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".

The 10 things I want to do before I die

There are days when I have to ask myself what the reasons for existing are: Out planet is overpopulated, and if we keep going this way, we will destroy it, and with it, we will destroy ourselves. Is it then ok that we all stay here? Or should there be some type of natural selection, without doctors to stop it?

Some time thinking into this, I came up with the 10 things I really want to do in my life. If those 10 are done, I believe my reasons will be achieved, and with it, let life and Darwin decide if I stay longer, or not.

The 10 things I want to do before I die are:

1- Have a beagle and name him Toby

No surprises here. I love beagles, and have been obsessed for years with having one. His name is going to be Toby, and he will be a beautiful, loyal (ie better than any human), and stubborn (just like me). We will travel together, and he will enjoy long walks with me, as well as he will enjoy just sitting around and letting time go by.

2- Pilot an airplane

Car-done, Bike-done, water vehicles- not interested. But airplanes are amazing machines. I would love to sit on one and simply decide where to fly (of course, with Toby sitting in the plane with me :) )

3- Learn to play piano

I have wanted to learn piano since I was 10 or 11. I like music very much, and enjoy classic music as well. I find musical arrangements, in which the background is played by a piano, magic, and want to play them myself.

4- See Emperor Pinguins in their natural habitat

And this before I am 30, as given the over-destruction humans are causing on the planet, they won't wait for me to grow old to go see them.

5- Be a voluntary teacher in a country in development

When I went to Nepal I saw what a need some countries have for teachers, and how much education is appreciated. I consider myself lucky in that I got an education, and at some point I want to give back to kids.

6- Get either a PhD, or at least one degree more

Overachiever forever

7- Become fluent in 3 more languages

Overachiever forever part 2

8- Live in Boston (again)

My hometown, my home, my favourite place in the world. If I only had 1 day to live, I'd spend it in Boston, or at least flying there, so that the end comes at home, and not in a cold foreign country.

9- Travel through Colombia: From Punta Gallinas (12°26'N) to the Trapecio Amazónico(4° 12'S)

Deserts, jungle, mountains, snow, beach, and much more. Colombia is a rich country, and growing up there was a nightmare. However, I am sure Colombia has much to offer, many wonders to admire, and I feel that anyone who tolerated their childhood there should at least have the right to go and explore it. Something good must be in it.

10- Write a book

I enjoy writing, and very frequently I tell myself stories. I don't write them down, why should I, but some day I will get the courage for writing and sharing them, in a book.

Istanbul

Boston

It is not a secret that in the past couple of weeks I have been thinking about Boston, and whether or not my future is there. I love Boston, the environment there, the incredible number of opportunities and most of all, a well known and safe environment. There is a Gillette facility there, where a relocation could be possible, given the fact I could get the visa, I have a group of friends still living there, and my sis will also be in New England in the near future.

I have been now 4 years in Germany, and regardless of my frustration, and how sad and disappointed I feel of the lack of achievements over these 4 years, I have spent a lot of energy in starting here, and trying to make a life.

A decision is thus not easy: Am I willing to throw away the last 4 years of my life? On one hand I feel like I have already thrown them away, work is giving me a hard time, and I have not managed to integrate in a group of people. On the other hand, I have amazing friends here, and saying that I have wasted these 4 years, disregarding those friendships would be plainly wrong. I love the friends I have made here, and, just I'd do for any of my good friends from Bogota and Boston, I'd do anything for them and their wellbeing.

Is going back to Boston, to my friends (some of them very good, others more distant but still there) the correct decision? If I went back to Boston I would be able to go back to school, get my masters, maybe a PhD, or even a degree in Psychology, all of which I would not be able to do here.

Is staying in Germany the right decision? I decided to move here, and to some degree I am not comfortable thinking that I would be giving up, and not finishing what I started (even though I don't know what it is that I started). I would be leaving behind some good friends, probably some of the best I've ever had. People that have known me under a permanen level of stress and don't hate me, people who have been on my side, and have helped me adapt to a grumpy and way to organized German environment.

I am afraid of making a step in any of the two directions, I am afraid of facing the "what if?" question again, but I guess I will have to.

Polly Pockets

Way too many years ago, when I ws still a child under 10, and in elementary school, a new toy came to the market. Some of my classmates had it, and I also received one from my parents. The toy was a Polly Pocket, a tiny heart shaped box, which upon opening revealed a garden, two puppies and a doll. Already as a child, the polly pocket fit in my hand, and it became one of my favourite toys (and one of the few girlie toys I owned).

I started a collection of Polly Pockets, and, although I never named any of the dolls or animals, I could tell which doll belonged to which pocket, and imagined adventures, stories and trips for them. They lived in a beautiful city, and everybody had friends, and a life.

At some point I outgrew my Polly Pockets, but never disposed them, and kept them safe in a box for over a decade, well wrapped in (old) newspapers, and sealed to protect them from the sunlight and all damages that come with time.

Less than a year ago, as a grown up living independently, I opened the box, and, after unwrapping all of my Polly Pockets, and allocating the dolls in their respective pockets, I packed them with my clothes and brought them back to Germany. I wonder, why I felt the need of bringing them with me to Germany: I have not played with Polly Pockets in some 14 years, nor do I ave any kids who would enjoy them. However, these pockets reveal the stories I created as a child, and the hobbies and dreams from my childhood: a home with pets, a beautiful tiny car, horses (my passion and biggest dream as a child), water slides and swimming pools (my favourite vacation back then), a toy store (still an amazing place to hang out on a lazy Saturday!), a wedding ceremony (someday...), flowers, rings and necklaces, a zoo with a monkey and an elephant, an amusement park (yeah, not over those either), a caravan to travel arond, and some others.

Many of those are related to my hobbies, and to my dreams, and some few ones are related to things I trully enjoy, but am ashamed of recognizing it, and simply and openly state I hate it (waterslides and swimming pools). These thoughts bring me the words of my uni psych professor, Professor West, back: "When you grow up, and you look in the mirror, you will only see and older version of yourself". I, internally, haven't changed much since I was a child, I might know more things, and have more experience in life, I am more shy than I used to be, and I let the people around me, and the society, determine whether it is ok for me to keep my hobbies and passions or not, but deep inside, my dreams, passions and hobbies, are the same ones I had many years ago, as a child under 10, growing up in a violent country in South America. I am an older version of that child.

August 15th

August 14th 2007 I was to board a flight from Kathmandu to Frankfurt, after my first big trip. I had spent almost 8 weeks travelling through Russia, Mongolia, China, (Tibet), and Nepal, and the time to start my real life, grown up life, had arrived.

While in Tibet I had received an email, and a request to call, from N.K., my future boss, and on August 15th I had a meeting in Schwalbach to discuss my future job, as it had been decided to change it while I was in Tibet. Real life was going to kick in straight after landing in Germany.

In Kathmandu, however, I was surprised by a horrible queue at Gulf Air counter , and a 5 hour delay of my flight from Kathmandu to Bahrain: There was no way I could catch my flight to Germany anymore, and my dad was already flying from Bogota to Frankfurt to pick me up at the airport, and help me in getting an appartment (2 weeks before I had to start working!).

It won't come as a surpirse that I flipped out, and insulted the useless lady at the counter (she spoke Nepalese and Arabic, great help), and with the few Rupees I had left, made a call to Colombia so that my mother could tell my dad I was not arriving in Germany as planned anymore, and he could call N.K. assistant, and say I would not make it to the meeting. God, how I felt, my first meeting with my future boss, and I was not going to show up, nor was I going to cancel personally!

After the flight finally left Kathmandu, I started wondering what my new life was going to bring with it. I hoped it would bring hapiness, and friends. I was not over leaving Boston (let's face it: I am not over yet), and hoped I would be able to make a life as satisfying as the life I had in Boston, and would quickly adapt to Germany, and to work.

The flight landed in Bahrain at 3am, and we were granted entry to the country, as there were no more flights that night to anywhere. The next flight to Germany was scheduled for August 16th at 00:10, so I was to stay almost 24 hours in Bahrain. Gulf Air put us in a hotel in Manama, but our luggage had to stay in the airport: When we entered the country we were granted access, but our bags were not. I was not sure how to feel or think: A person who hates heat, sitting in the middle of the desert in the middle of Summer, and with only trekking pants, trekking shoes and a BU hoodie to wear. What an irony. Looking back it was probably the first sign that leaving Boston was a bad idea, however, and thankfully, I did not notice it then.

The day in Manama proved to be exciting: I learnt the arabic numbers, walked around the hotel and went clothes shopping, and once at the airport, got to meet two of my group mates from Tibet, who had left Kathmandu a day later, and had been lucky enough to arrive in Bahrain on time to catch their flights to Europe.

Auugust 15th 4 years ago I was stuck in the Middle East, preparing mentally for my new life. Now, 4 years later, I am sitting in my living room, remembering, and wondering where all the hopes I had went wrong, and how I managed not to get over Boston. Part of my hopes, the friends part, has been fulfilled, and I do feel grateful for my friends here: R.DJ, S.D, S.C, P.L., I miss those friends I made, who have already moved on: Al.R, Ash. R., J.T, L.A, A.C, and I wonder how much more I will be able to take people leaving and moving on, while I can't decide whether I want a career, a family, or a life, whether I want to live a comfortable life, or live a happy one, and whether I want to take what life brings me, or actively run after my dreams.