Commencement

Ever since I was a kid I have been a person who easily breaks into tears. Tears come when I feel sad, happy, angry, disappointed, when I see a movie or read a book that transmits feelings, etc. I have always felt ashamed of this, on the outside I am a strong woman, and in the inside I am just a weak little kid, who often longs for a hug, and who has learnt to feel a hug when written on skype or messenger.

Why am I such a cry-baby? Why can't I keep my feelings to myself, and most of all, why do I long for those friends, in the US, in Colombia, or even here in Germany? Those friends who have made a great and stable life, the way I seem to be unable to make?

While watching Gilmore Girls Season 7 a large number of memories from my senior year came back to my mind, and while DVDs 1-4 were quite ok, upon reaching DVD 5 tears started coming to my mind. That dream I always had for after college that did not become true because I got rejected for my top choice for grad school, and the nightmares, reminding me of the failure I was for not making it, the awkward conversations with the guy I loved about being apart, and whether or not we have made mistakes, and who had made them, the end of college crisis, long hours in the library studying, and those uncomplicated nights with friends, hanging out, or drinking, and with L. watching TV. Where did those college years, the best years of my life go? Who am I? Or better expressed, am I? Since my graduation day I cannot listen to Pomp and Circumstance without crying. I do know Commencement ceremonies have that name because they simbolize a begin, however, as years go by, I get more convinced that mine only simbolized the end of the best part of my life, the end of the life I had dreamt of: A life with friends who cared and supported me, regardless of the situation, friends who would stop studying and go for a drink with me if I was having a difficult time, friends who made me feel worth in this planet, and who gave me the strength to keep moving, and keep living, and not to give up. College was also the last time I thought I could be in a relationship, and be loved and respected (not used as every single guy I've met since then has done), and although it has been now more than 4 years, it hasn't changed.

My graduation day seems to have marked the end for me giving myself a chance as a person, as a woman, who didn't protect herself behind a shell and who showed herself the (extremly) vulnerable way she was.

Commencemet marks the begin of my life as a strong minded engineer, as a woman who has a thick shell and does not show herself the way she is, one that has learnt to rationalize every thought, to avoid showing herself as she is, or that she feels and cares. I consider myself lucky for not being in love, as that would break my shell. I also consider myself lucky for being able to spend hours or days alone, without getting bored, often without saying a word (except when the tv doesn't turn on immediately, or when I am missing a piece of a jigsaw).

Graduation day was an amazing day, and it did mark the begin of my career life, but I womehow think that I'd rather be the woman I was before graduation, that who I am now.

Klassentreffen

Als ich ein Teenager war, habe ich immer gewuenscht, als Erwachsene zurueck nach Kolumbien zu kehren, um meine Klassenkammerade zu zeigen, dass auch ich etwas im Leben schaffen konnte. Acht Jahren sind seit meiner Schulabschluss vergangen, und je mehr ich darueber denke, desto weniger Bock habe ich darauf, je zurueck nach Kolumbien zu kehren. Nicht mal fuer ein Klassentreffen.

Ich kann mich erinnern, ich wollte mit viel Geld zurueckkehren, und auch mit viel Macht. Ich habe aber gelernt, dass es nicht wichtig ist. Die Moeglichkeiten, die mir das Leben angebotet hat, sind anders als die Angebote von anderen, und ich fuehle mich schlecht jedes Mal, wenn eine von meine wenigen Freunden von der Schulzeit mir Saetze wie "Du fuehrst ja ein tolles Leben", "Ich beneide dein Leben", oder "Wuerde viel dafuer ausgeben, dein Leben anstatt meines zu haben"sagt.

Ich frage mich, was sich in den letzten Jahren geaendert hat, dass ich nicht mehr Interesse daran habe, "Rache" von den Leuten zu nehmen, die mein Leben als Kleinkind un Jugendliche zerstoert haben, und egal wie viel ich darueber nachdenke, komme ich einfach ohne Antwort aus.

In den acht Jahren habe ich einige von meinen ehemaligen Klassenkameraden getroffen, und das Gefuehl, im falschen Ort zu sein, ist genau so stark wie damals. Ich mag sie alle einfach nicht. Sie sind gemein, viele sind ungebildet, und haben eine Vorstellung von der Welt und vom Leben, die ziemlich nervig sind. Sie sind oberflaechig, denken nur ans Geld, Figur, und Freundschaftskreise, und haben keine ahnung davon, wie viel Glueck sie im Leben haben, eine liebevolle Familie zu haben, studiert haben zu koennen, und noch wichtiger, ein -meistens- problemloses Leben fuehren zu koennen.

Was ist so anders zwischen uns? Wir sind ja zusammen aufgewachsen, und die umweltliche Faktoren, die unsere Leben bestimmt haben, sind die Gleiche. Egal ob ich eine Aussenseiterin, Streberin und Leseratte war, durften wir alle uns nicht frei durch die Stadt bewegen, wir mussten jeden Tag Schuluniform tragen, und haben um die acht Stunden am Tag im Schulgelaende verbracht.

Irgendwie, scheint es als ob ich zu schnell zu erwachsen geworden bin. Ich mag Neid nicht, und ich mag es nicht, wenn ich meine Freunde, die nicht nur beruflich sondern auch persoenlich, etwas geschaft haben. Ich weiss nicht ob ich je mein persoenliche Leben unter Kontrol kriegen werde, ich weiss aber, dass ich jeden Tag meines unvollstaendiges Leben geniessen kann, in dem ich meine Traeume folge, und nicht aufgebe. Irgendwann wird die Zeit kommen, jemanden zu treffen, und meine eigene Familie zu gruenden, und das wird nichts mit meiner Kindheit oder Jugendzeit zu tun haben. Ich brauche nicht mehr, die Leute meiner Schule zu beweisen, dass ich ein wertvoller Mensch bin, denn ich weiss es selbst, und das ist wichtiger als alles andere auf der Welt.

Ugly people

Some months ago, while having a cup of coffee with two friends and a friend of theirs at Starbucks, a comment was made: "people with backpacks are ugly. It does not matter if they have a beautiful face, as soon as they have a huge and ugly backpack on their shulders, they look ugly, and never elegant". The person who made the comment was not one of my friends, but their friend, and I assume she did not know that I am a "bacpacker".

Her comment hurt me badly, and made me analyze why such a comment can hurt, when it comes from somebody I have no contact to, nor do I have a friendship with. Was it the fact that my friends were there, and one of them looked at me to se my reaction (at least that is how it felt)? Was it the fact that I am proud of my trips, as they are the most important and meaningful part of my life? Or was it simply that I care about every comment somebody makes about me?

I came to the conclusion that it was a combination of the three. On one hand, I know my face reflected my initial thought ("who are you to say who looks ugly? The fact that you are elegant, does not make you any pretty"), and I believe at least one of my friends noticed it (I need to learn not to communicate with my eyes, too dangerous). I felt ashamed of myself for my thoughts, but at the same time I felt she deserved it.

I am proud of my trips as those are the one time a year when I am myself, surrounded by people I don't know, and the only chance I see of making friends who do not work in the same company I do. My trips are my social life, my dream, and my escape route when the thoughts of family come to my mind, and the reality of my age, and the low likelihood I see in ever having a family become apparent. While traveling I am free, I enjoy them and get the feeling that even if I stay a workaholic without family, my life is still worth living.

Lastly, I have never considered myself pretty, but somehow the statement that I am ugly just because I travel with backpack and not with suitcases seems unfair.

It is always interesting to see how a comment can generate so many thoughts and feelings, and reminds of a sentence heard many years ago, from a teacher in middle school: "words don't hurt. What hurts is the interpretation given to those words".