12 de març 2017

You are not going to get on the way to my happiness

It has been some solid weeks of unexpected showers. But also an opportunity to connect with strangers (Random acts of kindness, sharing a cup of coffee made on a camping stove while keeping shelter under the pouring rain. Two strangers: me, on the scooter, him, coming from a boat at sea).
So there is sometimes a bright(er) side of rain, which is always great to our friends, the trees. So at least something wins.
Museum days, reading, eating soul food in company and a lot of laundry that never dries. In a place where rain is not the rule, everyone starts feeling down and apathetic. Kind of like when Dutch experience more than 5 days of +25 degrees, unbearable heat fills all topics and they doubt if there is life beyond the shadow line. 

And even then, when the patience threshold reaches peak and you even walk away before parading at Mardi Gras, even then... The love grows. 
Sydney has been voted as one of the least exciting cities in the world and I like the bad rap. Unexcitement: more daytime activities and business people too busy to see beyond their suitcases. Ergo: get a liberal job and enjoy the quiet outdoors on office hours! 
Now that kids are back to school and backpackers move north it is time to continue my love affair with this city. 
My happiness finds a lot of happy places here!

I felt the dopamine. I was high on love. In love. Enjoying my lunch at the Art Gallery, seeing colourful parrots being cheeky. Absorbed, hoping the moment never ends. Butterflies, warm fuzzies and all the shebang.

And then something happened. I was happily collecting graphic evidence of my blissful time. 
Per below, I took a picture of a wall size poster of a young Warhol, part of the exhibition. It impacted me at first sight.
Right in the middle there was a lady eating a pie. I was only aware of her presence after taking the picture, but she was part of the moment, I guess.
I don't remember what indigenous group it was that has an issue being photographed or caught on video because they think you take their soul. 
The lady seemed extremely unhappy of being caught on camera and it made me think of that immediately (and I wandered off in my mind again while she was addressing me...) 
She was unhappy. I understood. I wish she would have stopped shouting to listen to me. We all have been caught involuntarily on someone else's shot. With the availability of devices and the frequency we record things it has become a common fact to have our souls taken. We are more exposed and we take it as something that has come with modern times. 
So I was with her. But I also was flabbergasted at her exaggerated reaction seen my kind predisposition. I came closer, I smiled rather incredulous of the absurdity of the issue and at ease with the simplicity of its resolution. I was going to simpatise and ask her about her day. But she went on, and I really lost track of the ongoing blurb (mind wandering off and wondering what indigenous group doesn't like pictures...). 
She must have had a bad day...

And then, still shouting she asked me to see the picture. And I showed it to her. At that point I had a chance to talk and I offered to delete it. And she obviously agreed. In an upbeat tone I asked her if she would let me photograph the poster without her on the frame, then. 
And the shouting began again: "Oh, so now I have to be out of the picture?"
An argument gone wrong. I went silent and walked away, picture undeleted. I had a moment to look around and see people taking pictures everywhere. I couldn't agree more with the lady. I loathed being on the other side. And, most of it, I was in such a loved up stage I wasn't able to comply any longer, because she interrupted my dreamy state with an aggressive confrontation.

And here is the happy learning out of it. When in a confrontation, my body gets very tense and I always avoid conflict trying to find many ways to give the other party part of the reason, as I know, it is all a matter of perception. 
If the conflict goes on personal attacks I do try to find what I've done wrong, but it haunts me. 
We all make mistakes and we will never make everyone happy with our choices. We all get hurt in some way from verbal confrontation. We can also decide how much we want it to affect us.
So here's that. I shook the tension, the guilt feeling and made my way to a video art performance. I managed to calm the bad stomach. The dopamine was gone, but I also stopped the adrenaline to take over. I felt calm and more focused and promised myself not to let me ruin the day. It wouldn't have otherwise. But I would have finished it to sulk on how things could have been dealt better. But I didn't. And I went on to the video exhibition and the Aboriginal Art.

And that's how it works. 

01 de març 2017

see with your heart

Life in Sydney continues, and now it is same old new at my then-place of residence in Vaucluse: Clairvaux. 
I once attempted to keep a diary of the life in this house, but sheer amusement and happy times kept me rather busy from writing about what a roller-coaster it was to share your domestic life with 18 people under a hilarious pseudo-tyranny.

I am not going to look back, not on this post at least. Demographics have changed in the house and it is quite interesting how millennials view the concept of sharing. But, I am not going to lie, many of the originals stayed in a two-dimensional quest to saving money and in the meantime purchasing all those things they thought they needed. 
The happy moments outweigh the different views and the meaningful connections have made my life much richer.

Yesterday was a meh day. You know, you sometimes have those. You don't jump out of bed in excitement and want to make love to the world. The only idea of getting up was too hard to bear. Although the weather forecast said it was going to be rainy all day the day started so sunny and gorgeous I had to listen to my inner voice say:

"This morning is a gift, you will miss such days"  

subsequently, I peeled myself off the sheets... rather meandrous.

I have set an Instagram account (@selvetchen) and I am keeping track of a visual diary to record my life on the other hemisphere. A dream that came true in 1998 and has made me feel part of this side of the world. But yesterday I decided to ditch the camera and make it a "see with your heart" day. 
Choice of running field: The Hermitage walk with the idea of going for a run + swim - the perfect plan to wake me up.

I still have sore hamstrings since "the ripping" in September and I had tired muscles from the run the day before. The road was all downhill, thus heavy on the joints, so I decided to walk instead. 

All that I saw... 

Mushroom viewing! After some evening storms there were huge mushrooms everywhere by the trees. But, being in OZ, they couldn't be just regular shrooms, they had to be weird psychodelic phantasies. One of them opened to show an interior worth a sci-fi creature, but I couldn't google out what I saw. I did find a video of the colour-changing one. It was so much fun. Look!

quite amusing!

On my way to the beach a storm hit us. It was beautiful to stand there and see the sand get wet, my clothes get wet, the sea change its colour to a pearly grey, people running, the smell of the sea lurking strongly under our noses, the misty pavement. 
I took shelter in the old bath house and continued my trajectory. On the way to the southerly beaches I found a couple of big lizards and many baby ones, which are oh so adorable I always feel compelled to talk to them. 

When I arrived to Hermitage Beach the best surprise was there to greet me: The fun dance of a school of fish. 
As I was sitting on the dock, watching the clouds dissipate and the sky start its reddish dawn ceremony a baby manta ray decided to emerge and dance among the fish. I was there witnessing it all, thinking that the best things I have enjoyed have never been caught  on camera. 

I had been listening to Anita the day before talk about some holidays she took to Greece years ago and how dead the Aegean and the Mediterranean seas are.
While watching a manta gracefully swimfly with fish I thanked again being on this side of the world and being able to see so many living beings I unfortunately can't see in my sea any more. Go figure right in the city. 

Back home to a chai and no footage. Indeed:

                                           on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur

20 de gener 2017

Life in Sydney. Life again

I sometimes wonder why I need to keep these memories. Writing puts my thoughts in order. It grounds me, it rescues images and adds the emotions. 

On my arrival I was in the airport with bits left of the post-Christmas munchies, looking for some Aussie yum to bite on, despite not being hungry at all. I had had processed sugars throughout Christmas and -maybe not belonging in this post- I can tell by comparison the devastating effects in your body and your appetite. In the infinite time I need to keep enjoying life one of the things I want to give back to the community is my body-mind wisdom. I might not have the heart-mind bit all too well adjusted. But my body-mind communication (and cognitive ressonance) is quite impressive.

I rode the eternal ride from the airport all the way to Bondi Junction. On the way I thought how quickly one adapts to the known environment, using my opal card again, which is called OV in NL, which is called T10 in Barcelona. 
In the Junction I bought a pair of sunnies and reactivated my Aussie number. Ready! 

I went down the road from the bus station to be picked up by my Angloaussiesraeli family in a quiet café, which was closed. I was hoping to grab a deliciously vegan friendly coffee.

Ever since I arrived I have noticed the good heart of people living in this city. While waiting to be picked up I was running out of battery and a guy just opened his office to me to pplug the phone in. He was happy to leave me there while sorting a delivery. I find it natural as my natural state is to trust and be trusted, but it is not always the case wherever you go, so worth mentioning. I have had countless shows of random trusting kindness and I must say that part of who I am is thanks to the lessons of trust learnt in my communal life in the Vaucluse area. 
One reason to fill the love tank and to feel that I belong here. 

My Anloaussieraeli family arrived. It was amazing to be picked up and see all the girls in one car, love gushing into the tank. 

We spent the day catching up, we went to the library to get some books and we had some yum dry-frozen strawberries coated in dark chocolate. 
I went to visit Anita afterwards. I was determined to stay awake until the sun went down. My voice was getting weaker, although when we saw each other we couldn't stop talking. We had to leave it for another day. The cousin showed up. Amazing how little I see him but how closely related I feel to him. It has been years of connecting with the Gisborne-Wellington whanau. 
In a heartbeat we agreed to arrange a family lunch shortly. I had no energy left. 

My following days were filled with jet lag and exhaustion. In short I was preparing myself to take more pictures, more videos and deliver proof of the reason why life here suits me like no other I know. 

17 de gener 2017

The faces of joy

My life in Sydney has restarted. It has restarted me, after doing a system upgrade.
I utterly love my life here to a level I can't describe. How many times I think I should have my family and close friends here... Damn! I should have been born here.
I am on Winter hiatus, still recovering from Jet Lag and my mind /update 2 weeks post-arrival/ just sort of stopped doing funny things.
****** This bit is some linguist geeky talk, so skip if your brain starts to swollen up. ****
Until way past jet lag, my head was still in different language zones. I am such a useful case for research... Because I had slowly recovered what we call the "European Accent" = undefined English learnt from all English speakers, native or not--, I could hear how I would pronounce certain words depending on how often I had used them in different countries. I just heard myself slip up Dutch-influenced words/grammatical constructions, fluctuating from Kiwi, Aussie and European at random. I was doing this analysis while having lunch and chatting up with my Aussie/Kiwi Whanau. 
I had just aarrived. We were four people, four accents: a neutral Kiwi accent (the equivalent to mine, but down under version), a full Aussie accent, a full Kiwi accent and my hard to define European accent with a fragmented Jet Lagged brain across linguistic zones. 
Then listening to my interlocutors, matching up and adjusting (the sounds, sentences and words I uttered were worth a case study).
 What an amazing brain of immersive/kinaesthetic learning I have! I have to give myself credit for that, my grandmothers both died. They understood little linguistics. 
Our kind is rare. It takes years of crossing language zones. Constantly. 

******** Now you can go back to reading more emotional writing, next posts will have more anecdotes, promise, there are enough ***********

So, geekisms aside, I can't stop crying these days. I don't know what it is. It must be sheer happiness and it is scary. I remember how I didn't shade a tear of sadness on the prospect of moving back to NL and I am blissfully, maybe intentionally, uninfluenced by it in a sort of "don't mention-don't feel- fashion.
I go on with my happy self without thinking too much that this is my only life and I need more time so I can enjoy it even more. Maybe others don't feel this way, or don't relate. Maybe they are happy just so, because they only feel home in one place and my tears are a consequence of global awareness and chronic Fernweh, damn!

I realise, in OZ, I reconnected quite quickly to my usual activities and people with less difficulty than in Europe. I guess I was only gone a year here, so things don't change so much that you have to find your space again. 
It took me a while to do so in Amsterdam. I always join initiatives on my own and often feel awkward if it is about regular group meetings, because it seems everyone know each other, I am the smiling intruder coming from nowhere and I don't know how to measure my level of sociability or enthusiasm, if that is a concept. I stopped thinking I am too weird to fit in, because I am weird enough not to fit fully anywhere, but shy at times to make it a smooth transition. 

Something has changed, though... And I am meeting new people. And experiencing the craziest coincidences.

I opened up an Instagram account, following a friend's advice in trying to befriend the camera after a Christmas conversation. It has helped to share with close friends what my life looks like down under.
Instagram ID: selvetchen. 
I am not a good photographer, but it is my approach to a visual diary. Bear with me, I am not used to it. I have to force myself to take the camera and take pictures, but once it is done, then it will be a visual memory... 

Since my arrival I have been non-stop giving and receiving love to and from friends, and the uploading pictures has won time to the writing, as it takes less time and reflecting. And right now I move from social gathering to social gathering. It is Summer after all.

But so many fascinating things have happened that I need to share, that I'll try to write short posts with the day's experiences/learnings. 

16 de desembre 2016

Life in Amsterdam... again

Life is strange.
I once was looking over a cliff arounf Watson's Bay in Sydney and the thought came, that I would rather jump off that cliff than returning to Europe.
When circumstances pointed to an irreversible situation I went through a very tough Kübler-Ross-ish process of grief to accept my defeat.
And once back, Central Europe life was so not like my sunny life Down Under...


The idea of being in NL again was so overwhelming, that I chose to try a come back my country of citizenship. It was the best option by elimination. Looking back I did try hard to acclimatise, to readapt  to the culture, to rediscover me and the landscapes of my roots, to find places to thrive and feel useful, to face major disappointments and to send love and laugh to all of that.

I got the cold feet. I saw no way out in the Human Rights conflict in Spain. The idea of letting go of my apartment was too overwhelming. I once painffully  let go of my life in Germany. I keep working on accepting that I had to leave Sydney against my will. I am not ready to let go of the Amsterdam foreign local me. But first and foremost I am not ready to let go of my headquarters. It is the only walled home I have. It is cosy and welcoming. And open. Anyone can come stay and feel home for a while, too.


I still dislike the weather, proof are my regular recordings of weather-induced frustration. I often just made videos of the street in disbelief of a sky so saturated of clouds that it hardly lets any light in. I am very lucky I grew up with sunny days 300 days a year.

So far it feels fine to dodge the Winter a bit and find a way to stay busy without leaving the house much. The hope of leaving at some point to spend part of the Winter away helps.
I have a memory of the terribly depressed corporative-me the 6 months of Winter. The wine, the carbs, the sorrow, the chronic sleepiness...
 Against my predicitons and if I look at my healthy habits (my addiction to Brussel sprouts is almost offensive) you could say there is a quantum leap. I thank all to the freedom from office work. I love teaching but the Monday to Friday, 8 to 3 + eternity in correcting and preparing, the predictably high season holidays and still rather Judeochristian-influenced family values (#becomingliberal) was the worst of it.

I had some peace riding the bike at night along the Amstel and I thought about my so extraordinary life. Riding close to water was refreshing my mind. And singing on the bike ended with a blatant pharyngitis, out of singing to the moon in bliss.


My goal remains, but it has been improved. Who says you can't choose where to live for the seasons? I feel I'm going through the best moment of my life and I am welcoming these oncoming years full of freedom and free of burden.

27 de novembre 2016

London, for the book

The emotional travel guide sets off
I have made a brief return to London after a few years, a city so big, that I experience differently every time.
Last time before my recent visit was very long ago. Since I stopped wearing a watch I have developed a good sense of time, but I am still terrible at remembering dates or counting years back.
So last time I was in Londa, I remember we were visiting a friend. I was with my other half, so it must have been ages ago, I don't know how long we stayed, where we slept or what we did every day. I only remember one day we went to a patio and ate  eggs and drank instant coffee. Another day I let the guys do their pub crawl and I spent the day in the Tate. I there discovered the art of Sarah Lucas and I have been a fan until now http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/sarah-lucas-2643.
I left the museum sparkly-eyed and sorrounded of a magic invisible veil, joined the guys on their pub crawl and fell asleep on a bench. The following day I bought some ingredients to make Indian food. These are the loose memories I recollect.
London is not my favourite city. This is a euphemism to say I rather dislike it. I don't like its size, it's weather, its greyness or its boring buildings.
This last time I was in London it was to pay a deserved visit to a soul friend, so the city itself wasn't the purpose of the visit, let alone the highlight. I just like to show my love by sharing the best gift I have: my time. And we found moments to spend quality time together, which is what matters in the end. Time never goes back.

First time I was in London I was fourteen. Now that The Cure have left Amsterdam and they are about to play in their country of origin, it is a good occasion to review my love for their music from a very young age.
I went to London looking for Robert Smith's house, although in the end I just went madly up and down Oxford Street due to my sense of orientation. While my other teenage friends wanted to get Doc Marteen's  or bomber jackets, I was looking for music and a product to straighten my hair.
... But I got lost in Greenpeace first, I found a Greenpeace store and learned for the first time about climate change and climate threats (preserving the planet resonated so much in me and my compassionate approach to nature that I turned vegetarian a year later)

... And then I got lost in music. There were postcards and LPs of Prince everywhere.
He is dead now, and this last visit OCT 2016, I found this in Portobello:

I have a whole vinyl collection of Prince, back in Barcelona. When I first saw this picture age 14 I was recently over my love affair with Joey Tempest and I was going through a musical crisis, I was letting a friend I made in England educate me into The Cure beyond Lullaby, which I found hypnotic, but before that I couldn't quite identify with any of the music that was in trend.
I asked my parents to record for me Nr1, the music program that was going on in the late 80s, and, aside Guesh Patty, Rod Steward and David Bowie, everything else seemed quite >meh<.
Age 14, climate  change, save the whales and BOOM! --> THE FREAKING WARM FUZZIES!!!
I felt sexually attracted to that guy in the picture. I had heard of Prince, but only listened to Purple Rain in the background. Now, with my newly acquired  English language  skills I was able to understand the lyrics. They went straight down my tummy, butterflies, straight into my libido.
A sexual awakening through Prince, Purple Rain, Darling Nikki and When Doves Cry. I thought he looked like an older and talented version of my highly abusive love interest, which belongs in the chapter of freaks I've kissed.

This is what went through my head on my last visit to London. We are lucky to awake feelings when stimuli knock on memory lane...

17 d’octubre 2016

Etwas vergeht in die Seele, wenn einen Freund uns verläßt (f*ck die neue Rechtschreibung)

Algo se muere en el alma...
Ich erlaube mir 'ne kleine Unterbrechung in der Sprachwahl, da ich es für wichtig halte, dieses Post auf Deutsch zu schreiben.
Allererstens, ich habe so lange kein Deutsch geschrieben ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob ich es fähig sein werde genau auszudrucken, all die Gefühle, die Erinnerungen, die nach deinem Tod, lieber Ulf, geweckt sind.
Ich habe es tagelang verpeilt, etwas zu schreiben,  aber jeden Moment, seitdem ich erfahren habe, daß du bloß endgültig nicht mehr da bist, habe ich mich erinnert, was für einen enormen Einfluß du in meinem Leben gehabt hast. Du, ihr, Los Ulf. Und ich bin dir und Chris so unheimlich dankbar, daß ich Euch begegnet habe.

Ich kam nach Deutschland gleich nach einem einjährigen Aufenthalt in den Staaten.
Mir kam Frankfurt so unheimlich vor, so grau, so leise, so dunkel und leer Abends...
Ich konnte bloß ein paar Wörter auf Deutsch, aus einem Kurs den ich an der Uni Barcelona teilgenommen hatte. Ich dachte echt nicht, daß ich so eine verdammtdochmal komplizierte Sprache beherrschen konnte. Ich vermisse sehr, mein Alltag auf Deutsch zu verbringen. Die Schwierigkeit war langsam eine Liebe, und eine Etdeckungsreise auf die "Sprachfreak" in mir, die ich nicht kannte.
Ich war an Amis gewohnnt. So extrovert und so begab in der Kunst von "small talk". Deutsche waren brutal ehrlich, was viel Näher an meinen Charakter fühlte. Aber ich brauchte 'ne gute Weile mich einzuleben.

Ich erinnere mich kaum an meine Komilitonen im deutschen Kurs an der Uni. Nur an meinen Lehrer, Otto, aus Aschaffenburg. Aber ich saß die mündliche Prüfung mit Carlos, einen Typen aus "La Mora", das war's.

Ich erwähnte Carlos, daß ich Deutsch lernen wollte, um Übersetzerin zu werden, und daß ich eine Stelle als Au-Pair in Frankfurt gefunden hatte. Er gab mir die Nummer Eurer Sohn, Ollie. Ich hatte es in meinem Tagesbuch, nur falls was schief laufen sollte.

Ach Frankfurt... Frankfurt hat mich in so vielen Art un Weisen geprägt...
Im Gegenteil zu den Staaten, in Europa bist du als Au-Pair eine Art Putzfrau mit Kindern ohne Freizeit. Meine Beziehung zu meiner ersten Familie war so traurig. Drei höchst agressive Kinder, die ich nicht verlassen wollte, weil jedes Mädchen immer zu früh aufgegeben hatte. Ich konnte merken wie schnell ich Deutsch lernte: "beiß mich nicht", "das ist gefährlich", "das tut weh", "hör mal zu!", "hör mal auf" - meine ersten Wörter.

Ich arbeitete ohne Ende und schrieb meinen besten Freunden endlose Briefe aus einem kleinen Zimmer, wo ich immer 'Viva' am Fernsehen an hatte. Ich machte auch Aufnahmen für meinen damaligen Freund (Kassetten). Ich habe sie noch. Es war unglaubich schön. Die Einsamkeit, seine Unterstützung. Die Reise nach England um ihn zu sehen...

Endgültig gab ich die Familie auf, vor einer  Reise in die Alpen. Ich wollte, daß die Kinder in den Urlaub von mir vergessen würden.

Und dann nahm ich das Telefon. Und rief Euch an:
"Ich bin eine Freundin von Carlos" - und so begann unsere Beziehung. Der falsche "Carlos", da ihr dachtet, ich sei die Freundin Eurer Nachbarn in Tarragona.

Ihr wart so offen und so cool! Ich saß bei Euch am Wohnzimmer, beim Herd stundenlag "Micky Mouse" Bücher zu lesen und ich schlug jedes Wort, jeden Verb, im Wörterbuch zu um mit Euch  kommunizieren zu können.

Unbewußt lernte ich schnell den Konditional 2. "Wenn ich es anders gemacht hätte, ginge alles besser", oder sowas. Und ich lernte die universelle Antwort auf warum?: "es ist mir so passiert"
Ihr wart stolz auf mich, und ich darauf, daß ich Ersatzeltern gefunden hatte, die jene Träume, die meine Eltern für Unsinn hielten, völlig unterstützen.

Mit dir, Ulf, lernte ich viel von Kaisern und Geschichte. Dein enzyklopädisches Wissen war so breit, ich konnte dich kaum folgen. Ich ging mit dir zu Schlößer um "quadratische, praktische, gute" Steine zu sammeln, um dabei zu helfen, sie umzubauen.

Du warst meinen größten Einfluß, Jazz Musik völlig zu schätzen. Ich ging mit dir zu so vielen Konzerten und so viele Nächte aus mit Freunden in Jazzclubs in Sachsenhausen.

Ich trank Appelwoi mit dir, bis die Socken zuckten, mit Handkäse, um Musik zu machen ;-)
Mit dir lernte ich viel von Wein, etwas, daß ich schon von meinem katalanischen Vater in den Genen trug. Und es tut mir Leid, es hat dich immer genervt, daß ich so stoltz mich als Katalanin bezeichne. Vielleicht habe ich Mal bald Recht. Aber du wirst mich nie als rechtliche Katalanin sehen. Schade, da hätte ich dich damit ein Bissel weiter nerven können. Mit aller Liebe!

Das Leben ist unfair. Ein Mann, stark wie eine Eiche, einer der wenigen Deutschen, der damals, als Junger Mann in die Staaten ging um Englisch zu lernen. Ein Mann, der in vielen Ländern gelebt hat, der Niederländisch so spaßig [grappig] fand (und so gut sprach!), der mehrere Sprachen fließend sprach... Und ein erzogener Vegetarier, das hatten wir gemeinsam.
Das ist doch Scheiße! Sorry, war es nicht so, daß wir Vielsprächiger weniger Chancen haben, Alzheimers (el amigo alemán) zu kriegen?

Als ich keinen Ausweg fand, warst du Lösungs-orientiert und halfst du mir dabei, einen Job in Frankfurt zu finden. Bei der "Chicago Meat Packers" und sogar bei "Lufthansa".
Am Ende landete ich einen Au-Pair Job bei der Familie Kiefer. Heutzutage auch noch meine deutsche Familie. Kieferland! Ich lernte Lars kennen. Bisher, mein Kind, mein "Pato", mein "Monkey". Ich bin noch mit Lars und den Kiefer in Verbindung, und ich merke, wie stark unserer Bund ist.
Alles dir sei Dank, lieber Ulf.

Jeden Donnerstag, hielst du mich vom Kieferland ab und wir gingen nach Bad Vilbel, beim Verein schwimmen. Dir sei Dank habe ich das Tauchen gelernt. In Heilsberg trank ich das Wasser aus der Brunne, die, laut dir, mir "stark machen wurde". Und Abends aßen wir Schaffskäse überbacken, ganz liebevoll und unkompliziert bei Chris, deiner Frau, meiner deutschen Leihmutter, gemacht. Mit Piri-piri. Ganz Scharf. Wir lieben doch scharfes Essen, gell?

Dein Projekt war, daß ich in Deutschland bliebe, um eine Übersetzerin zu werden. Ihr, Chris und Dich, nahmen mich mit zu einem Tagesausflug nach Heidelberg, um mir eine Idee von deutschen Unis zu geben.
 Und ich blieb. Nicht in Heidelberg, aber in Germersheim. Meine Identität, mein Dorf, mein "Culo Dil Mondo", die Uni der Sprachfreaks, wo ich so viele Menschen traf, die so komisch wie ich waren. Die besten Jahren meines Lebens. Alles Dir zu danken. Du halfst mir mit der Bewerbung und auch dabei, meine deutsche Prüfung zu bestehen. Du warst so Sprachbegab! Dir ist es auch zu bedanken, daß ich morgens die "Frankfurter Allgemeine" mit seiner super Hoch-verwickelten Sprache laß. Obwohl ich eher eine Lesering der "Süddeutsche" oder "Die Tageszeitung" bin. Mit dir kam ich die deutsche Sprache näher und heutzutage, obwohl gerüstet, finde ich sie noch einen Teil von mir. Es gibt Wörter, die man nur auf Deutsch ausdrücken kann.

Zum Schluß, ein historisches Foto. Ich schloß mein Studium in Deutschland ab, und meine 'echte' Eltern kamen mich ENDLICH besuchen.
Ich nahm ein Foto von meinen 2 Eltern. Ich habe das Foto immer an meiner Wand. Mit der Schatzkiste von Lars, meinem VW Bus, meiner besten Freundin, meinen Großeltern und einigen Erinnerungen aus Germi, die ich noch als "Hardcopy" behalte.

Das Foto war von Tinte bekleckert, und ich hab' sie nicht entfernen können. Ich wünsche mir, daß die Zeit nie vergehen würde und dieses Foto noch aktuell wäre.

Aber die Zeit vergeht.
Erinerungen bleiben...
Ich erinnere mich, als ich Schluß mit meinem deutschen Freund machte, wie ich zu dir kam, so entsetzt, und wir gingen in die Gaststäte in Vilbel mit deinem Freund Helmut Bier trinken. Ich sagte zu dir: "Ich denke an das Lied von Drafi Deutsche, wenn sie sagen: "Alles, alles geht vorbei"
Dann sagtest du: "Tja, alles hat ein Ende"
Und Helmut antwortete: "Doch die Wurst hat zwei". Und plötzlich ging mir alles besser durch das Lachen - und das leckere Kölsch -
Ich habe das Wort "Würstchen" nie richtig ausprechen können.
Alles hat ein Ende. Das Würstchen (oh Gott) hat zwei. Das Leben geht weiter.
Meine "Los Ulf", meine deutschen Eltern. Ich bin Euch mein Leben dankbar. Ich hoffe, ein Stückchen Ulf wird in mir noch weiterleben.
Ich habe dich so Lieb. Du hättest nie gehen sollen. Du bist Jahrelang meine Quelle von Bewunderung gewesen.
Ich werde Dich für immer in meinem Herzen bewahren und dich NIE vergessen.
In Erinnerung: Ulf Goertz verlaß uns am 9 Oktober. So ein Mann hat's kaum gegeben.
Ich bin dir alles Schuld, daß aus mir geworden ist. Meine Inspiration, meine Ausbildung, meine Lebensanschauung.

Verdammt doch mal, daß die Zeit vergeht und du nicht mehr da bist. So unfair. Coi de vida...