Orchids

As a college student, who not only decided to double major, but also held a part time job, and liked to go out with friends, I had very few moments when I could just sit and observe the magic of the world and the nature. The colors of the leaves in fall, the flowers on the trees at the beginning of spring, the beauty of the snow, and the ice on the Charles river. All of these I only saw from the study rooms on the top floors of shelton and StuVi, and while walking from my dorm/ appartment to class and work, and back at daylight.

There were days, during busy periods, when i wished I had some time to appreciate the world, and saw all the wonders in my dreams, and it was those dreams what led me to say that after Graduation and before starting a full time job or grad school, I wanted to go on a 2 month trip somewhere new, without a computer, a calculator, or any books. I wanted to simply look out of the window, and enjoy every moment.

I planned my trip before graduation, 2 months between Russia, Mongolia, China, Tibet and Nepal only with my backpack, and no electronics on me (not even a cell phone or ipod).

When I returned to Colombia, and before I left for my trip, my mom gave me flowers, and a picture she drew as graduation present: orchids. She said, she knew my character, and how getting in a full time job I would fall back into the same scheme of only working, and not looking around, and thus she wanted me to have a picture wherever I decided to settle down. A picture that remains me of the beauty of the world, and the magic we are all surrounded by and often forget to admire because we are too busy in our duties.

During my two month trip I learned to admire the world again, I swam in Lake Baikal, walked up a hill to watch the flat lands in Mongolia, sat for hours to watch Mount Everest at sunset, and walked through sunny fields, which were covered with beautiful flowers.

Now, when I come back home from work, I sit in the living room, and let my eyes go to the orchids my mom drew for me, the picture that is hanging over the tv, and remind myself of the world around me and the magic I should not let go by without observing and admiring it.

Pablito, the drugdealer

Last Friday, after going to a coffee place in the center if town with some people from work, I went to a library. I hadn't gone in a while, as my financial situation was not good over the last couple of months, but now that it finally has gotten right again, I could spend some time watching books, and buying some if I decided to.

I was looking for some books on German history for my German GDS test in December, and I came accross a biography on Pablo Escobar. Pablo Escobar, and the violence he caused in Colombia on the 80s marked me and my life, and I had never read anything that gave me a clearer overview on what happened in my Homecountry, and why, when I was growing up. My curiosity to see what a foreigner would write was stronger than my dismiss for Pablo and his acts, and I decided to buy the book, and read it.

I found myself reading the book all weekend, and stopping every time the memories from my childhood found an explanation, or when I read some new information to me. Information that my parents knew and did not share with a 7 and 5 year old, as it was clearly not appropiate for our age.

Pablo Escobar was a drugdealer, and made it to the Forbes' List of the wealthiest men in the world (7th). He was a Colombian guy, and honored, in some way, his culture, with the love he showed to his immediate and extended families. He, on the other hand, was convinced violence was a good way of working out his problems, and believed everything and everyone had a price. After his shor career in politics, he started alliances with other movements against the law, and had as a sole goal to terrify the Colombian population, and trigger changes in the Colombian laws to his own benefit, by saying "A grave in Colombia is better than a cell in the US".

All in all the book has brought many memories to my mind, the almost-evacuation of my school, when he said he would make the Germans pay for denying the entrance to his family to Germany (I went to a German school, owned by the German government), the bomb explosin barely 500meters away from where we lived, the impossibility of travelling around the country, at the risk of kidnappings, the pictured of dead people, and of deaths of dozens of teenagers. I also came accross memories of me and my sister hidding our toys and placing a deathstone on some corner of our rooms, where we wrote "Here lies (name of toy) murdered by the PEPES" ( The Pepes were a violent movement dedicated to kill all of Pablo Escobar's people).

I am a woman who is not impacted by vioence, and who does not believe in peace. I have convinced myself over the last 8 years that every human life is a life, and thus it is worth to report on every person's death, and have worked hard to see the wrong in pictures of victims of assaults. I am one of many kids who grew up in the armed conflict in Colombia, and one who hopes to make a difference by raising her own kids, whenever they come, in a peaceful environment, and with the clear understandind that was denied to my own generation: Violence is not the solution, and definetly not the way to go. Human lifes don't have a price.

The question is, how many of us, kids raised in that violence, will share my thoughts?

A bottle of wine later

Today was one of those days. One of those days that should just not exist, when everything goes wrong, and when I go to one of my friends and colleagues, so I can let my feelings out, and cry. It is also one of those days in which I surprise myself with the self control I have learnt in the last 7 years (Thank you B.R.!), and simultaneously feel ashamed of myself, by not being able to control it all.

I have been working in this one project at work for over a year, and dedicating every bit of energy I have to it, to get it to work, and I swear, I have done my best. However, today, once again, I realized how I depend on people, who not necessarily care about the project, or their career or anything, and for the second week in less than a month, I knocked at the doors of a major breakdown.

It had been a while since, while being at work, I fantasized and dreamt of seing the blood and the cut marks, and feeling the pain in my arms. Every time I went out to smoke, I worked on planning when I would finally get to hol the knife in my hand, while having the band aids and wound disinfectant ready, and make some cuts in my left arm.

Many people might ask themselves, how can an (apparently) healthy person want to cut herself. The reason behind is easy to understand: I don't want to suffer, feel frustrated, or cry because another person frustrates me, and if I feel I have to cry, out of anger or frustration, I rather do so when there is a good reason for it, i.e. a cut that is painful.

However, upon I arrived home, I decided the cutting story was a bad idea, and started planning on a plan B to manage or hide my frustration, while staying in one piece: I ordered dinner (hawaii pizza, and tomato-mozzarella salad), and some wine. I also made an appointment for a therapist, after 4 weeks of calling 9 numbers of therapists on me.

Having dinner, while drinking my wine and watchin the top 25 "unforgetable" Germany's next top model candidates , 2 hours went quickly by. Mty arms are still in perfect healthy conditions, and I no longer feel the need of feeling any pain.

One question remains, is this a better ir a worse path? I call it a better way, as I stay here, and continue figthing for my dreams. However, I am aware the path is no free of risks.

One bottle of wine later, in a hell-day, I pulled it up, and did not do anything I consider foolish. I just wish I had a way of coping that did not falll under foolish behaviour for anyone, and drinking is, for sure, not one.

Impulsive Reactions

Every person has a way to react to events and happenings in their surroundings. While some reactions are thought and analyzed, and have an intention, others simply come out, and often even the person reacting is surprised by the reaction.

I belong to the people who have to make an effort to keep reactions controlled, and reduce the number of impulsive reactions. My impulsive reactions have gotten me into problems in the past (and still do often), and more often than I'd like to recognize, I have found myself regretting how I have reacted. Reactions include hurting myself, running away, writing angry emails and yelling at people. At some legendary points of my life, they also included moving to a different dorm, for 1 night!, (and then moving back), changing classes (In High school, changed German group out of the blue), and travelling overseas for a weekend (See: Boston).

I often wonder what the reasons behind an impulsive reaction are: Impulsive reactions are related to instincts, which often can save a person from danger, or from uncomfortable situations, however, impulsive reactions also come based on emotions and not in instincts, and those can create problems, and situations which are difficult to resolve at a later point.

Yesterday, as an impulsive reaction, I looked up for jobs and started the application for a new job at BMW. I have no idea on what led me to start looking up for jobs, or what led me to register so I can start the application process. It must be related to the changes of the last couple of weeks at work, the confirmation of the gossip of some disintegration of the organization I work in, the feeling that comes along to be overloaded, and approaching a burn out. However, the fact that my subconscious mind is looking for an escape route is new to me, and I hope I can keep my reactions under control in the next couple of weeks and not take any decision (like quitting my job, and going back full time to university or to a full new job also in Germany). If my subconscious is not telling the truth, this impulsive reactions will soon go away. If it is telling the truth, then I will go back home, go back to Boston, and that needs to be planned, and cannot be an impulsive reaction.

Hipocresía y Colombia

A primera vista, las palabras hipocresía y Colombia no tienen nada en común:

Colombia es un sustantivo propio, el nombre de un país. Hipocresía es un sustantivo común, y significa: "Fingimiento de cualidades o sentimientos contrarios a los que verdaderamente se tienen o experimentan." www.rae.es

Sin embargo, con el paso del tiempo, he llegado a la conlcusión que estas dos palabras, hipocresía y Colombia, significan lo mismo: En la universidad, cuando gente que fue conmigo al colegio me escribía emails, preguntándome por mis notas, ya en Alemania, cuando recibo llamadas o mensajes de ese mismo grupo de personas, interesándose súbitamente por mi vida (una situacion totalmente diferente a la del colegio), y en muchas oportunidades buscando ayuda, y en mis viajes a Colombia, cuando inesperadamente me cruzo con alguno de ellos, y me abrazan y me dan un beso, con una alegría que no tiene porque de ser.

Hoy recibí una llamada de mi papá, con un ejemplo mas de lo similares en significado que son las palabras Colombia e hipocresía, o los adjetivos colombiano e hipocrita:

En la empresa de mi papá y durante una reunión de negocios, una mujer entro a la oficina de mi papá y le pregunto si el es mi papá. Esta mujer, se identifico como Laura R., y le contó a mi papá que se graduó conmigo del colegio. Tambien le pregunto por mi vida, y finalmente me mando saludos.

La situación no pasaría de ahí, y probablemente sería agradable, si no fuera porque la señora L es una de las personas mas mala clase con las que he tenido el infortunio de cruzarme en mi vida. Nunca dudo un momento en burlarse de mi, de decirme cuan fea, gorda, obesa, fracasada y asocial soy, y de paso pertenece al grupo que se burlo (en su cara) de E., mi primer novio, por salir conmigo.

Cuál es la necesidad de saber de mi vida? L. y yo nunca fuimos amigas, ni siquiera la clasificaría como buddy, fuimos compañeras de curso, que no cruzaron mas palabras de las estrictamente necesarias durante el tiempo que fueron forzadas a verse a diaro y convivir.

Porque mandarme saludos, si nunca hubo una amistad ni siquiera una relación cordial que valga la pena rememorar?

El pasado pertenece en el pasado, el futuro aun no existe, y el presente es un regalo, que debe ser aprovechado al máximo. Este regalo debe ser tratado con honestidad. La vida lejos de Colombia (y de la fuente de la hipocresía) me ha enseñado a valorar cada minuto con aquellos que son honestos, aquellos que me aprecian por quien soy, y me respetan tal como soy. Hoy en día soy incapaz de imaginarme una vida en el nido de la hipocresía, o en Colombia, a la larga, una redundancia.

"Do not put all eggs in one basket"

One of the most meaningful memories I have from my childhood is a story my parents used to tell me and my sister. I no longer remember the story, but I do remember the moral at the end of the story: "Do not put all eggs in one basket". The saying is well known in the investment world, where it recommends to diversify, rather than to invest everything in one single business. This saying can however be applied in more areas than just in economics.
It is remarkable how stories, morals and learnings from our childhood do influence our behaviour as grown ups, and I must conclude people like Esopo have played a role in shaping my behaviour and beliefs to what they are now.
Given the fact that I have lived in 5 different cities, I have good friends spread in over 3 countries. I also have colleagues, and buddies, and needless to say, friends are the smallest- and most precious- group of the three groups.
All of those whom I consider friends are persons I trust and support blindly, and for whom I would do anything when they need me: Friends are the chosen family, and in my eyes and opinion, they deserve as much respect, love, and dedication as the assigned (by blood) family. (In some cases friends might deserve more than family, but that is a completely different topic).
It might read strange, or funny, or simply weird, but, regardless of my blind trust in my friends, there is not one who can tell my entire story, who can put the entire picture, together by him or herself. Non-consciously, I am applying the moral from my parents' story in my daily life.
Throught my life I have made friends in different places, countries and even continents, and it is this geographic spread of my friends, and the fact that I have met them at different stages of my life, what provides me my safest tool to protect my "eggs". Two of my friends here in Germany/Europe, if together and with the purpose in mind of getting the picture together, could normally put together up to 80% of it, but in order to get the remaining 20% they would need to contact one of my friends living in Colombia or in the US. Certain parts of my story are only known to my oldest friends, and I take care of not mentioning it to anybody else.
I don't seem to dare putting all my "eggs" in one single basket, not even with the people I would do anything for, and this fact makes me wonder if this "lack" of courage is one of the factors that encourages me to run away from getting into a relationship, and to be distant, and sometimes mean, to the people I meet on the way, who could make good friends or even more based on their personality. It is not a secret that a relationship needs to be based in trust in order to succeed, requires to put all "eggs" into one basket, and to work to keep them all in the basket and safe.

Munich-Cologne-LH1994, February 25th, 2011

La Seguridad de lo conocido

No es un secreto para nadie que adentrarse en terrenos desconocidos, sean lugares, grupos de personas ó actividades, genera desconfianza y, en muchas oportunidades, también miedo. Tampoco es un secreto que, en momentos de agitación, inconformidad, nerviosismo ó tristeza, corremos a refugiarnos en lo conocido, sean amigos, familiares, ó algún lugar en el que nos sentimos en casa.

Para quienes me conocen no es ninguna novedad el hecho que tengo muy poca paciencia, y que cada que me "trago" mis palabras, almaceno internamente lo que me molestó, como si de un vaso de agua se tratara. Con el paso del tiempo y las experiencias que he tenido en mi vida, el vaso ha aumentado de tamaño, y ha obtenido un desagüe, un desagüe pequeño, pero que al fin y al cabo permite al vaso almacenar más de lo que su tamaño le permite.

Una de las situaciones que, con mayor frecuencia, me lleva a buscar refugio en lo conocido, son las ocasiones en que el vaso se rebosa, y yo reacciono con la misma agresividad con la que reccionaba en mi infancia y adolescencia. En estos momentos me avergüenzo de mi misma, y me descepciono: Tantos años (más de 15) trabajando en evitar explotar, y aún a mis 26 años no lo logro manejar. Vaya fracaso de persona. La desilusión que siento en esos momentos me lleva a tomar decisiones impulsivas, y a huír en dirección al pasado: Boston, Dreieich ó Bogotá, y en su defecto a ciudades en las que he pasado largas temporadas, como St Anton ó Husum. Dándole un vistazo a mi vida observo que siempre, ó al menos desde que tengo uso de razón, he actuado así: De niña huía a la biblioteca, y me rodeaba de quienes en mi infancia fueron mis amigos, consejeros y confidentes: los libros.

Viviendo en Shelton 5, pedí cambio de residencia a Warren al darme cuenta que M. se estaba volviendo imporatnte para mí, y sentirme aterrorizada de lo que pudiera ser (For the record: Me devolví a Shelton 5 una noche después! Y dudo que M., quienes me ayudaron a trastear, y X. mi roommate, olviden el incidente, o me permitan olvidarlo =)).

Al iniciar mi vida en Alemania, pasé todos los fines de semana en Dreieich, ya que Sulzbach me era desconocido, situación que se repitió al irme a vivir a Köln. Al cambiar de assignment y empezar a trabajar como ingeniera técnica, sentí que no sabía nada (era verdad), y el temor a fracasar me llevó a viajar a Bogotá por una semana, planeándolo tan sólo dos semanas antes de la fecha del viaje.

Como éstos hay infinidad de ejemplos en mi vida, y casi se diría, que nuevos ejemplos se suceden a diario: Salidas a fumar cuando no quiero fumar, sino huír de mi escritorio, paseos en carro para no llegar a casa, estancias en la oficina hasta altas horas de la noche para evitar llamadas, etc.

Hace una semana escasa. en Boston, M. me dijo "The known is easier than going somewehere new". La conversación que estábamos teniendo no era relacionada con situaciones de la vida diaria, pero sus palabras aplican acá también. Mirando mi día a día, dudo sobre si debo darle o no la razón: no creo que sea lo más fácil, volver al pasado(a no ser que haya sentimientos de por medio) nunca es fácil. Sin embargo, volver al pasado es lo más seguro. Lo conocido ofrece la seguridad que el presente y la incertidumbre del future no pueden o no quieren ofrecer.

Zillertal Arena, March 30th, 2011