coming home

Reached home

2009-09-01T16:13:00.002+02:00

Almost a year has passed by since I returned home last November. Writing a blog with the title "homecoming-stories" therefore seems somewhat out of place. In many ways, I have reached home over the past nine months. I have learned how to appreciate the little things, the great landscape, the opportunities, and more than everything else the people who live around and with me here in Suedtirol. There are still many things I miss, but by now I have also come to realize that there will be things to miss, regardless where I live. Same as there are always things to enjoy, regardless of where one lives. With Mia, I can further be sure that life will always bring new, beautiful surprises - whether I continue living here in Italy, or whether I will move out again into the world.

So, what remains to be (publicly) said is that I will not continue writing this blog, but that you are more than welcome to follow up on Mia's and my life on our new blog at www.trekkingbaby.blogspot.com. For the first time, I feel that at I am congesting the web with something useful. At least for those of you who like hiking (or looking at trekkingpicturs) and/or would like to know more about hiking with children. And of course it's the new blog is also meant to make my friends want to come and visit me in Suedtirol ;)

Turning

2009-08-16T20:21:00.002+02:00

Wow - Mia just turned herself from the back to the belly! At three months... I wonder what's next... crawling at four months? Walking at eight months? I have to admit that she actually is already quite strong - strong enough to make each diaper change a little struggle ;)

Knödeltime

2009-08-11T21:23:00.005+02:00

Somehow I get the impression that she would prefer a Knödel over my milk.

Mia at three months

2009-08-09T19:37:00.000+02:00

Three months later

2009-08-07T21:54:00.003+02:00

The picture below has been taken on the 7th of May, the day before Mia was born. When posing for this picture, I had just completed a four hour trek with my mom. Thinking back, I am kind of tempted to believe that Mia was born BECAUSE of this trekking. Poor little worm had probably enough of being shaked around in my belly over "Stock und Stein". Today, we went on the same trek again (the picture below has been taken on more or less the same spot). At least this time Mia had a chance to see a bit of the landscape and participate more actively (and loudly) in the daytrip.

Summit

2009-08-03T14:30:00.004+02:00

Pictures from Mia's first summit, the Königangerspitze @ 2400 m (with a bit of cheating, since she obviously didn't reach the peak by foot but rather was carried like a babykangoroo).

Kings of the road

2009-08-03T12:14:00.002+02:00

One might think that pushing a stroller ahead of you would trigger polite manners by other traffic participants (in particular drivers of cars and bicycles). Not so in Suedtirol. Here, if you walk with a stroller, you better get yourself a second pair of eyes that help you cover a 360° radius, to make sure you don't oversee the kings of the roads with their bully jeeps or their 5000 Euro bikes.
Just today, I was already in the midst of a pedestrian crossing, a biker (who approached me and the stroller on his 5000 Euro bike) shouted at me - while almost driving into Mia's stroller with 50 kmh - to open my eyes before crossing the street (note: on a pedestrian crossing) . How comes these idiots on bikes think that they are exempted from traffic rules, just because they have fancy outfits and expensive bikes and well trained bodies? After all, I was already on the pedestrian crossing while he was still 200 meters away. Before I was able to tell him that it would be him to pay in case of an accident, because he 1) drove to fast 2) did ignore the pedestrian crossing - he was already around the corner.
But worst then the bikers are the owners of jeeps, and here again in particular female owners. I remember a middle aged women who recently parked her disgustingly big jeep in the midst of a pedestrian strip. I with my stroller had to walk on the street in order to pass her jeep. When I noticed her that the pedestrian strip was for pedestrians, she only shrug her shoulders and continued devoting her whole attention to her unnaturally full lips. Bitch. Besides the fact that I think its ridiculous to drive a jeep in a town where you can count the potholes on one hand, they should at least respect traffic rules. But after three months of stroller pushing, I have learned that it's size and speed that matter in Suedtirol. No wonder Italy has one of the lowest birthrates around the world.

Life outside Hollywood

2009-08-01T21:41:00.004+02:00

Though still waiting for the happy end, I should add that there is more to tell about life with a child (and life in general) than what shallow hollywood movies are able to tell us. Luckily. How awful would it be if one would have to constantly worry about too many, too few, or simply the wrong men, deal with mothers and mothers in law, live in messed up appartments, and on top of everything also try to be funny while dealing with all this?

One thing that's beautiful about having a child is that suddenly, there are so many things out there to be (re)discovered. How should I put it? It's different to do stuff with a child, even if it is about something which one has done a hundred and more times before. Simply things. For instance spending a day on lake Garda, or going for a trek, or going for a swim, walking through the town in the evening, or travelling by plane, seeing relatives or friends. All these apparently well known things suddenly feel new, as if I would do them for the first time. Sometimes it doesn'teven require one to do things; it's enough to follow the eyes of Mia, try to look at things she is staring at, and suddenly there are new things in the room, in the street, in the car, whereverI am with her. Things I never noticed before - even so they were always there - because I just didn't pay any notice to them. Little things. Which are out there and all around to be discovered. First time trekking with Mia

First time lake Garda with Mia

Hollywood

2009-07-29T22:36:00.003+02:00

Somehow I just can't keep myself from drawing analogies between my life and a shallow hollywood comedy:

One baby - Mia
Three men - Mia's dad, someone I love, someone I can't forget about
A flat in dire need of a cleanup
A facial skin that could put up with some scrubbing as well
A mom who believes that grandmothers have a bigger say in the upbringing of grandchildren than the granchilds' mom has
A mother in law that is not quite a mother in law but would still be happy to babysit whereever I decide to work and live
A dog who loves sunbathing on his back in the garden at 30 something degree
A bunch of lovely-crazy self declared aunties of Mia, around the world
And a group of other moms for the occasional gossip-coffee meet ups in town

I'm confident the happy-end is just hiding around the corner.

Früh übt sich

2009-07-19T21:37:00.003+02:00

Pictures taken during a recent - improvvised - martial arts training session.

She's a real little fighter...

Thinking - screaming

2009-07-13T19:45:00.001+02:00

At least she knows what she wants.

Sweet life, where are you??

2009-07-13T19:31:00.002+02:00

It all started off so quiet, but I guess babies just can't continue sleeping away day and night. As I discovered over the past nine weeks, babies grow at an enormous speed, and with their body size, their voice gains power. And they discover that there are more interesting things to be done than sleeping (the day when she will appreciate a afternoon power nap will come again one day). Mia does keep me quite busy these days, both with smiles and with cries. When she smiles, she smiles all over her face, when she cries, she cries with her entire body. Though I prefer the smiles, I do have to smile over her cries, too. One wonders: what is it that makes such a tiny being turn from total joy into complete weltschmerz? What does she think when she's throwing her hands against her head while screaming the lungs out of her body? And what does she think when she's smiling away at the little pandabear which my mom bought in the souvenier shop of the Vienna zoo? But to be honest, there isn't actually much time left to read her body language. Between feeding, nappy changes, comforting her, pushing the stroller, a bit of homework, garden work, walking Argo, grocery shopping, meeting other moms, and the occasional glass of wine in the evening, it's only thanks to a bit of multitasking that I still manage to read a newspaper or write an email. Sweet life, seems gone. And yet, happiness is all around.

Just happy

2009-07-10T14:01:00.003+02:00

Can't really say why or about what, but woke up this morning with a feeling of just being happy and content about how things are. Looking at Mia, as she is smiling away in her cradle next to me, she must have the same feeling, maybe even knowing less why so than I.

Seven weeks

2009-06-26T09:38:00.003+02:00

Realizing that all latest entries talked about Mia, I promised myself that the next entry would hve to be about something else. After all, I assume that not all readers of this blog dream about being parents (anytime in the near future). Who knows, maybe it's already too late and I have lost those readers already with my onesided updates of Mia ;)

But given that Mia is turning seven weeks today, I take it as impulse to write yet again about my life with her ... to start with, I should say that it still feels new, different, unknown. And at the same time my former life without child seems as far away as my kindergarten years. Ok, there are few more memories than kindergarten swirling around in my mind. But what I would like to say is that Mia is taking up quite a bit of my mind. In fact, it has been interesting to observe, how slowly, without consciously noticing it, Mia became the most important thing in my life. Before delivery, I kept on telling myself, that there are other things that will remain the same important, like work, or finding a partner one day. Having been with Mia for seven weeks, I have to admit that work, though still important, and partner, though as a project not erased completely, have turned second and third on the importancy list. And that Mia is on top of it. That she co-determines the thoughts about work and partner. Few days ago I got to know about a position in Myanmar. My first thought was "common, apply!", and my second, more intense thoughts were "will there be a nanny? will I be able to leave Mia with somebody else for few days when I have to travel to the field? will Mia understand if she is with somebody else for few days? is hopping from one country to the other the right lifestyle for a child?" I also started thinking about my own childhood, how much I enjoyed sitting on "my" apple tree after school and observing the world like a bird. Or going on walks through the forest; constructing tiny houses with twigs and leaves; being dragged up mountains - and despite the initial protest always feeling a flash of happiness when I reached the peak; jumping over the fence to play with the kids of the neighborhood. Surely, childhood in the place where I grew up wasn't just idyllic; I often read books from faraway places and wished to be there - in these unknown countries. And now I am here, with a child on my own, wondering what's best for her. An unspectacularly, but steady childhood in Italy, or a probably more spectacular, unsteady childhood in unknown countries? And what's best for me? Would I be able to take back on my own goals, for the sake of Mia? Would I be happy living the rest of my life here? Not that I give the rest of my life (beyond the next two three years) much thought. But sometimes, at night, when Mia is giggling, drinking (milk, just for clarity) or screaming away instead of sleeping away, these thoughts come to the surface. Same as the thought about partner. I don't mind being a single mom for the time being; chances are high that I will remain single for the rest of my life if I continue living in Suedtirol. Knowing that children come through us, but don't belong to us (did I mention that before? The title of a poem by Khalil Gibran, which I once wrote my mom on a birthday card ...), a partner would probably be a project worth it.

I am sure the reader of this entry (if anybody at all reached up to here in this entry) wonders if life with Mia is just about thinking. No, it isn't. Thinking has actually only taken up few hours in the past seven weeks. The rest was changing nappies, feeding, taking Mia for walks, trying to keep up household chores, going on walks with Argo, reading, meeting other moms for coffee in the morning, rearranging my flat to make it a bit more childfriendly, and lots of moments just looking at Mia, talking to her, making her smile, wondering if these enchanted moments will ever leave my memory again. There were also few downsides. Like overdimensional breasts (can't udnerstand why anybody would want to pump silicon into her breasts!), double as much laundry, 99% evenings at home, not being able to go trekking, ... luckily, the sunny sights have way outweight the down sides so far!

Ok, I should probably come to an end now. I am actually about to go on a first weekend trip with Mia today in the afternoon until Tuesday. So most likely, the next post will again be about Mia - in Paris :)

2009-06-17T22:21:00.001+02:00

Besides smiles, she's able to produce a gazillion of different facial expressions. It's just amazing watching her.

A smile

2009-06-17T22:03:00.002+02:00

Is there anything more beautiful than a children's smile? Mia discovered that she is able to smile few days ago, and she's so happy about this discovery that she just can't stop it once she starts to smile!

Sunday afternoon - Mia @ 5 weeks

2009-06-15T09:25:00.002+02:00

Little more than five weeks have passed since Mia's birth. With each more day to pass, we seem to get more accustomed to each other. For instance: she let's me have my breakfast and newspaper read in the morning, while I take her on fun trips such as to the nearby lake in the afternoon. Just one of our little and silent compromises which make our joint life even more enjoyable :)

Second best option

2009-06-07T10:57:00.002+02:00

We are not together, yet good friends - the second best option after a happy relationship, and way better (in my eyes) than a forced relationship "for the sake of the child". Personally, I believe it's easier for a child to handle parents who are just friends than parents who stay together without really wanting to be a couple, usually breaking up after having it tried for a few years. Call me a coward or a lazy girl for not giving the relationship a second chance, but to be frank, I wouldn't want to risk the friendship over it.

And all those who have made comments over the past few months such as "a child needs a father" I can only reply once again: Mia has a father who - I am sure - will be an excellent dad, even though he might not always be living in the same place. And to all those who think being a single parent is tough: so far, I can't complain :) Living with Mia has so far been just as easy as carrying her in my belly ...

Three weeks of Motherhood

2009-05-30T21:47:00.002+02:00

For three weeks and one day I have enjoyed motherhood now already. The change from being a single with a growing belly to being a mom with a amazing baby is also the main reason why I have admittingly slacked off on updating this blog. To be fair to myself, I have tried to update the blog twice: upon completing the first week of motherhood, and upon completing the second week of motherhood. Unfortunately, I have never gone farther than writing down the headings "one week of motherhood" and "two weeks of motherhood". Assuming that all of you know the basics of mathematic, I have decided not to post these heading-only updates to remind you of how long I have been living with Mia.

So now it's three weeks, and I am finally on the right track to go beyond the title of a new posting.
But not knowing how long Mia will continue to curl herself peacefully into her dads arms (who has come all the way from Afghanistan to do exactly that: let Mia curl herself into his arms), I will keep this post rather short and give you a brief balance of the past three weeks...

average night/day hours Mia sleeps: 18
average night/day hours I sleep: 5
average number of hours I spend breastfeeding Mia: 5
amount of weight Mia has already gained: 800 gram
amount of kg I have lost since the delivery: 10
Mias average daily diaper consumption: 8
number of smiles Mia has given me so far: 3
number of smiles I have given Mia: uncountable
number of books I have managed to read since Mia's birth: 2
number of facial expressions Mia is alraedy able to make: uncountable. She basically presents a different expression every time I am looking at her
number of times I have taken Mia on a walk (or rather push as Mia is obviously still enjoying such trips while lying horizontally in a babystroller) through the forest: 3
number of times my mum passes by my flat each day to "have a look at Mia": I stopped counting.

To be continued... more insights on how it is to suddenly have a baby to take care off will follow...

Mia

2009-05-14T09:08:00.003+02:00

Following the longest nine months in my entire life, Mia Nourida was born (naturally) last Friday, 8th May. While the delivery was way more painful than I had expected it to be, my life with Mia has been way more easy than I anticipated it to be, at least up to now: in essence, she is sleeping (three hours at a time), followed by a short cry, then she gets her diapers changed, fed, hold for a few minutes, before she falls asleep again :)

Nachtbuch

2009-05-02T22:19:00.002+02:00

Wenn man Nacht für Nacht von jemandem wachgehalten wird, scheint irgendwann die Idee eines Nachtbuchs, anstelle eines Tagebuchs, irgendwie naheliegend. Während bis vor wenigen Wochen noch der Großteil der Nacht dem Schlafen und Träumen gewidmet war, unterbrochen lediglich von gelegentlichen Ausflügen auf die Toilette, sind mittlerweile die Ausflüge zu der Toilette zum festen Bestandteil geworden, und die Zeiten während der Ausflüge zu schlaflosem Wachliegen. Was eben zu der Idee verführt, das Nachtbuch, dessen erste Seite bereits in mehrfacher Ausführung in meinem Kopf existiert, niederzuschreiben. So ganz klassisch, mit Kugelschreiber, auf echtem Papier. Um die wachen Stunden während der Nacht eben nicht mit Gedanken- und Bauchwälzen zu verbringen, sondern sie dazu zu nutzen, etwas Bleibendes zu schaffen. Leider wurde meinem Vorhaben, hundertfach durchdacht, ein jähes Ende gesetzt; denn anscheinend, laut morgendlicher Zeitungslektüre, liegt das Buch und das nicht digital Erhältliche ohnehin schon mit einem Fuss im Grabe. Und digital ist eh schon mein Blog. Also, kein Nachtbuch, dafür ein Nightblog? Zeit, Namen des Blogs zu ändern? Irgendwie bin ich ja eh schon längst heimgekommen - angekommen.

Gelassenheit - das dazupassende Bild

2009-05-01T20:56:00.002+02:00

Gelassenheit

2009-05-01T08:59:00.002+02:00

Es ist das Lassen das zur Gelassenheit führt.

Wiedermal was nützliches, das ich von Ö1 heute morgen erfahren habe, über einer Tasse Kaffee, einer Zeitung in der Hand, die Reste von Marmeladebrot im Mund, den Blick hin und wieder nach draussen schweifend wo erste Sonnenstrahlen die Grüntöne der Berghänge aufleuchten lassen. Bei soviel Weisheit schmeckt das Frühstück gleich noch mal so gut.

Double standard

2009-04-30T20:27:00.003+02:00

It seems that my parents are applying quite a few double standards when it comes to what their pregnant daughter should and should not do: A four hour trek two weeks before the delivery date is a definite should, while going out in the evening to catch up with people, take a sip of wine and a glass of mineral water is a shouldn't. Walking my dog through the forest is a should, while walking doing some shopping in the afternoon is a shouldn't. Cleaning my flat appears to be a should as well, but sitting a couple of hours in front of my computer is a shouldn't. Watching movies that have some bloody scenes in them are a defenite shouldn't. So far, we reached consensus on the should part; the shouldn't part could do with some few more solid arguments from my parents side...

Despite the should and shouldn't, as well as the rain, we all enjoyed the trek - including Argo

The obligatory cup of coffee after lunch - a "must" all members of the family do agree on - regardless of altutide, weather and level of exhaustion.

Willpower

2009-04-29T17:08:00.002+02:00

When I saw these two blades of grass, growing straight through a fallen down leave, I couldn't do else than to think about my baby; that I would like her to be the same upward looking, straight forward, and creative in finding solutions to whichever challanges she might encounter. I tried not to see the "with the head through the wall" analogy in this little scene along the wayside, which would fit rather well to my own personality.

Moving in

2009-04-23T18:25:00.003+02:00

About two months ago, I moved into my own flat which I had previously rehabilitated. Until recently, I have managed to somewhat get furniture arranged in a way that the flat appears both cosy and convenient. This harmony was completely storted when I yesterday moved in the last remaining piece of furniture: my contrabass. I call it furniture on purpose, as I haven't played it in about five years. And yet, all those who have ever read "the contrabass", a monologue written by Patrick Suesskind, will know how dominant this vocal piece of wood can be. It's not like a flute which you can simply store away and forget about. Or a normal violine which you can pass on to your cousin, so that other parental ears somewhere far away get tortured instead of your own ears. Or a guitar, which - once learned how to play few accords - will make you the star of the evening for at least the length of one song, no matter how bad you actually play it. No, a contrabass remains part of your life, once you have decided to get one. I am still hesitant to blame it for failed relationships, as Suesskind does in his book, but my contrabass has certainly caused me troubles, too, especially in moments of moving from one flat to another, or worse, from one city to another. I remember people asking me all kind of funny questions whenever I travelled with my contrabass, well protected in a coffin sized black cover. There were times I considered leaving it behind - and yet, something inside my heart and mind has just never managed to actually accomplish the abandonment of my bass.
Since yesterday we are reunited. While Mia has already enjoyed listening to its out -of-tune sound, my own mind once again is disrupted over the question: where to place this overdimensional instrument? First I dropped it in the room which I currently use as a storage - but later on felt ashamed to leave something that was part of my life for many years laying next to lumber. In a sudden trace of enthusiasm, I moved it out of the storage room today; and an odysse through my (little) flat started. Several places in the living room were tried out, each time resulting in the Diderot effect, meaning I would have to move everything else + get some new furniture in order to have the bass fit in. Considering my empty wallet, I moved on to the kitchen - but obviously, a contrabass just doesn't belong to a kitchen, after all, it's a music instrument and not a cooking utensil. Before considering the last option, to simply get rid of it again, I decided to place it in my sleeping room, squeezed between cupboard and diaper changing table. So Mia can look at it while getting her nappies changed, allowing me to join the club of crazy mothers who believe that playing a Bach suite is more important than learning how to walk around on two feet ;)

Outside view on how best to spend the last weeks before delivery

2009-04-21T13:28:00.003+02:00

"The next couple of weeks are a waiting game. Use this time to prepare your baby's nursery or to take care of tasks you may not get around to for a while after your baby's born. Take naps and catch up on your reading while you can. "

Seems I wasn't so wrong (and unique) with my own analysis of the remaining weeks before delivery. The paragraph above just came in this morning as part of an online weekly pregancy update. In a more detailed column, the online update further advices:

"Treat yourself. Use these last weeks (days?) before your baby arrives to do some things for yourself: • Get a pedicure. It's too hard to cut your own toenails now anyway. • Read a novel or go to the movies — these are two things you won't have time for after your baby's born. • Go out for a leisurely dinner with your honey. Chances are you'll be eating take-out and quick home-cooked meals for a while after your baby's born."

I don't think that I will take up on the first advice - the pedicure; the last 28 years I have done well without pedicure, and my belly's small size still allows me to reach my toes. Besides, I do think a bit of callus can't hurt if one likes walking barefoot in the garden. Being a single, the third advice seems a bit redundant, too. Remains just the second one: Movies and novels. Truely, I can't remember a moment in my life when I have read newspapers and books in such an amount as I have done over the past few weeks. And movies: I defenitely have supported the nearby cinema with regular visits. But whoever wrote this advice, seems not to have had 5 extra kgs lying on certain central organs like the stomach and guts when watching one of these never ending hollywood movies like "The Reader". There was more than one moment while watching that movie in which I considered walking out of the theatre, allowing my stomach to get relieved from the babies kicks and weight. If I where to add an advice to my online update: look out for shortfilm festivals! And an advice for non pregnant - yet cinema loving fellows: don't think you have to see the reader just because everybody else is watching it. Might be that I am not enough sentimental to enjoy these types of films, but thinking back of the movie, I would know better ways to spend few Euros.

Limbo

2009-04-16T10:29:00.002+02:00

What a weird time; one more month to myself, and yet I feel like being stuck in a complete limbo. As much as my rationality tells me to enjoy life in singularity before it will forever turn into some kind of parental life, I seem to be unable to do anything else than waiting for the day when I will finally be walking around without belly, a child in my arm instead. Tragically (or normal??), as much as my old life is melting away between my hands, the void it currently leaves behind isn't filled by joyful expectation yet. Despite all the kicks that make my belly look like a football which is kicked from the inside, I just can't imagine life with a child, even though it is the one thing which I ever wished for in my life and the only thing I wouldn't want to miss in life.
Limbo. That's the only word that comes to my mind over and over again. Waiting, without really knowing what to expect. While the world around seems to already define me as a mother, I am frantically trying to find ways to stick to my previous definitions; the personalities I had and was over the past years. Knowing despite it all that I have already lost grip of my old life. There are moments where I wonder whether I will be a good mom, even though I am not willing to give up on the other things I believe in in life. Whether I will be a good mom, thinking that children are coming through us, but don't belong to us?
I remember that one of my few new year resolutions was to write only entertaining stuff on this blog. But now, close to the biggest change in my life, this resolution seems to be as far as ever. I am 100% happy about having a baby. But I would be lying to myself if I would try to present myself as 100% happy. Too many questions, too few answers. I am looking forward to the day when my mind will be kept busy by diapers, feeding, screaming. And to the day when I don't have to wait anylonger, but when I can actually experiment with finding ways to accomodate my baby, myself, the things I want to achieve in life, the little and big goals of my child, a bit of adventure, a bit of love, and uncountable other things, into a 24 hour day.

Spring awakening

2009-04-06T08:46:00.003+02:00

Not sure if I should take it as an indication of too much time at hand or rather as my own personal reaction to the spring awakening which fills the air these days: fact is, that I am spending considerable time watching the little bees that have taken over the blooming trees and bushs in our garden. Below few of my favourite snapshots of their daily busy bee schedule ... This one still has to learn NOT to fall of the flower when trying to get to its' sweet pollen

Expansions

2009-04-02T10:56:00.002+02:00

Its growing, slowly but steadily. Apart from the fact that it appears to be a bit skinny on ultrasound, everything seems to be fine with the baby. Still one month to go!

Parental advice

2009-03-23T19:49:00.005+01:00

Few months ago I read an article about the unwillingness of young Italians (aged between 20 and 35, often already working) to move out of their parents' home. The article concluded that the phenomenon of the adult son (it indeed seemed to be more of a masculin/son phenomenon) had become quite a problem for parents, for instance in terms of costs which an additional adult inhabitant adds to the household of - often already retired - parents. Besides, afflicted parents complained that their sons/children would simply not learn how to live on their own, thus continuing being dependent on their parents. The article, though informative on the problem side, did unfortunately fail to offer a ten step "how to get rid of your adult child" rescue plan for desperate parents.

I and my parents have lived through this battle the other way round during the last four months: the attempt to move together into one house again (or rather, to put it correctly, I to move into their house again). It was a number of coincidences such as my not entirely planned pregnancy and few less enjoyable stuff that happened in 2008 which led me to make the - admittingly not easy - decision to move back home again. Home, where I had moved out (without much hassle) ten years ago. The experminent had its' hickups for both sides; neither was it easy for me to get used to my parents again, nor was it easy for my parents to get used to me again.

What made it all somewhat easier was that we knew from the onset, that this situation would not last forever, and that - despite all the good will shown by both sides - sooner or later, each of us would have their own space again.

So, after a couple of months of re-arranging it, I have finally moved into my own appartment three days ago. My move was not so much promped, but at least joined by a discussion with my mom at the end of which we both agreed that it is really about time to have each our own kitchen and toilet again.

The appartment itself is supercute, just the right size for myself, a baby and occasional guests. There is only one catch to the new appartment: it's in the house of parents. And, it actually belongs to them. Given these two facts, I got - in addition to the appartment - an extrashot of parental advice on how to re-arrange the appartment. And they really didn't leave out any opportunity to place a little advice. Their advice ranged from big stuff ("get a new kitchen!") to little advice such as "it's better if you place the plates in the left cupboard, instead of the right". The advice usually started off (like a little alarm bell) with the words "If I would be you"... . "If I would be you, I would not put the bed on this side of the wall". "If I would be you, I would take the slightly larger table - just in case you get ten or more visitors at a time". "If I would be you, I would take a shelf that is only twenty cm deep instead of twenty two". And so on. One of my favourite advices concerned the toilet brush. Amazing how far parental advice and parental interests can range!

Last but not least, despite all the protest with which I tried to counter the parental advice, I have to admit that some of the advice was actually quite ok - even though I often pretended not to listen to the advice and instead fired off arguments about the fact that I am soon having my own family and that I am thus regarding myself old enough to do without advice. I am now for instance sitting in my cosy new kitchen, and a shiver goes down my back when I just think about the 30 year old kitchen that filled this room once. I didn't take up the advice on the toilet brush, though.

Ultimately, it seems that parental advice is something that doesn't end at a certain age. For parents, we remain children, regardless if we have our own children or not. Just as on the other side, as children we never seem old enough to be taken serious when attempting to criticise our parents' household (my mom would probably be huffy for days if I would criticise her way of arranging plates in the cupboard). Parental advice can bother at times, making us feel like children though we are adults who have lived our own lives (in far more risky places) and taken up responsibility over projects larger than the income which I will likely earn througout my life. And yet, even though it is hard - at least for me - to accept advice, believing that I have to do everything my way, there are some advices which, bluntly put, simply make sense. Somehow I wonder if I will be also full of advices for my own child once it is old enough to understand them?

Finally something against identity crisis

2009-03-20T17:33:00.004+01:00

These days, during my (admittedly frequent, but short) stopovers at Facebook, there are two things that catch my attention the most:
first, the new layout which seems to give headache not just to me, but to more or less everybody who is using Facebook;
second, the sheer endless amount of "who are you" quizzes that one can play and, thanks to the genious inventor of these games, find out who he/she really is (20 or more years of life didn't seem sufficient for many of us to find out who we really are, or at least who we really aren't).
These quizzes started off some time ago in a quite conservative manner: the "where should you be living" quiz was the first one which I spottet. Not many hours (it's seconds, minutes and hours that count on facebook - days as a concept of time keeping really seem old fashioned compared to the speed in which this "social networking tool" is sucking us all in) passed, before the available quizzes ranged from utter nonsense to nonsense. The eighties for instance seem to be a popular theme for quizzes: already two of that kind have come accross my eyes: "What eighties band are you" and "what eighties wrestler are you". For my part, I know that during the eighties, I was just a child dressed in - by modern day standards - way to colorful dresses, topped by a ponytail that was "modern" by then. Those where my eighties. Quizzes such as "what painting are you" or "what philosopher are you" seem a little attempt to have the academics among us buy into this "who are you" game, too.
But there is also some more useful things one can find out with the help of a little quiz. For instance "what beer are you". That knowing, there will be no no longer embarrassing moments of silence when the barkeeper asks "what beer do you want" and you (in that case, I) stare undecided at the various drafts and bottles behind the bar.
There are also few quite useless quizzes (that top the eighties quizzes), such as "who would be your celebrity boyfriend". I stopped dreaming of becoming a celebrity girl fourteen years ago, when, during a concert of my by then favourite band, the Kelly Family (remember that long haired Hippy family that toured around Europe in the nineties, making everyone believe that life as a family with the same size of a football team can be fun?), the second youngest (and most adored) family member, by the name of Paddy, didn't even look at me when I hysterically tried to scream my way up to the stage (and into his arms)? Since then I know that I am just not made for celebrity boyfriends.
What defenitely adds to the entertaining level of these quizzes are the discussions that erupt like little explosions of outrage once people know what painting they are or what place they should live in (though, the latter one tends, in some cases, to re-awake long forgotten dreams of a life elsewhere...). Once people know who they really "are", they start arguing why they think they "are not" what facebook tells them they "are". After a first re-assessment of the quiz result (all done, of course, in a way that everybody can see result and own re-assessment), friends start adding their own comments: why they think the result fits or doesn't fit to the person, and why they think the re-assessment is right or wrong. And on it goes, until the discussions are satisfied (with a varying degree of satisfaction by the quiz taker and his/her friends who helpfully commented on the result). The next quiz already waits.
Personally, I haven't taken any quiz yet. Even though I would have the time to take quizzes, now that I am on maternity leave and "only" fixing my new flat and my messed up computer, while learning a bit of italian and simply enjoying the spring. Indeed, there are many things which I wonder about myself. For instance, why I am not able to have a normal, harmonic relationship, but very well able to get pregnant (ok ok, the answers to these two questions probably not lie that far apart..). Or why I just got my own flat in South Tyrol, with a wonderful garden, next to the forest and mountains, and yet wish for nothing more than a life abroad? Or why I get anxious when everything works out just fine, whereas I enjoy situations where it's just chaos around me? Knowing that there are too many questions on my mind, for which neither I nor facebook might know the answers, I decided not to take any of these quizzes. At the end of the day, I am who I am, with or without answers.
Concerning the quizzes on facebook, I am waiting for the day when quizzes such as "what toiletpaper are you" or "what fast food are you" are popping up. I promised myself that that will be the day when I will say good bye to my facebook account.

Lake Garda - again

2009-03-17T19:23:00.006+01:00

I apologize for again uploading pictures from Lake Garda. I just can't stop it. By the way, it isn't just me who enjoys trips to Lake Garda. Argo, the dog on the picture below, is usually the first one to jump into the car as soon as he senses that a Lake Garda trip is about to take place.

Spring

2009-03-17T19:00:00.002+01:00

Just at the right time, at the verge of developing a snowphobia, spring has unfolded, preventing me from packing my few belongings and moving away from South Tyrol. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy winter; I think it's great to have snow once a year. But this winter was extraordinary: meters of snow, cold tempartures... maybe a last stand off against climate change and global warming? Another contributing (and slightly egoistic) reason why I got sick of snow this winter was that I actually - with respect to my growing child - did not do any skiing and ski alpin. Instead, I waddled like a duck with two pieces of plastic (called "snow shoes") tied to my trekking boots through forests, attempting - and reaching - a summit only few times. Big plans for next year, though...

Anyhow, it's spring, and the long hours huddled against the warm wood stove in my living room, the frostbites on my fingers and toes, the icy roads, the hollow noise of the roof avalanges, all that seem long forgotten. As if it wouldn't have existed. Instead, the bike has been taken out of the basement again, winter jackets removed from the cupboard, and the first encounter of the season between icecream and my tounge has successfully happened few days ago. Life can indeed be beautiful.

How eight months look like

2009-03-10T14:07:00.002+01:00

I guess each pregnant belly looks different. Mine looks kind of pregnant, now that I am in my eight' month. Finally.

Swiss sense for order...

2009-03-10T13:59:00.004+01:00

No Parking - Dumping ground for snow

No wonder Switzerland is such an orderly place: they even have dumping grounds for snow! Leave alone all the other things that actually work in Switzerland (compared to it's charming neighbours like Italy....)

Neither ill, nor a beer too much, just pregnant...

2009-03-03T16:36:00.003+01:00

Hard to believe - at least for me: I am eight months pregnant.
Pregnancies seem to go on forever. The day in September when the pregnancy test showed two alarming red lines instead of a comforting single line seems ages ago. Since then, there have been moments during which I indeed felt pregnant, but more so moments during which I lived in the impression that this pregnancy isn't real. This might have to do with the fact that I started looking pregnant just recently. Over the past few weeks, my belly has been growing rounder, causing some unbalance when trying to tie my shoes. This happens particularly often in the morning, but usually gets better througout the day, relative to how awake/asleep I am. Despite the belly which - to my own interpretation, is quite big - few people continue to react surprised when I tell them that I am pregnant. They usually complement their surprised face with a "but only in your third month, right?" question. I wonder whether these people trust my "no, eight months" answer or take it as yet another indicator that I had a beer too much.
Anyway. Fact is that I am eight months pregnant, that I have today officially started my maternity leave, and that the 40 cm long thing in my belly is actively telling me what she likes/dislikes by kicking against my belly. The kicks don't hurt, but sometimes feel like tickles from the inside which makes me laugh.
Though my belly is growing, I try to stay active and enjoy my long deserved holidays (aehm, maternity leave) as good as I can, with some travels, long walks, etc. Being pregnant, after all, doesn't mean being ill; at the end of the day, it's few extra kg's to carry around, but at least these few kg's are well packed. Who knows, once I have to carry around few extra kg's outside my belly, life (particularly travelling) might become a bit more complicated ... or maybe not :)

Escaping groundhog day

2009-02-22T10:52:00.002+01:00

Ever had the feeling of being trapped in the morning scene of groundhog day? When the alarm clock rings, and you instantly know that all what will happen in the hours until bedtime, you have already lived through uncountable times?
In general, I would say life in a small village resembles much more ground hog day than life in a city like Kabul, where the frequency of attacks and incidents remains just below the level where it would become routine. The village where I currently live, is full of routines. There is for instance this elderly woman, which always crosses my path when I go to school in the morning at eight (some days I go later, like nine or ten; on those days I don't meet her). There is the postman who brings the paper every day at the same time. The paper, though regional, is another good example of ground hog day. Every day it features our regional president (also nicknamed the last King of Tyrol) at least once. The letters to the editor constantly center around the same topics, such as bilingualism (a hot issue in the only German speaking region of Italy) or the removal (or not removal) of remnants from the fascist time. It's mainly the amount of obituary notices varies slightly from day to day. The demographic variations in the village center are the same day in day out: morning at eight, big cars with proud dad and moms who drop their children to school; between 8 and 11 mainly women with strollers; at around 12 hungry children who are either picked up in the big cars or run home by foot; in the afternoon it gets a bit mixed up, until it eventually turns into ghost village after seven, thanks to the restrictive pub opening hours of our mayor.
But the real groundhog day contribution comes from my 97 year old grandma who lives with us. Interactions with her are the most predictable thing one can imagine. Though she bears her age well (believe me or not, her taint is making me jealous!), she has this habit of making exactly the same comments on the same topics at the same time every day. "This is my favorite meal" is the breakfast comment, followed by "it's time to listen the news" at nine (for her age, she is surprisingly well informed and interested in what's happening in the world). But even the most shocking news wont be able to put her off the groundhog day track. The comment on my ready-steady lunches is "how easy it is for women nowadays!" followed by stories on how they had to prepare pasta themselves in the old days. After lunch, she is usually reading 'the' book about childhood in my region in the early nineteenth century. This books describes things just like as they really were during my childhood, she then tells me, before recommending me to read the book. Whenever I put on my winter shoes to go to work, she asks me if I am about to go trekking (admittedly, they have some resemblance with trekking shoes). Her favorite afternoon activity - besides the walking - is to watch the birds which come to the birdhouse in our garden, where my mother generously puts cereals throughout the winter. And the more birds there are, the more she tries to convince me that these birds are there because there is no cereal left, so to say in search of food. My counter initiatives to make her understand that the birds are there because there are tons of cereals in the birdhouse have been fruitless so far. As day turns evening, she prepares to go to bed. She usually then says "today I feel a bit dizzy" not blaming it of course on her age but on god knows what. Before falling asleep, I have to put eye drops into her eyes (which would work perfectly fine without eye drops, but for some unknown reason she thinks she would loose sight if the eye drop-ritual is just left out one single time. Once the eyes shine in the blue colour of the eye drops, the last comment of the day is about to find its way into the room: "Thanks god my eyes are still working!".

I have decided to escape groundhog day for a couple of weeks. Even though groundhog day has some amusing, even bizarre moments to offer, I think I am too young to get trapped in it.

Mini holiday

2009-02-20T20:24:00.006+01:00

Pictures from a weekend trip to Sirmione and Brescia, in the south of Lake Garda. Places like these make it easier to live through a cold winter in the Alps.

Pregnant Flamingo

2009-02-20T18:41:00.005+01:00

This carneval I had to dress up. There is no way ten year old pupils would ever forgive a teacher who shows up in normal cloths at carneval day. Since I had started teaching back in January, the question most often asked by my pupils was: "teacher, how do you dress for carneval?" I wish they would have asked maths questions at the same frequency (I am still wondering whether my explanations during maths were so clear and easy to grasp that they left no open questions, or whether they were so abstract that the pupils didn't even know what and how to ask...). The carneval theme for teachers was "animals". I initially thought that that's just something what teachers can consider if they want; but as I later discovered, it was a MUST. After a bit of thinking, I had the bright idea to dress up as a pregnant flamingo. Not that I would have ever seen a pregnant flamingo. But somehow I liked the idea of being a pregnant flamingo, just as I like flamingos per se. I admit that I didn't invest much time into preparations to get this pregnant flamingo dress on "it's legs". Just got a bit of pink textile, got my mom to switch on the tailoring machine, agreeing with her that we are both hopeless tailors; got some fedders for my hair and eventually a boa scarf for my neck.
On Thursday I dressed up in the morning, and drove to school. While sitting in the car my biggest wish was to walk along the shore of a lake in Kenya with the sun in my back instead of watching my hands freezing on the driving wheel. Once in school, everybody thought I am a slightly overweight ballet dancer with the secret wish to be a stewardess or a Unicorn, depending on where I wore the beak. The rest of the morning I tried to stand on one leg and wave my arms, to make my constume somehow credible.
And 90% of the afternoon I tried to warm up again next to the heater in my living room, telling myself that next carneval I will dress up as a brown bear. At least that costume allows one to wear ten levels of cloths underneath!

Snow shoe trekking Zendleser Kofl

2009-02-07T09:38:00.003+01:00

Easy to tell from which side the wind blows!
Finding our way through the white landscape - white slopes, white sky, zero visibility

The rest of my face is cut out on purose: you wouldn't want to see my bue lips and dry skin

Warming our hands once we finally reached the peak

Italy: disability friendly country!

Still optimistic that we can make it, five minutes after leaving the warm inside of our car

Seems we weren't the only crazy ones who decided to climb a mountain despite the bad weather

Summitpicture

Summit

The young and the old (2)

2009-01-25T19:04:00.006+01:00

It's easier to write about them than to prepare lessons for them. I am talking about the 17 kids whom I am teaching Maths, Music, Arts and Sport, for a total of two months. All afternoon I tried to figure out how to make them understand the formula for calculation of area; in between I tried to fish some fancy games out of the www for the sport lesson tomorrow. Three hours of thinking and fishing have last but not least generated a half way decent plan for tomorrows' maths and sports lesson. While preparing the lessons, thoughts of who and how these kids are crossed my mind, too.

Over the past years, children didn't play a role at all in my life. My cousins turned into young adults few years ago, at university I was surrounded by a bunch of agemates and slightly older professors, and the social environment in Somaliland and Afghanistan was characterized people from 25 years of age upwards, uniformily behaving like unmarried bachelors. Some of them might have had and have children at home, but as soon as one sets foot onto Afghan, or Somalian soil, those kids tend to evaporate like the rest of those things that remind us of a life elsewhere.

And all of a sudden, I am surrounded by kids a few hours a day. There are moments when I look at them and wonder "who are these little aliens"? There are also moments when I look at them and memories of my own childhood come up again (after all, I learned how to read and write and few other things in the same school about twenty years ago). But more so there are moments when I just smirk over the thousands of questions which they ask every day. Over all these years I have forgotten how much children can ask. Every second sentence which comes out of their mouth tends to start with "teacher, can I ask you something?". If they are polite, they add a quick "Johanna" after "teacher". But usually it's just "teacher". Some questions are easy to answer; others require some thinking; but there are also questions which put me into a moral dilemma. Like recently, when a girl asked me "Teacher, which part of the cigarette is the one that has to be light up; the yellow or the white?" I mean, I don't want them to burn their lips, at the same time I can't really answer the questions as this would probably bring them one step closer to smoking. In this particular case I tried to answer with a "you know, you shouldn't even think about these things.... bad cigarettes!". Another time I was asked by one boy from India about my husband (he knows that I am pregnant). Should I tell him that I am actually not even together with the father of my soon to be child? And yet another time, I was asked whether I had been drunk already in my life. Lying or telling the truth?

Sometimes there are also moments when I am just desperately longing for my previous job, where I could chose to interact only with my computer if I felt moody. And if on moody days, the computer behaved moody as well, I could simply press five seconds on the start buttom, and shut it down. You can't quite do that with kids. They don't seem to have these magic five second buttoms to make them shut up. Instead, the louder I talk, the louder they talk. They don't even have mercy when my voice is already raspy.

But what's the most amazing thing about being surrounded by kids, is that I all of a sudden feel adult. Over all these years, I felt young, and often was younger then the people around me. Being and feeling young was also something like a protection; if something went wrong, I could plead with my age; telling myself I was still in a learning process. Now I am standing in front of children, daily, and they don't see me as somebody young; for them, I am an adult as their parents are, somebody who has to answer their million questions, somebody they can test for how strict she is; somebody whom they can show and explain their Ipods (that's where they go wrong: Ipods aren't just for kids!). But truly, for the first time since many years, I feel that I am not young anymore, but rather somebody who is about to have her own family and be an adult like all the other adults I see around here.

The young and the old

2009-01-22T16:34:00.004+01:00

Since my return from Afghanistan, I have had a lot of contact with two groups of people I was not really interacting with much over the past few years: the young and the old.

The old:
Here in Italy I am currently still living in my parent's house, where my 96 year old grandma lives as well. She has been there all along, since I was born, taking me to kindergarten, buying me sweets on good day, taking me with her when collecting the milk from the farmer next by, letting me watch when preparing tyrolian dumplings. As I got older, she continued living in the house of my parents, but since I moved out from there at a rather young age, in search of my own life and identity, I noticed her less and less. Sure, there was a couple of days which I spent at home every few months, but those days were filled with tons of other stuff, leaving little time to take notice of my aging grandma. Somehow, she always seemed the same. Getting up in the morning at eight, putting on a blue skirt and a red pullover, combing her hair back (whereas few strains always stick out, giving her a loose similarity with Homer Simpson), taking a honeybread and milkcoffee for breakfast, then going for a walk, reading the paper, eating lunch, going for a walk again and reading the paper again, and eventually going to bed, staying awake till somebody would put eyedrops into her grey eyes.
It's only now, after over ten years abroad, that I am suddenly spending sufficient time at home to notice the changes that have happened over the years. And one of the most visible changes is that my grandma suddenly got old. There are the same few questions which she is asking me every day, forgetting the answers that I gave the day before and all the other days since my return in November. There is the speed of her walking. Today we went for a walk together, and believe me, a blindfolded snail could run faster. There are the empty stares, out of the window, that turn longer with every day passing by. When she is talking about her age, there is less resonance of fear from an approaching death, and more acceptance of leaving soon. There are hundreds of things that seem to enter her memory and leave it at the same moment again. There are also few moments, when she suddenly seems to have a clear mind again. Like today, when she asked me if people in Afghanistan would eat the same food as people in Italy; or the other day when she commented on how great it is that nowadays, young unmarried women can have children on their own without being excluded from society. But those moments are few. More are the stares. While walking with her today through the village, I wondered whether this aging was a sudden process, or whether it had happened gradually over all those years which I had been away. It's kind of weird, but I am doubting whether travelling around and living in other countries has given me more identity then a life at home would have. When I am looking at her, and at my mother, who is her daughter, I can find my own features in them again. How much of me is what I grabbed during life abroad, and how much is given by those generations with whom I am sharing house now?

Belly updates

2009-01-18T18:29:00.005+01:00

After six months of carrying it around with me, it seems that the baby finally decided to show itself a tiny bit. Yet, it's still difficult to imagine that something that's 30 cm and a bit is squeezing itself into my belly. Maybe it's constantly kicking because it feels squeezed?

Life as a teacher

2009-01-13T18:21:00.002+01:00

Here I am, once again with a new job.

It's less spectacular than my previous postings, but for sure not less challanging. It's teaching 10 year old kids maths, arts, sports and music. It's closer to home than all my previous postings: it's in the primary school where I myself learned how to read and write some twenty years ago. This morning my dad dropped me on his way to work, and with a little bit of giggling he said "you know, it's not the first time that I have dropped you to this school". Ok, sometimes history repeats itself, but I still try to prevent my parents from becoming too sentimental about the fact that last but not least, I have temporarily found my way home, with a "normal" job and a "normal" life; only what's missing is the "normal" partner. But who knows, maybe if I stick around long enough here in South Tyrol, maybe the "normal" partner turns up, too? ;)

But to be frank, life as a teacher is not even that bad. There is quite a bit of preparation to do, but the good thing is that as soon as I walk through the entrance of the school, there is no space for any thoughts that don't directly concern the teaching. Kids ask a million questions a day. Everything from whether I know what a Humvee is (not sure if I spelled it right, but I told them that I vaguely remember having seen them in Afghanistan...) or what would happen to my baby if I fell on my belly. Or if I know what I will dress up for Carneval. Or if it is possible to buy street children in Africa, as they don't have parents. Um. Or if I have a dog at home (apparently, I had dog hair on my jacket). There are moments when I think "my god, and I will have to answer such questions for the next 15 years", but more so there are moments that simply make me smile, 'cause suddenly reminding me again how funny and fulfilling these little persons can be.

Anyhow, that's my new job.

Dellantonio Clan

2009-01-13T18:05:00.002+01:00

There are clans not just in Somaliland; even in my little home town, there is at least one clan :) Missing on this picture are only three: my sis and my cousing who are both somewhere in South America and my uncle is taking the picture. Soon there will be yet another member to the clan...

Are memories the fuel that we burn to stay alive?

2009-01-06T22:06:00.002+01:00

Last night I read a book of Murakami, titled "After Dark". It's yet another little master piece from this incredible author. Something you start reading and you can't put away until you have absorbed the very last word of it. And which yet leaves you with so many open questions that even hours later you still wonder.
There was one particular sentence in the book which made me think a lot: "Memories are maybe the fuel that people burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesnt matter as far as the maintanance of life is concerned". I always thought of myself as being somebody who lives in the present, with a strong look forward. But yet, this sentence made me reflect a bit on how many times a day I am actually living through some kind of memory. Most of the time, it's recent memories. Sometimes even just a word somebody said few moments ago. But sometimes it's also these completely sudden memories of things that happened a long time back, without any obvious concern for the present. I have often wondered where these sudden memories of seemingly unimportant things are coming from. Giving some credit to Murakamis thesis, they would simply be fuel due to the lack of any other memory fuel.
But on the other hand, memories are remnants of things that happen in the present time. In that sense, the fuel that keeps us alive are not the memories, but more so the things that we do, see and absorb each moment we live. Anyhow. It's late. Maybe I should stop for today to give too much thought to the things I read.

Souvenier

2009-01-05T22:47:00.002+01:00

I kind of thought that Afghanistan would not leave lasting external marks on me. Seems I am wrong. Today, while brushing my teeth, a hair as white as snow grinned toward me through the mirror. Though I don't particularly care much about my hair color, I was still shocked about this little souvenier from 13 stessful months. Suddenly, teasing other people about their white hair doesn't seem exciting any longer...

Resolutions for the new year

2009-01-04T21:24:00.004+01:00

Not that I believe much in resolutions. But it's still fun to put them down and then see how long it takes to break them all ;)

> Get a proper signature that is readible and at the same time difficult to forge
> Keep the maximum of broken/ lost ATM/ Credit cards below 2
> Check any potential relationship candidates for ex girlfriends/wifes before embarking on anything vaguely serious
> Write blog entries that make people laugh instead of cry
> Be a good teacher (not to my kid, but to the kids I am supposed to teach over the next few months)
> Carry the baby with me on mountain treks (can it really be that difficult to do fun stuff with newborns as people keep on telling me? After all, the little one will not be able to talk and protest at least for one year ;)
> Learn how to change diapers
> Move out of my parental home - ASAP - thus, ensuring family peace
> Travel by train instead of plane, my contribution to climate preservation
> Close my facebook account
> Get a bilingual certificate for Italien/German
> Learn French
> Learn how to read the stars
> Get a better balance of imagination, dreams and reality
> Stop lying in bed each morning for half hour reflecting on the deeper meaning of my dreams

To be continued

Before it's too late - last years' balance

2009-01-04T20:29:00.005+01:00

It's already the forth of January, and I haven't gotten around to draw a line under 2008. Actually, I think I am mentally still in 2008. At least when it comes to writing the date. Not that I am required to do that a lot these days, without work, but from time to time I have to do it. For instance when I finally got my new ATM card on the 2nd of January. Guess, four times I had to put down date and signature in order to get this little piece of plastic handed out. Each time I wrote 2008, followed by a signature that could be from a three year old kid. God. My first resolution should be to get over both, the old date and scrawly signature. The second resolution should probably be to avoid any contact between the holy piece of plastic and the magnet strip in my bag.

Fortunately, 2008 was more than a date and a horrible signature (and two screwed ATM cards). I would say at least 50% of total hours of 2008 have been devoted to work. At least it seems so when looking back. Even after having laid down my role as coordinator in Afghanistan, my thoughts still circle in the lines of proposal writing, monitoring, reporting, capacity building of my national colleagues, strangely behaving donors, and most of all, problem solving. Seems that in Afghanistan, you solve one problem only by creating ten new ones. That's the deal I got used to over the last year. One step forward, two steps back. But once you get used to it, it's great, because at the end of the day there is always a step forward as well.

Despite the constant forward-backward, I really enjoyed my work in Afghanistan, and with it my life in Afghanistan. Isn't it funny? In a country as traditional and conservative as Afghanistan, a country that according to many hasn't changed it's social set up for centuries, I never had the feeling that time would stand still. Rather, I felt like a hamster in one of these wheels, that keep turning and turning and turning, that turn faster the faster the hamster attempts to run. Only mid August, time seemed to stand still, for few hours. Or rather, I tried to keep it firm, in order to gain time to memorize each second of the day, each sight, each word. Since I am not a genious, I didn't succeed to memorize the air, the smells, the light that filled that day. But I pretty much remember many of the words and pictures. In my collections of thoughts and images, they are in the top shelf, clearer than anything else I remember of 2008.

But 2008 wasn't just tragedy. More than anything else it was great people, whom I had a chance to meet. Some of them are still in Afghanistan, others have already moved on to new places, few have moved home. All I miss a lot, some terribly. But there is something inside me that tells me that I will meet those who matter the most again. I am already curious to find out who they will be. Don't know if you share this believe, but personally I think that it is often only much later in life that you realize who of the people whom you crossed ways with really mattered. Sometimes it's the ones that you hardly noticed, who only scratched your path for a second, that suddenly matter again. It's this special incertainty that makes life so interesting, isn't it?

And then there is bump. A friend of mine keeps on calling this little thing "bump", and so I got used to call it that way, too. It's five months old by now, tiny but active. Sometimes I wonder whether it is the kung fu genes or some external capoiera influence that makes it dance. It's a funny feeling, incredibly beautiful. The bump already has plenty of self declared aunties and uncles all over the world, so at least I don't have to worry about its cosmopolitan upbringing. It also has a great dad, even though I think that he's sometimes too adventerous. And it has gotten to know somebody else when it was still tiny. And it has travelled half way accross the globe and climbed many mountains. Really, if prenatal talent boosting works, than this kid will be be gifted with quite an interesting mix of talents and interests :)

To come to a conclusion, 2008 was a year of great intensity, some "belly landings" (literally, but also in a translated meaning) amazing people, hilarious moments, sadness, lots of love, and towards the end, incredible changes in my hormones :)

No last year balance, no new year resolutions, but at least some pictures

2009-01-03T19:59:00.007+01:00

I haven't made time yet to muse about last years events and make up resolutions for the new year, so all what's there to load up this blog for now (before you might assume that it has started its winter sleep...) are few pictures which I took during a recent walk over the snow covered meadows of the mountains accross the place where I live. Hope that these pictures remind some of you of your vague plans to come over some time in 2009 to visit me and baby (or, if you intend to pass by before May, me and the constantly growing bump!).

Hope you had a great start into 2009 :)

Sunny sides

2008-12-17T22:14:00.002+01:00

The sunny sides of being home: snow, nature, dog, fresh air;

To enjoy those it doesn' t even need sun!

Four months and two days

2008-12-15T20:52:00.003+01:00

I wanted to write this entry two days ago, but somehow I ended up doing other things that day, maybe trying to avoid thinking about the day four months ago.

Fact is, the 13th of August is still so vivid in my mind that I could live through it again, if I only would close my eyes. What started as a normal day, turned out to be a day that left a deep mark. But than again, I assume all really big days (especially the really tragic ones) start totally normal. In German we have this saying "getting up with your left leg", which means that days which you start on your left leg, usually turn out a bit chaotic. But at least you are prepared for it, as you immediately know, when walking to the toilet and there is no toilet paper, or latest when observing your wrinkled face in the mirrow, that the day will be chaotic.

The 13th of August started totally normal, at six in the morning, with a cup of coffee, the morning news on BBC, a quiet drive to the office, some hello and good mornings to colleagues, before I headed south to Gardez. I assume for my colleagues in Gardez, about to travel north to Kabul, the day must have started in a similar way, as normal as days can be, even in Afghanistan. Eleven o clock we met half way, having a cup of tea (milk tea, now that was abnormal for Afghanistan!), switching cars, waving good bye, only that they would never reach Kabul, whereas I reached Kabul, hours later after the world I knew around me had suddenly and unexpectadly changed. The few hours before reaching Kabul passed in a blur. While I was waiting to be brought back safely to Kabul, my boyfriend was on his way back from Jalalabad, on a road where several attacks had happened the same day, luckily making it safely back to Kabul as well. I remember talking to many people that day, but I couldn't say anymore which words were exchanged through the phone line, except that I appreciated each and every of them. What I remember cristal clear are the words that filled those ten minutes before switching cars, sitting in a narrow district office with my colleagues coming from Gardez, drinking tea.

Shock and disbelief have since than changed to anger, and now, finally sadness. And yet, on the same day, something else unplanned happened that will also change my life, partly already did, result of the desire to be close to somebody I could trust. For few days now, this unplanned happening has started kicking a bit, reminding me of the turns life can take, making me smile and driving tears into my eyes at the same time. Most people around me back in Italy only see the kicking bit, and are not aware of the things it reminds me of, even though they know what else happened on that day. Maybe the kicking is there because I never wanted to forget this day, because I wanted to have something to hold on to, something that simply shows how unusual life is.

Lago di Garda

2008-12-11T18:53:00.005+01:00

One way of spending time at home - trekking around Lake Garda. It's particularly beautiful at this time of the year, when the lake is surrounded by solitude instead of the usual crowd of tourists, surfers and climbers.

Here I am

2008-12-11T17:58:00.002+01:00

Here I am -
are the three words that have been crossing my mind basically non stop for the past two weeks.

Here I am, back in Italy, back in the house of my parents, back in my little village, back to where I started many years ago. Long desired, and still difficult to grasp, that I will be here for some time from now. I knew that having kids means sacrifices, but do these sacrifices really have to start that early? After all, it's only 20 cm big (though I have to say that I am already getting worried by the pushs that it makes against my belly - what will it be like when it is only born?! ;)
But there are still few months until I will be busy with changing diapers, feeding and maybe wishing for my old independent bachelor life again.

Now I am here, and there is this big question of what to do between now and May. There are various options, though none of them feels particularly tempting at the moment.
Option one is turning myself into a housekeeper and taking care of the house, dog and 98 year old grandma, not to forget about the crowd of visiting birds in the garden, which, thanks to my mother's generous feeding practices, grows day by day.
Option two is the same as option one, with in addition giving extra lessons to my teenager cousin to make sure he doesn't fail a second time in primary school.
Option three is the two first combined and in addition french and italian home studies (the first one out of self interest, the second one out of survival instinct, given that I might be stuck in this italien-german province for longer....)
Then there is the option of starting in addition an MBA (whereby I still have to figure out how to finance it)
But somehow I am afraid that even the four options combined + some skiing and snow trekking wont keep me busy enough!

Here I am, after years of 15/24 and 7/7 working schedules, in places where even driving to work created stones in my stomach, sudddenly afraid of leading the harmonious quiet life I was longing for so much especially during the past few months. Can this be normal?

At least a beginning...

2008-12-07T20:42:00.001+01:00

... before the blog gets automatically deleted because I am not putting up anything...

The pictures below are from my favorite spot just few kilometers from where I grew up and where I am planning to settle temporarily again. When temporary settling becomes too challenging, I usually go for a stroll to this lake, and at least for the time of the stroll, things seem all fine again.