was to get enrolled in the university this summer. I checked the study offers online, deadlines... all that necessary information on how to get a student status in Germany. The University says that the deadline for summer semester is on 15 of Feb. and the ones who want to enroll in a Master's program needs to apply to the school directly instead of going through a Agency who would charge you fees by your nationality.(no seriously they do)
Application season means paper snow season. I photo copied my documents, sent them in and waited impatiently in front PC. A few days later, I got two emails from the same university, one said that I would get an appointment from them for another German test, and the other said that they had forwarded my application to that money grabbing agency and there was no further action I need to take.
That made me feel somewhat better...
until...
I got a letter from the Agency last night, saying that I have a deficit of 25 euros and that my applications wouldn't be processed until I paid the fees and filled out another form from their website. I started filling out the form last night and since I had a few questions, I gave them a call this afternoon...
Greetings greetings blah blah blah
"Your application number please."
"79789709"
"You have a deficit of 25 euros, and this payment was supposed to on our bank account today, which means too late."
"I got your letter last night."
"I know, we are sorry."
"On your website it states that your office is open until 17H, which means I can still go there and pay the bill in cash."
"But the payment deposit closes at 15H."
"It is only 16:15, I can pay you in cash."
"We are sorry."
The letter was written on 17 of Jan -- a Saturday, then there came the weekend, so it was probably sent out on Monday. I got the letter on Wednesday night and the deadline was at 15H Thursday? And there is nowhere on their letter says that when the payment was supposed to transferred. I am not the one who runs the Post Office here, now would you want me to start a law suit with the Postman? It feels like you need a lawyer for everything, even just to register at some school.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
I listen to you
I listen to you through my eyes,
as it takes you 30 seconds to unlock the door;
I listen to you through my nose,
as you breath triggers my rage;
I listen to you through my touch,
it's difficult for you to stand up straight;
I listen to your with my tongue,
your tears taste like martini.
And yet,
I keep listening,
until you crawl into bed
with assistance.
You say that I should understand your sorrow;
I wonder what is the point,
for you always choose alcohol before me.
Maybe there is a misunderstanding
in our circle;
I shall never be on the top of your list
as a console party.
Words, sometimes are just sounds we utter,
from time to time
I have the illusion that they actually have any significance.
I listen to you with my body,
it is your job to correctly interpret my gesture,
if you are ever
capable of it.
as it takes you 30 seconds to unlock the door;
I listen to you through my nose,
as you breath triggers my rage;
I listen to you through my touch,
it's difficult for you to stand up straight;
I listen to your with my tongue,
your tears taste like martini.
And yet,
I keep listening,
until you crawl into bed
with assistance.
You say that I should understand your sorrow;
I wonder what is the point,
for you always choose alcohol before me.
Maybe there is a misunderstanding
in our circle;
I shall never be on the top of your list
as a console party.
Words, sometimes are just sounds we utter,
from time to time
I have the illusion that they actually have any significance.
I listen to you with my body,
it is your job to correctly interpret my gesture,
if you are ever
capable of it.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Muder the dead
I have taken a break from school; well, I have done with the private school because financially it became heavy, and I feel at some point, I'd need more intensive German writing sections in order to improve my German more efficiently, which means university (and I miss being an official student), for I can't learn it alone -- it is a question of discipline, or well... actually the question of the lack of self-discipline. 4 minutes after sending the application, I realized that I made a few mistakes on my application: I forget to check the options, which would show what paper I sent; I spent an afternoon translating 4 years worth of transcript and then found out I didn't need to because they are in English, and I forgot to send a copy of my ID and other optional applications. It has only been a year since my last university application hassle, why everything seems so distanced and unnatural now? So I have been trying to call the school, the receptionist directed me to the head of the department, whose phone line was busy for 2 days. I am convinced that the person was having phone sex. Then, no one ever picked up the phone. Thus I will try to go there in person tomorrow ( the office is about 15 Kilometer from the flat) because the deadline for Summer semester application is in less than 48 hours.
Not only because I miss university life dearly, another more practical reason is : ALL of my job applications have been refused. I've been trying to get a position as an Intern in various newspapers and magazines. If they replied my email delivering the same the message: Thanks for your interest at the position, but your writing shows that your German level is not high enough ( no, literally they wrote that) for us, therefore we cannot grant you the position. Good luck in the future.
But I have to start somewhere!
The reason why I am comfortable writing in English was because most of my papers (academic or not) are (were) written in English. They were corrected, harshly red-marked, and I had to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, above all, I was speaking the language 24/7, here, besides 3 hours of private class (from April to December), I hardly use it, in a professional level anyway, left me feeling not making any progress, as if my German had already been already fossilized and I can't let it happen.
"But German is hard, half of the immigrants speak less well than you do." I was told. But I am not that half of them, language wise we might have different goals, I can garantee you that not many of these "half" are working (or trying to work ) in German Press. My certificate is only good enough for the entry of university (if I ever get accepted somewhere), but for the professional writing, I still have a long way to go.
But I have to start somewhere.
Cross your finger for me, despite my mistakes in the application, I will still be accepted for a M.A. in the university here. The result is going to be revealed at the end of May or the beginning of June.
All of those, for that one day, I can work as a journalist. A friend of mine told me that it was a great choice, because I would be able to "Speak up for those who can't speak for themselves"-- ideology of journalism, but some of those people don't want to be spoken up to. Case in point: my mother is letting the Predator moving into her apartment, it is illogical and sickening. I am troubled by some gruesome dreams since the day she shared the news with me. But they are not my dreams, they are my wishes. My mother wanted to speak to the Predator about consciousness but why? You can't talk about consciousness to someone who doesn't know what that is. Just like I wouldn't speak French to her because she doesn't speak French. It is a simple question of the capacity to communicate, and neither of them has any!
It is a lot more comfortable to remain as a victim, so all the rights of complain are reserved to them, it takes mental and physical effort to get out of victim costume, she is not willing to make an effort. She is ignoring all the human rights worker have been working for. As the Predator comes and goes, "Relax," says she standing at the door, "we are programmed to receive, you can check in and out anytime you like, and you will never get locked out."
Bravo.
There is one adjective in my mind: Sick.
As I lay in bed having another sleepless night, --- I am Picasso in Jeanette Winterson's "Art & Lies",I vividly plan out the killing process, but It is impossible to murder the dead.
Not only because I miss university life dearly, another more practical reason is : ALL of my job applications have been refused. I've been trying to get a position as an Intern in various newspapers and magazines. If they replied my email delivering the same the message: Thanks for your interest at the position, but your writing shows that your German level is not high enough ( no, literally they wrote that) for us, therefore we cannot grant you the position. Good luck in the future.
But I have to start somewhere!
The reason why I am comfortable writing in English was because most of my papers (academic or not) are (were) written in English. They were corrected, harshly red-marked, and I had to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, above all, I was speaking the language 24/7, here, besides 3 hours of private class (from April to December), I hardly use it, in a professional level anyway, left me feeling not making any progress, as if my German had already been already fossilized and I can't let it happen.
"But German is hard, half of the immigrants speak less well than you do." I was told. But I am not that half of them, language wise we might have different goals, I can garantee you that not many of these "half" are working (or trying to work ) in German Press. My certificate is only good enough for the entry of university (if I ever get accepted somewhere), but for the professional writing, I still have a long way to go.
But I have to start somewhere.
Cross your finger for me, despite my mistakes in the application, I will still be accepted for a M.A. in the university here. The result is going to be revealed at the end of May or the beginning of June.
All of those, for that one day, I can work as a journalist. A friend of mine told me that it was a great choice, because I would be able to "Speak up for those who can't speak for themselves"-- ideology of journalism, but some of those people don't want to be spoken up to. Case in point: my mother is letting the Predator moving into her apartment, it is illogical and sickening. I am troubled by some gruesome dreams since the day she shared the news with me. But they are not my dreams, they are my wishes. My mother wanted to speak to the Predator about consciousness but why? You can't talk about consciousness to someone who doesn't know what that is. Just like I wouldn't speak French to her because she doesn't speak French. It is a simple question of the capacity to communicate, and neither of them has any!
It is a lot more comfortable to remain as a victim, so all the rights of complain are reserved to them, it takes mental and physical effort to get out of victim costume, she is not willing to make an effort. She is ignoring all the human rights worker have been working for. As the Predator comes and goes, "Relax," says she standing at the door, "we are programmed to receive, you can check in and out anytime you like, and you will never get locked out."
Bravo.
There is one adjective in my mind: Sick.
As I lay in bed having another sleepless night, --- I am Picasso in Jeanette Winterson's "Art & Lies",I vividly plan out the killing process, but It is impossible to murder the dead.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Filing
"Mr. Aiden Sand, please tell us why you want to work for us."
"I like alphabet."
"And which qualifications do you have for the job?"
"I am good with the alphabet."
"Sounds great to me. I don't know about the others..." The interviewer looked at his colleges, who demonstrated no objection. "Alright then, so here is the contract, just sign your name ... here, you can start tomorrow."
Aiden had promised to call Sirra a week ago. He delayed it as long as he could. Eventually in a boredom saturated evening, he picked up the phone an dialed her number.
"Hey Sis."
"Oh finally."
"Happy New Year. How was the party?"
"Good. Did you get a job?"
"Yeah. A couple of days ago."
"Where?"
"In an office."
"What do you do?"
"Filing."
"Filing? Like filing...filing?"
"Yeah, putting strangers' names in a certain order, then pack them into a metal draw."
"Is it what you want?"
"Yes. The contract got me an apartment."
"Coming back soon?"
"No, not really."
"It has been so long. Some people are going to think you are insane."
"Some people think the Earth is flat."
"Oh yes, well... Paul kinda called. He wanted to move back in."
"No. That is a No-No."
"You are silly. He is still your official brother-in-law. So next time you call, there is a chance that..."
"I won't call anymore."
Aiden hung up the phone, felt him self being a prick, and yet compelled to do so. He couldn't bear hearing his name, any talk about him, above all, Sirra's illogical logic enraged him -- after so many years of domestic violence, constant bruises on her body, broken furniture, broken door and broken heart, Paul left without saying goodbye, then all the sudden, after 8 years of silence, he wanted to move back in because he had fucked up his life, lost his job and roof. Aiden loves his sister, it pains him to think of Sirra as a cheap whore, but if she is not, what is she? She has been a financial support for him, a family-member-turned-acquaintant, an acquaintant who lately brings more frustration than joy.
Randomly threw on a coat, Aiden ran down the slippery street and buzzed the intercom of Nick.
"Hello?" A sleepy voice wailed out of the speaker.
"Is it me."
Aiden heard the door unlocked and went straight into Nick's kitchen, took a cigarette on the counter. "You know what? As I was walking to your apartment, the traffic light was green for pedestrians, some ass almost hit me and instead of apologizing, he went out of the car and shouted at me. Tipplers in the quarter are aggressive when they are awake, asking for small changes when they are half-asleep on the metro benches. My sister is crawling back to her predator because she couldn't stand the healthy life style for the past 8 years, her 'ex' is never in trouble with law for his behavior, and this is what we are supposed to have in a civilisation?"
Nick took a drag from Aiden's smoke :" You came over unannounced at midnight to talk about civilisation?"
"I don't know." Of course you do, it is not about a specific matter, any specific matter; but to everything relevant to what you actually give a damn. Like so-called freedom or democracy or gentilness, peer pressure, social norm...double-edged blades, use with caution. As a matter of fact, it is about the worthless confusion of such flaws, their flaws, according to your law, these endless pieces of small spikes deeply implanted in your lungs, it stings when you breath; you fear to breath, not enough oxygen flows into your blood, you wake up with foul mood --- the slightest alternation of absolute perfection would piss you off. Am I wrong?
"Black tea?" Nick asked as he set the tea kettle on the stove.
"Sure."
"It is a snowy New Year isn't it!?"
"Indeed it is..."
"I like alphabet."
"And which qualifications do you have for the job?"
"I am good with the alphabet."
"Sounds great to me. I don't know about the others..." The interviewer looked at his colleges, who demonstrated no objection. "Alright then, so here is the contract, just sign your name ... here, you can start tomorrow."
Aiden had promised to call Sirra a week ago. He delayed it as long as he could. Eventually in a boredom saturated evening, he picked up the phone an dialed her number.
"Hey Sis."
"Oh finally."
"Happy New Year. How was the party?"
"Good. Did you get a job?"
"Yeah. A couple of days ago."
"Where?"
"In an office."
"What do you do?"
"Filing."
"Filing? Like filing...filing?"
"Yeah, putting strangers' names in a certain order, then pack them into a metal draw."
"Is it what you want?"
"Yes. The contract got me an apartment."
"Coming back soon?"
"No, not really."
"It has been so long. Some people are going to think you are insane."
"Some people think the Earth is flat."
"Oh yes, well... Paul kinda called. He wanted to move back in."
"No. That is a No-No."
"You are silly. He is still your official brother-in-law. So next time you call, there is a chance that..."
"I won't call anymore."
Aiden hung up the phone, felt him self being a prick, and yet compelled to do so. He couldn't bear hearing his name, any talk about him, above all, Sirra's illogical logic enraged him -- after so many years of domestic violence, constant bruises on her body, broken furniture, broken door and broken heart, Paul left without saying goodbye, then all the sudden, after 8 years of silence, he wanted to move back in because he had fucked up his life, lost his job and roof. Aiden loves his sister, it pains him to think of Sirra as a cheap whore, but if she is not, what is she? She has been a financial support for him, a family-member-turned-
Randomly threw on a coat, Aiden ran down the slippery street and buzzed the intercom of Nick.
"Hello?" A sleepy voice wailed out of the speaker.
"Is it me."
Aiden heard the door unlocked and went straight into Nick's kitchen, took a cigarette on the counter. "You know what? As I was walking to your apartment, the traffic light was green for pedestrians, some ass almost hit me and instead of apologizing, he went out of the car and shouted at me. Tipplers in the quarter are aggressive when they are awake, asking for small changes when they are half-asleep on the metro benches. My sister is crawling back to her predator because she couldn't stand the healthy life style for the past 8 years, her 'ex' is never in trouble with law for his behavior, and this is what we are supposed to have in a civilisation?"
Nick took a drag from Aiden's smoke :" You came over unannounced at midnight to talk about civilisation?"
"I don't know." Of course you do, it is not about a specific matter, any specific matter; but to everything relevant to what you actually give a damn. Like so-called freedom or democracy or gentilness, peer pressure, social norm...double-edged blades, use with caution. As a matter of fact, it is about the worthless confusion of such flaws, their flaws, according to your law, these endless pieces of small spikes deeply implanted in your lungs, it stings when you breath; you fear to breath, not enough oxygen flows into your blood, you wake up with foul mood --- the slightest alternation of absolute perfection would piss you off. Am I wrong?
"Black tea?" Nick asked as he set the tea kettle on the stove.
"Sure."
"It is a snowy New Year isn't it!?"
"Indeed it is..."
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