to freedom... ...who made humility as simple truth, more powerful than empires".

For those of you who haven't seen it before, I strongly recommend you guys to experience it.

conformity

2008-01-25T00:31:00.000+01:00

Mr. Socket, the non-conformist. Udaipur, India.

Despite my valiant effort not to, my eyes keep finding its way to the clock of my computer monitor. 5:42 pm, 5:43 pm, 5:44 pm...let the countdown to weekend begin! The corporate girl is slowly metamorphosing into a party animal.

On cue, my boss passes by my cubicle with a smile on his face. "Jill, we got the latest report from Europe. Now you can complete your excel table!"

I smiled back. "Good to hear!" The animal morphs back into a docile lamb.

As my boss' checkered shirt faded around the corner, I roll my eyes heavenward in disgust...for myself!

Why did I say such a thing when I didn't even mean any of those words? And then it struck me--conformity. We were brought up to behave in certain ways in certain situations. And while conformity does ensure a form of order by infusing us with a set of rules--may it be moral, legal, social--when does it become restrictive? When does conformity invade your true sense of self?

Suddenly curious about this phenomenon, I wiki'd "conformity" to see if there were any explanations for this behavior. There were some interesting experiments done on it, and one result showed that on the average, respondents conformed 33% of the time!

Thirty-three percent! This percentile snowballed for me to think about how I have been living my life so far. And I wonder how much of it have I been living under the influence of conformity. How many times did I agree to something I didn't particularly care about because I had wanted to make a good impression, or had wanted to fit in? Whenever I remain talking to a person I find boring, is it because it's the "polite" thing to do? When I take on a job that society thinks it's one of those "right" jobs, am I just wronging myself? How many times did I want to laugh loudly, dance a little jig, belt out a song, but didn't because no one else did? How many times did I say, "good" to people's "how are you's" when I just wanted to say, "no"?

Is conformity about upholding a certain social criteria, or is it being a scaredy-cat / hiding behind a pre-defined norm? Is conformity a tension between your public face and private face?

the incident at the train yard

2008-01-21T23:48:00.000+01:00

From the lens of my Nokia 3600! Clockwise from top: Iridescent oil drops, sign on a weathered door, the locomotive, wheels on the train.

K and I got tickets yesterday at the train station in his hometown of Zittau. As fate would have had it, a steam engine train was stationed there at that time to refuel (er, re-coal?). Like a little schoolboy, K skipped to the train yard, while my leather encased legs (which were attached to a frilly, pretty, and colorful skirt) followed skeptically behind.

As we neared the muddy and gravelly train yard, locomotive enthusiasts were already out and about with their fancy DSLRs, camcorders, and tripods. My own low-key DSLR was recently sent to the shop for repairs (*cry*), which meant my only weapon of choice was--I grappled frantically about myself--my Nokia 6300's 2MP camera. (K had to do the same with his Nokia, teehehe.)

At first I didn't want to take pictures--I was far too embarrassed by my "gear" (or lack thereof). But the lure of the textures and the industrial feel was far too strong, and I found myself slowly inching the mobile phone out of my coat pocket. (At this point, my mobile vibrated in fear.) Looking around, I belatedly realized I was the wide-eyed black sheep stranded among the herd of white--the only female amongst the burly lot. (And let’s not even get into my girly get-up.)

The train was magnificent with all its smoke-bellowing pistons, cyclinders, rods, and wheels. But after 10 shots of the same thing, I left the throng of competitive old men, who were pretending to be non-competitively taking pictures. (A man actually shooed K and I off. “Shoo, you bystanders, you are ruining my perfect angle.”)

Like a classic case of seeing the tree but not the forest, the men solely focused on the train, while I found myself slowly drawn to the train yard, drinking in the details, taking snaps of the iridescent oil drops on the tracks. I was happily engaged with my details, when a very loud, provoking voice intruded.

"Was machst das Maedchen hier??" (What is this girl doing here??")

I looked up from my iridescent oil drops, recognized the man's mocking expression, and was immediately annoyed. "Taking pictures."

The man (about 50 years old) sniggered, elbowed his companions--2 men of the same age and a teenager. "Taking pictures? Of what? What is there to take pictures of?" And this was said condescendingly--from an elder to a child, from a man to a girl, from a German speaker to a non-German speaker.

"The oil on the ground, and the colors coming out of it."

"The oil? On the ground?! Ehe...hehehehe!" Eyebrows wiggled from face to face, sniggers turned into ill-concealed chuckles.

"Well yes, the oil makes the ground look nice!" I tried to defend myself, but I know I was losing. As soon as you lose your temper, you always lose the battle at hand. (But I never learn.)

"Don't dirty your skirt with the oil!" he called out "helpfully".

Furious, I stomped off to look for K, as huffily as my brown pointy boots could muster (which admittedly wasn’t very effective).

Somehow, K, that sweet boy, managed to appease me. "Chill," he'd always advise me. "It's not worth it. Who is he to you? You're too serious; just make fun of him, too." True, but it's just so difficult to maintain composure--much less fire back witty ha-ha-ha remarks with every strand of hair in place--when you're being poked fun of. (Patient people of the world—kudos to you.) I wondered if it would have made a difference if I were not a girl, if I were not an Asian, if I had been holding professional gear. Would they still have had made fun of me? This was what frustrated me—the cocky disrespect borne out of a misperceived feeling of superiority; the gang mentality; the perpetual inequality, no matter how small; the unknown answers to my “what-if’s”.

How I wished I had more than my camera to shoot with…if you get the drift of my very bad joke. *wry smile*

Sigh. Tja. Naja. There are too many photos in this world waiting to be taken to stay mad forever. Soon, I was back doing what I liked best--taking pictures. (In fact, K and I even spied another man copying our shots several times. Teehehe.)

After strenuously figuring out Bluetooth and processing the pictures in Photoshop, I'm actually very happy how they turned out. It's the first time my Nokia's camera has been put to the test--and the verdict? Nokia 6300's camera quality is surprisingly pretty good! Just don't use the zoom--then the pictures would pixelize like a crossword puzzle. How I wish those men can see how my Nokia 6300 pictures turned out!

to my scattered friends in far-off lands

2008-01-16T13:21:00.000+01:00

You're never alone, said the littlest bird. Sappy, but true, acknowledged the other. Taken in Jaisalmer, India.

Let me just say, how my friends overwhelm me so, that they make me want to bust into "We Go Together", complete with all the rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga a dong. I just feel so LUCKY to have them.

It all began last Friday morning, where this tale of tumtum found me hopping madly around my bedroom, one leg in black stockings while the other naked one stuck out in the chill Janaury air. Suddenly my mobile rang, and a quick look showed an incoming number starting with +60--Malaysia! Which means, it's my dear loca S! But at the same time, the clock taunted 8.45am, and I still couldn't find my comb to claw through my morning hair. Mental note, call S back later.

Slid into my office chair with the casualness of a baseball player on a homerun at 9.15am, and immediately, it was work work work. Boss called me in at 10am to discuss numbers numbers numbers. In a far off yonder, I heard the twinkling tone of my mobile. Silence. And then another. Hmm.

Plopped back into my chair an hour later, and saw the +60 number again. Better call back. The ring was cut off mid-toot, and a familiar Malaysian lilt came on full blast, "OH MY GOD, YOU BASTARD! I THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDNAPPED! Why weren't you answering my calls? Why haven't I seen you online for such a long time LAH?!" (Uh-huh, that's how we usually begin our girl talk.)

"S, this is Bonn we're talking about--the safest place on earth, because even criminals find it too boring to live here."

"I called R in London to check if he's heard anything from you! I also asked B if he's been in touch with you! And they both said NO!"

Whoa, you mean a global amber alert has been sounded because I overslept and was not able to pick up the phone? I kidded S, "So you mean if I want attention, I just shouldn't pick up the phone?"

"You CRAZY GIRL!" (Hey, look who's talking. :o) But seriously now, this incident made me realize how important it is to constantly make your presence felt to family and friends, especially if you're living alone in a foreign land, so they'd know you're fine.)

Mid-catching up, my other phone twittered. R from London. (And he never calls unless it's important...to him. Which also means, it's mostly about him.) (Kidding, kidding! He's a sensitive soul, that guy.)

I decided to ignore the call for the moment and finish speaking with S. Then I worked. Then I called R.

"Where were you?!" he asked accusingly, as if being a responsible employee tallying up excel tables was a crime. (Oh wait, it is.)

Like a runaway train, he barreled on, "S said she couldn't reach you!" The alert is in domino effect.

"I was working! Plus, I called S!"

"You called S before you called me?!"

"It was first come, first served!"

"Whatever, woman!" (Although with his adorable Indian accent and perpetual clogged nose, it sounded more like "Whotevferrr, wohman!"

Hmm, I could get used to being fought over :o)

So we chatted. Guess who's the next one who called? My boss. Although it is, I'm sure, not out of affection. While talking to my boss about numbers, my phone yodelled yet again in the far off yonder. (My new colleagues in the open space office must be wishing they had a sledgehammer right then and there.)

The phone call was a no number, but my inbox was blinking. Clicking it open, I saw a message that would make even the most hardcore shed a sentimental tear:

"Hi sweetie--
I just needed to get a Jill fix which isn't as easy as heading to the 11th floor anymore...
sigh...miss u heaps!!!
Can't wait to see u in little puny SG with @!!!
AHAHAHA!"

Dear ol' Malaysian B. What's so funny about SG being puny is beyond me. Although if it were "see u in SG with little puny @" I would have understood. ;o)

The phone calls did not end when the morning did. Polish K called (without knowing about the amber alert), only to be interrupted in the midst of her wedding plan updates when Belgian E rang me up.

What's this? Let's Call Jill Day? If that's the case, can it be everyday?

Yesterday, B managed to reach me, although he sounded as if calling from a cave.

Today, @ called just to say hello, that sweet sexy thing.

"Are you excited to see me again when I fly to Singapore in March?" I fished shamelessly.

A pause. "Yes, of course!" @ replied. Another split-second pause, and then, "Can't you tell how genuine that sounded?"

Oh sure. It sounded so genuine I melted into a puddle and had to ask the janitor to mop me all up. Now can't you tell how realistic that sounded?

Goodness. Rhetoric vulgarity, copious sarcasm, and emotional abuse--that's friendship. Otherwise, it's not "genuine" :o)

---

Before, I thought that when people geographically move away from you, then you've lost them to distance or to a new life that you're not part of anymore. But my friends relentlessly remind me--through emails, phone calls, Facebook invites--that it is not so. They take time to reach out to me and somehow fit me into their lives. On days I feel like a hermit, they're still willing to search for me, leaving no excel table print-out unturned. And for that, I feel thankful and truly, truly blessed.

Thank you, you little wankers.

blog carnival: if books were food

2008-01-14T22:09:00.000+01:00

Booksale in Frankfurt.

Toni at Wifely Steps has an interesting project up called Blog Carnival. The ringmaster (ringmistress?) opens the show with the curious topic "if books were food, what would they taste like?"

Like with other things, I don't have a favorite, favorite one amongst the lot. But I do have a collection of favorites which I keep returning to for comfort reading. And the more I read, the more the circle grows in--er, excuse the pun--volumes. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Neverwhere, Stardust, The Time Traveler's Wife, Harry Potter, The Bartimeus Trilogy, etc.

...and now, welcome Marisha Pessl's Special Topics in Calamity Physics and Sarah Turnbull's Almost French.

If Special Topics in Calamity Physics were edible, it would have been a package of Skittles--the sour-sweet tangy ones. I haven't met a protagonist as vivid and precocious as Pessl's Blue van Meer for a long time. Blue's captivating detailed narration of the whodunit set in high school is smart, honest, tinged with teenage humor and irony, and yet displays an eruditeness uncanny for a 17-year-old.

On being drunk, Blue says, "And this, I am ashamed to say, is where my memory abruptly drops off (see Figure 12, "Continental Shelf Cliff," Oceanic Terrain, Boss, 1977)."

On one of her high school mates, Blue describes, "Jade was the terrifying beauty (see "Tawny Eagle," Magnificent Birds of Prey, George, 1993). She swooped into a classroom and girls scattered like chipmunks and squirrels. (The boys, equally terrified, played dead.)"

Like the Skittles' tangy taste, Blue's barrage of details might be too much at first, but it quickly dissolves to something palatable and highly addicting. Pessl adds zest to her complex characters and high school setting by calling into mind the deliciously dark mood of Cruel Intentions. And similar to wondering which Skittle color you'll pull out of the bag next, Special Topics in Calamity Physics' twisty plot will leave you guessing chapter after chapter.

With its amazing interweaving layers, it is almost--on hindsight--a sin to compare the book with a mass-produced goody like Skittles. So I would add Cream Cheese Chocolate Cupcakes--intriguing, yummy, and original.

Want some more icing on the cake? Check the book's equally tantalizing website here.

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Almost French is decidedly different from the former book. At first glance, the blurb didn't sound too extraordinary. In this true-to-life tale, an Australian journalist named Sarah Turnbull travels to Romania and meets a Frenchman. The chance encounter turns into something more meaningful, and Sarah decides to relocate to France. Once in France, she struggles to understand and adapt to a new culture so different from her own.

Honey, didn't anyone tell you not to judge a book by its cover?

My eyes haven't skimmed past Chaper 1, and already the book reads like a friend and feels as soothing as a cup of green tea. In her endearingly candid and reflective manner, Turnbull discusses the trials of an expat trying to fit into a bewildering, foreign world. Her tale also has a twist of her falling in love with a foreigner, which render an added dimension to her tale.

Hmm, sounds familiar, doesn't it? In a lot of instances, her experiences echo my own, and there are times when the conversations volleyed between Turnbull and her Frenchman sound eerily the same to the ones I have with my German man. ("You call this a beach?") I could have been paraphrasing her.

Turnbull's journalistic skills also shines through her prose, which gives for an enjoyable read. Her creative play of words conjures up images as clear as the summer Parisian sky. They can range from being laugh out loud funny ("her abbreaviated legs plugged into gum boots") to heartbreakingly wistful ("Although I understand the French better now, the reality is in France I’m still an outsider. There seem to be so many contradictions, so many social codes for different situations that make life interesting but also leave you feeling a bit vulnerable.")

Reading through the book recalled painful moments which I've experienced and is still coming to grasps with. For example, her thwarted initial efforts of trying to connect with her boyfriend's friends brought unbidden tears to my eyes. But far from discouraging me, the book has an opposite effect. Instead, it provides a stage to let me reflect on my own experiences, and encourages me not to give up!

I'd highly recommend this book to anyone who has lived, is living, or will be living in a foreign land. (Thank you, newfound friend Y, who was so excited to lend me the book that he gave it to me via the company's internal mail!)

Huling hirit for the Blog Carnival: Camembert cheese with cranberry sauce also comes to mind when thinking about this book. Is it because of the unusual combination [of her life experiences]? O baka kasi it has something to do with French and cheese? Haha, labo! But trust me, it just does!

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Whew, that was one looong blog entry, but a very enjoyable one! Being a bookworm and a foodie does come in handy :o) Hope you guys enjoyed the "food for thought", too.

all aboard for the darjeeling limited

2008-01-13T10:46:00.000+01:00

Cologne's regional train, taken during summer 2007. Not quite The Darjeeling Limited, but I needed a visual prop.

Quirky and visually delightful, The Darjeeling Limited is a great, easy movie to curl up to on a Saturday night.

The movie tells of 3 estranged brothers who goes on the fictional train, The Darjeeling Limited, for a spiritual journey to find themselves. Of course, a family trip is never complete without the usual faux paux, and this train ride doesn't disappoint with its share of dysfunctionality natural amongst siblings. And with the artistically diverse trio of Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, and Jason Scwartzmann playing the roles of Francis, Peter, and Jack Whitman respectively, this dysfunctionality is amped up to a level that's eccentric, a little poignant, and suave at the same time.

Did I just say suave? Yup, you heard me right. From the opening scene where Brody's character outruns a businessman (cameoed by Bill Murray) on a train platform in his suit and Marc Jacobs for Louis Vitton luggage, the film sets the stage for a frolicking imagery reminiscent of the 70's and vintage cool. This fits right into India's old-era backdrop, and these 2 elements complement each other in a charming way.

I could wax on and on about the fun cinematography and exotic location ("Well, it's India!" K says). Watching it, K and I could practically smell the country, feel the grainy dust, feel the people again. Another notable is the movie's apparent symbolism about acceptance and letting go. (The Brody opening scene means more than not being late in order to catch the train. Go google it after watching the movie.)

What didn't quite make it onboard was the storyline. Although interesting, the situations are sometimes too abrupt and feels as if it was thrown in together from various perspectives. (In some scenes, K and I found ourselves pondering, "Why did that have to happen?") It isn't so much as a story with flow, but rather a collection of short movies (much like Hotel Cavalier, the short clip screened prior to the start of The Darjeeling Limited and served as somesort of a prologue for the movie). But perhaps all of these have some symbolic significance that we have yet to unearth.

In the end, The Darjeeling Limited is well worth the ride. Plus, it intrigued me enough to want to watch the director Wes Andersen's other movies. After all, isn't that was a good trip is supposed to do to you? To stamp you with a lasting impression and leave you with a craving for more.

brownie points

2008-01-07T23:00:00.000+01:00

The latest winter look for trees in Dresden.

Are you familiar with those discount cards where you go shopping and collect points for every purchase? Normally, those accumulated points award you with freebies or with even more discounts...which in turn encourages you to abandon all financial rationality and buy more. It's an endless vicious cycle.

The other day, a mail arrived saying I've amassed a grand 1,000 points in my Bahncard 50, a card which gives me a 50% discount on all train tickets I purchase from Deutsche Bahn. (One freakin' thousand points after 2.5 years of long-distance relationship ping-ponging, 8-hour train delays under the biting cold notwithstanding. *huff!* Moving along...)

So I go online and see what I can get for those points. A 5-euro meal on the train, 3 free passes on the train lounge, a 10-euro discount on my electricity bill given I yank out all my current wires and switch to a different provider. Wow, these deals are as appealing as a kinky strand of hair on my marinated roasted chicken. (All together now, ewwww.)

But hey, wait a minute...what's this? For 500 points, I can have 10 trees planted in Germany? Whoa. This is cool--one reason being how environmentally conscious Germany is; and the other being my first time experience of rather than getting something for free, I'm giving something for free instead. Clicking on the tree-planting option, I thought this is a cycle I wouldn't mind getting caught in.

Here's one more social-oriented marketing by Campbell's Soup.

currently obsessing on...

2008-01-04T12:19:00.000+01:00

In the name of love...of grungy-ness. Loving the weathered urban look, don't you? Found the sign in New Delhi, tacked behind a truck.

Stop freaking out, K tells me.

But how can I stop freaking out if there might be something wrong with my Tamron 18-200mm lens?! *howls, pulls out tufts of hair, drowns 65 glasses of Kolsch, cleans the apartment like Cinderella on meth, then implodes*

The lens is the heart of the camera, it's the extension of my eyes, and it costs an arm and then some.

The images my Tamron were producing was just not as tack sharp as the Canon lens I had on loan during my early SLR days. The more I've become familiar with my camera, I've also noticed slight vignetting when shooting wide angle. *panic ensues again*

The panic is largely brought about by the fear of not being good enough, and not having fully functioning gear to maximize what I want to learn. You see, I want to do something more with my photos--although I'm not sure what yet. A German friend once saw my snaps and asked if he could use some of them to decorate his flat. Is he freaking serious?! Of course, he can!! It's no MMOA, but it certainly feels like it. It felt good. That got me thinking that maybe I create something out of my photos...but what, and how?

Anyway, K's a sweetheart and has borrowed a Canon lens from the camera store. He's bringing the Canon lens over and we're going to do comparison shots this weekend.

[end geek talk]

K's the one who got me into photography, but I didn't realize I'd be into it that much.

It all started in China when I took picture of almost everything--in other words, I was trying to put the "photographic" in photographic memory. Then I met K, all cool and laidback with his ponytail and camera gear. (Sarcasm, some? :o)) I was inspired by his photos. What I was not inspired of though, was the waiting time I had to endure when he's in action--composing, framing, focusing, measuring, and finally clicking the shots. I tried twiddling my thumbs, but that got old quickly. So I thought, might as well use that idle time learning something new, right? So I started out with a modest Canon Powershot A75 (which I still adore), and found how I like expressing myself with images.

Now K and I spice up our trips by competing who can take better shots. (Okay, you can now commit us to a mental institution.) Although I'm subjecting myself to eternal torment by admitting this, K is the better photographer between the 2 of us. He's learned the trade the old school way--with an analog SLR, which means he's got the technical stuff down pat. (In fact, he still shoots slides.) Me, on the other hand, rely hugely on composition and on the button on my SLR called "P". (And here, K stops reading and sniffs derisively. :o)) Our styles are different--K sees the whole scene, while I focus on the details. So yeah, we fit--like coffee and Coffeemate. Weh. Whatever.

With a camera in my hand, I become more alert of my surroundings, unconsciously on the hunt for people and things to photograph. Or, I'd notice that I start looking at things in a different perspective--things that may look normal, but when framed in a certain way, suddenly becomes interesting. Or, details to pull out of the brouhaha of the whole environment. As a traveler/tourist, I find that going to a place with a camera and without one is a world of difference. Without a camera, I feel like I'm just passing through. With a camera, I feel like I've made the place "mine" somehow.

First thing's first though--before any future plans about photography, I'd better figure out the mystery with my Tamron lens. *wah* Wish K and me luck.

the christmas log, calorie free

2008-01-02T11:00:00.001+01:00

Fudgy chocolate cake, a sweet start to the new year. Chocolate shavings by Santa's little helper K, questionnably fudgy filling by my new electric mixer, and recipe by Rachel Ray.

Christmas is about love, goodwill, and harmony...but also about food! Whew! *supresses a burp* No wonder Santa has a jolly jiggling belly. We were joking that there's no need for snowballs anymore--just roll me down the snowy slopes of Germany.

The food onslaught begins on the 1st of December, when Weihnachtskalendars are distributed. These are traditional German calendars with 24 little doors on them, on which the dates of December are printed, from the 1st to the 24th. The idea is to open one door a day, with the number on the door corresponding to the date of that day. And behind each door lies...*insert ecclessiastical hyms here*...a piece of heavenly chocolate. It's a great way to feel a satisfying rush each morning--sugar rush, that is.

The cake pictured above was my contribution to the Sylvester/ New Year's Eve potluck dinner we had at my colleague's place. She was generous to "adopt" me and K into her elegant Cologne apartment on the 31st. We joined her, her husband, their friends, and sweet ol' orange fat cat Jimmy (move over Garfield!) in ringing in the new year.

Since the dinner was potluck, we ended up having 8 courses all in all! Twelve midnight caught us by surprise between our 1st main course (baked chicken) and the 2nd (herbed lamb), upon which we hastily grabbed our sparklers and champagne flutes and piled onto the balcony to admire the fireworks. We toasted to new beginnings and new friendships, and to our CEO, who lived nearby, for salary increase.

We concluded the meal with a Cyprian dessert--a sponge nut cake with a coin hidden inside it. Whoever gets the slice with the coin is said to be lucky in the coming year. And guess who got the coin? When my fork hit the solid sphere, the feeling was akin to a shovel finally hitting the treasure chest. And when I raised the coin for everyone to see, they burst into happy applause. (Happy, because they didn't have to eat the remaining slices to find the coin; our pants were bursting at the seams.)

The meal finished with shots of digestive schnapps, but the evening had by no means ended. Conversation flowed easily, and the people made me feel welcome and comfortable. (Their language switching from German-English-German was natural and effortless.) Between the lovely dinner and the midnight toast and the coin, it does feel that 2008 will be a promising year.

Ribbons and snowflakes galore! I kinda went crazy on wrappers this year. See the hearts? And the mittens? And the "sipit", snowflakes, and Christmas trees? (The white box at the back is my craft box. It holds many a colorful thing.)

The cake was not my only DIY this Christmas season. I also found a new way to wrap my gifts. In an expedition to my local craft store Idee, I discovered a transparent Christmas ball on one of the shelves. The Christmas ball splits open in half in the middle, and is available in various diameters. The one in the picture was the biggest they had, and in it I could stuff my bric-a-bracs for K--a tube of hand lotion, gift certificate, a bar of chocolate, etc. To conceal the items, I placed creped paper in the ball, and for finishing touches, I also included some heart- and snowflake-shaped charms. Snap the 2 halves of the ball back into place, tie ribbons through the pinhole on the top, and you're done!

(I also thought it would be cute to get the smaller balls for tiny gifts like necklaces, candies, etc.)

Nico and Pascal, K's sweet and lively nephews. They had to endure a family chorus of "Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum" before they were allowed to dive into the piles of gifts (Nico, the 6-year-old on the left, pretended to snore halfway through). K and my present of a pop-up dinosaur book was a hit. But no gift measured up to the addicting Monopoly Deutschland, which had the whole family hooked throughout the holidays.

Some people find it amusing that I take more effort than necessary to wrap my gifts, but I think presentation is key! :o) Plus, I adore colors and details, so gift wrapping adds to that extra, thoughtful touch.

And all those careful preparations lead up to the 24th, when the gifts are laid out under the Christmas tree by Santa or the Kristkind (Christ child). The rapt excitement on the little ones' faces are priceless, because as you know, gift opening is a serious thing. :o)

Christmas traditions in Germany is very rich. At the start of the Advent, they light up a candle on each Sunday (picture on the right). Various Christmas markets sprout up like mushrooms in different cities, and people spend the evenings outside in the wintry chill, huddled under huts and drinking warm gluhwein. Unlike my lovely Philippines who go berserk when the 'Ber' months set in, it is only on the 24th of December that ze Germans set up their Christmas trees and decors (shopping areas not withstanding). (However, this is one tradition which I'd probably choose not to follow. I like my tinsels too much).

The main Christmas celebration is on the 24th. K's family starts bundling up for mass at 4:30pm. While the kids are outside the house waiting for us grown-ups, our grown-up legs transform from creaky to springy, and we run crazily to the attic and other hiding places to retrieve the stash of gifts to place under the tree. We then innocently amble outside and the whole family goes to mass. The mass ends at around 6pm (at least in K's village), after which we all walk home through the snow, sometimes with handheld lanterns to guide our way.

When we get back home, and switch on the lights--tada! The sight of gifts under the Christmas tree is magic to the kids.

Surreal. We didn't know which one is more quaint--the woods caked with snow or the tiny vintage-looking carousel in the middle of it.

You know what else is magic? This carousel which K and I spotted when we hiked up Mount Lausche, which is near his home. (Near is an understatement. They practically live on the foot of the hiking path.)

We've gone through this path many times before, but never noticed the potential of this carousel. Maybe it was the snow which made it looked magical. Or maybe it's because we looked at it from a different angle. Or maybe with a camera in my hand, I was more aware of the present.

The village of Jonsdorf, K's village viewed from a nearby bump of a hill. Picture taken by K after dinner on the 24th, under a streetlamp's pool of light. Nary a mouse is stirring--it was so quiet, the only "noise" is the sound of snow crunching under our shoes...and the random Filipina-Chinese declaring, "It's sooo quiet here!"

With that I end my Christmas log for 2007. I wish you guys a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope your holidays were are warm and cozy as mine. Here's to 2008!

a new twist to old favorites

2007-12-18T22:49:00.000+01:00

Another Christmas image, brought to you by boughs of berries found in the Christmas market of Bamberg.

Starbucks' collection of jazzy Christmas tunes, Stockings by the Fire, really got me all nostalgic about holiday music. I love Christmas songs--they evoke joy within me. Depending on which melody, it could be the giddy, childlike joy (Santa Claus is Coming to Town), or the quiet, humbling type (Silent Night).

I remember when I was a kid, I used to play our old Christmas vinyl record during all sorts of months, because the beats were catchy, and I could sing and shake my scrawny booty to it. I also remember my mom coming into the room one day and turning down the volume whilst half-incredulous, half-chuckling. "Not too loud," she shushed. "The neighbors might think we're crazy." During that time, I didn't get it. "Why would they think we're crazy?" My mom deadpanned, "Well, it's May."

It took me awhile to understand that there are certain times and certain places for certain things. (Heck, I'm still grappling with that concept...although on a different level, of course :o)) But now that the temperature has dropped to almost 0 and the skies turn inky by 4pm, I think no one's going to admonish me when I start warbling about reindeer and sleigh rides again.

A few web clicks later, I was intrigued to realize that our age-old favorite carols have evolved. Enter Christmas songs laced with Grey's-Anatomy-que renditions--folksy, indie tunes with wispy voices. There are new originals, too, and not all of them hark of sparkly lights and sprightly spirits. Surprisingly, I like them. (Does that mean the let's-play-carols-in-the-middle-of-May girl in me has become jaded?!)

I especially have the one by Jenny Owen Youngs, "Things We Don't Need Anymore", on repeat. It's terribly sad in a deceptively upbeat tune. On the flipside, Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses will keep your gift-wrapping sessions rockin'. Among the remakes, I like Phantom Planet's "Winter Wonderland"--the way they sing it reminds me of Eraserheads. And then there's "Carol of the Bells" by The Bird and the Bee, and Sarah Mclachlan's "First Noel". Jack Johnson lends his signature mellow voice in "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". Even Avirl Lavigne and Chantal Kreviazuk teams up for "Oh Holy Night". If you're looking for Christmas carols with a different kick, these songs are "it".

Belatedly, I found out that The Vancouver Sun and a music production house called the Network Music Group created a special compilation of modern Christmas songs called Seriously Westcoast Vol. 2 for a limited-time-only free download! Still, check the site out--they at least still have the playlist up, and who knows, they might just come out with Volume 3 :o)

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Here's a little early Christmas present for Harry Potter fans (calling sis Tams and true-cuz Les).

Remember how in the last installation, Dumbledore bequeathed Hermoine a book entitled "Tales of Beedle the Bard"? Well, the book within the book has come to life! Only 7 copies exists, and Amazon has bought one of the beautifully hand-written copies in a Sotheby's auction for almost 2 million pounds!

Here's a sneak peek of the contents of the book, along with photos of the beautiful leather-bound papers on which the tales were hand-written and illustrated by J.K. Rowling:

http://www.blogger.com/www.amazon.com/beedlebard

Don't forget to accompany the read with a warm, comforting mug of hot cocoa. Or better yet, a mug of butterbeer.

updates during the countdown to christmas

2007-12-14T10:14:00.000+01:00

Inside a bubble and among baubles. Taken off the reflection of a fat Christmas ball, found in an ornaments stall at the Nuernburg Weihnachtsmarkt, the largest Christmas market in Germany. Beside me is Filipino D (yay, kababayan!), who has recently transferred to Bonn, and has since then become a wonderful and funny furry friend.

The moment I started feeling Christmassy this year was last Sunday late afternoon, when my mug of gingerbread latte was sending warm tingles to my frozen fingers; as I sat inside Starbucks with K, humming along the cafe's collection of jazzy Christmas songs; while peering at chattering passer-bys on the other side of the glass, all bundled up and going about their Christmas shopping; and while wistfully admiring the Christmas stars which lined up the city center's main boulevard, lending a warm glow to the otherwise cold and dark afternoon.

The moment I started feeling homesick was a few minutes after, when Frank Sinatra came on. "I'll be home for Christmas, "he sang soulfully, "...if only in my dreams." That song never fails to bring unbidden tears into my eyes.

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In another news, I started a new job in December. Which explains the blogging draught.

Hahaha. I feel like a kid, who's afraid to get caught in some mischief. Is this the correct mindset to work?? And to a new one at that?? I've recently read an article that mentioned how the oversight of our bosses and colleagues is what keeps us productive in our jobs. But surely there must be a more enriching motivation than supervision?

Tja, I hope things pick up in my new job. On the bright side, I'm back to marketing, which is hopefully a baby step towards that right direction. It's not yet the end goal, but I guess the most I can do is to learn as much as I can, and not be too impatient. Easier said than done, with the clock relentlessly tick-tocking forward, and at times, even ominously.

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I promised a picture of Indian P's bride. By golly, I tried so hard to write that blog entry, but after a dozen failed first sentences, I had to temporarily wave the white flag. Indian wedding ceremonies are froth with symbolism and meanings, and I feel that I need to interview the couple first before I could be worthy of writing such a special event. So, er...raincheck?

the buzzzz on the net

2007-12-04T22:03:00.000+01:00

Be afraid of creepy crawlies no longer! The creative people from Minuscule brings us delightful clips--blending CGI elements and real shots--which portray how it is like to be in a bug's tarsus.

It's not all warm and fuzzy and Disney-ish though. Minuscule gives these videos a dash of dark humor, which when paired with wide-eyed innocent-looking characters, lends an eerily enchanting quality to the stories.

Don't forget to catch the Millipede's Halloween experience (find "video of the month") on the delightful Minuscule site.

Link via K's nightly addiction and comfort blog, Ehrensenf.

the day k almost got sold for 5000 rupees

2007-11-30T01:21:00.000+01:00

Pardon the topic-hopping. I find that I sort myself better by topics rather than by chronological order. And the topic of the day is...hands!

One thing which I love was how the Indians were so expressive with their hands. I know we Filipinos talk with our hands, too, but this was a different level altogether. It was as if their hands had lives of their own. Their hands didn't so much as "talk" than express, emote, and dance...or even perform. This is probably one reason why Indian women like to have henna or mindi done on their hands. Their graceful gestures, accentuated by the henna patterns, is a mesmerizing sight one can't tear his/her eyes away from.

The first time I truly started noticing "The Hands" was when my buddies and I finally arrived in Jaipur to attend friend P's 3-day wedding celebration. On the first evening of celebrations, it was common for the groom and the bride to throw separate parties in each of their homes for their respective family and close friends. During that night, the girls in their families get their hands painted in henna. This was ours:

The circle of friends and henna. Taken by Belgian M.

Whoever said that it takes great effort to achieve beauty must have had the henna process at the back of his mind. Though intricately beautiful, the henna took approximately 2 hours to crust, which rendered our hands useless apart from Bollywood-style dancing. (However, we took advantage of this "uselessness" and had our boys serve us like princesses ;o)). Plus, as the night wore on, groom P's sweet nieces intermittently applied a lemon and sugar paste onto our hands to darken the henna further--which, under strict orders, we were not allowed to wash off until the next morning. Yikes! But then, who were we to say anything? Across town at the bride's home, the bride had to undergo 6 hours of henna application and drying for both her hands and feet! And since she's the bride, her designs were waaay more intricate, with the patterns reaching up to her elbows and ankles.

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The first picture in this post was taken on the morning of the wedding. On the day of his marriage, it's tradition for the groom be given a bath by his female relatives. First, the relatives would coat him with a layer of yellow turmeric, after which they would bathe him to cleanse and beautify him. (The turmeric is supposed to make the skin suppler and whiter.)

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before the bath, we first need to get water. And to collect water, we need an urn, which is were the picture comes in.

The whole bathing ceremony begins with the sister--and her baranggay--going to the aunt place to acquire an urn. However, the aunt isn't willing to give up her water urn so easily...at least not without several rounds of true-blue Indian haggling :o)

In our version, we left P's house in scraggly lines, to a street corner where the aunt was waiting with the urn. Our crowd surrounded the aunt with a mixture of giggles, banters, and bated breath. Suddenly, the haggling started:

"Ten thousand rupees!" the aunt cried out.
"No, no, no...one thousand rupees!" P's younger sister volleyed back.

Belgian M gets pulled into the negotiation--not as a negotiator but as an item of exchange!

An explosion of hand gestures ensued. I could barely take any pictures--their intensity made them form a formidable wall around the aunt and her urn, until I could only catch glimpses of their hands, and the story they were sculpting into the air.

At one point, when the negotiations reached a stalemate, K was pulled into the thick of the crowd.

"Okay, okay, we'll give you 5000 rupees for the urn...and we'll throw in the German as a bargain!" one of P's kabarkada said. "Still no?? What about if we include a Belgian, too?" Hahahahaha :oD

Finally, with much hand-waving-in-the-air fanfare, the bater was settled at 5000 rupees. (Minus K and Belgian M...whew!)

No sooner had both sides reach agreement than the band struck up a loud, merry tune, and the people started dancing around us.

Good dancing attracts attention...and maybe even "evil eyes". Waving money in circular motions above the dancer's head is an Indian belief of deterring envy and ill thoughts from onlookers. The money (presumably containing the negativity) is then given to someones else. (In my experience, it was to the musicians or servants.)

We snake-danced to a neighbor's house...

...where the sister filled the urn with water.

She carried the urn halfway to their house...

...before it was transferred to the younger sister for her turn.

And all throughout, we were accompanied by dancing, laughing, and a lot of hands.

Do you feel the flurry, do you feel the drum beats? I'm afraid my pictures does not do justice to the vibrant energy of that day.

We reached groom P's house after a short while, where the rest of the family welcomed us in. This was the groom, by the way. And from the look of his face, he was none too thrilled by the thought of his very public bath later in the afternoon. (He seriously tried to dissuade us from watching. Foreigners? Saying no to witnessing an Indian tradition? Are you kidding?! :o))

However, for everyone's sake, I think we'll spare those pictures from the web ;o)

Next up, I'll share with you pictures of his beautiful, beautiful bride.

some things around the house

2007-11-26T10:36:00.000+01:00

These boots are made for walkin'. And stylin', and being silly, and for photo opps, too. Photo courtesy of 10-second timer, yellow lighting courtesy of my Ikea lamp.

The legs plugged into the boots belong to:

a. a sherpa
b. Big Foot
c. a 27-year-old who is experiencing winter a little late in her life, and who wished she was 16 again so she can wear furry boots without being mistaken for an anime cartoon character

I think 2 years of watching Sailormoon on ABC5 is finally showing its harmful consequences. Hahaha.

But, as Germans would say, das ist egal--it doesn't matter. Because I totally find these boots rockin'. First of all, they're 60% off from Goertz, which appeased me, K, and my wallet. Next, the insides are lined with soft fur, which feels as if your feet are snuggled under woolen blankets with each step. Worn with a skirt, the boots looks funky; but paired down underneath jeans with only the front parts peeking out, they have the sensibility of Hush Puppies and can be worn during Casual Fridays. Plus, squint hard enough, and they could pass for very distant relatives of the ugg boots, which I adore beyond logic.

Carrie's Blahniks may not understand my shopping sensibilities, but one thing's for sure--anti-footwear-shopping-size 9-me is beginning to understand women's love for shoes.

---

Now I have explained the boots. But what about the chairs? The one I'm sitting on is actually a squat, slightly cushioned circular stool. K once articulated it looked like hamburger buns on 3 legs. Hmph-hmph. The top of the stool opens up to reveal a compartment, where I store my sewing kit, shoe shine bottles, unused lightbulbs, and other household bric-a-bracs. What's special about this "hamburger bun" chair was that it's a hand-me-down from a trainee friend (and also fellow India traveller), who had originally found it in Bonn's flea market.

The Shamrock-green chair piled high with books is my own lucky find. Every so often during spring and summer months, Germans put out old furniture they've outgrown on to the sidewalk. When this happens, I gleefully dub it "Throw Out Your Furniture Day", and casually poke around another man's "garbage" for my treasure. At first, I felt embarrassed "scavenging", but if this means I could find something nice and vintage-y, why not, right? Later, I would find out that competition is ripe--not only do other people engage in similar activities, but others actually make a business out of it. These "others" come with trucks and pick up items, from old laundery baskets to massive tassled sofas. Probably for resale?

---

Books are permanent fixtures in my room. This pile is but a small pile among others. This particular Babel is made up of a couple of National Geographic magazines, an Ikea catalogue (soon to be put into good use), an Oprah magazine, a Real Simple magazine, my German notebook with its sheaves haphazardly sticking out, a couple of photography books, and 2 Lonely Planet India books.

---

Which reminds me...India. We'll come back to that soon :o)

want to help feed the world?

2007-11-22T18:28:00.000+01:00

A partitioned box containing rice, peas, and corn, etc. found in an all-around (read: sari-sari) store in India.

http://www.freerice.com/index.php

Here's an interesting way to combine your altruistic and linguistica-lover sides. Click the link and take the vocabulary test--for every correct answer you give, the UN's World Food Programme donates 10 grains of rice to combat world hunger. And, you can play--thus, donate rice--as long as you want (or until your vocabulary fizzles out).

Decrease hunger by increasing your word power--what else are you waiting for?

a workshop that could thaw even the coldest winter

2007-11-22T17:43:00.000+01:00

Across this tree, I saw people plant their own seeds within them. They opened their hearts, made brave decisions, and grew.

Even if my heart is still wandering around the alleyways of some bustling town in India (as evidenced by my fervent trip updates), my starkly contrasting life in Germany marches on.

So let's take a break from my reminiscing and just come back to reality for a bit, shall we?

For the past 3 days, I was in Munich organizing a development program for 14 promising and talented individuals in the company. Even if I were "only" an organizer, and is technically an "outsider/observer" to their group, the workshop also made me rethink certain thoughts I have pushed back into the recesses of my mind in lieu of the workaday world. I sat in inspiring presentations by VPs, listened in to this amazing trainer who pushed us to build our own inner compasses, and spoke with other participants who were generous to pour out some of their hopes and insecurities with me.

Being so engrossed with career and thinking of ways on how to make my life economically secure, I have temporarily forgotten that there are deeper questions to be answered than "how will I get promoted" or "how will I get a better job" or "how can I earn more"? Yes, these are important questions planted into our reality and survival, but underneath those also runs a tangle of deep-rooted fundamental questions:

"Why do I want success?"
"Does professional contentment provide me personal contentment?"
"What is life all about?"
"What is it that pushes me to go to work every single day?"

In other words, are we doing what we're currently doing for the right reasons? Are we being true to ourselves?

These are questions I didn't want to think about for a long time now. I did--before, when I first joined the, ahem, workforce--and it gave me a feeling of entrapment and frustration. Maybe now I'm a wee braver to be responsible for my own path, it's time to dredge up those thoughts again.

---

The participants were truly lovely. When I announced I will be leaving the project soon for another position, they showered me with "we'll miss you" and "congratulations, I'm so happy for you" and "if you need guidance, you can always approach me". One participant-friend told me that it seems I have won their confidence and that they found me truly likeable.

You have no idea how my lil' heart flipped cartwheels upon hearing his comment. Even at the beginning of this program, I saw the participants as my "babies" (including the 40-year-old ones!), and to hear that was truly gratifying. For a split second, I doubted my decision to leave HR and go back to marketing. I want to see my babies grow, overcome their doubts, and develop throughout this one-year program. One of the trainers told me what I was feeling was something he has seen organizers "suffer" again and again. "You've fallen in love with your participants," he smiled at me sagely.

At the end of the 3-day workshop, after the participants hurdled through a tough phone call with a regional CEO, we rolled in a tray of champagne to celebrate. Instead of us toasting the participants, the latter surprised us by toasting to us--the trainers and the organizers. And you know what? They even gave me a special thank you and good luck toast in the end.

How I will miss them. Ah, pusong mamon. That's me.

Okay, now back to our regular programming.

all but a slice of the people we had encountered

2007-11-16T01:42:00.000+01:00

Bet you know what its selling proposition is. Safe, the mineral water brand that sustained us during our desert safari in Jaisalmer.

Post-trip, one of the most asked questions I get about India is, "Is it safe?"

A simple "yes/no" doesn't do the question justice. To answer, you have to dissect a multitude of stereotypical aspects that make up touristic India.

Water? Not safe. (Apart from bottled mineral water, one of which with the brazenly emblazoned brand "Safe". Hahaha--that brand name is hilarious :o))

Shopkeepers? Not safe. (They lure you into their stores for hours, starting with the deceptively innocuous bait, "Do you have 5 minutes to talk, ma'am? Just 5 minutes?" Next thing you know, you're in the store for an hour and the shopkeeper is a heartbeat away from offering you dowry. Seriously. One shopkeeper told me he would have kidnapped me if K weren't present. :o))

Rickshaw drivers? Not safe. (Like an unspoken pact, they refuse to use meters for tourists at all. Edit: The usual diplomatic and amiable K says, "Scums! I guess it's a universal law." :o))

Traffic? Mayday, mayday! (India, being a previous British colony, also drives on the left side of the road. But you hardly notice this, because cars, rickshaws, motorcycles, scooters, horses, cows, camels, elephants, donkeys are just coming from ALL directions. Astoundingly, the surge of traffic unfolds like a choreographed ballet on meth--each knows when to allegro, arabesque, pirouette, and pas de bourrée at just the right moment to avoid being pancaked by a tire, kebab'ed by a tusk...you name it.)

People? A resounding yes. Here, I encounter surprised countenance whenever I answer that it's totally safe. Maybe it is the false sense of security foreigners feel being in a foreign land, but my camera and I never felt threatened during any moment at all. In fact, everywhere our group had gone to, we met only friendly, curious, or accommodating locals, who were willing to help us haggle with rickshaw drivers (these rickshaw drivers are of a separate homo sapien species, I swear), explain the nuances of the different castes in India, offer unsolicited golden nuggets of advice on traveling.

People who were educated or held good jobs, I found especially astute and good speakers. The women, who are still limited by the strong paternal society, were not meek at all, as one would normally expect. They were strong-minded and steady with the right amount of sass. Their sharp wit and tongue, balanced by sweet femininity and coupled with dark looks, made them magnetically beautiful.

The masses we encountered would almost always want to have their picture taken. (Sila lang ha, hindi kami kasama. Photographers lang kami. Haha :o)) Usually, a handful would come up to us and gesture to our cameras, upon which we would oblige with a point-compose-click. Next thing we know, a swarm would form around us in one swift migratory movement, their pointer fingers held up, beseeching, "Me, me! One picture?" from which we'd have to extricate ourselves. (K would always gleefully point at me and mouth, "Bug her", as his analog SLR does not have a screen at the back. Hence, he was less popular than I was. :o)) It was actually odd, since they will never have a copy of the pictures, apart from seeing themselves on my camera screen for 5 seconds or so. I guess it's human need-slash-vanity to be wanted to be remembered. Now somewhere in Germany, they are immortalized on a 27-year-old's C drive.

Of course, there were also some rough patches in dealing with the locals. Despite the wise warnings of Lonely Planet, Polish K, with her well-meaning soft pierogi heart, would always have candies in her beltbag to distribute to kids begging for money or pens. Normally, the kids would accept a candy piece from K and run off with a smile, satisfied. However, on one occasion, a begging kid suddenly multiplied into a dozen--literally out of nowhere--and the kids, in their desperation to grab a candy, started jumping and clawing at Polish K. It was vicious. Also, there were these little molestations while walking down crowded streets, disguised as pasimple or seemingly off-handed brush-bys. With Indians not having a strong concept of personal space, it was sometimes difficult to decipher what had really happened.

But, all in all, my experience with the Indian people were pretty unforgettable. They're infinitely curious, gentle, willing to learn. The following pictures do not encompass the Indian people in its entirety--not at all--but I'd like to present these--in my own little way--as a tribute to them:

The girl with kohl eyes. I fell in love with her the instant I saw her in a mosque in Fatephur Sikri. According to Wikipedia, "Kohl was originally used as protection against eye ailments. Darkening around the eyelids also provided relief from the glare of the sun. Mothers would also apply kohl to their infants' eyes soon after birth. Some did this to 'strengthen the child's eyes,' and others believed it could prevent the child from being cursed by an 'evil eye'".

Pretty schoolgirls on a field trip at Jodphur Fort. My gosh, were they sassy...and were their eyesights sharp! They saw me pointing the camera at their general direction from a balcony across the courtyard!

In the beginning, there was only one. And then the girl joined in...and then another boy, followed by a young 'un. I have all 4 pictures where they crawled into the frame one by one. It was like a 4-part miniseries. :oD

Goofin' around in front of Jama Masjid, New Delhi. It was my first time in a mosque, and it was nothing like I expected. More about it soon, but for now suffice to say that I liked it a lot. The kid on the far left and the one in the middle managed to wiggle their ways into most of my pictures inside the mosque!

Loooook into the camera! I hope the kid's neck went back to its original length after that mighty yank by the sis.

Desert beauty. She's tucked away in an isolated desert village approximately 150km from the Pakistani border.

Who's cool now, eh? Not only do those turbans look cool, they actually keep you cool in the hot weather. Apparently, the air trapped in the space between your scalp and the turban acts as insulation.

There was still a MULTITUDE of people I missed. (With 1.1 billion population, I'm bound to miss some, right? ;o)) Next time, if I ever get a chance to go to India again, I promise to get over my shyness and take more pictures of adults. I'm especially kicking myself for not taking the picture of the owner of Ajay Palace in Fatephur Sikri. He was the most adorable host (and bestest cook!) throughout our Indian trip.

the taj mahal

2007-11-08T10:40:00.000+01:00

From another angle--one of the mosques' domes.

My India trip was a kaleidoscopic mishmash of things, and one is hard-pressed which tale to begin with.

So, I am going to take the easy way out and start with a "cliche"--the Taj Mahal in Agra.

Since most of us in our group only had 1 or 2 weeks' time in India, we wanted to make sure that all the places we'd visit were worth it. On the Taj, we've heard various feedback from "go there, it's a must" to "it's a tourist trap" to the proudly snide "I've been to India 3 times and I've never been there, you little sheep."

But then, a cliche is a cliche because there's some truth behind it, doesn't it? And I think no one could argue that fact, even on pictures the Taj is beautiful--and breath-takingly so; and fact, it is one of the Modern Wonders; and fact, it is one of the monumental symbols (pun not intended) of love.

With 2 couples consisting our group of 4 backpackers, I guess you can guess that the ayes have it. :o)

From New Delhi, we woke up at the wee hours of the morning to take the 6am Taj Express, thinking we could sleep off the cobwebs on the way to Agra. But oh no, it turns out that a ticket for the Taj Express not only meant a seat on the train, but also breakfast fit for a maharaja. Okay, maybe a very tiny maharaja with a very tiny kingdom on the very edge of India. But still, the fare of chai tea, biscuits, omelette, bottled water, tetra pack juice, and Nestle chocolates was a satisfying way to start the day. That, and sharing an aisle with a compass-toting Brit named Malcolm (who is reminiscent of funnyman Michael Palin) made the ride pass by a blink instead of 40 winks.

We arrived in Agra at around half past 8, and from the train station, it was an easy 15-minute auto-rickshaw ride to the Taj Mahal. (Easy, if you don't count the incessant haggling with 1,001 rickshaw drivers. In the end, we went to the government-run pre-paid auto-rickshaw booth, which felt more trustworthy, although they're not above to selling bewildered tourists extra services.)

At the entrance of the Taj, there is a ticket booth especially for foreigners, where we were asked to fork out a staggering 750 rupees, as opposed to the local's entrance fee of 20 rupees. The 750 rupees give you an expensive bottled water and paper socks for the feet--and a free entrance to the Taj. Har har :o)

Security was ocularly (but somehow superficially) tight. For example, rooftop restaurants in the surrounding area are closed during the day to deter snipers from finding good vantage point. Meanwhile, at the entrance of the Taj, visitors were asked to step through a rickety wooden metal detector which hoarsely squeaks out random feeble beeps, while baggage check is done by the Only Indian Woman I've Met Who Didn't Smile But Glowers Instead. Forbidden items were relegated to a locker area across the ticket office, which included my pack of biscuits, juice, and... Mr. Green Rhino, the traveling rhino.

During happier days. Mr. Rhino sipping salted lassi in Sonu Chat Cafe, New Delhi.

(However, I suspect Mr. Green Rhino was not allowed inside not due to security reasons, but because the Taj Mahal complex contains a mosque, too, and maybe a paganistic-looking stuffed toy does not belong to a holy place.)

Now that we have all the tourist stuff done, we step into the threshold of the gate that brings us to the Taj Mahal. Yay! (Apologies on how this blog entry has somehow morphed into a mini-guidebook.)

It will be difficult to forget the feeling of anticipation I had upon stepping through the terracota-hued gate leading to the Taj. The gate was massive, but the doorway is relatively small, obscuring a complete view of the wonder. So you are tempted with tantalizing peeks of pristine white as you make your way through the short passage. A bulbous dome here, a tower there, but never the complete picture. Then, you suddenly clear the doorway and the heads of the other tourists--

The Taj Mahal. (Pronounced "Mahel", meaning "mausoleum".)

--and there it stands in full glory, right smack in the center of your view. The Taj was so majestic and symmetrically perfect, that for a moment it looked as if it was a cut-out pasted against a blue sky. I've seen the Great Wall and the Colloseum, and was impressed by both's history and massiveness. But the Taj evokes a sense of speechless awe--it could have been it's delicate architecture, it could have been the white marble, it could have been the dramatic entrance. Whatever it is, if it weren't for the lack of time, I would have just sat there for an hour looking at it.

From our history books, we know that the Taj Mahal was built on the decree of Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, in honor of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died during childbirth. We also know that the main building of the Taj houses the cenotaph of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. However, here's one "off the books": according to my chatty Kashmiri seatmate on the airplane, on one day of each year during rainy season, a single raindrop falls onto the cenotaph of Mumtaz Mahal. A myth or not? (Faulty pipes or not?) I suppose that's another secret the Taj holds.

After wandering through the grounds, we sat under a shaded area for awhile, observing people.

Most were barefoot, since the Taj Mahal complex contains a mosque. To maintain the symmetry of the complex, there are actually 2 mosque structures built. But since mosques need to face mecca, only one--the one facing west--is "real". The other one remains empty and unused.

Indian kids are adorable. The sorts we met always seem to be the lively, mischievous types. I see my friends Indian A, P, and R in them.

The atmosphere in the Taj is relaxed; people sit freely on the ground, chatting & taking pictures. Strictly no food or betel though--the government is trying to preserve the Taj complex's cleanliness, especially since the white marbles of the Taj has been plagued by Agra's heavy pollution problems in recent years.

Polish K reflecting...her boyfriend Polish W on her sunglasses. She wanted to introduce herself as a Polish Princess to Indians coming up to her.

We left after 2 hours to grab lunch, and then to zoom off to another destination 2 hours away, the ghost city of Fatephur Sikri. It was indeed a short visit, but we're glad we're now able to say, "We've been to India once, and we've seen the Taj Mahal!"

Turning our backs to the Taj, we face the main entry gate again and start heading back for the exit. Good-bye, Taj Mahal. We hope to see you again.

(P.S. Ex-colleague A also was in India during that time. To read Part 1 of her experiences and to have a see what India looks like through another shutterbug's lens, click here.)

guess who's back

2007-11-01T21:50:00.001+01:00

Smile!

Meet Fungga, my camel during my 2-day camel safari in Jaisalmer, India.

Okay, hold on, just to clarify--I'm back. Not Fungga. :o)

I would have taken her back with me, but I suspect we might have some problems with the baggage weight...Among others.

So instead, I brought back pictures. Loads. Like, 1,856 of them? (I don't think that's healthy for public consumption.) That's an average of almost 124 pictures a day. Unfortunately, statistics show that usually, only 10% of what one shoots are wow-worthy. So, like the dung beetles I met in the Moolpasa Desert, I have a lot of sifting to do.

What was definitely wow-worthy was my whole trip. It was as if a National Geographic documentary was unfolding right in front of my eyes. In fact, during one of friend P's numerous wedding rituals, I could have sworn a soothing voice-over was running through my head. From buying a sari to preparing the groom for the big event to post-wedding games, each was a rich and surprising experience froth with meaning and symbolisms.

But if the trip was a TV show, it wasn't just National Geographic. It was Friends, too. It was fantastic to be reunited with some of my AIESEC friends in such a surreal setting. (A special shout-out to Indian A: Should we rekindle the sparks again? ;o) I was so glad to see you again.) Plus, it was refreshing to meet other backpackers along the way. Their characters so disparate from the corporate world's, they gave me another perspective, showed me another way of living life, rekindled feelings of carefree, bygone days.

And oh boy, are those carefree days really bygone. The apparentness couldn't have been more grating as when our plane from New Delhi landed in Frankfurt at 6 AM yesterday, and the captain announced, "Skies are clear and the current temperatue in Frankfurt is 1 degree Celsius." An unrehearsed chorus of audible "aww" rippled through the cabin. Coming from 30-degree weather, who wouldn't say "aww"?

I'll leave you here, my dwarf-sized handful of faithful readers, for the moment. (Do I hear an unrehearsed chorus of "aww", too?? :o)) Still need to unpack, sort out my laundry, reply to emails, rotate landscape to portrait, and finish 2 very engaging books. But, I will be back with my own stories.

(P.S. Thanks for all the lovely birthday greetings. :o) Will reply to you guys soon.)

20-second hello

2007-10-19T10:07:00.000+02:00

Hi! In India. Going to meet my friends in 2 minutes and head off to buy saris for the wedding tomorrow. Had henna painted on my hands as is traditional. Learned a few Hindi dance steps. Ate so much good food! The people are hospitable, friendly, and curious. The streets are chaotic, and you really have to watch out for street peddlers who tries all sorts of things to let you part with your rupees. But overall, the trip has been wonderful--saw the magnificent Taj; spent some warm evenings in rooftops terraces of back-packing hostels with other travellers; took loads of pictures. Can't wait to experience more of India.

(Ays--we have to figure out something! Our evenings are always booked!)

See you! Namaste!

foiled again

2007-10-14T11:02:00.001+02:00

"...in 24 hours..." Not!

Our Sri Lankan Airline flight is delayed. SIGH. It seems as if our arrival in India will take longer than expected. Should I start offering incense and spices to Ganesh?

But, at least the airline company holed us up in Hotel Intercontinnental. Good breakfast. Have lunch to look forward to. Still, doesn't compare with time lost. Naja, better make the best out of it.

Off to meet K in the lobby and "explore" Frankfurt.

hehehehehe

2007-10-13T15:07:00.000+02:00

Got my visa. Flying to India.

I'm now in an internet cafe in Frankfurt, waiting for K to arrive from Bamberg (while chatting with my two sisters! "Beeeee-yoooo-tiful giiiirl...":o)). Six of our friends are already navigating the streets, people, and sights of New Delhi. I know they're still okay and haven't been trampled by a holy cow, because I got an sms from them 2 hours ago. It feels exhilirating, knowing that K and I will soon join them in 24 hours.

I haven't left German soil yet, and the first mini-adventure--barring the whole nail-biting visa cliffhanger--has already occured. As I was hauling my backpack into one of the lockers in the train station, one of the main zips burst open. After 6 years and numerous travels from China's great wall to Rome's Colloseum, my fake North Face backpack has finally met its demise. Too bad, it could have held on 2.5 more weeks to see its third new Wonder of the World, the Taj Mahal.

K is on his way with reinforcements (his roommate's backpack). After transferring my stuff to the borrowed pack, we will take one last picture of my old fake pack and bid it good-bye at the train station. How sad.

Here's our itinerary:
Saturday - Frankfurt
Sunday - Delhi (23.00)
Monday - Delhi
Tuesday - Varanasi
Wednesday - Varanasi
Thursday - Jaipur
Friday - Jaipur
Saturday - Jaipur
Sunday - Jaipur
Monday - Udaipur
Tuesday - Udaipur
Wednesday - Jaisalmer
Thursday - Jaisalmer
Friday - Jodhpur
Saturday - Jodhpur
Sunday - Pushkar
Monday - Agra
Sunday - Delhi

I'll be updating sporadically, but rest assured if I spy an internet cafe, I'll be the first to line up as its customer!

the start (or end!) of indian adventures to come

2007-10-11T02:12:00.000+02:00

Inching along now. Traffic in Budapest. Canon 400D

A sheer rush of excitement cannot transport you to another country. A visa will.

Which is what I'm sadly lacking right now.

Having had no news since I submitted my passport to the Indo-German Consulate Services in Frankfurt more than 2 weeks ago, I began fretting. Horrific images of my treasured Philippine passport laying on some random ground, abandoned and dusty plunged me into worry.

Tuesday
The worry led to dialing. The dialing led to a busy tone. And another. And another. On the seemingly thirtieth try, I finally got through and explained my situation.

The Indian girl on the other end of the line replied cheerily: "We'll find your passport. But I don't have time right now. Can I call you back in one hour?"

Dumbly, I said yes. They never called back that day. That was lesson number 1: don't be dumb.

Wednesday
"Hi, my name is J--the Filipino girl who called yesterday. I still don't have update on my visa application, and I'm already flying on Saturday. Could you please check your system and tell me what the status is? Did my passport even pass through you?"

This time, it was a German lady. Her tone was curt, "Okay, but no promises, because I don't have access to the system. We'll try, okay?"

But having had learned my lesson (and not liking her quick brush off), I persisted. "Could you give me a timeline? Could you pass the phone to someone who has access to the system?"

"Ah...no. No one's here."

"What?! What do you mean no one's there? Could I speak to your supervisor?"

"But no one's here...ah, one moment. Speak to my colleague."

Judging from the way the lady was faltering, that colleague could have been a maintenance guy and she's just making it up to get rid of me for all I know.

The soothing voice of an Indian man came on, "Miss J, we'll find your passport for you. We'll definitely call you this afternoon. Don't worry."

Appeased, I agreed. Well, guess what--they never called back that day.

Lesson number 2: just because you've had a confirmation of what you want to hear from another person (no matter how soothing and lovely that accented voice is), it still doesn't mean it's going to happen.

Realization of the day: still dumb.

Thursday, 6:08am
On the train to Frankfurt. I figured, if I don't show up in person, they're never going to care.

8:45am
I make it to the consulate services office, after huffing and puffing and conquering 7 flights of steep stairs. That should have been my premonition that they're not going to make it easy for visa applicants.

There are only 4 people rushing about within a sea of visa applicants. No wonder they don't have time.

8:50am
I approach the kindest-looking one and repeat my spiel. Two people zoom off to action, entering a room marked "Administration" to look for my passport. Small victory, I think. If only I realize the extent of the whole battle.

9:30am
I approach one of the two people for news. The Indian lady admonishes me lightly, her head moving to the rhythm of her words in that characteristic Indian waggle. "If you could wait 5 more minutes. Just give us 5 more minutes."

9:40am
I call Indian A for support, all the way in Singapore. Indian A cackles, "This is what you call your Preparation Seminar for your trip to India."

His golden nugget of advice: "Don't show indignance or anger...from a Chinese, that's never good. There's a history of animosity between Indians and Chinese, so be careful. By the way, when we meet in India, could you bring with you that German chocolate-coffee powdered drink I love so much? Two containers of them?"

I volley back, "Suuuure, because I'm traveling with 3 luggages and an entourage, I'm sure I'll be able to fit them all into my spacious compartment."

"Fine! I will call the Indian Embassy and tell them that you're coming to India to apply as a maid!"

Oops, what did he say again about Chinese-Indian animosity?

10:00am
The door of the Administration room becomes slightly ajar. From where I am sitting, I could see the look on the people's faces. It increasingly look as if they've eaten bad curry. This is not good. My passport is doomed. I am doomed.

They see me looking at them. I quickly duck my head and re-focus on the book I'm reading.

10:45am
"Miss J? We've found your passport."

With disbelief, I follow them into the room to settle the rest of the visa application.

"You'll get it by end of the day. Come back at 6pm."

All past frustrations dissipate into happy relief. "Great, thanks! But now...any suggestions on how to spend the rest of my day in Frankfurt?"

The Indian man gestures to his skeleton crew. "Well, you can help us out if you want."

"Uh, thanks but no thanks."

5:40pm
After wiling away the whole day walking around the city center and reading in Starbucks, I am eager to claim my passport and pack up my weary feet back to Bonn. I go back to the consulate service office in good spirits.

"Hi! I'm here to claim my passport." I smile a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad.

"Ah, Miss! Hold on." The man proceeds to manually go through 3 or more dozens of passports. Even more afar, I could not spot the telltale green of my Philippine passport amidst the Germans' brick reds. My tummy gives a cold lurch.

The Indian man's head began tilting from side to side, each tilt punctuating his words. "Your passport has not come back from the consulate yet. I'm afraid you'll have to come back the next day."

"But I live in Bonn! I can't make the 2 hour trip to Frankfurt again tomorrow."

More tilting. "Well then, when your passport comes back tomorrow, we will send it to you via UPS."

UPS. Huh. My company's going to have a ball when a UPS man shows up in its foyer.

6:25pm
Tired, frustrated, nervous, pissed off, and--most glaring of all--visa-less, I take the train back to Bonn. Three-something odd hours later, I end up in front of my computer--blogging. (What else is there to do, right?)

Time is ticking. Will chinita_jill get her passport and visa? Abangan. :o(

(The same story applies to friend and fellow traveler Polish W. Will he get his passport visa in time? Even more critical than my situation, he travels tomorrow!)

a train connection

2007-10-08T15:30:00.000+02:00

Cologne Main Train Station.

Engrossed in my current book Almost French, I was slightly jarred when a rather sudden, accented voice cut through my soft mental images of Sacré-Cœur and the Louvre.

"Ist hier noch frei?"

I glanced up and saw a small middle-aged, bespectacled Indian man, gesturing to the seat next to me.

"Ja, bitte," I nodded yes, and quickly hauled my backpack occupying the neighboring seat to the train floor under my feet.

Sweeping his baggy, printed cardigan around him, the Indian man tucked himself comfortably in the seat beside me.

I continued reading my book. Slowly, the train shuddered to life and started chugging away from Frankfurt Hauptbanhof.

The Indian man harrumphed almost imperceptibly. Glancing from the corner of my eye, I noticed him looking sideways at me, then my book. In a way that says, "Oh, I'm curious what you're doing, but pretend I'm not looking at you; carry on."

So I carried on.

The book was spewing out one witty description after another, so I unzipped my bag to take out a pen and scribble down a few memorable lines. Once again, the Indian man took in my every action, neck crooking ever so slightly.

Inwardly, I half-smiled--amused, resigned, and only a tinge annoyed. One thing I appreciate is how Germans mind their own things, and I was not ready to accommodate the Indian man's prying peeps. Multiply this by more than a million; brace yourself, I thought to myself. In less than a week's time, I fly to India.

After a few moments, he hunkered down his seat and dozed off. Reminiscent of the old Kopiko Coffee Candy commercial, his head of unruly hair began to alarmingly dip towards my shoulder. Ohnohnohnohno, I thought wildly, trying to lean out of the way while still focusing on the book.

Just in time, the Indian man roused himself and began twiddling with his mobile. Hindi music wound its way from his phone's speakers. Satisfied, he crossed his arms and let the music continue playing. High-pitched notes ensued. Frenzied beats clicked and clacked.

I glanced up from my book and out of the train window. An airplane flew overhead. Are you going to India? I silently called out to the plane. With a little apprehension, I began thinking about what I might face in India, The people and the crowd will definitely be a unique experience. I have become used to the distance of the Germans. That will have to change.

I flipped a page of the book. The Indian man gave another glance.

And so it went until the train operator announced that we were approaching Mainz Hauptbanhof. I made preparatory movements to get out--shutting my book, grappling my backpack.

"Aussteigen?" the Indian man asked.

Yes, I'd like to get out, I smiled politely.

He slowly moved to stand up. "Woher kommen Sie? Aus China?" His eyebrows curved away from each other, questioning.

No, I replied. From the Philippines. A moment of hesitation--should I continue this conversation?--and then, before I knew it: And you?

From India, he answered back in a gentle yet cheery voice. By now, we were both standing on the aisle of the train carriage.

"Ah, naechste Wochenende fahre ich nach Indien." I'm traveling to India next week, I said.

The look of curiosity was replaced by a look of warmth on the Indian man's face. The kind of warmth that is wistful and proud, the kind of warmth when you hear the name of your homeland. The eyes behind the black-framed glasses crinkled with a smile.

His wrinkled hand slowly reached over and squeezed my arm lightly. Who are you traveling with? Is this for holidays?

I'm traveling with my friends. We are attending an Indian friend's wedding.

Where in India?

Jaipur.

Oh, Jaipur. He relishes the sound as if he has eaten good curry.

Where in India are you from?

New Delhi.

Suddenly, a German woman squeezes past us violently, without excusing herself. The backpack in my hands swung aside and whacked the Indian man at the waist.

I looked, horrified, but the Indian man was oblivious. He was still relishing this small talk about his country.

Finally, as the train slowed down for the last few meters, he gave me three firm paternal pats on the shoulder. Schoenen Urlaub, he smiled meaningfully. Good holidays. Have a good time. I could feel he was happy for me.

I smiled at him in earnest and bade good-bye with a slight wistfulness.

As I disembarked from the train, a rush came over me. I couldn't wait to go to India.

have a seat

2007-10-03T16:40:00.000+02:00

Yummy reds and greens. Nikon Coolpix D2.

'Taken on the deck of a beat-up ship which has been converted into a grungy cafe. (And by grungy, I don't mean it in a good way :o)) This was the day K and I cycled 60 kilometers to Bonn's bigger, slightly flashier sister city, Cologne. Only a mere 5 kilometers before our goal, we decided to play the hare and stop for a rest.

Without care for composition, I took the photo because I wanted to take note of the chair's shadow, for future sketching reference. 'Remembered how self-conscious I felt, taking a picture of a beat-up plastic chair, with other patrons looking quizzically at me. Prior to standing up to snap this shot, my mind tipped from one scale to another, thinking of just not taking the picture altogether. The stares are not really worth it, I had thought.

But after downloading the pictures of the day into my laptop, I was mildly surprised how this particular picture turned out. To think I could have missed out on it, because of my insecurity, of my discomfiture at drawing attention. At times--and this is something I'm largely guilty of forgetting--we just have to suck it up and do it and not care what others think. In other words, kebs? :o)

Looking at this picture gives me a sense of wonder how normal things can feel unexpectedly profound sometimes. We just need to be open and not take things for granted. Also something I'm guilty of forgetting.

bachelor party

2007-09-30T19:32:00.000+02:00

Kiss the groom before his day of doom. Can't have a bachelor party without the right duds, the right 'tude, and a bunch of friends who are not quite right in the head. Canon 400D.

Recipe for a jolly-good bachelor's party:
- a creative gang of friends from all over the world
- an H&M shirt marked down to 50%, plus fabric paint and paper hearts
- quick organizational skills
- cellphone & text messages (to put those organizational skills to work)
- yoga instructions
- liquor
- German tradition
- a gullible groom-to-be

Just kidding, P! You're not gullible. In fact, you're a sport (no pun intended)!

In Germany, here's the general rule for bachelor parties: the louder, the drunker, the more public, the better! Soon-to-be grooms are known to roam around the city with his posse of friends, all decked out in matching shirts or costumes, the requisite bottle of beer in their hands. The (questionable) friends usually set up challenges for the groom...may it be to approach ladies and drink schnapps with them, or sell bric-a-bracs to strangers to raise money for the wedding, or ask girls for kisses. And while the hapless groom goes out to complete the string of dares, the friends goad him with chants, boisterous songs, catcalls, you name it.

Male bonding. Doesn't it just make your heart fuzzy all over?

Not quite. :o) But we can't just let our dear Indian friend P march off to his wedding day without a German-style bachelor party, right? That's part of his cultural education.

And so it is in the glorious name of education that a group of friends gathered on Saturday evening to help P into a German rite of passage...but with an Indian flair. We decided that P would approach girls and teach them how to do yoga. Successful yoga candidates would then "graduate" by sharing a shot of vodka with P, or give him a kiss on the cheek.

In the beginning, we had to grapple the Yoga Master P to get his dosha going.

But it didn't even take one position from us greenhorns before YMP (Yoga Master P) hid his face in shame and decided to take matters into his own hands.

And so along with translator K, YMP approached several German women and manifested his inner salesman, cajoling and flirting with them to do his bidding. It surprised us how ready the ladies were to contort their bodies into various positions in public. (Germans are paradoxes in study--in everyday life, they are serious and formal, but when it comes to having fun, such as carnival and bachelor parties, they go all out crazy. I guess they take fun seriously and formally, too. ;o) "When we have fun, we should do it the right way! Prost!!" *plink*)

It became more inspired as the night and the fog of vodka deepened, with one woman even going down on her hands and knees to demonstrate "The Dog Position" in a busy alleyway in the old part of Cologne.

If someone were to ask which branch of yoga we were practicing, the closest approximation would probably be Laughter Yoga. :o)

However, whoever said yoga is supposed to pacify the soul may have to make an exception that night. By the end of the night, as we rode the train back to Bonn, YMP--hamstrings all stretched and brain all tipsy--half-laughed and half-threatened, "All cameras used tonight would have to be burned!"

when feeling blue means feeling happy

2007-09-27T12:08:00.000+02:00

This week is hectic!

I'm organizing a networking dinner tonight and a kick-off event tomorrow. Yesterday, I survived a presentation in front of a roomful managers--a small milestone for me, because for the first time in my whole public speaking life (which is admittedly not much, since I avoid it like how my dogs avoid bathtime--scampering away with discombobulated terror in the eyes), I actually sounded calm and collected, even if my innards felt like it wanted to implode and my hands were Arctic ice cold.

The key? Breathe. Control your inner headless chicken.

This week reminds me of hell days in my old university--okay, not quite. I think those "hell days" are far more legendary :o)

Speaking of university days...

Maybe because it's UAAP season again, but I've been receiving quite some emails (funny, oozing with spirit, etc.) about my beloved alma mater, as well as reading tidbits in a fellow Atenean's (and batchmate, and ex-colleague!) blog. News about Ateneo never fails to fire up my dormat school spirit. Suddenly, I'm in my old tambayan again, playing bridge with my barkada; or sneaking out of my marketing class to watch the last few minutes of a ballgame on TV at Kostka Hall (the TV lugged to school by a loyal student); or in the high school pool doing laps as the twilight sets in; or yelling with frenzied fervor amidst a sea of blue and white at Araneta Colliseum's stands; or tucked away in some forgotten corner of Rizal Library, cramming.

Whenever I talk to K about my school, he listens oblingingly, but could never fully comprehend why I feel the way I do. It seems that universities here in Germany do not indulge in school spirit. Students are very individualistic; they complete their curriculum at their own pace. If you're fast, like my roomy H is, chances are, you've already finished all the required readings and paper during the first quarter of the school year and you're now just wiling away the days playing computer games. If you're too occupied with other things, like my other roomy N is, then chances are, you're now filling up long nights squeezing economic theories into your brain and smoke into your poor lungs. K's university do not even hold graduation ceremonies, which I feel, among others, solidifies the feeling of unity among students--as batchmates, as friends, as co-survivors, as alumni.

It's such a contrast to this:

(Part 2, here.)

Explaining school rivalry to K? Might as well be explaining Ibarra's accounting principles to him.

But maybe The New York Times (The New York Times!) can expound on "A Nation's Passion" better.

Heck, even Harry Potter joins in the fray in this ridiculously funny fictional piece. (But not for the uninitiated, I'm afraid. K could only sit in silent cluelessness while I laughed my way through this one.)

Arg, when I fly home next time--and if it coincides with UAAP season--may I request my lovely barkada that we get tickets for one of the games, and then cap it off with a picnic in Bel Field under the fairy lights?

What can I say? Ang sarap maging Atenista!

Mini MAPHILINDO

2007-09-22T03:35:00.000+02:00

The Second Sisterhood. Filipino me, Indonesian C, and Malaysian S. These girls rock my world. (And so does Mr. Teddy Bear lounging in the background.) Canon 400D.

There is comfort (and much laughter!) in having people around you who share your customs and traditions.

Tonight, we decided to unwind from the stress of work and simply chill--just us girls.

For dinner, we had sunnyside up eggs, baked beans, chicken, and rice. Weird to the outside world, but just right for us. It felt comfortable--as comfortable as slipping into your favorite pair of pajamas. For once, no explanation was needed for the ketchup & Maggi we put on our eggs, for using spoons while eating, for dipping fruits into salt. We liberally sprinkled fried garlic on our rice, and in the process discovered another similar word--bawang for garlic!

Maybe it was entirely due to unobservance or apathy while growing up, but the thought of finding similarities never came to my attention until recent actual interactions with our neighbors. I am mildly surprised that there are so much affinity between us and them. (Heck, there's even a group in Facebook called "My Parents Used to Beat Me with a Feather Duster", and we just understood. :o)) It makes me feel connected...and for some unknown reason, even proud. Perhaps finding out these common things made me feel that my Filipino culture is not an isolation, but is truly part of something bigger, of Asia. Does that make sense at all?

In the early 1960's, a confederation consisting of Malaysia, Philippines, and Indonesia called MAPHILINDO was formed. But this soon fell apart due to political confrontations among the 3 nations. I think our version--with food, laughter, good wine, girl talks, empathy, and pictures as foundation--would last much, much longer.

the mighty adventures of a corporate slave

2007-09-14T15:02:00.001+02:00

The Tower of Power. Where it all happens...or not. Canon Powershot A75

Do you think that corporate slaves like us don’t get any adventures in the office? Oh-ho, how sadly have you mistaken. Coming to work each day is each day wrought with suspense.

First of all, there’s the Killing Jaws of the Elevator, threatening to squeeze your sleep-deprived body if you’re not fast enough. The Killing Jaws is shortly followed by the Vertigo Ride, catapulting you to your cubicle, where you are not to feel the sunshine or breathe fresh air for the next 8 hours.

Then, there are the automatic doors that swing back and forth on each floors. “Zzzrrrch!” it buzzes, as it swings open to let a worker in. A crisp “click” and the door swings back to its original position. “Zzzrrrch!” it buzzes again, as it traps in another worker. You try to follow the worker in, but instead of a “zzzrrrch!”, a “Wa-poww!!” reverberates through the air. Chances are, the sensor hasn’t sensed your emaciated body and had slammed itself on your face.

If those haven’t killed you yet, perhaps the Boredom Rays zapping out of my colleague’s mouth will. Case in point:

“Hi, Colleague #1, good morning!” I chirp cheerily.

“Moooooooornnnnning Jiiiill,” the Voice of Doom warbles back with the supersonic speed of a sloth.

It’s not just the speed (or lack of), but also the quantity and topic relevance and the condescending attitude. And his usage of "feedback" in sentences!! “So, today I am writing a very short formular (pause) to feedback the HR managers (pause) on the initiative of the corporate center (pause). So (pause), let us meet us later today this afternoon for 3 hours and discuss this amongst us? (pause, raise eyebrows) If you have any questions (pause)—any questions at all (pause)—please (pause) ask me. You should ask so you will know (pause, sniffs)! Now, let me just have my breakfast (pause, creepy smile). You know what a breakfast means? (pause) A cigarette! Ahuh-huh-huh-huh. Oh (pause), do you have fire?”

Fire? Fire?! What about setting you on fire? Maybe that will put some spark into your steps. (By the way, by “fire”, he meant a light.)

If you are lucky, you would have survived that. But not for long. Because then there’s lunch. “Chicken Disguised as Turkey” was a dish on the menu once. I’m not sure if something was just lost in translation, but if a canteen would serve a poultry pretending to a be another poultry, I don’t know what else they’re conjuring under the kitchen counters. An Imminent Artery Clog Masquerading As Oily Pork Knuckle, perhaps? Or, Putting the Rat in Ratatouille?

With a full stomach and your brain slowly disengaging into Comfortable Doze Mode, afternoons are when you are the most susceptible to attacks. Like the script of a badly-written horror movie, the creatures of my workplace are right on cue.

“I’M LATE FOR A MEETING!” a banshee shrieks as it gallops into the room, a certain wildness in its eyes. Panting, it grabs a random stack of official-looking paper, and thump-thump-thumps out again—all in less than 5 seconds. Oh wait, that’s not the retreating form of a banshee on 2-inch red heels. That’s my colleague. “JESUS WILL LET US KNOW IF IT’S THE RIGHT TIME!” my colleague continues screaming strange, incomprehensible statements.

If that doesn’t give you permanent hearing loss—or worse, brain damage—maybe an encounter with a mindless drone will.

Ring, ring!

The drone picks up the phone. “Aherm, hello?”

“Hello, Project Leader #2! Did you see the report I sent out to you this morning? I’ve outlined the issues that need decisions, and placed some recommendations for each options. What do you think?”

“Er, er, errrr…yes, yes…I got the report. Uhm, well. What do youuu think?”

“I choose the Silliest Option because there is no hope in this world, and so let us just all laugh, get drunk, and be merry.”

“Aahhh, yes. You’re right. I agree with you, I agree with you.”

I think about rainbows and butterflies and unicorns to prevent myself from coiling the telephone cord around my neck and bungee jumping with it.

And if you’ve survived all that, there is one last challenge—the sprint to the bus at the end of the day. Trying to be fast yet feminine in your pencil skirt and stilettos as onlookers look on in amusement is tough, but you don’t care because the bus is your Escape Pod. To. Freeeedom!

Until the next day, that is. But well, with such an exciting office life, you wouldn’t mind reporting back the next day, wouldn’t you?

Take that, Indiana Jones.

(But, my God. Thank God it’s Friday.)

a ball of yarn

http://jill-twentyten.blogspot.com/

dear an der esche,

i finally have found what i'm looking for

sour and sweet--which one's which?

traffic advisory: crossroad ahead

where has my milk tooth gone?

then we came to the end?

and the "toni" award goes to...

a random conversation during lunch

salam alaikum

'allo

w update

signs

a word from the wise

relics

peekaboo

sound check

...

dear germanwings

the church

random conversations

a pleasant surprise

what made me go "lol" today

lost

"her morning elegance" by oren lavie

banaue-sagada, part II

banaue-sagada, part 1

tell me if this wouldn't make you furious

a christmas powwow with pow

ich bin zurueck

oops!

shake it

here's looking at you, kid

paris deux

&

my first arroz caldo

cause you had a bad day, you're taking one down

airing out the laundry

all discoveries should be like this

heartbreaker

still alive

my first polish wedding

to think it all started with a dwarf

you learn something new everyday

what made my monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday....

brush with blue blood

the id of my blog

different but same same?

snaps!

the electroscope

fi-na-le, oh-wo-o-oh

chance encounters

oom ba whoom ba

leavin' on a jet plane

germans and their quirks

where do i go from here?

shutterbugs on road trip

in honor of a telephone conversation i had a few minutes ago

in honor of earth day

food flashback

sunday

the hundred and third reason why i *heart* k

i'm back at the other side of the world

i am home

karneval is debauchery spelled in german

how to make me laugh at work

currently obsessing on...

furball

a new song with soul

meet the skelewags

village people

a colorful tv ad and a beautiful epic film

conformity

the incident at the train yard

to my scattered friends in far-off lands

blog carnival: if books were food

all aboard for the darjeeling limited

brownie points

currently obsessing on...

the hundred and third reason why i heart k