We were driving, my ballet teacher and I.  She picks me up from work on Wednesdays because the bus stops running at four.  Her car is older than I am, nail polish red, with a small, broken pointe-shoe hanging from the rear view mirror.  The windows are rolled down to let in the spring air, and I tilt my face into the sun.  I watch as southern Germany flies by.  The mountains are covered in green – the trees full to the brim with green needles – and the hills are strung with grapevines.  They are gnarled and bare, but that’s not really what catches my eye. 

The Magnolia trees next to the road are in full bloom.  The petals peak at the top in an egg-shape, but, like the arms of a ballerina after a turn, they flutter – gradual, almost unnoticeably – from their closed circle to their sides.  This skirt of petals then, too, loses its form and falls to the ground like snow.

“So beautiful,” my ballet teacher says to me.  “But they hardly even have a chance for their beauty to take form before it is taken from them.”

My ballet teacher was in her late twenties when she was diagnosed with blood cancer.  She had barely begun touring with the Freiburg Ballet when she found herself too weak to stand.  She went on dialysis and tried to resume her work.  But she didn’t have the strength, and began to get sicker.  When she was in her thirties, she realized she was getting too old to be a professional dancer, and made another valiant effort.  She began training – and even took singing lessons.  And she did it, she got the part.  But the singing lessons became too expensive.  And she had to chose between the lessons and the dialysis.  She had to give up her role.  She began to hate ballet, and fled from her passion.  Her husband, in turn, fled from her.  He didn’t want to be stuck with a dying wife when he was still in his prime, after all.

But she did return to ballet.  When she was fourty, a friend asked her to take over her dance school.  At first, she said no – she didn’t want to relive the heartbreak.  But she did come to the school, just to see.  And she never left it. 

My ballet teacher is now 72 years old, and still teaching.  Some of her students are the children of earlier students, or cousins or neighbors.

She’s one of the warmest and strongest women I have ever met.  And she reminds me every time I see her, “die Zeit zu geniessen“. 

 

Enjoy the time you have.  Seize every moment of it.  Because sometimes the petals fall quicker than you think.  It only takes the Magnolia a week to reach it’s peak – and fade away.

 

 

M

 

Many couples feel the need to immortalize their love.  Some carve their names into tree trunks.  Others buy a star for $30 online.  And in Germany, some of them hang a padlock on the Hohenzollern Bridge and throw away the key.

The Hohenzollern Bridge was built in 1907 to connect the two Cologne train stations with one another.  The bridge was destroyed in WWII by the Germans in an attempt to protect the city from invading allies.  It was quickly rebuilt for use of pedestrians and trains, and is still the major bridge in the city today.  But outside of it’s long history, something else makes the bridge very special.

Since 2008 (according to the Internet) – or much longer (according to the Germans) – the fence across the bridge has been adorned with padlocks.  They are heart shaped or painted or engraven with names.  They are large or small or copper or steel.  There are padlocks of all shapes and sizes to represent all of the couples of different ages and backgrounds who put them there in the first place.  The padlocks are locked in place together by couples, and the key is tossed into the river Rhein – binding the lovers together auf immer und ewig. 

So next time you and your SO are traveling through Germany, take a quick stop in the beautiful city of Cologne.  Take a trip up to the top of the cathedral or try out a Koelsch beer at a brewery.  And at the end of the day, consider placing a lock for yourselves on the old Hohenzollern Bridge.

 

 

M

…did I miss something?

A lot changes in high school, mostly because people change in high school.  Not many friendships make it through, and often for petty reasons. 

Going into high school, on the very first day, in the very first class, I met two of my best friends.  We’ll call them S and N.  And we were really the trio there, for a while.  I still have the pictures from the sleepovers, trips to the mall, even the midnight trips to the park.  They always came to my birthday parties and knew all of my secrets.  And we grew together.  N discovered she liked girls over the course of the years, and S finally rebelled against her stepfather.  I…I don’t know what happened to me.  I guess I learned about priorities.  What was important to me, and how not to screw it up.

So when two new girls, A and C, joined our class Junior year…I kept my distance.  S and N latched onto them.  They loved the Bohemian thinking (not that I don’t appreciate it myself), the popularity and, most of all, I think they liked the drugs.  I had to stop hanging out with them most of the time…not because I didn’t like them, not because I was going to “rat them out”…but because I didn’t want to ruin my future by getting caught with a needle or a joint.  Don’t get me wrong, I still tried.  I would call constantly and try to set up dates – drugs excluded.  Or just sit at their table at lunch.  But friendship is not a one-way street.  And after a lot of frustration and even more crying…I accepted that I couldn’t do anymore than I had already tried. 

On the night of Sadie Hawkins senior year, we all five – C and A included - agree to meet afterwards to eat pizza and hang out with our dates.  I was excited – I was finally going to spend time with them, it would all go back to normal – until A got the bong out.  And C the vodka.  I excused myself, and my date and I left.  I never told anyone, never even told them they shouldn’t be doing it.  I simply said that I didn’t want to.

And then…the calls that were already so limited…stopped coming at all.  And they started taking another lunch period.  And by graduation…even the flaky “hellos” and “what are you doing after highschool” conversations…were avoided.  Looking back at their facebooks while I was in another country, I still posted the occasional comment.  And I’d get the occasional comment back.  Even if we weren’t best friends anymore, I saw no reason to not be polite.

Today, after liking something that N said on facebook…C left a comment.

“Fuck you May – ” it said.

All of them – including two other guys that were in that group – all liked it.  This was followed by hateful comments insulting my intelligence and my boyfriend’s race.

 

You can’t win them all, I suppose.  And maybe I was an idiot for even trying so long.  Not everyone wants to be polite in life.

 

But it’s good to know that my future is bright – a year interning in Germany followed by an awesome engineering school (thank you merit scholarships!).  While they, on the other hand, has nothing better to do than write mean things about old schoolmates online.

 

 

M

Upon arriving in Germany with the rest of my program, we all received a stern word or two about expectations.  The expectations that the German government holds, that our host families hold, that our job providers hold, and so on.  Most of it was pretty obvious and dry.  Some of it was poorly written – in example, do not use Germany as your “sexual Disneyland”.  But one thing really stuck with me.

We were encouraged, from the very first day, to say yes to everything that we were invited to do.  When my host mom asks me to go grocery shopping with her, or when a friend wants me to try a waltz class, or when my Gymnasium want to take a group trip to Munich.  Even things that sound boring or are out of our comfort zone – with the exception of illegal activities, of course – should be met with a resounding YES.

And for the last nine months, I have always said yes.  And ninty percent of the time, I was all the happier for it.  One hundred percent of the time, I learned something.

I’ve gone bobsledding down a mountain.  I’ve learned to ride an Icelandic horse – somewhere between Western and English riding.  I’ve had a mass (1 L) of beer at the Hofbrauhaus.  I’ve seen a man suspended in a class cage surrounded by sparking electricity at the German Science Museum.  I’ve seen Roman churches and French battle grounds.  I’ve seen seagulls in Holland.  I’ve seen ravens at the Tower of London.  I’ve seen a 30 Minutes to Marz concert in Switzerland, and eaten in a thousand year old cafe in southern France.  I’ve eaten things like Blutwurst and Stinkkase, and tasted New Wine with onion-cake.  I’ve seen the Black Forest.  I’ve seen the most beautiful Arabian horses in the world.  I’ve bungee jumped and walked across a tightrope.  I’ve ridden on a bicycle made for two.  I’ve climbed the Berlin Wall.  I’ve spent the day with the firemen in Bonn.  I’ve been to Christmas markets in three different countries.  I’ve been Kageln.  I’ve celebrated New Years on the Rhein.  I’ve exchanged kisses for roses during Karnival.  I’ve been to a public viewing for the Soccer World Cup, screaming right along with the Germans during the game against Spain.  I’ve climbed to the top of the Cathedrals in Cologne and Strasbourg.  I’ve skipped stones on the Bodensee.  I’ve eaten grapes off the vine at a world famous orchard. I’ve met wonderful people and learned personal stories that books couldn’t even compete with.

I’ve fallen in love.

 

Today, I attempted to ride a unicycle.

 

What have you said yes to lately?

 

 

M

Being 18 and living in Germany, I use hostels a lot when I travel.  But after my last hostel stay in London, I was reminded how dangerous they can be.

I was in London for a long weekend with a fellow American, J.  We stayed in a hostel on top of an English pub in Victoria.  Not really in the heart of the city, but not too far from the tube, it seemed a good fit.  The reception was completely helpful, and our 13 roommates (5 triple bunkers) were all great.  A smaller group from our room and the adjoining room became fast friends, and did some of the city tours together.  On Saturday night we all went to a pub crawl together, which was uneventful.  What happened afterwards in the hostel, however, was pretty messed up.

When Alex – a young woodworker from Australia – went into his room that night, there was a random Frenchman sleeping in his bed.  Alex woke him up and told him to move, but the man insisted that he had worked all day and that Alex should find another bed.  So he went downstairs to report it to the receptionist.  When she came upstairs to tell the man to leave, he claimed not to understand her and started getting angry and violent.

Alex defended the receptionist, and the enraged Frenchman fled down the stairs.  He threw a punch at the other receptionist and attempted to steal the laptop on the check-in desk.  His escape was hilariously foiled by the locked front door.  He rammed against the door like a caged animal until the police showed up.

When the police finally arrived to calm the situation, the man insisted that his stuff was still upstairs.  So the police allowed him to return upstairs and grab “his things” – Phil (Canadian)’s duffel bag filled with all of his clothes and jewelry, and Fran (Canadian)’s jacket with his wallet, I.D. cards, and over 200 euros.  After he had “his” bag and jacket, the police just let him leave. 

When Fran and Phil reported the theft – which had occurred right before the officers’ eyes – the next morning, the police insisted there was nothing they could do.  The thief was not an English citizen after all, and it was only a petty crime.

We found out that morning from the receptionist who the man was, as well as the fact he had checked out from the hostel two days before.  But he had still gained access because the doors use codes rather than keys.

Crazy, right?

 

I walked away from the hostel with a few decent friendships and a lot of crazy stories.  I highly suggest hostels for young people traveling.  But my advice?  Spend the extra 5 euros to rent a locker.

 

 

 

..I went to the train station on Friday during my lunch break.  I can sit and read in a comfy chair for an hour without having to buy anything, and nobody bothers me.  A man sat down across from me.  He was older and his hands were covered with band-aids.  I nodded a hello before returning to reading and texting Markus.  After a few minutes the old man asked me, in German, if I was using my phone as a German-English dictionary, because of how often I switched between the two.  I explained to him that I was reading texts from my boyfriend, and that I was an American – therefore reading English was no problem.  His faced brighten immediately, and he quickly switched to English to tell me his story…

 

He remembers being a child in WWII.  At the end of the war, his father invited American soldiers into the house to eat.  And the soldiers were friendly and polite to the family.  German soldiers were there too, and they asked his father for civilian clothes so that they could go home as people rather than as soldiers. 

A few weeks after the war, when his family (and most everyone that he knew) was starving, they started getting food packages from the Americans.  The same planes that had only a month before dropped bombs were now giving out food.  The kids all got something to eat in the schools, which meant a lot – they weren’t usually fed at home.  He insisted to me that he would not be alive today without that food.

He was deeply touched.  As he sees it, the Americans won a war.  This war was started by the Germans, resulting in the Germans killing millions of people – including Americans.  And what did the Americans do to the German people, the “conquered people”?  They helped them.  They sent them food and helped them rebuild all that was destroyed.

The older man paused here for a moment.  He painfully pulled out a hankerchief from his shirt pocket to wipe his eyes.  I could see his hands, those arthritis-twisted, bandaid-covered hands, shaking with the effort.

He excused himself, saying he could not really put into words how he felt.  But, he insisted, American had done such things multiple times.  Americans have reached out and helped those who have tried to destroy them.  He began to cry openly as he told me how much he loves and appreciates my country.  He said it disgraces him that so many people have forgotten all the good America has done. 

He went on to tell me about when he fulfilled his dream by going to America in ’66.  The people impressed him by how friendly they were.  They said hello to strangers and had no issue striking up a conversation.  He told me that he was torn when he was at the airport.  He was getting ready to board the plane for Germany, and be prayed God to send a sign.  Should he stay or return home?  Immediately a stewardess come and told him he was holding up the plane.  If he didn’t board right now, he would lose his money – and have to pay $6000 in delay charges while the plane unloaded his luggage.  He laughed and told me he quickly thanked God for his answer before boarding.

He smiled at me and asked me some questions about myself.  I told him about the program I am in, about the internships I am doing, and about what I’d like to do in the future.  I told him about my German boyfriend, and how I plan to come back for him. 

The old man looked to me and grinned.  His whole face was blotched with age, the skin sagging off his cheeks and over his eyes – but it was still a very friendly face.  He sad blue eyes, I could see.  Not gray-blue, rather the blue of my dad’s Air Force uniform.  He shook his head, still smiling.

“Don’t be foolish,” he said.  “Go back to America, and take that lucky boy with you.”

My lunch break was up.  We shook hands and departed.

His name was Roger.

 

translated from German

Me:  Can I have a clue?

Markus:  For your Christmas present?  No.

Me:  PLALEAZE!

Markus:  It begins with S-W-A.

Me:  Is it English or German?

Markus:  I don’t know.  English?

Me:  swab, swagger, swallow, swam, swamp, swan, swap, swarm, swarthy, swastika…SWASTIKA?

Markus:  What?

Me:  You’re giving me a German swastika for Christmas?!

Markus:  No!  I think it has to do with Austria, it’s from Austria.

Me:  Hitler?!  He’s from Austria.

Markus:  Yeah I know.

Me:  You’re giving me Hitler?

Markus:  NO!!!!  Just google it.

 

so I google SWA…

 

and I find an african tour site : http://www.swasafaris.de/

and an over 50 forum : http://www.50plus.at/rum/swarov.htm

a window company : http://www.ehlert-partner.de/Swarov.htm

these sexy underwear : http://store.pull-in.com/eu/de/cobranding/swarovski/hype-swarovski-sombre

 

and awesomely expensive jewelry : http://www.swarovski.com/Web_DE/de/index

 

 

While I personally think the Africa safari would be totally awesome, Markus has narrowed it down to the jewelry and the awesome underwear…..

 

He gives terrible clues.

 

M

With all the recent news about gay/bisexual teens driven to suicide, discrimination against homosextuals is being again brought to light.  It is a big issue – not just in the schools,  but in the office, place of worship, and especially in marriage.  As a Republican, I firmly believe that no federal law should be passed that either restricts marriage as only between a man and a woman, or that legalizes same-sex marriage. 

Now, hear me out.

From the beginning of our government, marriage laws have been at a state level.  Every state is different, including its age restrictions and requirements.  In some states, children as young as 14 can marry with parental consent – sometimes even without consent, if the judge so rules.  In others, blood tests and health exams are prerequisites.  HIV testing and mental health examinations – even a waiting period can be issued before the couple can truly “tie the knot.”  As with all controversies tied to marriage, the question of same-sex marriage should be held at a state level.  People argue that legalizing same-sex marriage will lead to legalized marriage between humans and animals, which is one of the most ridiculous things that I have ever heard.  But again, being a Republican, I firmly believe in the power of the state, and if such a law can truly pass in a state, then it should.

According to The Full Faith and Credit Clause of the United States Constitution, a marriage granted in one state mustbe acknowledged by the other states.  The United States Constitution folks!  That means, sorry Texas, but if a same-sex couple married in Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont or Washington D.C. decides to buy a little place by Austin, they still should be recognised as a married couple.

However, it is not so.  Thanks to The Defense of Marriage Act passed in the late 1990s, the federal government defines marriage as between a man and a woman, therefore a same-sex couple married in one state do not have that same title – or rights - in another.  While this statement was later ruled – obviously – unconstitutional, the act is still in effect.  And if the backing behind an act is ruled unconstitutional, the entire act should be as well.

 

Excuse me, but is marriage a state issue or not?  As Republicans Americans, do we believe in the honor of local and state jurisdiction?  Do we believe in honoring the Constitution? 

So for these reasons listed above, I firmly believe that the federal government should not pass any laws in regard to same-sex marriage.  They should repeal The Defense of Marriage Act and stick with the Constitutional Rights granted in The Full Faith and Credit Clause.  States have always, and should always, have the power to regulate marriage. 

 

But, that is just a Republican’s point of view.

 

 

M.

 

 

First off I finished my first book in German today:  Die Puppe mit dem starren Blick.  It’s “Night of The Living Dummy”, a Goosebumps’ book.  Despite the fact I am reading at the level of an average second grader, I still am reading!, so I’m proud of myself.  I kept my handy-dandy second-hand Collins German School Dictionary by me, as well as a pencil.  I was able to read almost all of it just fine, and I even figured out a few words from contexts.  However every now and then the dictionary definitely helped me.  I learned a few new words, including

Muehe : trouble or pains.  As in, taking the trouble to make sure I understood the word.

packen : to grasp, or to pack.  As in, you are grasping my arm too hard and therefore I’m packing my bags to leave.

Wuetend : furious.  As in, I’m furious I never knew this word before.

Pfoten : paws.  As in, keep your paws off.

Schritt : step.  As in, watch your step because I’m pretty sure I lost my gum around here.

Bauchredner : ventriloquist.  Not sure when I’d ever use this.

 

I also have purchased my ticket for Bonn.  I’ll be visiting Markus from Friday to Wednesday.  We haven’t planned much yet, except we are going swimming so I can keep in shape – my new goal is to drop the 10 pounds I found in Germany – and going bowling with my old hostbrother.  We also are going to have a horror film night.  I’m not sure how scared I can be – German voice-overs make me laugh.  But it should be a wonderful and sweet and cuddly week. 

 

I’m also going to meet his grandmother.  That should be fun.

 

M.

 

 

Since arriving in Germany at the beginning of the summer, I have fallen in love with a local.  While my German has improved – much of that reason being my want to better communicate with him – the language can still be a problem.  When dating someone with another culture and language, you have to be ready for frustrations, miscommunication, and embarrassing mix-ups.  The most important thing I’ve learned is to keep an open mind and always be prepared to laugh it off.   

I can not always say what I mean in the words that I want to, and constantly repeating myself with different inflections and wording until one of them is correct can be exhausting.  Sometimes I feel so frustrated that I blurt out English – which my boyfriend generally fails to understand.  On the other hand, he is very supportive.  He offers suggestions for what I am trying to say, and repeats everything with me until I can say it correctly.  A few days ago we were at the train station together and I wanted to take the escalator.  I called it Auftreppe, because Aufzug I know means elevator and Treppe means stairs.  He smiled and taught me the word Rolltreppe.  Just like when a child points to a color in a book or an animal in a zoo and asks the parent What is this?, it takes a lot of time and patience to learn a new language in a new country.

Sometimes things don’t translate well.  Mixing up werden and waeren is like mixing up We definitely will and We could but I doubt it.  A few heated moments have passed when the wrong word was used.  Also some words in German, regrettably, sound exactly the same to me.  Attempts at good night have often turned into good naked, and man this weather is humid today sounds awfully close to man this weather is homosexual today.  All in all, being prepared to laugh it off and accept corrections can actually make the mix-ups fun.

A few days after we started dating, I decided to ask him to kiss me.  Butzenis a word used in Rheinland for kiss.  What I thought was butz mich came out a lot more like bums mich - bumsen vs butzen.  There was a very awkward silence – a literally stop moving and breathing silence - before he asked me to clarify exactly what I was asking for.  After clarifying I wanted a kiss and not sex, we laughed and kissed and laughed again.  It has become an inside joke between us.  When more awkward moments occur in our attempts to understand one another, we laugh it off all the same.

Love exists and communicates between people regardless of language barriers.  A person doesn’t require Shakespeare’s prose from her lover to know she is loved.  Instead of looking at our language and cultural differences as a barrier, we find it as just an adventure to bring us closer.  Understanding is a bonding process in all relationships – ours is just a little different.

 

M