Here we are, the coldest day of the year. The forecast said that it’d go down to -22°C this evening.
Before the news broke out last night, I knew something was wrong. He hardly said anything and directly went to the Winter-garden for a smoke. More than half an hour later, I realized that a certain someone had caused the irreparable damage, that before the year’s end, we had to go to bed at 9pm before the ire drags the blood and spirit out of us.
Oh that fucking piece of CUNT!
It is not my war, I know; but why is that good people have to suffer? Why those illegal actions bring her judge’s agreements? I would truly like to check the Judge’s prick for her DNA; there is no logical explanation, and there will never be.
As a woman, I don’t like to use the “c-word”, but other than that, what else is she?
We were at the office moving furniture around and surprisingly, the C*** opened the door, got in the kitchen to pick up some shit and went out again. As if nothing were wrong. THIS is the new horizon of shamelessness.
As she walked passed me, how I imagined her foot stepping on a slippery spot; then she falls and cracks her head right open. How I imagine her being fatally bitten by a poisonous creature and suffers endless before dying. How I imagined a monster would come out of her skin and tear her apart as if she had gone through a shredder. How I imagined her binging on copper (II) sulfate and swimming in sulfuric acid, before got dumped in an icy and snowy dumpster. (Snow is important, considering the vivid reactions with sulfuric acid). How I imagined so many colorful things. I am usually not a violent person.
But nothing happened. She came in and out of the office with hippopotamus skin -- right, what the fuck do you have to lose? You already blushed down all your personal integrity and basic honor down the toilette.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Pretty / "welcome home"?
It never stopped snowing all the way to the consulate. I had been sacrificing my sleep all night twisting a lock of hair between my fingers. People in uniform with machine guns stood outside, the security guard stood under the eaves next to a space heater.
There weren't many people waiting in line. A man stood at the cashier window trying to figure out what kind of documents he would need, apparently the lady behind the bullet-proof window did not speak German and he did not speak her language. Out of frustration he explained his situation in English with all available body parts -- it didn't get him too far. He would probably need to bring an interpreter next time. The window for the passport was empty, so we stood in line for general issues.
"How do you do. I am for the passport extension please."
"Let me get my colleague." We were sent to the empty window to wait for the right person arrive, and a young woman with glasses came and sat behind the glass.
"How do you do. I would like to extend my passport please and for a new "remark-page" because of my new last name."
"You speak the language badly." She told me with a smile while taking all the documents we brought, "why don't you speak the language anymore?"
Is this a trick question?
"I grew up there, but it has just been a long time since I left ..."
"But how did you menage to speak with such heavy accent?! Can you even understand the formula? (Yes, I made some mistakes filling out the formula, no one ever taught me what all these words mean.)"
She gave me back the paper -- I had to scratch out half of it and fill in the new blocks, drawing arrows like on a treasure map.
"It is still wrong!" but she kept smiling, and she turned to my company, pointing at me and said in German:" Did you know that she doesn't speak the language anymore? This is terrible."
The same question mark appeared over my company P's head:"Is it a a real question or a rhetoric one?"
She asked for another two copies of documents that we had forgotten to do; P went to the Xerox and left me alone on the other side of the glass. "Do you have other photos than these?"
"No..."
"Did you take them yourself?"
"No... I took them from the photomathon outside."
"They are ugly. You look ugly in them."
Should I say "I am sorry that I am not able to provide any more aesthetic documents, maybe someone should fix the Photomathon."? Nah, I should remain silent, be glad that you have the right to remain silent. I began to interpret her smile, but maybe I should not -- you are right, you are the prettiest woman in this building.
She took the two extra copies from P. and told us that I would need to buy a new passport (although I had the right just to extend it, but I did not want to argue about it) and that we would be able to pick it up in two weeks. A union skin thin pink slip was passed through the slit under the bullet-proof glass. We thought that we were to pay.
"N-o." she said. "p-a-y i-t w-h-e-n y-o-u c-o-m-e a-n-d p-i-c-k i-t u-p! D-o y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d?" She said it almost patiently, like to a kid, no, to someone mentally challenged. Maybe I am retarded today, at least the person holding my identity believed so.
Anyway, the whole thing went more smoothly than I had expected. When I come back in two weeks, they might give me a brochure for language course along with the new passport. Oh don't forget the next stop -- the immigration's office.
There weren't many people waiting in line. A man stood at the cashier window trying to figure out what kind of documents he would need, apparently the lady behind the bullet-proof window did not speak German and he did not speak her language. Out of frustration he explained his situation in English with all available body parts -- it didn't get him too far. He would probably need to bring an interpreter next time. The window for the passport was empty, so we stood in line for general issues.
"How do you do. I am for the passport extension please."
"Let me get my colleague." We were sent to the empty window to wait for the right person arrive, and a young woman with glasses came and sat behind the glass.
"How do you do. I would like to extend my passport please and for a new "remark-page" because of my new last name."
"You speak the language badly." She told me with a smile while taking all the documents we brought, "why don't you speak the language anymore?"
Is this a trick question?
"I grew up there, but it has just been a long time since I left ..."
"But how did you menage to speak with such heavy accent?! Can you even understand the formula? (Yes, I made some mistakes filling out the formula, no one ever taught me what all these words mean.)"
She gave me back the paper -- I had to scratch out half of it and fill in the new blocks, drawing arrows like on a treasure map.
"It is still wrong!" but she kept smiling, and she turned to my company, pointing at me and said in German:" Did you know that she doesn't speak the language anymore? This is terrible."
The same question mark appeared over my company P's head:"Is it a a real question or a rhetoric one?"
She asked for another two copies of documents that we had forgotten to do; P went to the Xerox and left me alone on the other side of the glass. "Do you have other photos than these?"
"No..."
"Did you take them yourself?"
"No... I took them from the photomathon outside."
"They are ugly. You look ugly in them."
Should I say "I am sorry that I am not able to provide any more aesthetic documents, maybe someone should fix the Photomathon."? Nah, I should remain silent, be glad that you have the right to remain silent. I began to interpret her smile, but maybe I should not -- you are right, you are the prettiest woman in this building.
She took the two extra copies from P. and told us that I would need to buy a new passport (although I had the right just to extend it, but I did not want to argue about it) and that we would be able to pick it up in two weeks. A union skin thin pink slip was passed through the slit under the bullet-proof glass. We thought that we were to pay.
"N-o." she said. "p-a-y i-t w-h-e-n y-o-u c-o-m-e a-n-d p-i-c-k i-t u-p! D-o y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d?" She said it almost patiently, like to a kid, no, to someone mentally challenged. Maybe I am retarded today, at least the person holding my identity believed so.
Anyway, the whole thing went more smoothly than I had expected. When I come back in two weeks, they might give me a brochure for language course along with the new passport. Oh don't forget the next stop -- the immigration's office.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Dust Bubble
The last time I smelt you,
I thought there had been a skunk in the office:
You, and your gray sweatshirt and gray face;
You, as a lawyer, a woman, a mother, a person,
can be well spared
it'd be a world's favor
It is the ultimate fetish,
clinging upon someone who is happily fucking the other --
with and without violence.
You have tried to widen the horizon of sadism:
as a second-hand human,
not even worth to be an art mocker's joker.
And we, stand here high
watching you shrinking into a tiny gray bubble,
burst into dust by the poke of your lover,
and your lover's lovers.
As we spoke with nature,
it told us that --
your existence was Gods' error.
I thought there had been a skunk in the office:
You, and your gray sweatshirt and gray face;
You, as a lawyer, a woman, a mother, a person,
can be well spared
it'd be a world's favor
It is the ultimate fetish,
clinging upon someone who is happily fucking the other --
with and without violence.
You have tried to widen the horizon of sadism:
as a second-hand human,
not even worth to be an art mocker's joker.
And we, stand here high
watching you shrinking into a tiny gray bubble,
burst into dust by the poke of your lover,
and your lover's lovers.
As we spoke with nature,
it told us that --
your existence was Gods' error.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Case Reopened
Getting my medical records was a long and arduous process, since I don't live in the States anymore and I did not really know if there were any written documents -- I never got any after getting out of the hospital. After much generous help of my friends and midnight phone calls, my records traveled across the Pacific Ocean when we were in vacation. Only had you known how grateful and happy I was when I received that golden brown envelope. The whole idea of retrieving the written document was to show that I had unfinished treatment / misdiagnoses for my psychological disturbance and for the moment, I somewhat find myself in an urgent need of a good therapist, someone who is willing to work with me. After being on the waiting list for months and months, it was finally my turn to speak to someone professional.
As I stood in line waiting to check in, the heavy past was wrapped up in a brown envelop, carefully folded and sent by the secretary from the States -- case was about to be re-opened, I had the whole details in my head that I was ready to tell -- this time, no administration who drags my hair into the psychiatrist's office; this time, I would not play mind game trying desperately to get out of the session; this time, things are different. My name was called and I walked across the shelf full of free-medication: Zyprexa's purple cover caught my eye; one of the psycho drugs made me sicker than before the nut-cage sojourn and I was considering joining the list of the collective law suit against the company. --- But maybe it is a coincidence; there are also blue pills and green ones, even neutral yellow ones... Doctor Korser sat behind the desk, thinning hair and glasses with golden rimes; he leaned back on his armchair looking like a sun-dried vegetable, but serious.
"How can I help you?"
"I can't sleep properly; I have frequent flash-backs and mood swing."
"Why can't you sleep?"
"Because I have flash backs; and I feel depressed."
"Why?"
"Maybe partially because I had lost faith in the entire academic field."
"Are you a student?"
"Yes."
"In what?"
"Literature."
"OK."
He looked utterly surprised and stopped showing any sign of life. To break the uncomfortable silence, I told Dr. Korser that I might have bipolar.
"Bi.... what?"
"Bipolar."
"How do you know the word? Who told you that? Were you in a hospital."
"I was in a hospital, and I also brought my records with me, but..." I wanted to say but I don't agree with their diagnoses, just look at the list: PTSD, Borderline, Bipolar, Chronicle depression ... with GAF between 35 to 50!
"Let me see the records."
I handed him the heavy stack of paper, he flipped through the axis parts of them and simply copied every diagnoses down. Before I said anything, he told me that he would give me Seroquel, one of the drugs my former doctors gave me, and I told him, there was no way I wanted medication.
"Why? It will help you sleep. Did you say that you couldn't sleep?"
"I am not taking any medication."
"Why not? Why did you stop? Why do you think that people developed medication? So that the injured ones can be healed. Imagine if you have a wound and not using any antiseptic, you would DEAD; imagine if you have an infection without using Penicillin, you would be DEAD! Just try it ok? I write you a low dose. What do you expect tobe healed? With pretty words?"
I was going to say with "wise words"; but I suppose it'd a waste of time to argue with a dried-up zucchini.
Just try it, he said, as if I never had. I started with 5mg and as I cold-turkeyed all the 6 kinds of psycho drugs, I got terribly sick. It was neither a surprise nor very wise, and yet, maybe it was. I remember being not able to drive or concentrate or do anything else when my Seroquel was increased to 15mg; then I was given something more to help me stay awake in the morning, along with the ones which over sedated me. It fucked me right up and what I held in hand was a prescription of 25mg; to start with if I may remind you.
"We start low, one per night, 20 minutes before bed time. Then, after a couple of weeks, you can start taking one more in the morning, and then one by lunch. Our goal is 3 times a day, OK? Three!" He stretched out 3 fingers -- thank you Dr. Korser, any number over three would be a real challenge for me.
The phone rang. He reached the mobile part and turned his back to me in his leather arm chair. For the first time since I came in, I heard him laugh: "Oh hello man... I know... I know... what a strange guy he was!.... No, I think he is Arabic, but maybe Turkish, but what is the difference anyway. hehehehe...I know... I know.... oh right, that is funny, what did he expect? Those are candies? I hope the car accident did not turn out too bad... yeah, here is same old same old... no.... I think the price has gone up.... oh You! I think I will need to pay more tax next year, thanks for the tip... I don't think it should be any trouble, it is nationally proved anyway. Ach, don't listen to their non-sense! There is NO poverty in the Federal Republic of Germany. And you too! Greeting to your children and your wife... totally, that is good eating spot, guten appetit. Ciao."
Then he turned around, surprised to see that I was still there. It was such a shame to have my cell phone off; I have a voice recorder on it.
"Oh right, you. Can't sleep right?"
"Right." I guess I would save time for both of us.
"Are you a student?"
"Yes."
"OK, what did we say? Seroquel 25mg?"
"Sure."
"Any allegies?" he was looking at his cell phone for time or a new SMS.
"Penicillin." (THAT might be a nature intended coincidence)
"Good to know. Do you have skin irritation after taking it?"
"No, it is deadly; I would stop to breath. It is deadly."
"Ok. Then." He shook my hand. I shook his and wished him a good weekend.
Case reopened.
As I stood in line waiting to check in, the heavy past was wrapped up in a brown envelop, carefully folded and sent by the secretary from the States -- case was about to be re-opened, I had the whole details in my head that I was ready to tell -- this time, no administration who drags my hair into the psychiatrist's office; this time, I would not play mind game trying desperately to get out of the session; this time, things are different. My name was called and I walked across the shelf full of free-medication: Zyprexa's purple cover caught my eye; one of the psycho drugs made me sicker than before the nut-cage sojourn and I was considering joining the list of the collective law suit against the company. --- But maybe it is a coincidence; there are also blue pills and green ones, even neutral yellow ones... Doctor Korser sat behind the desk, thinning hair and glasses with golden rimes; he leaned back on his armchair looking like a sun-dried vegetable, but serious.
"How can I help you?"
"I can't sleep properly; I have frequent flash-backs and mood swing."
"Why can't you sleep?"
"Because I have flash backs; and I feel depressed."
"Why?"
"Maybe partially because I had lost faith in the entire academic field."
"Are you a student?"
"Yes."
"In what?"
"Literature."
"OK."
He looked utterly surprised and stopped showing any sign of life. To break the uncomfortable silence, I told Dr. Korser that I might have bipolar.
"Bi.... what?"
"Bipolar."
"How do you know the word? Who told you that? Were you in a hospital."
"I was in a hospital, and I also brought my records with me, but..." I wanted to say but I don't agree with their diagnoses, just look at the list: PTSD, Borderline, Bipolar, Chronicle depression ... with GAF between 35 to 50!
"Let me see the records."
I handed him the heavy stack of paper, he flipped through the axis parts of them and simply copied every diagnoses down. Before I said anything, he told me that he would give me Seroquel, one of the drugs my former doctors gave me, and I told him, there was no way I wanted medication.
"Why? It will help you sleep. Did you say that you couldn't sleep?"
"I am not taking any medication."
"Why not? Why did you stop? Why do you think that people developed medication? So that the injured ones can be healed. Imagine if you have a wound and not using any antiseptic, you would DEAD; imagine if you have an infection without using Penicillin, you would be DEAD! Just try it ok? I write you a low dose. What do you expect tobe healed? With pretty words?"
I was going to say with "wise words"; but I suppose it'd a waste of time to argue with a dried-up zucchini.
Just try it, he said, as if I never had. I started with 5mg and as I cold-turkeyed all the 6 kinds of psycho drugs, I got terribly sick. It was neither a surprise nor very wise, and yet, maybe it was. I remember being not able to drive or concentrate or do anything else when my Seroquel was increased to 15mg; then I was given something more to help me stay awake in the morning, along with the ones which over sedated me. It fucked me right up and what I held in hand was a prescription of 25mg; to start with if I may remind you.
"We start low, one per night, 20 minutes before bed time. Then, after a couple of weeks, you can start taking one more in the morning, and then one by lunch. Our goal is 3 times a day, OK? Three!" He stretched out 3 fingers -- thank you Dr. Korser, any number over three would be a real challenge for me.
The phone rang. He reached the mobile part and turned his back to me in his leather arm chair. For the first time since I came in, I heard him laugh: "Oh hello man... I know... I know... what a strange guy he was!.... No, I think he is Arabic, but maybe Turkish, but what is the difference anyway. hehehehe...I know... I know.... oh right, that is funny, what did he expect? Those are candies? I hope the car accident did not turn out too bad... yeah, here is same old same old... no.... I think the price has gone up.... oh You! I think I will need to pay more tax next year, thanks for the tip... I don't think it should be any trouble, it is nationally proved anyway. Ach, don't listen to their non-sense! There is NO poverty in the Federal Republic of Germany. And you too! Greeting to your children and your wife... totally, that is good eating spot, guten appetit. Ciao."
Then he turned around, surprised to see that I was still there. It was such a shame to have my cell phone off; I have a voice recorder on it.
"Oh right, you. Can't sleep right?"
"Right." I guess I would save time for both of us.
"Are you a student?"
"Yes."
"OK, what did we say? Seroquel 25mg?"
"Sure."
"Any allegies?" he was looking at his cell phone for time or a new SMS.
"Penicillin." (THAT might be a nature intended coincidence)
"Good to know. Do you have skin irritation after taking it?"
"No, it is deadly; I would stop to breath. It is deadly."
"Ok. Then." He shook my hand. I shook his and wished him a good weekend.
Case reopened.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Baltic Sea region Part 1
It took us more than 2 hours, but it was totally worth it for the weather has been very cooperative, although the online forecast told us that it’d be raining all week long.
Upon arrival, GPS told us to cross a bridge that was not there. We called and were told that the street shown on the map had been closed for a while now and since then every tourist has been standing in front of an imaginary bridge when they first arrived. If you happened to be a bus driver and forget to take the reception hotline with you, or arrive after 6Pm, the chances are you would be sitting in your car and pull out your hair one by one. Not sure why the closure of the bridge was never official, but if I had been there years ago and convinced of its existence, I would probably call a doctor to see if I suffer from schizophrenia.
The apartment is lovely – directly at the port and we wake up with seagull every morning. There is only less than 2 meters from our back door to the water, and since the sky has been mostly clearly blue, the water looks heavenly. A few colorful boats are anchored or moored at the port. It is the low season, which means that we are the only ones in the building. Whenever we step out of the door, there is a sense of peace fills up this place, with the exception of gophers – the blind creatures mark their territories even at our door steps; the tourists say “aw”, gardeners scream. This is a circa 25 M² studio, with two closets: one for storage, one serves as kitchen. Behind the closet doors we found a sink, a small refrigerator, a hot plate and a few nails on which two pots and a frying pan are hanged. I suppose all that cooking is not good for the wooden closet, but it’d also be a big mess to have grease on the wall and the ceiling. Cooking in a closet, who would have guessed?
In the past few days we visited the island Usedom, Swinemünde and Stettin in Poland. Usedom has small towns that really give you cute small town feelings – cobble stone streets, old tiny houses, white sand beach, and we found a small shop that sells home-made wool products; the shop keeper even spin the yard herself! But over the weekend almost everything is closed (Saturdays some of them close at 11 am or 1pm), but in Swinemünde, PL everything is open, no matter what day of the week. When you keep going south, until Stettin, you will see amazingly beautiful beaches, but sadly there are more and more house / mall are being erected right in front of the coast, which is not good at all for the environment. The city centers are basically one or two huge blocks of mall, next to 4 or 5 star hotels while across the street is a 10 storage building in which there are more than 1000 people live. The east side of the place is the most illustrative examples of extremes, either you stay in the 5-star hotel or you live across the street with the apartment number like sz-4589. Also driving in Poland is quite adventurous: the streets are not well marked, people drive backwards, and there is no absolute guarantee that you wouldn’t drive into a street trolley, which shares the same car lane as you do. But the food is more than nice, and my favorite is 8-layer banana cake – yes, I counted, there are 8 layers.
The fall has just arrived and the foliage is unspeakable beautiful. Between towns forests are magically colorful. Sometimes I wish I could just be a part time druid and understand the spirit of plants. There is a middle-age interactive project (http://www.ukranenland.de) in the town of Torgelow. The museum is long term project started about 15 years ago; there were houses of smiths’, hunters’, tailors’ hand built, they keep animals and crops, and there are always people who could play middle-age music and make sword using the techniques applied more than 700 years ago. It is a seasonal museum for in the winter it’s really too cold for there is no electricity. There are people who work there for free out of pure interest and since we are at the end of the season (they close this Sunday and we were there Tuesday), all of the workers there took time and guided us through the buildings and ships one by one. I had never learned so much about Germanic, Nordic and Slavic folks. This is the place where I shot bow and arrow (real Robin Hood style) for the first time, and this is probably the only place you would get the chance to do anything alike. If I can finish my school work early (on time) somehow next summer, it’d be totally thinkable to spend 3months there to work for free. It is in the middle of a forest, with a blue creek, pretty sheep and lovely people. So right, in the summer time, they even organize school projects; children could help building up a castle or learn how to work with animals and make peace with nature.
Never leave out the Zoo in the middle of nature land, although it has been a while since the last time I was in a Tierpark. The one in Ueckermünde is another moment of sweetness: Instead of having visitors randomly throwing food to the animals, there are “Futter-Automaten” stand at almost every corner. It costs one euro to take out a box of animal food, and on the machine it says “If the vending machines are empty, our animals are full”. Sheep, goats, horses and donkeys stay close to the machines, so every time someone throws in an euro, they all run up and waiting for their snack. I couldn’t stop going back to the vending machine, for there were very few people around and all these cute bunnies and horses totally melt my heart. Too bad that we did not get to pat the lions, but I guess deer food wouldn’t be really enough for any big cat. Ueckermünde Tierpark is the only place I found so far which provides such vending machines, I hope that there will be more zoos that do the same -- one of the best ways to support the place and make sure what we give to the animals are not soaked in bacon fat and deep fried.
After 5 hours of walking on the beach and arrow shooting in the middle age museum, we needed some spa time. We found in our apartment pamphlet that on Tuesday nights we could book a 4-hour spa for about 10 euros each: a bus would drive us to the spa and take us home at 21:30. Around 17:30, we took the shuttle to the spa, which is in a 3-star hotel und as we walked up to the reception and asked about the deal, the manager told us that the spa area was not ready, one of the saunas was broken and the cleaning ladies would take about 2 hours more to clean the place.
We took a walk. What else could you do? In the middle of nowhere without a car. We called the chauffeur and asked if he could come half an hour later – if we only had 90 minutes to get in and out of a “wellness resort”, it’d be slightly tight.
Luckily enough, our shuttle driver was incredibly nice.
Finally, after walking on the beach with frozen nose and fingers as the only choice, the spa was ready when we got to the reception for the second time. The manager told us that we’d be the only ones tonight. O…K… why not.
The truth is: both Saunas are broken, soap is nowhere to be found, I don’t know when the last time they cleaned the pool, but it was milky and full of dirt, one of the relax rooms is below freezing point, and the only half-functioning places are solarium and infra-red cabinet: but we had to pay extra (1 euro for 10 minutes)! On top of which, there were hair on the solarium bed and the ceiling was dropping water. We ended up spending most of the time changing coins at the bar counter upstairs and stay in the infra-red cabinet, so that our body temperature would stay normal: had to pull through that 90 minutes somehow, I truly wished that there had been a coffee vending machine somewhere. Luckily we brought our own towels, the manager did not even bother to ask; she cashed up and went away.
Oh well, so much for the spa.
GPS is our best friend, for we decide our next destination almost as spontaneously and randomly as if we threw darts on a map hanging on a wall. At the very east side of the country is the best place for smoked fish; for after their family business building, there is only blank in our GPS screen. It looks like they had been in the business for generations and they are always proud of their location. On the maps, their house is right next to the blue ocean and on screen, they mark the end of the land and the beginning of unknown. Speaking of unknown, as we drove through the island of Usedom and tried to come back through the only bridge on the south side, there was a jam right in front of the bridge. Most of the people were locals, and most of them got out of the car and lit a smoke as the line got longer and longer. Well, it was only less than 10 minutes later, someone, someone completely random in his car coming from other direction (he was at the beginning of the jam and made a U-turn), yelled out “The bridge is broken!”. Right after that, most of the people decided to make a U-turn too and on their way heading for the bridge in north, which is more than 80 kilometer away.
So, some random guy yelled out the bridge was broken, and most of the people listened. We took a left turn towards along the coast, headed for the port where summer ferries are, parked the car next to the ships and took a walk – the fact is: we did not know what caused the jam and how long it’d last. How strange just listen to some random guy’s yell and decided to drive across the island again hoping the other bridge is open? People always doubt how effective propagandas are, but look, there are locals who make U-Turns and make that extra 80 kilometers because of a random statement floating out of a car window!
About 20 minutes later, we drove back to the bridge entrance, everything was alright again. Maybe the worker who was supposed to open the bridge was just 15 minutes late; or the computer screwed up for a quarter, but whatever it was, it took less than half an hour. People don’t have patience, people want fast results, and people would believe whatever it is out there without verifying the source, but this is nothing new.
We still have another few days here. Tomorrow in our Hafen big boats will be towed out of the water, starting 9am. Bis morgen, seagulls and wild ducks; loud crows and blind gophers.
Since the WiFi connection is irregular here, if I can’t load the pictures for this blog tonight, will try again very soon.
Upon arrival, GPS told us to cross a bridge that was not there. We called and were told that the street shown on the map had been closed for a while now and since then every tourist has been standing in front of an imaginary bridge when they first arrived. If you happened to be a bus driver and forget to take the reception hotline with you, or arrive after 6Pm, the chances are you would be sitting in your car and pull out your hair one by one. Not sure why the closure of the bridge was never official, but if I had been there years ago and convinced of its existence, I would probably call a doctor to see if I suffer from schizophrenia.
The apartment is lovely – directly at the port and we wake up with seagull every morning. There is only less than 2 meters from our back door to the water, and since the sky has been mostly clearly blue, the water looks heavenly. A few colorful boats are anchored or moored at the port. It is the low season, which means that we are the only ones in the building. Whenever we step out of the door, there is a sense of peace fills up this place, with the exception of gophers – the blind creatures mark their territories even at our door steps; the tourists say “aw”, gardeners scream. This is a circa 25 M² studio, with two closets: one for storage, one serves as kitchen. Behind the closet doors we found a sink, a small refrigerator, a hot plate and a few nails on which two pots and a frying pan are hanged. I suppose all that cooking is not good for the wooden closet, but it’d also be a big mess to have grease on the wall and the ceiling. Cooking in a closet, who would have guessed?
In the past few days we visited the island Usedom, Swinemünde and Stettin in Poland. Usedom has small towns that really give you cute small town feelings – cobble stone streets, old tiny houses, white sand beach, and we found a small shop that sells home-made wool products; the shop keeper even spin the yard herself! But over the weekend almost everything is closed (Saturdays some of them close at 11 am or 1pm), but in Swinemünde, PL everything is open, no matter what day of the week. When you keep going south, until Stettin, you will see amazingly beautiful beaches, but sadly there are more and more house / mall are being erected right in front of the coast, which is not good at all for the environment. The city centers are basically one or two huge blocks of mall, next to 4 or 5 star hotels while across the street is a 10 storage building in which there are more than 1000 people live. The east side of the place is the most illustrative examples of extremes, either you stay in the 5-star hotel or you live across the street with the apartment number like sz-4589. Also driving in Poland is quite adventurous: the streets are not well marked, people drive backwards, and there is no absolute guarantee that you wouldn’t drive into a street trolley, which shares the same car lane as you do. But the food is more than nice, and my favorite is 8-layer banana cake – yes, I counted, there are 8 layers.
The fall has just arrived and the foliage is unspeakable beautiful. Between towns forests are magically colorful. Sometimes I wish I could just be a part time druid and understand the spirit of plants. There is a middle-age interactive project (http://www.ukranenland.de) in the town of Torgelow. The museum is long term project started about 15 years ago; there were houses of smiths’, hunters’, tailors’ hand built, they keep animals and crops, and there are always people who could play middle-age music and make sword using the techniques applied more than 700 years ago. It is a seasonal museum for in the winter it’s really too cold for there is no electricity. There are people who work there for free out of pure interest and since we are at the end of the season (they close this Sunday and we were there Tuesday), all of the workers there took time and guided us through the buildings and ships one by one. I had never learned so much about Germanic, Nordic and Slavic folks. This is the place where I shot bow and arrow (real Robin Hood style) for the first time, and this is probably the only place you would get the chance to do anything alike. If I can finish my school work early (on time) somehow next summer, it’d be totally thinkable to spend 3months there to work for free. It is in the middle of a forest, with a blue creek, pretty sheep and lovely people. So right, in the summer time, they even organize school projects; children could help building up a castle or learn how to work with animals and make peace with nature.
Never leave out the Zoo in the middle of nature land, although it has been a while since the last time I was in a Tierpark. The one in Ueckermünde is another moment of sweetness: Instead of having visitors randomly throwing food to the animals, there are “Futter-Automaten” stand at almost every corner. It costs one euro to take out a box of animal food, and on the machine it says “If the vending machines are empty, our animals are full”. Sheep, goats, horses and donkeys stay close to the machines, so every time someone throws in an euro, they all run up and waiting for their snack. I couldn’t stop going back to the vending machine, for there were very few people around and all these cute bunnies and horses totally melt my heart. Too bad that we did not get to pat the lions, but I guess deer food wouldn’t be really enough for any big cat. Ueckermünde Tierpark is the only place I found so far which provides such vending machines, I hope that there will be more zoos that do the same -- one of the best ways to support the place and make sure what we give to the animals are not soaked in bacon fat and deep fried.
After 5 hours of walking on the beach and arrow shooting in the middle age museum, we needed some spa time. We found in our apartment pamphlet that on Tuesday nights we could book a 4-hour spa for about 10 euros each: a bus would drive us to the spa and take us home at 21:30. Around 17:30, we took the shuttle to the spa, which is in a 3-star hotel und as we walked up to the reception and asked about the deal, the manager told us that the spa area was not ready, one of the saunas was broken and the cleaning ladies would take about 2 hours more to clean the place.
We took a walk. What else could you do? In the middle of nowhere without a car. We called the chauffeur and asked if he could come half an hour later – if we only had 90 minutes to get in and out of a “wellness resort”, it’d be slightly tight.
Luckily enough, our shuttle driver was incredibly nice.
Finally, after walking on the beach with frozen nose and fingers as the only choice, the spa was ready when we got to the reception for the second time. The manager told us that we’d be the only ones tonight. O…K… why not.
The truth is: both Saunas are broken, soap is nowhere to be found, I don’t know when the last time they cleaned the pool, but it was milky and full of dirt, one of the relax rooms is below freezing point, and the only half-functioning places are solarium and infra-red cabinet: but we had to pay extra (1 euro for 10 minutes)! On top of which, there were hair on the solarium bed and the ceiling was dropping water. We ended up spending most of the time changing coins at the bar counter upstairs and stay in the infra-red cabinet, so that our body temperature would stay normal: had to pull through that 90 minutes somehow, I truly wished that there had been a coffee vending machine somewhere. Luckily we brought our own towels, the manager did not even bother to ask; she cashed up and went away.
Oh well, so much for the spa.
GPS is our best friend, for we decide our next destination almost as spontaneously and randomly as if we threw darts on a map hanging on a wall. At the very east side of the country is the best place for smoked fish; for after their family business building, there is only blank in our GPS screen. It looks like they had been in the business for generations and they are always proud of their location. On the maps, their house is right next to the blue ocean and on screen, they mark the end of the land and the beginning of unknown. Speaking of unknown, as we drove through the island of Usedom and tried to come back through the only bridge on the south side, there was a jam right in front of the bridge. Most of the people were locals, and most of them got out of the car and lit a smoke as the line got longer and longer. Well, it was only less than 10 minutes later, someone, someone completely random in his car coming from other direction (he was at the beginning of the jam and made a U-turn), yelled out “The bridge is broken!”. Right after that, most of the people decided to make a U-turn too and on their way heading for the bridge in north, which is more than 80 kilometer away.
So, some random guy yelled out the bridge was broken, and most of the people listened. We took a left turn towards along the coast, headed for the port where summer ferries are, parked the car next to the ships and took a walk – the fact is: we did not know what caused the jam and how long it’d last. How strange just listen to some random guy’s yell and decided to drive across the island again hoping the other bridge is open? People always doubt how effective propagandas are, but look, there are locals who make U-Turns and make that extra 80 kilometers because of a random statement floating out of a car window!
About 20 minutes later, we drove back to the bridge entrance, everything was alright again. Maybe the worker who was supposed to open the bridge was just 15 minutes late; or the computer screwed up for a quarter, but whatever it was, it took less than half an hour. People don’t have patience, people want fast results, and people would believe whatever it is out there without verifying the source, but this is nothing new.
We still have another few days here. Tomorrow in our Hafen big boats will be towed out of the water, starting 9am. Bis morgen, seagulls and wild ducks; loud crows and blind gophers.
Since the WiFi connection is irregular here, if I can’t load the pictures for this blog tonight, will try again very soon.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Little Emma in Slumberland - In the Land of Obscure Dreams
Little Emma in Slumberland - In the Land of Obscure Dreams
A class is at the movie theater to watch a film, in which two families live together. Both have two kids and their mothers. One of the mothers looks very two dimensional, like cut out of a cardboard and she has been very insecure all the time, then something minor happens and she jumps off the balcony / window and disappears. The children are sad, esp. hers.
I am somehow part of the film and part of the audience. I end up looking for the mother and I find her in the middle of a park, very confused. But she gives me two bags, both are regular plastic grocery bags but one is sealed like a cylinder like zip top. Both are filled with water and I brought them to the families and they realize that their mother is alive (from a bag of water!?) and soon after, she returns home.
The movie ends. We all go out and have a drink with the director or some important person producing the film. A girl and I were a bit late heading for the bar so we could see the rest of them are having fun at the top of the hill (where the bar is) and when we finally climbed up there, the crowd has been gone, there was an old scary woman with candles and the bar becomes a very creep and dodgy house. The old woman was expecting men apparently and she does smell like nasty danger. I say “good bye”, unlock the door frantically and storm out of the house, as I run down the hill, I was so paranoid about her chasing me but no one is behind me. (I get chased all the time in my dreams)I safely arrive at the main street.
Tons of people gathered at the main streets, I thought it was a demonstration but it turns out to be a parade. One of the major things in parade is a golden, gigantic, ancient fire department vehicle shaped like a boat. It is as big as a building. There are other old fashioned things at the parade, like old crafts, books and all.
Then I am looking for the important guy from the film ( I don’t know why), his name is like Gandhi or something. So I ask the man in front of an Indian restaurant and he says that he might come by on Sunday. I continue to walk down the street and get on the train. The Gandhi guy is on the same train! So we sit down at a table and speak. I ask him about an Email that we all get as a class, about Grandma and Visa (huh?), then I ask him if he needs any writers for his movies and if there is a small side job. He says that he is doing a war film right now and I could get paid for 400 euros if I walk around the block in different costumes 190 times, sometimes I would drop my keys, or be “the guy around the block”.
I am going to stop eating sweet stuff before bed, and look up what did Freud say about seeing a golden old fire truck.
A class is at the movie theater to watch a film, in which two families live together. Both have two kids and their mothers. One of the mothers looks very two dimensional, like cut out of a cardboard and she has been very insecure all the time, then something minor happens and she jumps off the balcony / window and disappears. The children are sad, esp. hers.
I am somehow part of the film and part of the audience. I end up looking for the mother and I find her in the middle of a park, very confused. But she gives me two bags, both are regular plastic grocery bags but one is sealed like a cylinder like zip top. Both are filled with water and I brought them to the families and they realize that their mother is alive (from a bag of water!?) and soon after, she returns home.
The movie ends. We all go out and have a drink with the director or some important person producing the film. A girl and I were a bit late heading for the bar so we could see the rest of them are having fun at the top of the hill (where the bar is) and when we finally climbed up there, the crowd has been gone, there was an old scary woman with candles and the bar becomes a very creep and dodgy house. The old woman was expecting men apparently and she does smell like nasty danger. I say “good bye”, unlock the door frantically and storm out of the house, as I run down the hill, I was so paranoid about her chasing me but no one is behind me. (I get chased all the time in my dreams)I safely arrive at the main street.
Tons of people gathered at the main streets, I thought it was a demonstration but it turns out to be a parade. One of the major things in parade is a golden, gigantic, ancient fire department vehicle shaped like a boat. It is as big as a building. There are other old fashioned things at the parade, like old crafts, books and all.
Then I am looking for the important guy from the film ( I don’t know why), his name is like Gandhi or something. So I ask the man in front of an Indian restaurant and he says that he might come by on Sunday. I continue to walk down the street and get on the train. The Gandhi guy is on the same train! So we sit down at a table and speak. I ask him about an Email that we all get as a class, about Grandma and Visa (huh?), then I ask him if he needs any writers for his movies and if there is a small side job. He says that he is doing a war film right now and I could get paid for 400 euros if I walk around the block in different costumes 190 times, sometimes I would drop my keys, or be “the guy around the block”.
I am going to stop eating sweet stuff before bed, and look up what did Freud say about seeing a golden old fire truck.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Organic Life
October is full of excitement, or enticement if you will. I seem to have been sleeping for a very long time; then a sudden urge of isolating myself in a cellophane woke me up.
It has been a while now, we make our own herbal butter (Kräuterbutter), dips, cakes, bread, ice cream, bread spread ... a lot of things a couple of years ago that we would usually get from the supermarkets, come in with plastic wraps; we are at the point where we grow our parsley, basil, rosemary and other kind of plants. Homemade things taste better, maybe because they are from our hands, made with love (awwww...) and you know exactly what is in your food. I never gave it much of a thought, until a few days ago, my lip balm ran out.
Because of my erroneous genetic code, there has been very few kinds of lip balm or skin care I could use. I usually had 4 chap-sticks stocked up in the fridge, for simply I am absolutely compelled to use them more often than most of people, and I can not sleep without them (I kid you not). There are two brands I have found so far compatible to my lips -- one not sold in Germany, one is only sold in Drugstores in specific part of town (which I do not live close to). Leave out the fact that every ounce of them costs more than silver, but what to do when you wake up in the middle of the night and found out there isn't any friendly drop left in that white tube?
So I went and bought the raw ingredients the next day instead. I am going to make an entire pound of that stuff!
As we stood in front of a small stove and melting pure bee wax in a funky glass over water, I realized how dependant we are -- it is not about money, not about being able to stock up a thousand small tubes of lip balms in the refrigerator (that actually produce more plastic trash that the pleasure of using the product itself); it the fact that most of us have become so comfortable having everything in a "to go" form if we swing out our credit cards; we are losing the knowledge and the pleasure of making organic things from our hands forever but instead, in order to have a completely clean conscious, we put our bets in so-called organic food store, spend 5 euros an once for some cream including tongue-twisting chemical names. Independence is not solely financial.
I know, from a typical student side here, I am also in -- eating instant noodle and cakes (oh, about the cake, blame the cook!) in front of a computer screen. But I just wanted to say that there is a lot more joy in making one's own small things than one might think. The bright side is, I am getting used to having this new life style -- part of the society, and yet independent from anything in "ready to go" as much as possible, like in a cellophane, in which I get to decide (most of the time) what goes into my mouth, what goes on my lips and my skin.
Give it a shot. It might surprise you.
PS: My new lip balm ist Lavender / Ylang Ylang --- me happy!
It has been a while now, we make our own herbal butter (Kräuterbutter), dips, cakes, bread, ice cream, bread spread ... a lot of things a couple of years ago that we would usually get from the supermarkets, come in with plastic wraps; we are at the point where we grow our parsley, basil, rosemary and other kind of plants. Homemade things taste better, maybe because they are from our hands, made with love (awwww...) and you know exactly what is in your food. I never gave it much of a thought, until a few days ago, my lip balm ran out.
Because of my erroneous genetic code, there has been very few kinds of lip balm or skin care I could use. I usually had 4 chap-sticks stocked up in the fridge, for simply I am absolutely compelled to use them more often than most of people, and I can not sleep without them (I kid you not). There are two brands I have found so far compatible to my lips -- one not sold in Germany, one is only sold in Drugstores in specific part of town (which I do not live close to). Leave out the fact that every ounce of them costs more than silver, but what to do when you wake up in the middle of the night and found out there isn't any friendly drop left in that white tube?
So I went and bought the raw ingredients the next day instead. I am going to make an entire pound of that stuff!
As we stood in front of a small stove and melting pure bee wax in a funky glass over water, I realized how dependant we are -- it is not about money, not about being able to stock up a thousand small tubes of lip balms in the refrigerator (that actually produce more plastic trash that the pleasure of using the product itself); it the fact that most of us have become so comfortable having everything in a "to go" form if we swing out our credit cards; we are losing the knowledge and the pleasure of making organic things from our hands forever but instead, in order to have a completely clean conscious, we put our bets in so-called organic food store, spend 5 euros an once for some cream including tongue-twisting chemical names. Independence is not solely financial.
I know, from a typical student side here, I am also in -- eating instant noodle and cakes (oh, about the cake, blame the cook!) in front of a computer screen. But I just wanted to say that there is a lot more joy in making one's own small things than one might think. The bright side is, I am getting used to having this new life style -- part of the society, and yet independent from anything in "ready to go" as much as possible, like in a cellophane, in which I get to decide (most of the time) what goes into my mouth, what goes on my lips and my skin.
Give it a shot. It might surprise you.
PS: My new lip balm ist Lavender / Ylang Ylang --- me happy!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Peace you say?
Peace you say. The word appears on children's menu, encouraging "give peas a chance"; the word Mercutio hears from a lover boy; the word is like polar bear, I know what it is, I haven't touched it myself.
As if I have been hibernating for more than 500 days. I don't remember the last time I woke up before noon. I forgot what morning looks like; it is part of being a student in summer break; someone told me nicely. A dear friend of mine told me to shut off the news during healing. I tried to do it in the past couple of days; it doesn't work very well. I love the feeling of having my espresso in my sleep wear while reading the news. This is more than a habitual thing, it is that over heated coffee spoon that you have to hold to stir your java; it might irritate the finger tip, but without that extra heat, stirring coffee would have become something else. If I can't take the news right now, would it be easier to me after months' blank and then take it all in one go? Sooner or later we all have to return to the reality and face human cruelty.
Red post-it notes are on the wall, to remind me of joy. Wouldn't it be nice if I could think about more of the good sides of things constantly, I suppose it takes more practice than I thought. It is very true that most of the news broadcast are bad; we can always blame the media for abusing people's fear, tickle their bank accounts for more shocking the news is, the more it sells. Why are we more alert and in a way attractive to destructive news, I don't know; but the fact of watching the reports on the distinctions of animals and plants, oil spills, senseless violence and tolerance shows that either homo homo sapiens have adapted to the new environment with a stronger stomach for gruesomeness or we have become numb; but could one just throw out the laptop and TV and pretend everything is fine? Is it too late, for we always knew?
I guess there is no all-purpose formula to heal from any kind of psychological disturbance, but I am paying my gratitude every day and waiting for the idea of balancing my world shall come soon.
Peace you say?
As if I have been hibernating for more than 500 days. I don't remember the last time I woke up before noon. I forgot what morning looks like; it is part of being a student in summer break; someone told me nicely. A dear friend of mine told me to shut off the news during healing. I tried to do it in the past couple of days; it doesn't work very well. I love the feeling of having my espresso in my sleep wear while reading the news. This is more than a habitual thing, it is that over heated coffee spoon that you have to hold to stir your java; it might irritate the finger tip, but without that extra heat, stirring coffee would have become something else. If I can't take the news right now, would it be easier to me after months' blank and then take it all in one go? Sooner or later we all have to return to the reality and face human cruelty.
Red post-it notes are on the wall, to remind me of joy. Wouldn't it be nice if I could think about more of the good sides of things constantly, I suppose it takes more practice than I thought. It is very true that most of the news broadcast are bad; we can always blame the media for abusing people's fear, tickle their bank accounts for more shocking the news is, the more it sells. Why are we more alert and in a way attractive to destructive news, I don't know; but the fact of watching the reports on the distinctions of animals and plants, oil spills, senseless violence and tolerance shows that either homo homo sapiens have adapted to the new environment with a stronger stomach for gruesomeness or we have become numb; but could one just throw out the laptop and TV and pretend everything is fine? Is it too late, for we always knew?
I guess there is no all-purpose formula to heal from any kind of psychological disturbance, but I am paying my gratitude every day and waiting for the idea of balancing my world shall come soon.
Peace you say?
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Butter
Dr. Soliot sits at his desk filling out applications and reports for a new psychology magazine. It has been a while since his name put in print and such nostalgia is more than an itch on the skin. Today he gets a new pair. New is good, the first consultation is always full of juicy conflicts, tears and fists, sexual cheats, financial disputes, and whatever a reality show could provide. This is live reality show with potential of seeing their stories and my name in print.
The secretary says that the patients have arrived. Dr. Soliot opens the door and a very young couple step in.
DR.SOLIOT: Good morning. Please take your seats.
The man and the woman sit down next to another on the couch across the desk.
DR.SOLIOT: So, what bring you to the couple mediation?
The man take out a voucher and say: “We got this voucher a few months ago as a present from our insurance company for our fifth anniversary. It is almost expired, so we think that we might as well use it...”
WOMAN: AND we heard that the doctors provide good service here.
There is a mirror on the side wall on Dr. Soliot’s left side. Sometimes he likes to ask his patients to talk to the mirror and say that they are loved. Today, as he turns aside and sees himself, like a double cheese burger on a fast-food ad; with a discount. Is it what I am? A piece of discount, oh, free voucher? Of course not, he looks back on the couple, every patient has potential.
“So tell me about your relationship. Do you argue?”
“Of course we do. Sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Butter. Well, sometimes we can’t agree on bathroom towels but mostly about butter.” the man says and the woman nods.
“Would you like to explain it.”
MAN: I like my butter square. Like them supposed to be. I put them in a butter container and I take the portions out with a butter knife. But whenever she comes along, takes tortilla chips or whatever she has in hand, and she dips into the butter and of course afterwards, the butter gets all scratched up! We even tried to get two separate butter boxes, but she always gets into it!
WOMAN: I use knife too! Sometimes. But what is the big deal? It is butter, you can always get new ones, perfectly rectangle ones. Wait, what’s wrong with scratchy ones? It is not like it turn into something else after being scratched. And you! You slice your sausages into equally numbered pieces with bread! It is food, not math...
DR.SOLIOT: Excuse me... I don’t know if I understand it all correctly. You are fighting about butter (the couple nod), and why does it bother you when your husband cuts his sausages to fit in his bread?
WOMAN: It doesn’t really ... oh yeah, but there was one time that we got into a fight and he ended up having to make vanilla pudding for me at 3am!
DR.SOLIOT: A fight! Do tell!
WOMAN: Well, we were downstairs taking pictures of squirrels in the garden and as I just finished adjusting the focus, he tickled me so the photo was blur. As a punishment, he had to make vanilla pudding...
MAN: Oh right ... that was a pretty red squirrel with white tail.
DR.SOLIOT: Were you angry at your husband for such mischief then?
WOMAN: Yep. But the vanilla pudding was really good though.
DR.SOLIOT: Why at 3am?
WOMAN: It was weekend, we stayed up late.
Dr. Soliot’s looks at the watch and opens the draw. “Have you heard of Toloft? This is a new kind of medication that would take edge off people and balance all the chemicals in the brain. It can be partially paid by your insurance company, but the trail does is free.” He laughs with a frown: “hahaha, just like street drug dealers, the first one is always free. hahaha”
No one else laughs. The man says: “That is funny. I have never heard of it.”
WOMAN: Do you mean the medication or the saying about street drug dealers?
MAN: The medication. Maybe it will really take some edges off you.
WOMAN: You are the edgy one, with your square butter and all.
Then she turns to the doctor: “The goal is to re-shape. We saw this rectangle thing at the super market last week that would shape play dough in different ways.”
MAN: Right... you can even shape them round.
Dr. Soliot feels a rush of blood to the head. It is 10 minutes before the session ends but he stands up and shake their hands. “If you think it is necessary, the appointments for the follow-up sessions can be made through my secretary.”
The couple stand up and the man is looking for his weekly calendar. “Have you seen it?”
WOMAN: Ooops. I left on the counter.
MAN: Arrrrggghhh.
WOMAN: Hey you wanted me to write down this address.
MAN: I was cooking!
WOMAN to DR.SOLIOT: We had spinach lasagna last night, it was heavenly...
MAN: Of course it was good. I made it. We should really do it again, this time with Bechamel sauce.
WOMAN: Oh that is a good idea. Can we go grocery shopping right now, speaking of food...
DR.SOLIOT: I DO have other patients to see. The secretary will help you with appointments and all. Have a good day.
Dr. Soliot closes the door and takes out his to-do list:
- Call the phone provider and ask how long would it take to change a number
- Ask Mr. Wose if the option of sharing an office still available
- Send resume and applications to St. Christopher. Hopsital, maybe they need someone in the psychology department
- Google my Psych. Dr. High’s new office number
Friday, July 30, 2010
Information is money, whoever said it the first, salute to you! -- the trouble of accesing your own records
It had been at least 7 years since the last time I dialed that number. The woman at the other end of the line picked up the phone and said hello.
"Hello. I was an inpatient in your hospital March 2002. I know it has been a long time, but would it be possible to have my medical records sent to me?"
"What is it you want?" Either the secretary did not understand my English, or no one has ever asked for their medical records back (successfully) since the founding of the hospital, in June 1985.
"I was an inpatient in your hospital in March 2002, when I was a student at the local college, and I would like my medical records from this time interval to be sent to me please."
"We can't send it to you. Unless a lawyer or a doctor requests it."
"Although they are MY records?" and because you put me on experimental drugs and other non-experimental funky drugs! And I would like to know what kind of chemical had been pumped into my body, and yes, it took me 8 years to build up enough courage to ask for my medical records back, and I need them.
I regretted that I never made a copy of the Patient's Rights from their hospital, and it is NOWHERE to be found online. ( I suppose they deleted it) I started to wonder if it was really a hospital I stayed in, or the whole experience was a huge prank from someone. But I know I did not have schizophrenia, although they thought I did.
"I have both doctor and lawyer here. What kind of document would I need to send to you in order to receive my records?"
"Where are you now?"
"Berlin, Germany."
"Well, I can fax you the application. Oh wait, you are not in US? We don't do international fax. The documents from your doctor or lawyer would have to be in English."
1200 Dollars a day for any inpatient, that covers neither international fax, nor the name of the pill they gave us.
Information is money, whoever said it the first, salute to you.
"I can give you my address if you can send the application to me. Both my doctor and lawyer speak English, and I am willing to pay for the postage." (Can you imagine? Someone speaks another language?)
"OK." She took my address and told me that it would take up to 8 weeks for her to send out the application. ( I suppose she would have hand write them, it is more personal ya know.)
I wrote to the international students' office and asked them if they would get the fax from the hospital and fax it to me. (I got a bad gut-feeling from that lady on the phone) No response. I really have to consider paying that Alumni fees every year, just in case I want a small favor as a former student, or rights to MY OWN information.
Information is money, whoever said it the first, salute to you.
I hope that secretary would find time in her busy schedule to practice Patient's Rights --- what's the worst could happen? My lawyer does speak English.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Identity Issue
After almost a decade, I find myself still trying to figure out my own identity. Then I thought, maybe this doubt has bothered me far more than a decade, I was born with it; and the fact it is more pronounced right now is because of the classes I am taking, in which this issue is constantly being addressed and my uncertainty being confronted. "When a Martian looks at us, we are all the same." Are we?
For the first time, I heard the term "African German". Does the attempt to make the term more "politically correct" actually politically incorrect? How would these "African Germans" feel about some North-American calling them that and do "politically correct terms" really make anything better? I never heard any German using that term.
But I suppose some people need this, and everyone who uses "political correct terms" knows that they are using it, some people need this step to define other people and negotiate with their own conscious at the same time. Whatever works. Even when it is not truly necessary.
For the first time, I heard the term "African German". Does the attempt to make the term more "politically correct" actually politically incorrect? How would these "African Germans" feel about some North-American calling them that and do "politically correct terms" really make anything better? I never heard any German using that term.
But I suppose some people need this, and everyone who uses "political correct terms" knows that they are using it, some people need this step to define other people and negotiate with their own conscious at the same time. Whatever works. Even when it is not truly necessary.
Monday, May 10, 2010
May Note
Soon I will have to go back to the Embassy to extend my passport. I feel extremely reluctant to pay them and I shall hope that this is the last time I will have to extend it. All citizens are created equal, but those who who sit behind the bullet proof windows have proven themselves again and again to be equaler.
The Sun has been coming out towards the end of the afternoon lately. Slightly pushing my sunbathing and swimming plans behind. But everything seems to be brighter after I passed the German driver's licence test! Yes, I am going to say Farewell to my Oregon licence soon and exchange it for an European one, which means that I won't have to carry my passport everywhere I go anymore, I would have a smaller and more convenient-sized ID.
"But we are communist, not allowed to be religious, you can call our prime minister to tell him that."
I gradually developed this habit / obsession of spending hours observing my aquarium and looking for my baby shrimps (they are named Otto and Sebastian). Couldn't find the time to name baby cleaner fish because I don't know how many of them are in it. As we consulted the fish shop, what to do with so many of them in one tank, she suggested us to bring a few Raüberfische, who would balance out the different sort and numbers of the creatures by devouring the over numbered small snails or fish, or shrimps. I wonder if they had a cosmetic clinic inside, they might want to transform their genders or beautify their fins to fool the Räüberfische. Do you call it unnatural or survival?
Survival, progress, civilisation. What abstract and yet tangible terms! Some populations still apply violence as their unique reaction to everything. Are they really so intellectual incapable of having a civilised discussion with someone whom they disagree?! It is such a primitive and paradoxical solution that ultimately proves their incompetence and failure.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Time Stops
it was dark when you left, I laid beside
the window countin' imaginary stars,
they sent me pink notes and told me that
life must go on, that time would go on.
I loved you so deeply and completely
that I have become you. How am I
supposed to go on living without
the person that I've become? How am I
supposed to go on living with a
soulless hallow body? What's the point
to keep on living without whom
I've become? the clock would not go on
ticking, neither would life because
it makes no sense to aimlessly walk
up and down the stairs like ghost.
so, time might as well stop. and it did.
life froze at the moment when you left
and I left with you, but my body had
to stay near the window
stuffed with overwhelming memories.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Glass door
It was -7°C when I came to work, a man selling newspaper (put together by the homeless) outside the supermarket. An automatic glass door separates the over-consumers and the man sleeping under a bridge. He saw the costumers complaining about the out of stock champagne and organic potatoes, and me scanning the products with an artificial smile. Around 8:30pm, he came in for a few beers. He said that he'd keep him warm, I said nothing. I understood but I didn't agree. A woman behind him asked me if the organic lemons she had in hand were really organic from Spain or this company just used the green label to advertise. I didn't know. Then she asked for cigarettes -- whole shopping cart of organic food with cigarettes. "Do you happened to know which brand contains the lowest nicotine?". "No, madame, I don't smoke." Even when I did, I did not care how much nicotine I inhaled. I have never been a health nut. I wanted to say that we did not have any organic cigarettes but they did not pay me for talking to customers.
It all comes down to nicotine and ethanol. From time to time we have a security guard at the store, because someone had stolen something. Most of them stole tobacco related products and liquor. They said that they didn't have much money or under age. I don't see how tobacco or whisky would help them become rich or older. Maybe older. Highlight of the store: artfully arranged cigarette wall, vivid colors reflecting to the bright energy-saving light. How could anyone resist to such beauty? Sometimes people come in smelling like the basement of a local bar out of sawdust. I should not complain, basements are useful places. I lived in a basement once, but I never drank enough to forget how to shower. I turned in my 2 weeks' notice last week, counting the days to turn the calender page to March.
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