Author: Lucello

Something about me?

Under the Hot Puerto Rican Sun

Library - 7524.jpg

My little brother got married this weekend. I never thought it would happen. More importantly, I never thought he would make me so proud.

It wasn’t too long ago that the both of us would be at each other’s throats the moment we stepped into the same room. We were always very different; he, an angry young man whose only world was the world of warcraft, while the driving force in my life was the pursuit of education. Ha! I sound like a snob. But in fact, I always resented him for making trouble in our family. Troublemaker he was, trouble.

One day he dropped a bomb on us all by announcing his decision to join the marines, the most intense and dangerous of the American defense foot soldiers. He said he needed more discipline in his life. I thought I’d never see him again.

Turned out he was sent to Washington D.C. to be a flag-boy thanks to his pretty blue eyes and blond hair. Now don’t get me wrong. He was eventually shipped over-seas and saw his share of Egypt and Iraq, before leaving the marines for good. Still, during his time on the idyllic green lawns of the White House, he met Jen. Jennifer Moore, to be precise. I was abroad during the time they met and got to know each other. I finally saw the two of them together last July in Hawaii. She was fairly shy at the time, but Michael was someone new.

For the first time in my life, he answered me in a serious, as opposed to sarcastic, get-out-of-my-face, tone of voice, at least when he wasn’t cranky. But hey, it was a start. Suddenly he was kind and considerate and gentle, and I could tell him that I loved him without getting a sneer in return.

During the weekend of their wedding, Saint Patrick’s Day, all traces of sarcasm have vanished. In fact, when Jen gets cranky or annoyed, Michael is now the one that comforts her and maintains the voice of reason. He was the mediator between my mom and myself during a family-only discussion, calmly explaining each side and helping us to understand each other.

I never cried so much in my life as I did that weekend. My baby brother has grown up.

Back Home

The first semester has come and gone. I am back in California, and the sunshine is doing me good.

Nothing has changed much, but every time I come back from Europe, I get a distinct sense of feeling very small in a big, big world. Big buildings, big people, big car lanes. And now, people drive too slowly.

It is nice to be back with my friends. Harvey, the lavish green asparagus plant hanging from our balcony, has sprouted red berries. Mimi, my little forest violet, is still refusing to poke out her pretty blue head, but seems to be doing well nevertheless. Of course, time takes its toll on good friendships. Not all have flourished in my absence. The shower blossoms, twice sent to the brink of death and twice revived, have finally succumbed and bloom no more. Roger, my loyal white flag, shriveled from the shock of neglect. Where the crazy lizas once roamed, only bare earth remains..

That being said, Spring has, to all intents and purposes, arrived. And although some were made to give their life, others are making the most of the occasion. A few days after I arrived, two grey pigeons took the clumps of dry, straw-like roots in my flower pot as a fine nest and laid two small, white eggs.

I found this out one morning when I threw open the balcony door and stepped outside to water my plants. The pigeon flew off in a mad rush, landing on a near-by tree branch to sulk and glare at me. After that, I learned to keep the blinds open and myself constantly visible, and to move slowly when venturing outside. I thought there was some way we could share the balcony fairly.

At first, one of the two birds keeping them warm would stay put as I came out of the door, but fly off in a huff of flapping wings and squawks as soon as my back was turned. Little by little, they grew to trust me, however. One day, the bird stayed put the entire time. I even went out once to re-pot a geranium with her only a few feet away.

Alas, one day the birds took off and never came back. A few days later, I went out to inspect the eggs and found them turning an unpleasant shade of brown. Speculation goes that the two of them realized they were too young to have children and that there was more to life than just giving birth anyway.

Guess I won’t be seeing baby pigeons this year.

Gebühreneinzugszentrale der Öffentlich-rechtlichen Rundfunkanstalten

Otherwise known as the GEZ, this is Germany’s public media content which everyone must pay for who uses it. However, unlike in the US where public television is federally funded and accepts donations/sponsorships, the Bundesrepublik Deutschland has made it a law that anyone owning a television must pay the television license (around 17 Euros/month). This is whether you watch the public channels or not. You are given no choice, but are made to pay just for the fact that can switch to that channel to watch.

 

For poor, starving students as ourselves, this was no good. Although we were all very grateful to our landlady for providing us with a free television for our arrival, we decided in the end that the fine was not worth it.

 

The dilemma, however, was which action to take. How would the GEZ even know we had a television? We could just as well keep the television and not pay. According to Tobi, however, the GEZ like to pull clever tricks to get you to let them into your house. Pretending to be electricians, officials from the state, etc. And they are not afraid to be aggressive. The fine, if you are caught, is upwards of 2,000€.

 

This is why we all came to a flat-wide agreement to return the television to our landlady as soon as her next office hour rolled around.

 

No sooner was this decided than a strange man rang our doorbell one Monday morning. I answered and he asked for ‘Ms. Moore’ by name. I asked who he was and he replied that he was conducting a survey of Germany and it’s future.. what people think, from the perspective of natives and, in my case, foreigners.

 

I was immediately suspicious, but figured that if it really was a survey, it would be nice to help out. So I told him that I was heading out to class, but that we can reschedule for another day. Thursday.

 

While I was having this conversation with the young man, Tobi happened to be on his way downstairs and ran into him at the door, taking down all of our names into his Palm. He asked the strange man what he was doing there, but the stranger was evasive, saying only that he wanted to speak to ‘Ms. Moore’.

 

At that point, we were all suspicious and agreed to take down the T.V. as soon as possible and bring it back that Thursday morning. We also formed a plan of attack: Tobi would ask him up front Thursday morning whether he was from the GEZ or not (they are not allowed to lie, and you are not obligated to allow them into your house).

 

Thursday morning dawned. Tobi could not be there, so Michael took his place. The stranger rang the bell again and down we went. I opened the door to a nice-looking man in his late 30’s, who held out his hand and began to talk.

 

The guy: Hi, you must be Jennifer. In English, right? Well, you must be wondering why I’m here.
Me: Yes.
The guy: So, I just wanted to ask you a few questions on how you feel about the future of Germany. I mean, unemployment is very high…
Me: Oh.. well… I don’t think things are so bad. Germany’s economy is actually doing pretty well.
The guy: Ok, then. What do you think about war? Do you think there can be a future without war? Or that there can be peace on earth?
Me: No. There will always be cultural conflicts because different people have different standards about what is right and wrong and how to punish offenders.
The guy: I see. Well, do you think we would ever be able to live in a world without poverty?
Me: No. There will always be poor people.
The guy: And just why do you think that is? Did you know that Ghandi once said that if everyone were happy with what they had…

I raised my eyebrows at this point..

Then he reaches into his black suitcase and pulls out a black book:
The guy: And in the bible, Jesus writes…

 

I tried my very best to smother my laughter. We gave him another ten minutes to finish his spiel, then politely shook his hand, and giggled our way up the stairs.

Winter in Saarland

It’s been something of a pathetic winter here. Some days are very cold, others are like a warm, rainy day in early Spring. It makes it very difficult to dress for school. The other day, I went out in thin linen pants because it felt so balmy, even though there was a slight mist, then as soon as I arrived at school, it was snowing.

I love the snow. But I can’t help but feel sorry for the snow here. The skies above Saarland are doing only a half-assed attempt at making snow. The fluffy white flakes fall down in droves, but melts into slush the moment it hits the ground. No lovely white roofs, nothing to crunch underfoot, just wet, green grass.

O Fare Thee Well, Sweet

Winter in Switzerland
Up here in the mountains, with no proper internet connection to speak of, we are left to humour ourselves as best we can with what will amuse us, no matter how trivial. Such as the little white dog who chased his master-on-skis all the way down the slope, barking incessantly at his heels. Or the black dog on the side of the road, another Jennifer incarnate, pulling its owner to the side to make little doggie angels in the snow. Or Markus, who, after sticking his head out of the tele-cabine, sneezed loudly, causing the people passing just at that moment to jump in their seats as if hit by a blistering gale.

Ah, yes, mountain life. I will miss it here. The coziness, the delicious exhaustion after a long day of skiing, the ruddy cheeks, the evident irresolution in our faces when faced with the prospect of re-dressing for the slopes after lunch, the hot coffee and fruit cake on a sun-drenched balcony, the long dinners among one’s beloved..

Tomorrow night, I will be back in Saarbrücken, but at least I can look forward to next year.

UPDATE: I have just uploaded pictures from the trip, which you can see here.

Happy Birthday in Swedish

Ja må hon leva,
ja må hon leva.
ja må hon leva uti hundrade år!
Ja visst ska hon leva,
ja visst ska hon leva,
ja visst ska hon leva uti hundrade år

Och när du har levat,
och när du har levat,
och när du har levat uti hundrade år,
ja då ska du skjutas,
ja då ska du skjutas,
ja då ska du skjutas på en skottkärra fram.

Ett fyrfaligt leve! Hon leve
Hurra! Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!

Yes, may she live
yes, may she live
yes, may she live for a hundred years!
yes, surely she will live
Yes, surely she will live
Yes, surely she will live a hundred years.

And when you’ve lived,
and when you’ve lived,
and when you’ve lived,
Yes, then you’ll be shot,
yes, then you’ll be shot,
yes, then you’ll be shot forth in a wheelbarrow.

A fourfold hurray! May she live
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

First Snowfall

After twelve days of blue sky, shining sun and green mountains (not to mention the grassy ski runs), my birthday present this year is a miracle of white, fluffy, delectable snow.

Verbier has turned into a winter wonderland, just as it was the first time I arrived here. When it first started, we couldn’t ski due to bad visibility and the wetness of the snow, but the swirling flakes were just calling out to me and I had to follow.

The Swedes, being used to miserable Swedish winters, had no desire to go out on such a day. But the Californian just could not stay cooped up inside when it was so lovely out there. I went for a walk, reveling in the whiteness and the soft flakes falling on my lashes and tongue. There is something liberating about walks in a light snowfall. The turbulence, the frenzy, the delicious cold. Oh, how I love the snow!