Finally another end of year has come. One more goodbye, just to meet another new year that is to come. It seems like any other transitional phase of the past years, except that I can feel "the change" in me as well. I don't have to wait until my next birthday to feel more mature, grown-up and insightful. It's this eventful year that has taught me to look beyond the surface of seperation within which lies something worth learning.
Since the first months I said goodbye to what seemed like the perfect professional opportunity for everybody else, imaginatively consolating myself with the promising probabilities that were still unknown.
Then one by one I waved good-bye to those beloved and trusted friends. The feeling, painstakingly unforgettable as it was, doubled in intensity when the time to look for the last time at the city I had been living in for almost three full years finally arrived.
Even before I could make it to Bangkok in hope of personally caring for one of my best pet dog, Toon, she had faught and lost the battle to the ravages of old age and lamentably breathed her last breath, nine days ahead of my arrival. Another tearful yet unreal goodbye.
As I thought that things would smooth down and get back to their own track, all of a sudden I unbelievably found myself in an emotional isolation, caused by my own arrogance and demanding standard. Sadly enough, I didn't realise that the day I walked away marked the parting of our ways forever.
Just as everything promising around me seemed heading down the drain and I readied myself for the next possible seperation from something I dearly held on to, nothing came but December. The last of the twelve months that marked the end of this beautifully nostalgic year and the goodbye of goodbyes.
Before looking forwards at what was awaiting in the future path, I decided to take a very close look at what I had found in those seperations. Plenty of things were there, waiting to be discovered and reflected at all time. It was just a question of perspective, whether I only chose to see the downsides of them or also the hidden treasures within. Now that I found some of them, I learned from it. I absorbed it...and I grew up.
So, just let me say my last goodbye to all separations I have suffered and embrace the upcoming challenges of the New Year!
2008...here I go!!!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Chronicles of Mod : Kho Khao - Nature Untouched
Phuket itself, as one of the world's most well-known destinations, stamped me with no impression I had previously expected before this trip. However, I found a consolation prize at Kho Khao, an undisturbed islet that lies just beside the province of Phang-Nga.If you are looking for somewhere to recharge your battery while leaving all the burdens behind, including your brain, this is the perfect place.
Expect nothing but a simple non-stop rest in the (few) resorts of your choice and enjoy the delightful feast from the sea.
There aren't many fully developped touristic spots on the island but, for a long stay, you can manage to find some interesting activities to do such as fishing, mangrove forest sightseeing or taking a look at the ruins of an ancient city. For those who want to be a bit more active, snorkeling and scuba diving at the nearby (?) archipelago of Surin or Similan is also feasible.
For me, I think the island is already endowed with a characteristic charm. Its hardly touched nature, the biggest highlight. Well, it's a perfect hideaway with almost everything within reach (very near Phang-Nga and just a couple of hours from Phuket). The inland forests are being slowly invaded, cut down and exploited. So if you want to see how an unexploited island look like, without having to go a distance, try this alternative.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sand in my Shoes
Two weeks away it feels like the whole world should've changed
But I'm home now
And things still look the same
I think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night
That I'm back in my flat on the road
Where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can't watch sunset
I don't have time
I don't have time
I've still got sand in my shoes
And I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you
But why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would've been confused but I wanna see you again
Tomorrow's back to work and down to sanity
should run a bath and then clear up the mess I made before I left here
Try to remind myself that I was happy here
Before I knew that I could get on the plane and fly away
From the road where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can't watch sunset
And take my time
Take up our time
I wanna see you again
Two weeks away, all it takes to change and turn me around, I've fallen
I walked away and never said that I wanted to see again
I wanna see you again
I wanna see you again
Te dedico esta canción a una parte de ti que aún está en Bali ;) Espero que hayas disfrutado el viaje y nos veamos pronto.
Love you heaps.
Love you heaps.
Dumbledore is GAY!
That was one of the best news ever in this entire year!
The fact was confirmed by JK Rowling herself in a promotional tour for her latest book of the megahit sagas Harry Potter. Though it was just a fictional character, I felt great to know that she had planned to assign the attribute to such an important character. Some gay activists said that it should have been more explicit, but come on, it was a children story and should it be THAT explicit?
All I care about is the fact that JK have tried hard to include every element in our world to enrich the perfection of the wizarding community, including homosexuality. That movement was something.
Personally, the thought has never come across my mind at all. It was, for me, a total surprise, probably because I wasn't the biggest fan of Harry Potter series. This doesn't make her the best author of children books, but it has moved her up the rank to one of those prominent novelists in my list who try to project the reality of this world into their own world of fantasy, giving us the opportunity to learn and understand the complex reality from the simpler fiction.
I am still not a die-hard fan of hers, but at least she is now in one of my favourite and, more importantly, respected writers.
The fact was confirmed by JK Rowling herself in a promotional tour for her latest book of the megahit sagas Harry Potter. Though it was just a fictional character, I felt great to know that she had planned to assign the attribute to such an important character. Some gay activists said that it should have been more explicit, but come on, it was a children story and should it be THAT explicit?
All I care about is the fact that JK have tried hard to include every element in our world to enrich the perfection of the wizarding community, including homosexuality. That movement was something.
Personally, the thought has never come across my mind at all. It was, for me, a total surprise, probably because I wasn't the biggest fan of Harry Potter series. This doesn't make her the best author of children books, but it has moved her up the rank to one of those prominent novelists in my list who try to project the reality of this world into their own world of fantasy, giving us the opportunity to learn and understand the complex reality from the simpler fiction.
I am still not a die-hard fan of hers, but at least she is now in one of my favourite and, more importantly, respected writers.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Out of the Closet
Recently I hardly have had any inspirations to jot down interesting events that happened to me. Perhaps here in Bangkok my personal Muse can't perform her task very well since the surrounding is not very encouraging. However, now alone in the middle of the night, with the cool german popjazz music as a backtrack, my inspiration has somehow find its way back home again. And that leaves me to why I'm going to write about one of the most memorable, though not quite impressive, moment of my life. It happened just a month ago; I extemporaneously told my parents that I was gay.
It was a spur-of-the-moment revelation of which I'm not going into detail. Let's just say that my dad and I mounted quite a scene in the early morning one day. He was illogical, irrational and stubborn while I was being furiously emotional. There were lots of tension. My mom was there too but she tried to blend into the surrounding while, of course, perceiving the approaching menace of my words. Though passive she might seem, she was the one who reacted first when the truth was revealed with tears. I blurted out that I was gay. My dad collapsed into a chair, saying nothing. She was the first one who accepted me as I was and my dad was the second to win the race.
I admit that originally it was intended to hurt their feelings. Nevertheless, their reaction came out unexpected and that made me felt afterward tremendously guilty. But I think until now I can live it down by making amend while they are also doing the same.
What really struck me was that I didn't feel any sudden relief as I had expected. It was true that the lifetime burden was finally lifted but I wasn't immediately relieved by that fact. Unlike the dramas I had seen, it was more a gradual process of adapting myself to another phase of reality in which we all have to take part.
As far as I know, that day marked the turning point of my perspective towards my family. When I say family, I refer to all of us in our house. I love my parents all the way more. And I felt that I truly belonged to my family and wanted the best for them. All these thoughts were unclear before that.
Despite the result that wasn't what I expected, I don't regret my action of that day. Damages were somehow done but it was just a step further to reach a more united little family of mine.
I took the bet and the dice turned out in my favour. Apart from the basic characteristics of my conventional and weird family, my luck also helped me in this revelation. I'm not saying that doing the same
thing as I did will lead those still in the closet to a happy ending.
But at least just try it. We are just a little human
being who can't bear the weight of this burden for all our life.
It was a spur-of-the-moment revelation of which I'm not going into detail. Let's just say that my dad and I mounted quite a scene in the early morning one day. He was illogical, irrational and stubborn while I was being furiously emotional. There were lots of tension. My mom was there too but she tried to blend into the surrounding while, of course, perceiving the approaching menace of my words. Though passive she might seem, she was the one who reacted first when the truth was revealed with tears. I blurted out that I was gay. My dad collapsed into a chair, saying nothing. She was the first one who accepted me as I was and my dad was the second to win the race.
I admit that originally it was intended to hurt their feelings. Nevertheless, their reaction came out unexpected and that made me felt afterward tremendously guilty. But I think until now I can live it down by making amend while they are also doing the same.
What really struck me was that I didn't feel any sudden relief as I had expected. It was true that the lifetime burden was finally lifted but I wasn't immediately relieved by that fact. Unlike the dramas I had seen, it was more a gradual process of adapting myself to another phase of reality in which we all have to take part.
As far as I know, that day marked the turning point of my perspective towards my family. When I say family, I refer to all of us in our house. I love my parents all the way more. And I felt that I truly belonged to my family and wanted the best for them. All these thoughts were unclear before that.
Despite the result that wasn't what I expected, I don't regret my action of that day. Damages were somehow done but it was just a step further to reach a more united little family of mine.
I took the bet and the dice turned out in my favour. Apart from the basic characteristics of my conventional and weird family, my luck also helped me in this revelation. I'm not saying that doing the same
thing as I did will lead those still in the closet to a happy ending.
But at least just try it. We are just a little human
being who can't bear the weight of this burden for all our life.
Take the courage to get rid of it and face the consequence. Whatever the result will be, you are one step further than before. And that's a good news, isn't it?
Saturday, September 08, 2007
I'm Here Again.
I don't know why people are always looking for the other half of their souls, to be complete again as destined, while some others are just not giving enough care to what they already have and sometimes even throw it away.
We are never satisfied with what we have. Alone, some desperately seek the one who can hopefully make them whole again, others just spend time lamenting about their poor fate and drown themselves in the self-pitying sea. Sadly there are some who have been lucky enough to find their right matches but not savvy enough to keep them. I find myself one of them.
I might be the luckiest person in the world when met my boyfriend and later on the stupidest person ever to have walked away from him in such a childish manner. But up until now, I never regret.
Nor will I ever beg for an apology.
If we were really such a perfect match as I thought we were, I wouldn't have been ignored for such a long time. Things are not the way they were anymore. We didn't "talk". The mysterious connection we had in the first year that worked magic, turning the world into the brightest place exists no more.
Some may take me for a high-maintenance kind of person. They are right. I'm ready to sacrifice anything to keep our love blossom as it should. But to face such defying challenge, I need to be fueled; with kind words, phone calls, hugs, kisses or whatever that shows that I'm still cared for somehow. And without that driving force, I reached the limit and got tired, exhausted...drained.
That was enough. No more justifications. All I have to say is that I'm here again, at the starting point, as I was before 4 years ago; alone, empty and trying to fulfill my soul with my true other half who may or may not exist out there.
We are never satisfied with what we have. Alone, some desperately seek the one who can hopefully make them whole again, others just spend time lamenting about their poor fate and drown themselves in the self-pitying sea. Sadly there are some who have been lucky enough to find their right matches but not savvy enough to keep them. I find myself one of them.
I might be the luckiest person in the world when met my boyfriend and later on the stupidest person ever to have walked away from him in such a childish manner. But up until now, I never regret.
Nor will I ever beg for an apology.
If we were really such a perfect match as I thought we were, I wouldn't have been ignored for such a long time. Things are not the way they were anymore. We didn't "talk". The mysterious connection we had in the first year that worked magic, turning the world into the brightest place exists no more.
Some may take me for a high-maintenance kind of person. They are right. I'm ready to sacrifice anything to keep our love blossom as it should. But to face such defying challenge, I need to be fueled; with kind words, phone calls, hugs, kisses or whatever that shows that I'm still cared for somehow. And without that driving force, I reached the limit and got tired, exhausted...drained.
That was enough. No more justifications. All I have to say is that I'm here again, at the starting point, as I was before 4 years ago; alone, empty and trying to fulfill my soul with my true other half who may or may not exist out there.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Quizás No Valgan La Pena...
Anteayer literalmente me marché de mi novio, por un mero hecho de estar molesto, sin ninguna despedida. Hasta ahora no he visto nada de su número en mi móvil.
A veces me reacciono de manera tan infantil que ni siquiera yo mismo me lo puedo creer. Recientemente este fenómeno se ha convertido en algo bastante raro en mi costumbre. Sin embargo, de vez en cuando no puedo dominar el capricho emocional tan bien que me salga por mis acciones considerablemente estúpidas.
Ningún tío que conozco en mi vida se marcha así como así cuando se ve molesto. Pero yo sí. Porque soy yo. Y siempre lo hacía.
No quiero buscar ninguna explicación lógica para justificar lo que hice. Era puramente emocional, provocado por la ignorancia y negligencia acumulada días tras días. No me gusta ser descartado. No quiero que me hagan caso omiso, especialmente MI novio. Me lo hicieron y sufría. Y ahora la Historia se está repitiendo otra vez. La diferencia es que esta vez me armaré con más ánimo y esperanza. Ya no jugaré más. Basta el apuesto. Bastante he perdido y no quiero perder más, ni tiempo ni nada.
Los 3 años han sido lo que sacrifiqué y puse adelante como el apuesto, pensando ganar al final, que quizás valgara la pena esperar y volver a encontrar. Todo no se derrumbe enseguida sino se corrosiona, poco a poco, carcomiendome la poco esperanza que me queda.
Si así es, será la lección más cara de mi vida. De hecho, ya lo es. He aprendido y crecido con esta ilusión amorosa, buscando el final feliz que nunca encontraré...con él.
No sé si cuando hablemos se solucionarán los problemas. No sé qué piensa de mí. No sé si se ha desvanecido la pasión. Desconozco la impresión que tiene sobre mí. Desconozco su vida sin mí. Y descozco si me reconoce cuando me vea en el sueño... jamás.
Sólo sé que quizás no valgan la pena los años que llevamos separados para volver a vernos y ... separarnos.
A veces me reacciono de manera tan infantil que ni siquiera yo mismo me lo puedo creer. Recientemente este fenómeno se ha convertido en algo bastante raro en mi costumbre. Sin embargo, de vez en cuando no puedo dominar el capricho emocional tan bien que me salga por mis acciones considerablemente estúpidas.
Ningún tío que conozco en mi vida se marcha así como así cuando se ve molesto. Pero yo sí. Porque soy yo. Y siempre lo hacía.
No quiero buscar ninguna explicación lógica para justificar lo que hice. Era puramente emocional, provocado por la ignorancia y negligencia acumulada días tras días. No me gusta ser descartado. No quiero que me hagan caso omiso, especialmente MI novio. Me lo hicieron y sufría. Y ahora la Historia se está repitiendo otra vez. La diferencia es que esta vez me armaré con más ánimo y esperanza. Ya no jugaré más. Basta el apuesto. Bastante he perdido y no quiero perder más, ni tiempo ni nada.
Los 3 años han sido lo que sacrifiqué y puse adelante como el apuesto, pensando ganar al final, que quizás valgara la pena esperar y volver a encontrar. Todo no se derrumbe enseguida sino se corrosiona, poco a poco, carcomiendome la poco esperanza que me queda.
Si así es, será la lección más cara de mi vida. De hecho, ya lo es. He aprendido y crecido con esta ilusión amorosa, buscando el final feliz que nunca encontraré...con él.
No sé si cuando hablemos se solucionarán los problemas. No sé qué piensa de mí. No sé si se ha desvanecido la pasión. Desconozco la impresión que tiene sobre mí. Desconozco su vida sin mí. Y descozco si me reconoce cuando me vea en el sueño... jamás.
Sólo sé que quizás no valgan la pena los años que llevamos separados para volver a vernos y ... separarnos.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
FW: Send This or Be a Moron
Since I have been a tad less than busy lately, I can finally waste my time in laying my eyes upon tons of forwarded emails unchecked for months and I have just discovered some interesting aspects about this phenomenon.
Some people are really ADDICTED to recieving, reading and resending these accursed series of emails. Beyond the point of enjoying the activity, they are horribly obsessed with what's in it and take it seriously. I mean they truly believe it! The promised miracles or good luck and that sort of things. I try not to be judgemental but sometimes I just can't help feeling irritated. Well, let's say...what's the point? You have passed on these messages for thousandth time and have you ever found any 4-leaf clover in your garden? No is the answer and you keep forwarding them in tiny hope of finding one someday. I'd rather investing in additional land and fertilizer to grow more clovers....well, that gives better chance than keeping your duty as an email forwarder.
More tragically, some good-hearted cybersurfers are misled by the so called one-address-per-one-cent donation. Honey, it's the second millennium, who on this capitalist earth is going to make a donation based on the untraceable, if not unprovable, text-only message like that? If you really want to be an amateur do-gooder, please spend few minutes to check the source's website whether such project really exists.
Another classic hoax similar to the case above is, for example, that a ginormous email provider of all time will start charging their users, either on per month or per year basis, very soon unless the notice is fowarded to more than XXXXXX users. Darling, they don't even have your credit card number. And even if it was true, though the biggest provider they may be, there would always be the rivals who are ready to take advantage on the situation by offering the similar or even better service for free!
This article isn't intended as an aggression to anyone in particular. I just need some space to holler my anxiety. On the other hand, a few potentially interesting emails have made their way into my inbox and, in this case, I consider myself lucky to be one of the readers. To all my friends, I still encourage you guys to keep sending constructive chain emails but perhaps less for me. I'm just full.
Some people are really ADDICTED to recieving, reading and resending these accursed series of emails. Beyond the point of enjoying the activity, they are horribly obsessed with what's in it and take it seriously. I mean they truly believe it! The promised miracles or good luck and that sort of things. I try not to be judgemental but sometimes I just can't help feeling irritated. Well, let's say...what's the point? You have passed on these messages for thousandth time and have you ever found any 4-leaf clover in your garden? No is the answer and you keep forwarding them in tiny hope of finding one someday. I'd rather investing in additional land and fertilizer to grow more clovers....well, that gives better chance than keeping your duty as an email forwarder.
More tragically, some good-hearted cybersurfers are misled by the so called one-address-per-one-cent donation. Honey, it's the second millennium, who on this capitalist earth is going to make a donation based on the untraceable, if not unprovable, text-only message like that? If you really want to be an amateur do-gooder, please spend few minutes to check the source's website whether such project really exists.
Another classic hoax similar to the case above is, for example, that a ginormous email provider of all time will start charging their users, either on per month or per year basis, very soon unless the notice is fowarded to more than XXXXXX users. Darling, they don't even have your credit card number. And even if it was true, though the biggest provider they may be, there would always be the rivals who are ready to take advantage on the situation by offering the similar or even better service for free!
This article isn't intended as an aggression to anyone in particular. I just need some space to holler my anxiety. On the other hand, a few potentially interesting emails have made their way into my inbox and, in this case, I consider myself lucky to be one of the readers. To all my friends, I still encourage you guys to keep sending constructive chain emails but perhaps less for me. I'm just full.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
¿Qué Será de Nosotros?
Hoy cumplo un mes en Bangkok y, viendo atrás, todo es notablemente diferente que el día de mi llegada. Como todos los repatriados, intento de adaptarme de nuevo a la realidad, a la que, en mi caso, nunca he estado acostumbrado. Los esfuerzos han sido empeñados. Voy tejiendo poco a poco mis redes que me permitirán el aceso a la gente del círculo de mi especialidad. Me conformo con este éxito, salvo una cosa; lo que será de mi y mi novio.
Ha pasado un mes y sólo nos hemos visto 4 veces sin mucha oportunidad de hablar tanto. Estar ocupado siempre ha sido la razón que me ofrece. Obviamente, se ve que está realmente ocupado, pues, por su beca de Ph.D., que obtuvo hace casi un año. Le espera una serie de examenes, entrevistas y ensayos en el futuro muy cercano y, para poder salir con todo lo que siempre desea, tiene que esforzar más que nunca, poniendo todo en juego, incluso la estabilidad de nuestra relación.
No pienso en dejarlo ni cortar el rollo ni enfrentarme con él, y esto es mi problema. Seguiremos así sin mencionar el amenazante futuro de nuestra relación, quiza por el miedo de perder lo que tanto tiempo he intentado preservar.
Siempre nos dicen que 3 años a distancia no es un reto cualquiera y, pasado esta prueba, ya deberemos esforzarnos más que nunca por el bien de esta preciosa relación. Bueno, ¿qué opción tengo yo? Hay que seguir adelante, fuese como fuese, exactamente como dice un refrán tailandés "Una vez montado a tigre, hay que seguir allí hasta el final".
Hasta que no llegue el dicho final de nuestro drama, mucho ánimo de parte de todos de mis amigos necesitaré.
Ha pasado un mes y sólo nos hemos visto 4 veces sin mucha oportunidad de hablar tanto. Estar ocupado siempre ha sido la razón que me ofrece. Obviamente, se ve que está realmente ocupado, pues, por su beca de Ph.D., que obtuvo hace casi un año. Le espera una serie de examenes, entrevistas y ensayos en el futuro muy cercano y, para poder salir con todo lo que siempre desea, tiene que esforzar más que nunca, poniendo todo en juego, incluso la estabilidad de nuestra relación.
No pienso en dejarlo ni cortar el rollo ni enfrentarme con él, y esto es mi problema. Seguiremos así sin mencionar el amenazante futuro de nuestra relación, quiza por el miedo de perder lo que tanto tiempo he intentado preservar.
Siempre nos dicen que 3 años a distancia no es un reto cualquiera y, pasado esta prueba, ya deberemos esforzarnos más que nunca por el bien de esta preciosa relación. Bueno, ¿qué opción tengo yo? Hay que seguir adelante, fuese como fuese, exactamente como dice un refrán tailandés "Una vez montado a tigre, hay que seguir allí hasta el final".
Hasta que no llegue el dicho final de nuestro drama, mucho ánimo de parte de todos de mis amigos necesitaré.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Desperately Unemployed
Twelve days are gone since I came back home for the first time in almost three years and things haven't changed much, not yet. Some say that two weeks of doing nothing are fine and I shouldn't complain too much, given that there are people who spend months, if not weeks, as job hunters without finding one.
However, I can't help feeling annoyed for being so helpless and, at times, useless. If you are looking for a demanding, or even picky, type of person when it comes to job seeking, here I am; available 24/7 and... for free!
Returning to the old lifestyle resulted shocking enough, but somehow I managed to survive the first critical week (a bit depressed though). Now I find myself in a second phase of adaptation; looking for means of survival.
Bangkok, similar to any other capitals, isn't the place where you (or me, in this case) can live happily ever after if there's no stability in your professional life. Everything costs you quite an amount of money. It seems that during my absence the inflation rate has increased considerably. Bangkok isn't a cheap place to enjoy like I thought it once was anymore.
I need LIFE. I need to do something and live my life the way the urban bourgeoisie does. I want to hang out with friends after work, drinking and gossiping about our bosses or whatever that might slip into our mind. There's so much I'm desperately wanting to do, about which I can keep on ranting to make a list of three-metre long to show the world how energetic and self-motivated I am.
All this digression might just be a result of me being jobless for too long, according to my standard, of course, or me being too worried about my future. Whatever it is, I know that I can't stay like this anymore.
Perhaps it's high time I went out (again!?) to find something to do, even if that means I'll have to kick somebody's arse to takeover his/her position. It's a world of survival anyway. ;-)
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Te Dejo Madrid
Al final ha llegado el momento. La hora de despedida a todos mis mejores amigos. Aunque es muy problable que nos crucemos otra vez en algún punto de nuestro camino, la despedida nunca ha sido la cosa que se me da bien.
Simplemente quiero recordar a mis mejores amigos, a los que he tenido suerte de conocer y con los que he podido pasar buenos y malos momentos, que os quiero mucho y siempre me acordaré de vosotros.
Aunque, esta vez sí, me toca dejar Madrid para seguir adelante, pero me llevaré lo mejor que mi estancia me ha ofrecido, la amistad.
Mil besos,
Mod
Simplemente quiero recordar a mis mejores amigos, a los que he tenido suerte de conocer y con los que he podido pasar buenos y malos momentos, que os quiero mucho y siempre me acordaré de vosotros.
Aunque, esta vez sí, me toca dejar Madrid para seguir adelante, pero me llevaré lo mejor que mi estancia me ha ofrecido, la amistad.
Mil besos,
Mod
Friday, June 08, 2007
Mirar Hacia Atrás
La primera memoria que tuve sobre España era la tierra rojiza y árida que se extendía infinitivamente hacia el horizonte. Estaba volando en algún punto entre Valencia y Madrid y me dije "¿Este es España? No parece Europa. No hay muchos árboles verdes. Mmmm, no es nada como esperaba".
Al aterrizar el avión, a través de la ventanilla, veía cómo los edificios de ladrillos naranja me daba la bienvenida y me dije "Hasta los edificios tiene el mismo color que la tierra. ¿Sobreviviré aquí?"
Las primeras comidas en el colegio Africa me daban miedo. No conocía a nadie, menos a un tailandés que estaba a punto de irse. No se me daba muy bien socializar con la gente. No me atrevía a saludar a otros becarios, también recién llegados.
La primera persona a la que me presenté en el comedor era Dixie, una filipina muy maja. Y con ella, iba conociendo a más gente, tanto interesante como no, hasta a todos los que habitaban el colegio.
En las primeras semanas, sentado en el escritorio, observaba el calendario anual que había dibujado en mi libreta pensando "¿Qué estaría haciendo en mayo 2005?", "¿En 2006 mi español alcanzaría al nivel que aspiro?", "¿Qué tipo de clases tendré en ese cuatrimestre?" y "¿En qué pensaría el último día de mi estancia en España?".
Las primeras clases me hacían sentir como si fuera otra vez un niño pequeño. Sentía el mismo miedo de lo que podría pasar en la clase, de las posibles preguntas que me harían los profesores, de los compañeros de clase que no me hacían caso. Me pregunté "¿Cómo seríamos nosotros cuando termináramos este curso?" y me contesté "Muy diferentes que ahora llegaríamos a ser. Siempre es así."
Al pasar el tiempo, conocía la ciudad cada vez mejor y me sentía cada vez más a gusto. Fue como si me hubiera aceptado con todo su corazón. No me di cuenta desde cuando me había enamorado de Madrid. No fue un flechazo, sino un amor que tardaba en llegar. Mejor así.
Dicen que el tiempo pasa volando y es verdad. Siempre aguardaba mi futuro regreso a mi tierra, mirando hacia adelante, hacia lo que sería de mí al pasar el tiempo, hacia lo que me esperaba y... de repente aquí estoy... mirando hacia atrás, con toda la nostalgía, que es feliz y triste a la vez.
Al aterrizar el avión, a través de la ventanilla, veía cómo los edificios de ladrillos naranja me daba la bienvenida y me dije "Hasta los edificios tiene el mismo color que la tierra. ¿Sobreviviré aquí?"
Las primeras comidas en el colegio Africa me daban miedo. No conocía a nadie, menos a un tailandés que estaba a punto de irse. No se me daba muy bien socializar con la gente. No me atrevía a saludar a otros becarios, también recién llegados.
La primera persona a la que me presenté en el comedor era Dixie, una filipina muy maja. Y con ella, iba conociendo a más gente, tanto interesante como no, hasta a todos los que habitaban el colegio.
En las primeras semanas, sentado en el escritorio, observaba el calendario anual que había dibujado en mi libreta pensando "¿Qué estaría haciendo en mayo 2005?", "¿En 2006 mi español alcanzaría al nivel que aspiro?", "¿Qué tipo de clases tendré en ese cuatrimestre?" y "¿En qué pensaría el último día de mi estancia en España?".
Las primeras clases me hacían sentir como si fuera otra vez un niño pequeño. Sentía el mismo miedo de lo que podría pasar en la clase, de las posibles preguntas que me harían los profesores, de los compañeros de clase que no me hacían caso. Me pregunté "¿Cómo seríamos nosotros cuando termináramos este curso?" y me contesté "Muy diferentes que ahora llegaríamos a ser. Siempre es así."
Al pasar el tiempo, conocía la ciudad cada vez mejor y me sentía cada vez más a gusto. Fue como si me hubiera aceptado con todo su corazón. No me di cuenta desde cuando me había enamorado de Madrid. No fue un flechazo, sino un amor que tardaba en llegar. Mejor así.
Dicen que el tiempo pasa volando y es verdad. Siempre aguardaba mi futuro regreso a mi tierra, mirando hacia adelante, hacia lo que sería de mí al pasar el tiempo, hacia lo que me esperaba y... de repente aquí estoy... mirando hacia atrás, con toda la nostalgía, que es feliz y triste a la vez.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Day I Exploded
One of the notorious habits of the Spaniards that I can never live with is the lack of service mind and customer orientation. Prove? Just pop up in some souvenir shops, boutiques, banks, hospitals or restaurants and you'll discover the truth. You may get a 50-50 percent chance of being ignored. Some salespersons show an obvious sign of upset while being called for some assistance. Of course, they prefer standing at the counter chatting with their colleagues than attending us and getting a comission. For some family-run small business, should any problem arise, they won't give a damn. Buy it or leave it.
I have been tolerating this tragic truth for almost 3 full years until now, the day I blew a fuse in Banco Santander over a simple matter that didn't actually matter. The day before yesterday I popped off to the bank to close my account and was asked by a male staff to come back the next day since the bank needed 24 hours to have my money readily prepared. And so I did.
Yesterday at midday, I returned to the branch and a girl in charged told me the bank could only give me some large denomination notes, but the rest of my savings must be paid in 20-euro notes... Ok, I can live with that, never mind, it's money anyway...
So she closed my account and told me to get the money at the counter. When I approached, the nerdy-looking staff looked at the screen and reiterated that since I hadn't informed the bank 24 hours before closing the account, it was impossible for the bank to arrange for well-prepared notes... Me cago en la leche!
That marked the historic point where I, for the first time in 3 fucking years, exploded in anger because of an unexpectedly ineffective service.
After a barrage of criticism, I filled in a complaint form (for the first time in my life!) that was supposed to be sent to a governmental office resposible for the matter. The assistant manager tried to calm me down and finally got me several notes of larger value. At that I was satisfied.
While I was leaving the bank, I saw the branch manager, the assistant manager and the guy whom I talked to the day before in the meeting room. Of course, he had screwed up and must face the consequence. Well, at least my efforts wouldn't go in vain. I couldn't help but wondering how they work here in Spain? Why there's always some kind of miscommunication or, from time to time, no communication at all? I believe that the problem stems from an individual's bad habit that will eventually, without any proper training or correction, affect the working structure of an organization.
All in all, most companies/shops tend to offer their services they way they like, not the way the customers prefer. And that is ONE BIG OBSTACLE for them to gain the upper hand in the international market.
I have been tolerating this tragic truth for almost 3 full years until now, the day I blew a fuse in Banco Santander over a simple matter that didn't actually matter. The day before yesterday I popped off to the bank to close my account and was asked by a male staff to come back the next day since the bank needed 24 hours to have my money readily prepared. And so I did.
Yesterday at midday, I returned to the branch and a girl in charged told me the bank could only give me some large denomination notes, but the rest of my savings must be paid in 20-euro notes... Ok, I can live with that, never mind, it's money anyway...
So she closed my account and told me to get the money at the counter. When I approached, the nerdy-looking staff looked at the screen and reiterated that since I hadn't informed the bank 24 hours before closing the account, it was impossible for the bank to arrange for well-prepared notes... Me cago en la leche!
That marked the historic point where I, for the first time in 3 fucking years, exploded in anger because of an unexpectedly ineffective service.
After a barrage of criticism, I filled in a complaint form (for the first time in my life!) that was supposed to be sent to a governmental office resposible for the matter. The assistant manager tried to calm me down and finally got me several notes of larger value. At that I was satisfied.
While I was leaving the bank, I saw the branch manager, the assistant manager and the guy whom I talked to the day before in the meeting room. Of course, he had screwed up and must face the consequence. Well, at least my efforts wouldn't go in vain. I couldn't help but wondering how they work here in Spain? Why there's always some kind of miscommunication or, from time to time, no communication at all? I believe that the problem stems from an individual's bad habit that will eventually, without any proper training or correction, affect the working structure of an organization.
All in all, most companies/shops tend to offer their services they way they like, not the way the customers prefer. And that is ONE BIG OBSTACLE for them to gain the upper hand in the international market.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Sorry For Not Being There
A farewell to my beloved Toon...
Only if I didn't insist on staying...
Only if I didn't linger...
Only if my return was 10 days earlier...
I could be there to say good bye.
Every single moment with you was truly precious...
Thanks for being my best friend always.
I am sorry for not being with you in the last moment.
I hope you would always have me in your memory...
just as I will always have you in mine.
Rest in peace.
With Love,
Mod
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Chronicles of Mod : Eleven Truths I Found Out About Norway
Here we go...
1. The Spaniards prove to be unconditionally noisy regardless of their location. While I was quietly enjoying the evening spring sun in the City Hall Square, a loud chattering group of Spanish tourists suddenly caught my attention. They were across the square but I could still hear their conversation as if they were sitting next beside me.
2. Norwegians seem like albinos. Pretty, beautiful and elegantly tall but bloodlessly pale (No offense!).
3. EVERYTHING is costly. A bottle of mineral water costs 3 euros and a pack of Doritos 4 euros, isn’t that nuts?
4. Too many Thais living there. Why? More investigations need to be fully done to satisfy my curiosity.
5. Contrary to the number of Asian immigrants, this country has fewer Chinese restaurants than I expected! Not that I was desperately finding one, but it surprised me.
6. Norwegian tulips are as visually appealing and beautiful as Dutch.
7. Norway doesn’t boast the architectural grandiosity as most European countries.
8. Norwegians in general can surprisingly speak English! Well, I got this low expectation based on the experience from where I’m currently living, Spain.
9. Oslo, Stavanger, Bergen (and hopefully any other cities) are sprinkled with sculptures. They are extremely obsessed with statues (Well, perhaps not “they” but “some artists”).
10. The weather in spring isn’t as freezing as I was told. In Bergen, it’s kind of wet though. Too fucking rainy.
11. Norway has sparrows and pigeons just like any other cities in the world! Furrier and a bit plumper though.
1. The Spaniards prove to be unconditionally noisy regardless of their location. While I was quietly enjoying the evening spring sun in the City Hall Square, a loud chattering group of Spanish tourists suddenly caught my attention. They were across the square but I could still hear their conversation as if they were sitting next beside me.
2. Norwegians seem like albinos. Pretty, beautiful and elegantly tall but bloodlessly pale (No offense!).
3. EVERYTHING is costly. A bottle of mineral water costs 3 euros and a pack of Doritos 4 euros, isn’t that nuts?
4. Too many Thais living there. Why? More investigations need to be fully done to satisfy my curiosity.
5. Contrary to the number of Asian immigrants, this country has fewer Chinese restaurants than I expected! Not that I was desperately finding one, but it surprised me.
6. Norwegian tulips are as visually appealing and beautiful as Dutch.
7. Norway doesn’t boast the architectural grandiosity as most European countries.
8. Norwegians in general can surprisingly speak English! Well, I got this low expectation based on the experience from where I’m currently living, Spain.
9. Oslo, Stavanger, Bergen (and hopefully any other cities) are sprinkled with sculptures. They are extremely obsessed with statues (Well, perhaps not “they” but “some artists”).
10. The weather in spring isn’t as freezing as I was told. In Bergen, it’s kind of wet though. Too fucking rainy.
11. Norway has sparrows and pigeons just like any other cities in the world! Furrier and a bit plumper though.
Chronicles of Mod : Dreaming of You
Last night I dreamt about you. It has been such a long time since I last saw you in my slumber. You were there waiting to pick me up at the arrival gate but somehow didn’t speak a word to me. I saw you saying good-bye to someone I didn’t know and whom you didn’t even bother to introduce to me. There was something between you two that had me disconcerted but, as always, I dared not ask. Fear grew inside me; things would never be the same between us, or at least that was what I thought it would turn out to be.
16:00, May 5th, 2007
Stavanger, Norway
16:00, May 5th, 2007
Stavanger, Norway
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Chronicles of Mod : Invading Norway, Part I (Live)
Stavanger
May 4th, 2007
22:51
Here is the first online note I've been able to made about Norway, simply becuz I'm stucked in the lodge, not knowing exactly what to do.
Stavanger is very small, so tiny that you can finish off the outdoor sightseeing within one day. I was supposed to take a stroll in the city centre in the evening, but since I overslept a great deal, I'll have to come to term with my drowsiness before deciding what next will be done.
Gay scene is off the list, as far as I know. I haven't seen any places particularly established for gays yet. Couldn't find a proper list of them on the Net either :( This is truly sad... But then again, in Oslo I may have a better luck.
I wasn't able to get to the top of The Pulpit Rock since no bus would run there till next week (Good timing!) but, nevertheless, I wouldn't let the chance to get a glimpse of it go easily. I took a fjord tour to the base of the Rock this afternoon and it was indeed impressive. Seeing the majestic Pulpit Rock covered in mist from down below was like paying homage to one of the most wonderful grand creations that Nature itself had ever made.
For now, I'll have to figure out what to do for the night... perhaps a short walk to the lake.
May 4th, 2007
22:51
Here is the first online note I've been able to made about Norway, simply becuz I'm stucked in the lodge, not knowing exactly what to do.
Stavanger is very small, so tiny that you can finish off the outdoor sightseeing within one day. I was supposed to take a stroll in the city centre in the evening, but since I overslept a great deal, I'll have to come to term with my drowsiness before deciding what next will be done.
Gay scene is off the list, as far as I know. I haven't seen any places particularly established for gays yet. Couldn't find a proper list of them on the Net either :( This is truly sad... But then again, in Oslo I may have a better luck.
I wasn't able to get to the top of The Pulpit Rock since no bus would run there till next week (Good timing!) but, nevertheless, I wouldn't let the chance to get a glimpse of it go easily. I took a fjord tour to the base of the Rock this afternoon and it was indeed impressive. Seeing the majestic Pulpit Rock covered in mist from down below was like paying homage to one of the most wonderful grand creations that Nature itself had ever made.
For now, I'll have to figure out what to do for the night... perhaps a short walk to the lake.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Así Empezó La Despedida
Hace unos días empecé a despedirme de Madrid. Salí de paseo para decir Adiós a las calles en que, durante tantos años, había pisado y pasado, a los sitios que tanto frecuentaba, acompañado y solo. Aún me quedan varios lugares donde dar la última visita, de eso no tengo prisa, que tengo un mes y medio para hacerlo.
Todo comenzó el domingo pasado. Salí emergiendo del metro Tirso de Molina, encontrando al mercado al aire libre en pleno día lleno de muchedumbre alegre. Caminaba a ritmo relajado hacia Sol y luego Sevilla para alcanzar al Retiro, donde había quedado con Por, una amiga tailandesa.
Disfrutaba ver cómo los turistas exploraban cada rinconcito del Madrid de los Austria con los ojos curiosos y cómo los madrileños gozaban del sol primaveral. Prestaba más atención a los detalles minuciosos que nunca antes había notado. Observaba la belleza arquitectónica de la parte más alta de unos edificios antiguos más importantes del centro, que tantas veces había pasado pero nunca tenía interés suficiente para detenerme a contemplarlos. Me fijaba más en la gente que se me cruzaba en la calle; cómo venía vestida, en qué hablaban, cómo sonreían, qué miraban, cómo aprovechaban el descanso dominical y qué le interesaba. En el Retiro me reuní con Por y juntos dimos un paseo muy largo pero ocioso por el parque, dando comentarios sobre temas propios y ajenos.
Las cosas que damos por bien conocidas no siempre lo son al verlas desde otros puntos de vista, desde otros ángulos. Aquella tarde me sentía tan extraño como en el primer día de mi estancia en esta ciudad. Era como si nunca hubiera estado en este metropolitano. Me parecía un lugar desconocido cuyos misterios aún se quedan por descubrir. Quizá fuera una sensación que solo una persona a la que le toca dejar el sitio que tanto tiempo ha vivido puede sentir. O quizá fuera simplemente una impresión (pre)nostálgica.
Fuera lo que fuese, a partir de aquel momento, empecé ya a echar mucho de menos de todo lo que me ofreció y ha ofrecido esta ciudad encantadora llamada Madrid.
Todo comenzó el domingo pasado. Salí emergiendo del metro Tirso de Molina, encontrando al mercado al aire libre en pleno día lleno de muchedumbre alegre. Caminaba a ritmo relajado hacia Sol y luego Sevilla para alcanzar al Retiro, donde había quedado con Por, una amiga tailandesa.
Disfrutaba ver cómo los turistas exploraban cada rinconcito del Madrid de los Austria con los ojos curiosos y cómo los madrileños gozaban del sol primaveral. Prestaba más atención a los detalles minuciosos que nunca antes había notado. Observaba la belleza arquitectónica de la parte más alta de unos edificios antiguos más importantes del centro, que tantas veces había pasado pero nunca tenía interés suficiente para detenerme a contemplarlos. Me fijaba más en la gente que se me cruzaba en la calle; cómo venía vestida, en qué hablaban, cómo sonreían, qué miraban, cómo aprovechaban el descanso dominical y qué le interesaba. En el Retiro me reuní con Por y juntos dimos un paseo muy largo pero ocioso por el parque, dando comentarios sobre temas propios y ajenos.
Las cosas que damos por bien conocidas no siempre lo son al verlas desde otros puntos de vista, desde otros ángulos. Aquella tarde me sentía tan extraño como en el primer día de mi estancia en esta ciudad. Era como si nunca hubiera estado en este metropolitano. Me parecía un lugar desconocido cuyos misterios aún se quedan por descubrir. Quizá fuera una sensación que solo una persona a la que le toca dejar el sitio que tanto tiempo ha vivido puede sentir. O quizá fuera simplemente una impresión (pre)nostálgica.
Fuera lo que fuese, a partir de aquel momento, empecé ya a echar mucho de menos de todo lo que me ofreció y ha ofrecido esta ciudad encantadora llamada Madrid.
Friday, April 13, 2007
New Year Solution
Here comes again the Thai New Year, Songkran Day. This time I welcome the feast with a big change in my life; I quit the job, prompting to leave Spain.
It's time to start anew, but this isn't at all my new year solution. It's pure coincidence.
I was supposed to leave the company on 30th, as stated in the voluntary redundancy letter I handed three days ago. However, the words I had with the company's lawyer the day before yesterday changed all that. She said "Since you're stressed and not very happy with your job, if the company tells you not to come to work tomorrow, do you think that's OK? This way the company is doing you a favor". I was caught off guard. Favor my ass. If I wanted leave at the instance, I wouldn't need that "favor" nor permission from the company, I could do it at that very minute. She then confirmed that it was just one of the measures the board might take. Until she, my boss and the board discussed about the issue, nothing was fixed yet.
The next day I went to the office to settle the wage payment. Most of my colleagues seemed surprised because nobody knew I was leaving. It then dawned to me that the board wanted to kick me out before the 30th to punish me for selfishly leaving the project, but my boss insisted that I stay. Well aware of that fact, I had to choose between continuing till the end of the month as my boss wanted or quitting on that day. Between a bit more extra money and pride, I chose the latter.
And it felt good! I left the office smiling and winning. I didn't need any revenge for what they would want to do with me. It was just to prove that I quit because wanted to, while they still needed me. They could sack as many workers without work contract as they would love to, like they had always done, but not me.
So what I'm going to do from now? More exercise, more swimming, more cooking, more fiestas, more travelling, enjoying the little time I've got a tope before starting a new chapter of my lifetime journey...in Bangkok.
P.S. The most sincere thanks from my heart to those who have always listened to and supported me through this hard time; mom and dad, my brother, Patto, P'Por, Now, Evans, Takeshi, Trixi, Fiat and many more. :-)
It's time to start anew, but this isn't at all my new year solution. It's pure coincidence.
I was supposed to leave the company on 30th, as stated in the voluntary redundancy letter I handed three days ago. However, the words I had with the company's lawyer the day before yesterday changed all that. She said "Since you're stressed and not very happy with your job, if the company tells you not to come to work tomorrow, do you think that's OK? This way the company is doing you a favor". I was caught off guard. Favor my ass. If I wanted leave at the instance, I wouldn't need that "favor" nor permission from the company, I could do it at that very minute. She then confirmed that it was just one of the measures the board might take. Until she, my boss and the board discussed about the issue, nothing was fixed yet.
The next day I went to the office to settle the wage payment. Most of my colleagues seemed surprised because nobody knew I was leaving. It then dawned to me that the board wanted to kick me out before the 30th to punish me for selfishly leaving the project, but my boss insisted that I stay. Well aware of that fact, I had to choose between continuing till the end of the month as my boss wanted or quitting on that day. Between a bit more extra money and pride, I chose the latter.
And it felt good! I left the office smiling and winning. I didn't need any revenge for what they would want to do with me. It was just to prove that I quit because wanted to, while they still needed me. They could sack as many workers without work contract as they would love to, like they had always done, but not me.
So what I'm going to do from now? More exercise, more swimming, more cooking, more fiestas, more travelling, enjoying the little time I've got a tope before starting a new chapter of my lifetime journey...in Bangkok.
P.S. The most sincere thanks from my heart to those who have always listened to and supported me through this hard time; mom and dad, my brother, Patto, P'Por, Now, Evans, Takeshi, Trixi, Fiat and many more. :-)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Most Decisive Moment in my Life
Now is the most decisive moment in my life. Everything that happens from this moment on depends solely on the decision I'm going to make today. And it isn't an easy one.
Life in Spain and Hard Life in Bangkok, what will you choose?
After months of waiting and struggling, I've finally been authorised to apply for a Work and Temporary Residence Card. It hasn't been easy, since it took the company six full months to start the procedure, another four months for the Ministry of Labour. And now with the official permit for Work Visa in my hand, and a limited time period of one month, I must decide whether to go back and apply for the visa and come back here again, so as to continue my assignments and responsibilities in this company. All these efforts will be in vain if I choose to throw the chance away, just to return to normal chaotic life in Bangkok.
Two months ago, I was very determined to leave the job, but now, with the paper in hand, I'm not so sure. What if life in Bangkok wasn't what I'm expecting it to be? What if I didn't get the job that I'm applying for? What if things didn't come out as planned? What if being again with my Patto wasn't enough? Will I ever regret the path taken? Will I live in misery, overwhelmed by the mistake I've made? So many questions unanswered, and they never will be until I reach the decision.
I was told, today, by the boss that it wasn't fair for the company that, after all these bureaucracy and procedures the company had gone through FOR ME, I simply decided to go, leaving everything pending in the air and in mess. I didn't speak up, silence. I didn't dare, I suppose.
What dignified me the most was that the company did all the paper things FOR ME. Liars. Partly they did it for themselves. And they did it too late. They should have begun eight months ago, before summer, not after it. That was why I had to extend my Student Card by enrolling in a language school, which took me each month a good amount of my already reduced salary. It was the money I shouldn't have paid for had the work permit procedures been done earlier, but they lingered. Now tell me who was doing a favor for whom? If I hadn't stayed, parts of the project wouldn't have born fruit. They helped me to earn money? Forget about that, what I got paid was a misery because it was only media jornada.
But his comment makes it easier for me to reflect. Tomorrow I'll face what is about to come and justify my action. I'd love to live here and work for this company, but it just isn't me. I can't stomach what I'm doing daily. It's pure torture. The stress is eating me inside out and doesn't leave me in peace at night. I go to bed with headache, thinking of the next day and the tasks yet to be done; tasks I hate to do. Shall I sacrifice myself for the cause of the company? If not, will I be a prick? So be it.
Some other Thais might probably see me as a loser, the one who throws away the great opportunity of life. I used to compare myself to those who tried any means just to stay in Spain and I couldn't be at peace. Comparing oneself to the others will only deteriorate your state of mind. The solution? To hell what the others think of you. It's your choice, it's your chance.
Life in Bangkok may be hard. It's obviously not as beautiful as in Europe but my roots are there. At least I won't suffer from solitude nor loneliness because my family, my friends and Patto will always be there for me. And it took me two years and a half to realise how important they are to me, how their presence keeps me mentally alive and how much I love them.
Life in Spain and Hard Life in Bangkok, what will you choose?
After months of waiting and struggling, I've finally been authorised to apply for a Work and Temporary Residence Card. It hasn't been easy, since it took the company six full months to start the procedure, another four months for the Ministry of Labour. And now with the official permit for Work Visa in my hand, and a limited time period of one month, I must decide whether to go back and apply for the visa and come back here again, so as to continue my assignments and responsibilities in this company. All these efforts will be in vain if I choose to throw the chance away, just to return to normal chaotic life in Bangkok.
Two months ago, I was very determined to leave the job, but now, with the paper in hand, I'm not so sure. What if life in Bangkok wasn't what I'm expecting it to be? What if I didn't get the job that I'm applying for? What if things didn't come out as planned? What if being again with my Patto wasn't enough? Will I ever regret the path taken? Will I live in misery, overwhelmed by the mistake I've made? So many questions unanswered, and they never will be until I reach the decision.
I was told, today, by the boss that it wasn't fair for the company that, after all these bureaucracy and procedures the company had gone through FOR ME, I simply decided to go, leaving everything pending in the air and in mess. I didn't speak up, silence. I didn't dare, I suppose.
What dignified me the most was that the company did all the paper things FOR ME. Liars. Partly they did it for themselves. And they did it too late. They should have begun eight months ago, before summer, not after it. That was why I had to extend my Student Card by enrolling in a language school, which took me each month a good amount of my already reduced salary. It was the money I shouldn't have paid for had the work permit procedures been done earlier, but they lingered. Now tell me who was doing a favor for whom? If I hadn't stayed, parts of the project wouldn't have born fruit. They helped me to earn money? Forget about that, what I got paid was a misery because it was only media jornada.
But his comment makes it easier for me to reflect. Tomorrow I'll face what is about to come and justify my action. I'd love to live here and work for this company, but it just isn't me. I can't stomach what I'm doing daily. It's pure torture. The stress is eating me inside out and doesn't leave me in peace at night. I go to bed with headache, thinking of the next day and the tasks yet to be done; tasks I hate to do. Shall I sacrifice myself for the cause of the company? If not, will I be a prick? So be it.
Some other Thais might probably see me as a loser, the one who throws away the great opportunity of life. I used to compare myself to those who tried any means just to stay in Spain and I couldn't be at peace. Comparing oneself to the others will only deteriorate your state of mind. The solution? To hell what the others think of you. It's your choice, it's your chance.
Life in Bangkok may be hard. It's obviously not as beautiful as in Europe but my roots are there. At least I won't suffer from solitude nor loneliness because my family, my friends and Patto will always be there for me. And it took me two years and a half to realise how important they are to me, how their presence keeps me mentally alive and how much I love them.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Molar no mola
Yesterday I had one of my wisdom tooth pulled out. It was one of the worst experience I've ever had since childhood (well, excluding the appendectomy one).
I had known for years that one fine day this molar must be got rid of for good, and from the moment I noticed its inclination towards the other teeth, my fear over the extraction had been gradually increasing ever since. Call me chicken and I wouldn't retaliate. Yes I am, at least when it comes to odontology. Each time I stepped into dental clinics, I was brought back to that painful bloody experience in my childhood when my mom brought my bros and me to that damn dental clinic near our home where one of the two kind-looking female dentists took care of us. If her hands had been at least as gentle as her speech, I wouldn't have been left traumatised up until now. I could feel that she was madly rummaging in my mouth in search of some villainous bad teeth and tried her very best, and successfully, to pull them out in spite of their persistance to stay rooted in my gum.
In fact, the yesterday operation was noticeably less painful than any one I had had. However, I was totally rigid, tense and stressed in my position. Didn't move an inch. Embarrassed and uncomfortable as I was, I walked out of the clinic with a swollen cheek, pretending to be normal as people stared at me in the face. It wasn't about physical pain that worried me like when I was a child anymore, but a humiliation caused by the eyes of curiosity penetrating right into mine.
I couldn't help thinking about my swollen face and what people would think of it...especially when some good-looking guys came by. :D
I had known for years that one fine day this molar must be got rid of for good, and from the moment I noticed its inclination towards the other teeth, my fear over the extraction had been gradually increasing ever since. Call me chicken and I wouldn't retaliate. Yes I am, at least when it comes to odontology. Each time I stepped into dental clinics, I was brought back to that painful bloody experience in my childhood when my mom brought my bros and me to that damn dental clinic near our home where one of the two kind-looking female dentists took care of us. If her hands had been at least as gentle as her speech, I wouldn't have been left traumatised up until now. I could feel that she was madly rummaging in my mouth in search of some villainous bad teeth and tried her very best, and successfully, to pull them out in spite of their persistance to stay rooted in my gum.
In fact, the yesterday operation was noticeably less painful than any one I had had. However, I was totally rigid, tense and stressed in my position. Didn't move an inch. Embarrassed and uncomfortable as I was, I walked out of the clinic with a swollen cheek, pretending to be normal as people stared at me in the face. It wasn't about physical pain that worried me like when I was a child anymore, but a humiliation caused by the eyes of curiosity penetrating right into mine.
I couldn't help thinking about my swollen face and what people would think of it...especially when some good-looking guys came by. :D
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Lost in Translation
Last month I had a chance to revise a thai translation of three english texts, done by an outsource translation agency who eventually paid a freelance to do the job. It was, without any excuse, a totally botched job done by a self-proclaimed profesional translator. A real shame.
I don't mind people making mistakes in their jobs, we are human after all. The vital part is whether we've got guts to face our own blunders and embrace the comments for the better. If we made our own bed and wouldn't want to lie in it, who else would?
As far as the ethics concern, a translator should at least revise the final text before submitting it to his/her client. In this case, the translation came with tons of orthographic mistakes. Misspelling could be found in every single paragraph, not to mention the inadequate use of puntuation and mistranslation. I gave in after meticulously having corrected the first text, for it took too much time which I had better dedicate for something else more useful to the project.
The company returned the texts to the agency, who consequently passed our comments (made by me) to the translator. A few days later he sent us an email explaining about the gaffes. His excuses weren't in any way plausible. My translation is semantic not verbatim and therefore I didn't translate literally into thai (well, his translation was INDEED verbatim rather than semantic, in my opinion. I had no idea why he said that! And some cases, he even failed to translate certain words). As for a term such as Andrology which isn't yet officially coined in Thai, he opted for loan translation which doesn't make any sense at all, without putting any explanatory note anywhere.
The worst of it all was the catastrophic use of puntuation such as full stops, commas and semicolons. These marks are hardly used in Thai, only in some extremely rare cases, according to Thai standard, but each paragraph was full of them. The culprit justified his action by saying that, though fully aware of the said standard, he still used them because it was HIS standard and style! With this sentence, he didn't even deserve to be called a translator, and even less a Thai.
Until next time, I will keep praying that such species of irresponsible language professionals faced the extinction very soon so the circle would be left untainted.
I don't mind people making mistakes in their jobs, we are human after all. The vital part is whether we've got guts to face our own blunders and embrace the comments for the better. If we made our own bed and wouldn't want to lie in it, who else would?
As far as the ethics concern, a translator should at least revise the final text before submitting it to his/her client. In this case, the translation came with tons of orthographic mistakes. Misspelling could be found in every single paragraph, not to mention the inadequate use of puntuation and mistranslation. I gave in after meticulously having corrected the first text, for it took too much time which I had better dedicate for something else more useful to the project.
The company returned the texts to the agency, who consequently passed our comments (made by me) to the translator. A few days later he sent us an email explaining about the gaffes. His excuses weren't in any way plausible. My translation is semantic not verbatim and therefore I didn't translate literally into thai (well, his translation was INDEED verbatim rather than semantic, in my opinion. I had no idea why he said that! And some cases, he even failed to translate certain words). As for a term such as Andrology which isn't yet officially coined in Thai, he opted for loan translation which doesn't make any sense at all, without putting any explanatory note anywhere.
The worst of it all was the catastrophic use of puntuation such as full stops, commas and semicolons. These marks are hardly used in Thai, only in some extremely rare cases, according to Thai standard, but each paragraph was full of them. The culprit justified his action by saying that, though fully aware of the said standard, he still used them because it was HIS standard and style! With this sentence, he didn't even deserve to be called a translator, and even less a Thai.
Until next time, I will keep praying that such species of irresponsible language professionals faced the extinction very soon so the circle would be left untainted.
Friday, March 23, 2007
First Come, First Serve (?)
Life in Spain is all about making queue. Be it in banks, hospitals, supermarkets, theatres, lottery stands, department stores, FNAC, Casa del Libro, Mc Donald's, Kebab's, bus stops or even the chinese grocery store by your home. But as far as my experience concerns, I still haven't found the clearly defined standard of queuing etiquette in Madrid.
Every morning, on weekdays, I must hurry to Moncloa to form a part of an incredibly mile-long queue of oficinistas waiting for the bus number 162, a sole mean of public transport that connects one of the most congested squares in Madrid to a desolated suburban office zone near Aravaca. Since I enjoy the pleasure of sitting and reading on the way to the office, I always arrive exactly when the first bus leaves and wait for the upcoming empty one.
Unfortunately, there are also those who want to earn this privilege without effort by shamelessly cutting the queue on the pretext of talking with their colleagues or acquaintances who have previously arrived before them.
I've been experiencing this phenomenon for one full year and see that this is not quite common in some other places or establishments. It particulary happens only at this cursed bus stop and, therefore, can't be concluded as a Spanish queuing etiquette for which I at first wrongly mistook.
Spaniards do jump the queue , although rarely. Most of the culprits are immigrants (no offense here) and that, in my opinion, contributes sadly to the fact that foreigners are negatively viewed as troublesome in the native eyes.
At first, I was so firm in my believe in the proper queuing etiquette and always gave some openly accusing gazes at those who had a real cheek to slip in front of me, until one fine day I realised that it was done regularly, even by a colleague of mine who always came to salute me and stood by me as if it was one of the most ordinary behaviour in the world. No guilt, no shame. It shook my foundation of believe to the core. And I started thinking maybe I was the one who was swimming against the tide.
I'm ashamed of what my colleague does but still I haven't got the guts to tell her that I really don't think she should cut the queue just like this. I don't want to look at the others in the eyes, because I know, though not my fault, I was partly to blame. I wish every morning that the bus come before she finds me or that my existance in the queue went unnoticed or, be that as it may, somebody reproached her (or us?).
Maybe it's too much to ask for. Perhaps I'm expecting something from the place that can't grant such request. Or it's simply the way it is and I'm too serious about life. But there's one thing I know for sure; making a queue at this bus stop isn't what it was anymore and has become some kind of stressful adventure each morning.
Every morning, on weekdays, I must hurry to Moncloa to form a part of an incredibly mile-long queue of oficinistas waiting for the bus number 162, a sole mean of public transport that connects one of the most congested squares in Madrid to a desolated suburban office zone near Aravaca. Since I enjoy the pleasure of sitting and reading on the way to the office, I always arrive exactly when the first bus leaves and wait for the upcoming empty one.
Unfortunately, there are also those who want to earn this privilege without effort by shamelessly cutting the queue on the pretext of talking with their colleagues or acquaintances who have previously arrived before them.
I've been experiencing this phenomenon for one full year and see that this is not quite common in some other places or establishments. It particulary happens only at this cursed bus stop and, therefore, can't be concluded as a Spanish queuing etiquette for which I at first wrongly mistook.
Spaniards do jump the queue , although rarely. Most of the culprits are immigrants (no offense here) and that, in my opinion, contributes sadly to the fact that foreigners are negatively viewed as troublesome in the native eyes.
At first, I was so firm in my believe in the proper queuing etiquette and always gave some openly accusing gazes at those who had a real cheek to slip in front of me, until one fine day I realised that it was done regularly, even by a colleague of mine who always came to salute me and stood by me as if it was one of the most ordinary behaviour in the world. No guilt, no shame. It shook my foundation of believe to the core. And I started thinking maybe I was the one who was swimming against the tide.
I'm ashamed of what my colleague does but still I haven't got the guts to tell her that I really don't think she should cut the queue just like this. I don't want to look at the others in the eyes, because I know, though not my fault, I was partly to blame. I wish every morning that the bus come before she finds me or that my existance in the queue went unnoticed or, be that as it may, somebody reproached her (or us?).
Maybe it's too much to ask for. Perhaps I'm expecting something from the place that can't grant such request. Or it's simply the way it is and I'm too serious about life. But there's one thing I know for sure; making a queue at this bus stop isn't what it was anymore and has become some kind of stressful adventure each morning.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Metro de Madrid informa...
Que ya pueden ustedes disfrutar de la prestación de servicios especiales en toda la red de Metro de Madrid.
Ponemos a su disposición un nuevo servicio de tren de mierda, cuyo mantenimiento se realiza cada década para el mayor rendimiento de la máquina. La situación se efectúa de forma extremadamente lenta e imprevisible en todas las putas estaciones llenas de basuras y carteristas.
Y con el objetivo de que los estimados pasajeros pudiesen disfrutar de la maravillosa vista de las oscuras paredes subterráneas, tambien se presta, gratuita y aleatoriamente, el servicio de paradas interestacionales de entre uno y treinta minutos (o más), independientemente de horas punta, trayectos o la voluntad de pasajeros. Este dichoso servicio está destinado exclusivamente para hinchar los huevos a todos los desesperados oficinistas que aspiren llegar con toda prisa al curro a tiempo pero que no consigan despegar el perezoso culo de la cama a las seis de la mañana.
Además, informamos que traigan paraguas y linterna en caso de diluvio incesante que pudiese provocar una riada suburbana, resultando en la falta de luz y goteos. Para demostrar la responsabilidad de nuestra parte, Metro de Madrid repartirá dos tiritas a cada persona que sufra cualquier tipo de traumatismo, causado por la superficie deslizante del puñetero suelo mojado.
Para expresar nuestro constante apoyo a las campañas del Ministerio de Salud, apagamos la mayoría de las escaleras automáticas y ascensores medievales (que nunca funcionan con normalidad) en casi todas las estaciones más concurridas y profundas de la red, tales como Cuatro Caminos, Plaza de España y Moncloa. De esta manera, todos los distinguidos pasajeros, sean jóvenes, embarazadas, asmáticos o cardíacos, podrán aprovechar la ocasión para hacer ejercicio físico por el bien de su salud.
Les confirmamos que, utilizando todo el dinero que ustedes nos han abonado estúpida e inevitablemente, continuaremos ejecutando este desarrollo degenerativo de la red de metro, con el fin de convertirla en la mejor caja de sorpresas de todos los metros del mundo.
Esperamos que todo nuestro esfuerzo anteriormente mencionado, junto con el apoyo leal de nuestros pasajeros, nos ayude a ganar el primer puesto del concurso internacional de El Metro Más Jodido del Mundo.
Muchas gracias.
Metro de Mierda de Madrid (MMM), siempre pueden contar con nosotros.
Ponemos a su disposición un nuevo servicio de tren de mierda, cuyo mantenimiento se realiza cada década para el mayor rendimiento de la máquina. La situación se efectúa de forma extremadamente lenta e imprevisible en todas las putas estaciones llenas de basuras y carteristas.
Y con el objetivo de que los estimados pasajeros pudiesen disfrutar de la maravillosa vista de las oscuras paredes subterráneas, tambien se presta, gratuita y aleatoriamente, el servicio de paradas interestacionales de entre uno y treinta minutos (o más), independientemente de horas punta, trayectos o la voluntad de pasajeros. Este dichoso servicio está destinado exclusivamente para hinchar los huevos a todos los desesperados oficinistas que aspiren llegar con toda prisa al curro a tiempo pero que no consigan despegar el perezoso culo de la cama a las seis de la mañana.
Además, informamos que traigan paraguas y linterna en caso de diluvio incesante que pudiese provocar una riada suburbana, resultando en la falta de luz y goteos. Para demostrar la responsabilidad de nuestra parte, Metro de Madrid repartirá dos tiritas a cada persona que sufra cualquier tipo de traumatismo, causado por la superficie deslizante del puñetero suelo mojado.
Para expresar nuestro constante apoyo a las campañas del Ministerio de Salud, apagamos la mayoría de las escaleras automáticas y ascensores medievales (que nunca funcionan con normalidad) en casi todas las estaciones más concurridas y profundas de la red, tales como Cuatro Caminos, Plaza de España y Moncloa. De esta manera, todos los distinguidos pasajeros, sean jóvenes, embarazadas, asmáticos o cardíacos, podrán aprovechar la ocasión para hacer ejercicio físico por el bien de su salud.
Les confirmamos que, utilizando todo el dinero que ustedes nos han abonado estúpida e inevitablemente, continuaremos ejecutando este desarrollo degenerativo de la red de metro, con el fin de convertirla en la mejor caja de sorpresas de todos los metros del mundo.
Esperamos que todo nuestro esfuerzo anteriormente mencionado, junto con el apoyo leal de nuestros pasajeros, nos ayude a ganar el primer puesto del concurso internacional de El Metro Más Jodido del Mundo.
Muchas gracias.
Metro de Mierda de Madrid (MMM), siempre pueden contar con nosotros.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Do I Look Vulnerable?
One more time, I almost fell victim to professional pickpockets.
It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon when I was enjoying my double-cheese burger at the most peaceful corner of Burger King, Estadio Santiago Bernabeu branch. From plenty of empty tables and seats, I chose to sit at the second table from the innermost corner of the floor.
While I was experiencing the divine taste of oily french fries, three latinos (a girl and two guys) came up the stairs, scanning the area with their inscrutible eyes and impassive expression. I wouldn't have paid any attention had they not come directly to the table behind me, the one at the corner, and sat there.
What really aroused my suspicion was that one of them maintain his position at a table by the stairs, gazing at my direction, watching the couple sitting and doing their business.
There were tons of unoccupied tables but they chose to sit behind me, in the corner which wasn't at all easy to access. I was observing them in the reflection on a plastic panel in front of me. They looked around and then sat down. I instinctively drew to my side the chair on which I had placed my shoulder bag and then stared at the guy by the stairs. Our eyes met. He picked up his mobile and made a call. In the reflection, I saw that the man with the girl answered the phone and suddenly both of them stood up and, passing my table, went straight to that guy before going downstairs. All of this happened within about 10 seconds.
Although relieved, somehow I felt a tiny bit of anger inside me as well. WHY it had to be ME? Because I was alone? Because I seemed like a careless tourist? Just because?
Do I look vulnerable?
Don't answer me, I don't want to know the answer (nor the truth). Thanks for reading.
It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon when I was enjoying my double-cheese burger at the most peaceful corner of Burger King, Estadio Santiago Bernabeu branch. From plenty of empty tables and seats, I chose to sit at the second table from the innermost corner of the floor.
While I was experiencing the divine taste of oily french fries, three latinos (a girl and two guys) came up the stairs, scanning the area with their inscrutible eyes and impassive expression. I wouldn't have paid any attention had they not come directly to the table behind me, the one at the corner, and sat there.
What really aroused my suspicion was that one of them maintain his position at a table by the stairs, gazing at my direction, watching the couple sitting and doing their business.
There were tons of unoccupied tables but they chose to sit behind me, in the corner which wasn't at all easy to access. I was observing them in the reflection on a plastic panel in front of me. They looked around and then sat down. I instinctively drew to my side the chair on which I had placed my shoulder bag and then stared at the guy by the stairs. Our eyes met. He picked up his mobile and made a call. In the reflection, I saw that the man with the girl answered the phone and suddenly both of them stood up and, passing my table, went straight to that guy before going downstairs. All of this happened within about 10 seconds.
Although relieved, somehow I felt a tiny bit of anger inside me as well. WHY it had to be ME? Because I was alone? Because I seemed like a careless tourist? Just because?
Do I look vulnerable?
Don't answer me, I don't want to know the answer (nor the truth). Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Sick Again...Naturally
I went to see a dermatologist, again. This time with the hope of finding a solution to get rid of an itchy red patch on the back of the neck that had popped out a week ago.
She told me that it was #?!@!?#@ (Srry, since the left hemisphere of my brain didn't function well, I couldn't catch that technical term), probably caused by nervous breakdown or stress. That analysis hit the bullseye.
I was under extreme stress during the past two week as a consequence of my work (I'll bore you with that issue later) when these annoying little spots started to exhibit themselves to the world using my neck as their base camp. As I said before in Life is a Roller Coaster, I had never believed about the influence of stress on our physical condition, but this situation just made the theory more plausible (to me).
Well, let's see if I'm capable of keeping my stress level under control. Maybe all I need is just a little trip of soul-searching with myself, alone.
She told me that it was #?!@!?#@ (Srry, since the left hemisphere of my brain didn't function well, I couldn't catch that technical term), probably caused by nervous breakdown or stress. That analysis hit the bullseye.
I was under extreme stress during the past two week as a consequence of my work (I'll bore you with that issue later) when these annoying little spots started to exhibit themselves to the world using my neck as their base camp. As I said before in Life is a Roller Coaster, I had never believed about the influence of stress on our physical condition, but this situation just made the theory more plausible (to me).
Well, let's see if I'm capable of keeping my stress level under control. Maybe all I need is just a little trip of soul-searching with myself, alone.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Let's get Materialist
I hardly lost my euros on things I considered part of materialism when I was a scholar. Everytime I wanted to indulge in some kind of shopping, I felt guilty, provided that the monthly allowance was aimed at the development of my education here in Spain (Well, travelling is other issue, I DID learn a lot from that!). Things became quite different when I got a job last year and had some extra money to spend. I allowed myself more trips and journeys, as well as more shopping experience, with less guilt, of course. The materialist side of me was unconciously unleashed and, by the time I realised what was actually happening, I ended up in front of a pile of gadgets that had got me the first time I saw them.
The top ten of what I deem must-have accessories are...
1. A PDA phone : One of the most wonderful things I have had. Never regret. So useful that I can't live without it anymore. All in one (Budget Manager, Metro Map, Dictionaries, MP3 and etc.)
2. Nike 360 : Good for walking and running alike!
3. Arnette's sport sunglasses : I had the lenses made to suit my eye sight. Very practical for adventures and outdoor activities.
4. Black XS : My favourite scent from Paco Robanne. Truly sweet, yet manly.
5. Vintage denims: I only look for what really fits me. If my ass is accentuated A BIT, I'm satisfied.
6. Adolfo Dominguez's wrist watch
7. Gran Diccionario Oxford and Real Academia Española : How could I be a translator without these bibles?
8. Shoulder bags from Adolfo Dominguez : I like the accessories from this brand, the clothes suck though.
9. Urban-style sunglasses from Gucci : I just can't run about the city centre in a dressy style with that pair of sport sunglasses, can I?
10. The last one is yet to come... let's see if I can get some nifty leather moccasins around here soon. :)
Lately my materialist spirit has somehow become quite lazy and low. The urge to shop gradually decreases. Like seasons that constantly change, maybe the shopping phase is already gone, and here comes another era of adventures and journeys.
:)
The top ten of what I deem must-have accessories are...
1. A PDA phone : One of the most wonderful things I have had. Never regret. So useful that I can't live without it anymore. All in one (Budget Manager, Metro Map, Dictionaries, MP3 and etc.)
2. Nike 360 : Good for walking and running alike!
3. Arnette's sport sunglasses : I had the lenses made to suit my eye sight. Very practical for adventures and outdoor activities.
4. Black XS : My favourite scent from Paco Robanne. Truly sweet, yet manly.
5. Vintage denims: I only look for what really fits me. If my ass is accentuated A BIT, I'm satisfied.
6. Adolfo Dominguez's wrist watch
7. Gran Diccionario Oxford and Real Academia Española : How could I be a translator without these bibles?
8. Shoulder bags from Adolfo Dominguez : I like the accessories from this brand, the clothes suck though.
9. Urban-style sunglasses from Gucci : I just can't run about the city centre in a dressy style with that pair of sport sunglasses, can I?
10. The last one is yet to come... let's see if I can get some nifty leather moccasins around here soon. :)
Lately my materialist spirit has somehow become quite lazy and low. The urge to shop gradually decreases. Like seasons that constantly change, maybe the shopping phase is already gone, and here comes another era of adventures and journeys.
:)
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Madrid Dangerous
Last Friday, with all the burdens and stress originated from the office, I was literally mort de fatigue. My physique was so overwhelmed that I could hardly manage to move my scrawny ass from the seat when the bus came to a stop at Moncloa. The metro was particularly crowded that afternoon; all wagons were packed with people like sardines in a can. I fought my way in and found my own vital space in front of an old lady on the last seat of the row. People kept filling in till not an inch was left for more. Even in a situation like this, I somehow managed to keep on reading Fitzgerald's The Diamond as Big as The Ritz, with a little discomfort though. My right hand was grabbing a vertical pole while the left one was holding the book and simultaneously the strap of my shoulder bag, for the safety of my belonging.
In Tirso de Molina entered more people and I felt uneasy and had a bad feeling that something wrong was going to happen. And it did. A small tanned girl with curly long dark hair, of twenty something, inserted herself between me and a gentleman nearby. Facing me, she crossed her arms that were covered with her sweater and coat. Though the train started with a jerk, she didn't even bother to get hold of anything, which provoked a great suspicion on my part. I enjoyed the novel no more but went on pretending to be absorbed in my world, unaware of the surroundings while, in reality, I was observing intently, within my vision range, my shoulder bag, hanging defenselessly in front of my right thigh. Suddenly I felt my bag moving a little. I got fully alert. Then the second time. I was imperceptibly fidgeting. Then came the third. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I looked down and, lo and behold, a hand on my half-open bag!
In Tirso de Molina entered more people and I felt uneasy and had a bad feeling that something wrong was going to happen. And it did. A small tanned girl with curly long dark hair, of twenty something, inserted herself between me and a gentleman nearby. Facing me, she crossed her arms that were covered with her sweater and coat. Though the train started with a jerk, she didn't even bother to get hold of anything, which provoked a great suspicion on my part. I enjoyed the novel no more but went on pretending to be absorbed in my world, unaware of the surroundings while, in reality, I was observing intently, within my vision range, my shoulder bag, hanging defenselessly in front of my right thigh. Suddenly I felt my bag moving a little. I got fully alert. Then the second time. I was imperceptibly fidgeting. Then came the third. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I looked down and, lo and behold, a hand on my half-open bag!
I looked up and stared at the girl, fuming. As if the most innocent person in the world, she, returning the gaze, asked me "¿Qué pasa?" (What's wrong?) And here was one of the most scandalous scenes that followed.
Me : ¡Que te voy a partir la cara, zorra! (I'm gonna smash your face in, bitch!)
Bitch : Pero no he hecho nada. (I haven't done anything)
Me : Que me estás robando la cartera. (You're trying to steal my wallet.)
Here intervened a witness, a young Spaniard with his girl, confirming me that what she was trying to do.
Me : ¡Hija de puta, ven conmigo, a la guardia, al vigilante! (Bitch, come with me, I'm taking you to the security guards!)
Bitch : Pero no he hecho nada! (But I haven't done anything!)
Our scene was again intervened, by the bitch's friends who were at the doors. Yep, they worked in group. They yelled out, asking what happened. Arriving the next station (Antón Martín), I dragged the bitch out while her friends insisted on staying, but to no avail, because the other passengers just kicked them all out like disgusting stray dogs.
We were making a scene scandalous enough to get the attention of everyone EXCEPT the metro guards. Those bitches were trying their best to seem innocent and find other victim while I followed them with silent rage along the platform. A lady almost fell prey to them when she was surrounded. I got in and warned her loudly. She seemed surprised of what was happening and told me to calm down and don't pay attention to them.
They mounted the upcoming train, in a totally full wagon so that I couldn't follow. I was burning with furore and told the passengers in a shout that they were pickpockets. The doors slided close and the train left, leaving me with the confusing sensation of angry outburst and weakness. At least, I should have done something. Only if some security agents had been there...
My boiling temperament was intensified even more when I saw seven guards chatting in a group at the station I got off . Were they supposed to be there, chatting? Weren't they supposed to be patrolling in different stations? The answer I wouldn't bother to find out. From then on, it became clear that it was the problem of somebody else's, not mine. At least, I had saved my wallet, my PDA phone and my Gucci sunglasses. That's what really mattered.
In a metropolis like this, you can't depend on security agents nor police. Nor can you leave your guard down, or else someone will always find a way to get to you. The best way to come up with these sorts of petty criminals is to build up your own defense; be aware. It's an obvious fact that I've never given it a serious thought before.
After spending two whole days complaining to myself like a wacky nerd, I decided to put this into the blog. No matter where you are from, if you come to Madrid, be very very very careful and always pay attention to your personal effects or you will regret it.
Until next time, keep watch of your bags and never let them get you!
P.S. : This site gives some tips about how to deal with pickpockets.
http://travel.howstuffworks.com/pickpocket.htm
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
¡Chino Gay!
On a winter's night, I was walking in the University campus, heading to the Dorm, after a tiresome kind of translators conference, when a car drove pass me and one of the four passengers shouted out of the window "¡Chino Gay!" and then left the scene in laughters, leaving me perplexed beyond all cure. That was about a year ago.
I tried to figure out how the heck they knew about my sexual orientation within a glance (in the dark). Obviously, I was walking as normally as any man on earth did. Maybe my body-fit coat and my nerdy look somehow got their attention and automatically turned me into a quarry of their verbal abuse. Sigh.
That wasn't the only occasion. One night, I was waiting for Now at Princesa Cinema and it was getting colder, so I decided to fetch myself something to eat in McDonald's. While I was making the entrance, a big bald white man came walking towards me from the opposite direction, fixing his stare at me and, when approached, shouted "¡Chino!" at me before appearing into the crowds 0_O Another yet perplexing scene.
The same thing happened when I came back from a fiesta to the Dorm at about 3 o'clock in the morning. A group of youngsters on the other side of the road glared at me before baptising me (as always) as "¡Chino!".
Apart from the occasional naming (cruelly done on purpose), most of the people in Spain unintentionally (but always) mistake me and Now for chinese. "¿Chino, qué tal?" (What's up, chinese) "Oye, chino" (Listen, chinese) "Chinita" (Little chinese girl) " Mira mamá, chino" (Mom! Look at that, a chinese!) "Cuidado, que vas a pisar al chino" (Look out, you're going to step over the chinese guy).
All these actions lead to the sole conclusion that, despite the virtually obvious existance of numerous chinese convenient stores and restaurants, the Spaniards and Latinos never get used to seeing Asian people. And this conclusion logically leads to the fact that most of the Spaniards and Latinos know so little about how to distinguish the Asians...well...for most of them, there are two types of Asians, the chinese and the rest. If you're not from the first, you're from the second and that's it.
However, once I was saved from this tragic truth of life when an insane homeless alternatively called me "¡Coreano!" (Korean!). Well, at least, he did make an effort to get things out of the mainstream.
I tried to figure out how the heck they knew about my sexual orientation within a glance (in the dark). Obviously, I was walking as normally as any man on earth did. Maybe my body-fit coat and my nerdy look somehow got their attention and automatically turned me into a quarry of their verbal abuse. Sigh.
That wasn't the only occasion. One night, I was waiting for Now at Princesa Cinema and it was getting colder, so I decided to fetch myself something to eat in McDonald's. While I was making the entrance, a big bald white man came walking towards me from the opposite direction, fixing his stare at me and, when approached, shouted "¡Chino!" at me before appearing into the crowds 0_O Another yet perplexing scene.
The same thing happened when I came back from a fiesta to the Dorm at about 3 o'clock in the morning. A group of youngsters on the other side of the road glared at me before baptising me (as always) as "¡Chino!".
Apart from the occasional naming (cruelly done on purpose), most of the people in Spain unintentionally (but always) mistake me and Now for chinese. "¿Chino, qué tal?" (What's up, chinese) "Oye, chino" (Listen, chinese) "Chinita" (Little chinese girl) " Mira mamá, chino" (Mom! Look at that, a chinese!) "Cuidado, que vas a pisar al chino" (Look out, you're going to step over the chinese guy).
All these actions lead to the sole conclusion that, despite the virtually obvious existance of numerous chinese convenient stores and restaurants, the Spaniards and Latinos never get used to seeing Asian people. And this conclusion logically leads to the fact that most of the Spaniards and Latinos know so little about how to distinguish the Asians...well...for most of them, there are two types of Asians, the chinese and the rest. If you're not from the first, you're from the second and that's it.
However, once I was saved from this tragic truth of life when an insane homeless alternatively called me "¡Coreano!" (Korean!). Well, at least, he did make an effort to get things out of the mainstream.
Friday, February 02, 2007
A Jerk in the Work
I've hardly made any comment about my work in this blog, either because it isn't worth mentioning or because I'm not so proud of it. I consider myself lucky not having to wake up each morning moaning "Oh gosh, it's another working day, sucks" but is it my dream job or am I satisfied with it? Well, not yet anyway.
As an assistant to Direct Sales Department, I run some of the department's errands and try, at my very best, to increase the product sales over the Internet in Thailand with VERY limited resources, be it human, technological or commercial. And since my department, countlessly rebaptised over and over again, haven't yet got a really firm ground on the definition of its responsibilities and duties, we all must know a lil' bit of this and that until things (when?) get better and more stable.
This morning I got a talking-to for having made some mistakes from my Mexican colleague, who supposedly is my boss but doesn't deserve to be called so. I admittedly accepted the comments because I really did something wrong, but what really got me was the way he talked to me. The tone of voice he used was, from my oriental point of view, strong, intense, coarse and ill-mannered. It was full of the air of superiority and subtle arrogance. It would be a racism to say that he acted so because he was a Mexican; I've known many adorable Mexicans here and they are well-educated with good social manner. I'd say it was due to HIS strong Mexican character, unrefined and poorly-adapted to the social context, and the linguistic difference between Spanish Castellano and Mexican Castellano (especially tone of voice).
After such situation, which I was hardly accustommed to, I reached a point of professional enlightenment (wow!) that I would never want to stuck here forever, under the shadow of such a prick like this guy, and someday I'll move on. Things can change. So don't just keep my hope too high about the permanent or full-time contract that the company has promised me nor think that they will need me as long as I'm here for them. If the project doesn't work, I might get sacked. If I don't reach the expectation of this so-called boss or our sales don't satisfy the president, I might get kicked out. Or one day I might get sick of this improper behaviour and just say Adios.
But in the mean time, I'll try my best to be more patient, solve problems, improve my performance and facilitate the work of the team so that I can proudly wave good-bye when the time comes.
As an assistant to Direct Sales Department, I run some of the department's errands and try, at my very best, to increase the product sales over the Internet in Thailand with VERY limited resources, be it human, technological or commercial. And since my department, countlessly rebaptised over and over again, haven't yet got a really firm ground on the definition of its responsibilities and duties, we all must know a lil' bit of this and that until things (when?) get better and more stable.
This morning I got a talking-to for having made some mistakes from my Mexican colleague, who supposedly is my boss but doesn't deserve to be called so. I admittedly accepted the comments because I really did something wrong, but what really got me was the way he talked to me. The tone of voice he used was, from my oriental point of view, strong, intense, coarse and ill-mannered. It was full of the air of superiority and subtle arrogance. It would be a racism to say that he acted so because he was a Mexican; I've known many adorable Mexicans here and they are well-educated with good social manner. I'd say it was due to HIS strong Mexican character, unrefined and poorly-adapted to the social context, and the linguistic difference between Spanish Castellano and Mexican Castellano (especially tone of voice).
After such situation, which I was hardly accustommed to, I reached a point of professional enlightenment (wow!) that I would never want to stuck here forever, under the shadow of such a prick like this guy, and someday I'll move on. Things can change. So don't just keep my hope too high about the permanent or full-time contract that the company has promised me nor think that they will need me as long as I'm here for them. If the project doesn't work, I might get sacked. If I don't reach the expectation of this so-called boss or our sales don't satisfy the president, I might get kicked out. Or one day I might get sick of this improper behaviour and just say Adios.
But in the mean time, I'll try my best to be more patient, solve problems, improve my performance and facilitate the work of the team so that I can proudly wave good-bye when the time comes.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Divorcio a la Española
Aviso : Este video contiene alta dosis del humor español.
Ultimamente he pasado la mayoría del tiempo navegando en Youtube y éste es uno de los videos que me dejan casi muerto de risa. Espero que os guste.
Kiwi!
I've come across this cute but sad video, created by Dony and friends, in Youtube. Hope you will enjoy it as much as it do. ;)
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Deep Impact
It has been exactly one week since my best thai friend, Now, after two years, left Madrid for good and the aftermath of her departure has just begun to influence my way of living.
Things are now quite different. No more chatting, gossiping, eating out, drinking and laughing together in this lively little capital of Spain with her anymore. That is pensively sad to think about and it is even more melancholic to realise that those days are irrevocably gone.
Sure thing that I will meet her in Krung Thep but things aren't going to be the same. And I will absolutely miss those moments we had here.
I try to survive the impact and keep on by adapting myself to the world without her presence and support. Meanwhile, new characters step in and new stories are told. I've got a chance to get to know some thai people better than before and find out that, probably, it's not gonna be that bad. Who knows?
Things are now quite different. No more chatting, gossiping, eating out, drinking and laughing together in this lively little capital of Spain with her anymore. That is pensively sad to think about and it is even more melancholic to realise that those days are irrevocably gone.
Sure thing that I will meet her in Krung Thep but things aren't going to be the same. And I will absolutely miss those moments we had here.
I try to survive the impact and keep on by adapting myself to the world without her presence and support. Meanwhile, new characters step in and new stories are told. I've got a chance to get to know some thai people better than before and find out that, probably, it's not gonna be that bad. Who knows?
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Trapped!
For the best result, the iron must be wrought when it's still hot. That's why I'm writing about being trapped when I'm ACTUALLY trapped in my own apartment in this very moment.
I've been trapped twice in my whole beautiful life. In the first time, I got involutarily imprisoned in the bathroom of Takeshi's flat. The moment I locked the door and heard Takeshi's Noooooooooooooo was undescribable. I suddenly realised something wrong was about to happen (and actually it had already happened); the lock, once shut, would never open again.
By all wit and talents that I had been blessedly given at birth, and with a knife passed from the other side, I managed to get out in one hour time.
The second time is NOW.
I've spent all day long doing this and that without knowing my fate. When I got dressed and ready to head to FNAC, I saw something strange at the locks. One of them, that was supposed to be intact, was shut. OMFG.
I've already tried a role of McGuyver, but to no avail. The door's security system has proved its effectiveness. Stronger than any imaginable vaults on Earth. And so I resigned.
Picked a phone, called Beatrix, waited for help. Nothing. Called Beatrix again, then Lola, waited for help. The phone rang, I picked up and was told by Lola that she was gonna set me free very soon. On her way now. Started counting.
:(
I've been trapped twice in my whole beautiful life. In the first time, I got involutarily imprisoned in the bathroom of Takeshi's flat. The moment I locked the door and heard Takeshi's Noooooooooooooo was undescribable. I suddenly realised something wrong was about to happen (and actually it had already happened); the lock, once shut, would never open again.
By all wit and talents that I had been blessedly given at birth, and with a knife passed from the other side, I managed to get out in one hour time.
The second time is NOW.
I've spent all day long doing this and that without knowing my fate. When I got dressed and ready to head to FNAC, I saw something strange at the locks. One of them, that was supposed to be intact, was shut. OMFG.
I've already tried a role of McGuyver, but to no avail. The door's security system has proved its effectiveness. Stronger than any imaginable vaults on Earth. And so I resigned.
Picked a phone, called Beatrix, waited for help. Nothing. Called Beatrix again, then Lola, waited for help. The phone rang, I picked up and was told by Lola that she was gonna set me free very soon. On her way now. Started counting.
:(
Monday, January 15, 2007
Lift Me Up
It isn't easy
being so in love with you
and not being able to see you
and not being able to see you
every day. There are times
When I'd give anything
just to be able
to gaze into your eyes
or hold you in my arms,
even for a few minutes.
I always feel incomplete,
I always feel incomplete,
like a part of me is missing,
when we're not together.
I know that, right now,
this is how things have to be,
but that doesn't make it
any easier to bear.
Everyday without you
just reminds me of the joy
you add to my life,
joy that I'm missing...a lot.
So don't forget that I love you,
that I'm thinking of you,
and that I'm counting
every minute
until we're together again.
-Linda Lee Elrod-
Thanks to my Patto for your cards, poems and letters.
Like raindrops and dews that keep trees and flowers lush and alive, they lift me up and help me go on in this lonely city life.
Love you always.
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