Broken Daughters

Picking up the shattered glass of fundamentalism


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I’m not special!

The last weeks have been filled with positive experiences, especially when it comes to my high school degree.

When I started school I was very afraid I’d be a “weirdo”, I’d be labeled stupid and lazy because I didn’t have a high school degree in my early 20s. I wrote a post about how I found out that I wasn’t an “exception” and how great it was to go back to school – to be accepted as one of many going this way later in life.

The school system is simply different here, allowing people to leave school at the age of 16 (called a “mid degree”) if they wanted to do jobs you don’t go to university for. A carpenter for example, sales people, office jobs, lower career bank and lower career police jobs and so on. So not everyone has a high school degree – basically only people who want to go to university get it. Of course, it is possible for everyone to get a high school degree and go to university still. There are many who got their mid degrees, went through 3 year training to be, say, a lower police officer, and then want to go back to school for a higher police officer career. Hence it’s not looked down upon at all – it’s very normal for a 30-year-old to go back to school to improve his/her career!

And exactly this thinking people have here made me feel like I achieved something great. When people ask me what I do these days, I’m able to proudly say “I just got my high school degree so I can go to university!”. NOBODY, literally nobody!, looks at you funny. People nod and say “Oh great!”.

The main reason why I love this so much is because now, nobody asks me why I didn’t have any training. Everything I did in my life career wise becomes unimportant, because people think it’s great to learn something new. They don’t wonder, they don’t ask why I was a “stay at home daughter”. It’s all unimportant now. I’m not the “weird American fundamentalist girl” anymore. I’m the girl who went back to school in her 20s.

A few days ago Daniel’s Mom invited us over for afternoon coffee and cake in her garden. It’s actually a very common thing to go for coffee and cake at 4 PM. Many do it every day. Mrs Daniel’s neighbor was working in her garden and came over for a quick chat. Daniel’s Mom introduced me and the neighbor asked me what I did for a living. When I told her that I just finished high school, she looked at me, nodded and said “Oh my, you went back to school? That’s great!” Then she told us the story of her nephew who did the same at 26 and is now an engineer. She finished by padding Daniel on the back and saying “Smart one you got yourself there!”. I smiled, simply happy that she didn’t know, didn’t ask about the past.

Finally, finally I’m not so strange any more. Yes, life is so good when you can make your own choices!


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Lisa has a nervous breakdown!

Yes, I’m still having one! It might just be a permanent condition by now!

I’ve been a bit MIA lately. I didn’t really want to post about it because, to be quite honest, I was afraid of posting it before it was over, afraid of people saying “awww I’m sorry” cause I can’t stand people feeling sorry for me. I was really afraid. But now’s the time to say it…

My written exams are overrrrrrrrrr!!!! Wooooh!

Yes, my last, final, super important exams. Over. This is so weird. I never thought I’d say this.

I studied a lot the last few months, I’m sure you could tell I took a lot of time off blogging due to math and german and the other stuff I really had to work hard to get through. The last few weeks have been so hard.

I studied 12-16 hours a day. I developed the strangest eating habits. I lost 15 pounds, which is bad because I’m already on the skinny side and I’m not looking good right now. My friends were very worried but I just forgot about eating!

Some days I cried for hours while I studied, thinking I couldn’t possibly pass. My friends couldn’t convince me to take breaks, and if they managed to get me out, I was close to tears afraid I’d lose too much time. I felt like therr couldn’t possibly be enough hours in the day to study.

On one occasion I called Daniel at work – I used the “emergency number” where I actually end up with their in-store hotline, so they could call him into the phone room. Obviously he turns off his cell at work. When he got to the phone he sounded really worried. This is how the conversation went:

D: What’s wrong sweety?!?!

Me: I have a huge problem. *sob* I…. *sob* I have to staple some of my papers together *sob* so they stay orderly *sob* and I can’t find any staples *sob* I just canT find any, or anything else I could use… *sob*… baby I don’t have staples! What do I do now?! *cry*

D: …. What?

Me: Staples… I don’t know where to get staples to staple my papers together, you know. I need them! I can’t do anything without staples! I’ll fail if I don’t find staples! But there are none at home!

D: *giggles* Ok, go to the grocery store.

ME: How?! I don’t know!

D: *giggling some more* ok, go get into your car, drive to the grocery store, take your stapler with you, and ask them to give you some. Buy like a thousand just to make sure.

ME: What if they don’t have any?

D: Then you come here and I’ll let you have one of the work staplers. But try the grocery store first.

Can you believe how much better I felt after this conversation? I took my stapler with me, found an employee at the grocery store, wiped my red eyes and muttered “…need staples…” and pushed the stapler at him. I bought a thousand pieces pack.

I feel much better talking about all this now. Even though I don’t have my grades yet, I know I passed. I just know I answered enough on every test to at least pass. Now all I have to do are the oral exams, two of them. They’re mandatory, so even if you can’t improve in any of your subjects, you have to take two. I don’t know what I’ll be doing since I don’t have my grades yet, but I’m not really afraid of that anymore. Everybody says they won’t let you fail there anymore as long as you show up.

Now it’s finally the time I can look forward to something else I never thought I’d have…

Prom. Yup. We’re going to have an all-american-styled prom. Pretty dresses, dinner, and a little party. I can’t wait!!! I’m going to go dress shopping next week or so. I don’t have anything particular in mind… well, I’d like a long, sleek, tight-fitting black dress… maybe an open back or something. Not too much bright color or a lot of ruffles and stuff. We’ll see!

Now I’m off to enjoy this beautiful hot day, go to the lake, relax a bit and spend some time with the people I pretty much ignored the last few weeks!

Oh, and by the way, I’m happy to announce that the staples I bought will probably carry me through university. After all, I have 999 left.


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My Mom, school, life

Phew, there’s been a bunch of changes and events in my life lately. I though it would be a good idea to write about it for a little bit.

The first thing is that I’m extremely thrilled that my Mom actually called me yesterday to “chat”. Like, out of the blue! There’s no special event or special day or any other occasion that would give her a good enough reason to call me. She actually called me just to talk. And the great thing is, she didn’t have any news to tell me! Why’s that great you might ask yourself now. Well, our calls have been nothing but an exchange of major news ever since I left. The few times we talked there was always an important reason for her to call me. But this time there was nothing up at all! So she must have called me because she just wanted to talk to me and that’s great. She called me “Häschen” which means “little bunny”, she used to call me that when I was younger but not much any more ever since my courtship, actually. I guess she felt it wasn’t appropriate any more. She asked me how I’m doing in school and about my job and my friends and all that. And not in an annoying “you’re doing the wrong thing and I disapprove of your lifestyle” way. Just sounded like genuine curiosity. We also talked about the possibility of her visiting me and she said she is working on it, seeing if she can make it and asked me if there was enough room to bring the smaller ones along because she doesn’t want to leave them back. I really really hope that works out.

Something that… well… seemed a bit strange, to say the least, was the fact that she didn’t speak very nicely of Dad. I asked her what he would say if she came to visit and she told me that she didn’t care and that he’s “in sin” lately. I do not know what she could possibly mean, there’s so many options of what that could be… I guess I’ll find out.

And one more shocking thing happened. See, I did not really tell my parents about the fact that I have a boyfriend. I guess I just don’t want them to think I’ve gone completely worldly… But he’s involved in so many parts of my life that I have a hard time hiding him when I talk about my daily life. So I figured I’d just straight out tell my Mom. I meant, if she actually came to visit she would find out anyway and I don’t think that would be a nice situation for her and everybody else, being confronted like that. So I told her “Mom, I have to tell you… I have a boyfriend…” and what she said silenced me for a while:

“Oh, I know.”

My jaw dropped, to say the least! After what felt like a minute of recovering I asked “How, I mean, what?? How??”

My Mom laughed and just said: “You know, my sister has never been good at keeping secrets.”

I’m glad my Mom wasn’t hurt by me not telling her earlier and finding out through my aunt, we talked about it for a little while and while she didn’t seem like she wanted to know details, she asked some superficial questions about him (job, age and that) and his family as well. I guess it went well.

 

As for the rest of the week… I was very excited for visiting days at the different universities around, I still am because I’m going to look at some more schools, but I went to the closest one this week and I had an absolute blast!

There was a very nice mentor, a student herself, who showed us around and explained everything. She is actually younger than me but I felt like the little girl. She told us this was her first time as a newbie mentor and she was really bubbly and fun, and she blushed many times whenever somebody asked her a question, but that just made me more comfortable, knowing I’m not the only newbie. She gave us a list of lectures we could visit, helped us pick some out and told us where to go. I went to a literature lecture on the Victorian age and I had a lot of fun there, the teacher was about 35-40 and he had this funny way of speaking… like, really passionate. He talked about the marriage of Queen Victoria and showed letters and her diary and read them out, and at one point he giggled and squealed “How romantic!” when he read the entry on her wedding night.

After that, I went to a law lesson. Boy that is one tough thing to study! Everybody there looked so fancy – kind of lawyer-ish, haha – and it was A LOT of confusing stuff. I can’t really explain but it was very confusing, so many different laws on the same thing with a lot of cross references to other laws and also the language seems so foreign and intelligent, and really a lot of stuff you have to memorize. I felt a bit overwhelmed and I just heard one lesson, I can only imagine how much they have to memorize for the test! But, I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d say this, but it made me really curious and I’m definitely going to look into law.

After those two lessons, my group met back up with our mentor and she guided us to the cafeteria and had lunch with us. She answered all our questions on student life in that particular city and on university life. She was so sweet and tried to get the fear out of us. She also told us some stories about her first semesters, which was funny and partially embarrassing (for her) but she laughed and told us to wait, the exact same would happen to us.

In the afternoon I heard a lesson in History of Art, it was one on medieval churches. That was very, very interesting but I recognized that the students in there obviously had a lot of background that I didn’t have. But that’s what university is for, right? But hearing about some styles was amazing and it really sparked my interest.

The last I heard was a culture class about the jewish in Europe in medieval times. I heard so much information that I didn’t know before and it was fascinating. I always think of terrible things when I hear “Middle Age”, so it was kind of eye-opening that people weren’t stupid at all, just different. Another thing I was really surprised by!

After the last lesson we again met back up with our mentor. We had a coffee together and just chatted some more. She also gave us some materials about the school and the city and everything.

I was really fascinated by university life. It’s not what I imagined it to be – no sex talk everywhere, not full of people having sex wherever they go, not full of teachers who lurk on stupid female students who are exploited… Just normal, peaceful people who are working very hard.

Wow, if you’re still reading, you really made it through this rant! I guess I’ll finish here, but I’ll be back with more stories and school!


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Thank you, Melissa!

Melissa from Permission to Live recently finished her series of posts in which she talks about a transition in her family. And when I first found out that this transition was that her spouse came out to her, opened up that he was, in fact, a woman, and wanted to live as a woman, I got really scared.

Really, really afraid for Melissa.

Why?

Not because of her spouse, or the transition – at least, not directly.

Melissa’s entire blog expresses so much love for her spouse, always has done, that I was afraid that this story would end with a break up. Yup, that was the only fear I had when I read it.

I love Melissa’s blog. It’s so encouraging and helpful for me and many many others. And I was so happy for her, reading her courtship story, that she ended up with a man who actually, truly respected her. Melissa and her spouse, even if I don’t know them at all, seemed so perfect for each other.

I can’t really explain why I feared that so much. Of course, if things don’t work out, you just have to let go sometimes. There’s no point for either spouse to stay in a relationship they know will never be what they want and need. And yet, I still hoped Melissa had found a way to make it work for her as well.

And, as she slowly revealed, they did. When I read the last installment, I was literally crying of happiness for her and her wife. It’s so encouraging to hear that things turned out well, that they were even more perfect for each other than I ever can imagine.

I want to use this post to congratulate Melissa and her wife on their new life together. On a personal note – I know how scary it is to go back to school without an idea what will be coming your way. But I’m sure that you have all the strength and support you need to find your way. And, of course, tell your wife I wish her good luck as well with her new career! I honestly wish that I will one day have at least a tiny bit of the strength and grace you two have.


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European life: You just don’t “get” football

A post just for the giggles.

Have you ever wondered what all the fuzz is about when it comes to soccer (or better, football)? Americans just don’t “get” football – neither did I. Until I came here and learned what it’s really about.

Let’s be real honest here: Humanity has invented much more exciting games. Two or three goals within 90 minutes if you’re lucky? Yeah, that’s boring. I get it.

But it’s not so much about the game as it is about the experience. Football isn’t popular cause it’s a good game (it’s not!). It’s so popular because it’s a community experience. An event you can’t compare!

During European and World championships, there will be something called “public viewing” going on. Huge screens will be set up in every city – even the small towns! The entire city, men and women, young and old, come together for eating and drinking and, of course, to watch the game. People will be dressed up in their national colors, wear the shirts the players wear, sing songs and freak out together – or, if they lose, cry together. I mean that. They cry.

I didn’t believe it just how huge it is. Here are some very short videos of what happens if the team wins:

ATTENTION: If you click play, MAKE SURE your volume is adjusted – rather put it too low than too high, these get very loud.

30 seconds: The crowd chants “Lehman”, the name of the goalkeeper. Taken in Leipzig:

You have no idea just how big these events are until you see…

2 Minutes: Same game, penalty shoot, this time in Stuttgart, castle square. Again, cheering on Lehman. Note the crazy reactions at 1.50 mins.

And what happens if they win?

The after party may last up to 2 hours and will block the entire traffic. And what’s the police doing during this???

They party with everybody else. This is a game, kind of cheer, where the crowd repeats what the singer says and sings, until he at one point will ask them to dance the “umpa” dance. Since the police loves to use their huge speakers to sing along, they earned the nickname “green-white party van” (referring to the colors of the police car).

Oh, caught the police again! This time late at night. I wonder if the streets are still blocked…

So yeah, I guess that’s what football is REALLY about. You bet I’ll be there this spring/summer for the European championship!


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The pointless Tuesday: All about Beds.

I’m working on some major homework at the moment and I have about 10 (!!!) posts half finished in my drafts-folder but I can’t concentrate on writing something that actually has a point. So today I’m doing a pointless Tuesday. I present you:

7 pointless thoughts – on beds.

1. My friends find it weird and pointless that I iron all my sheets and bedding. “It’s so stupid,” they say, “it gets all wrinkly once you sleep in it anyway!”. That is true, but I think ironed stuff in general smells like heaven and I like my bedding to smell like heaven! Plus, I might be imagining this, but it feels soooooo much softer once it’s all neatly ironed!

2. I think I wrote a post on this ages ago… I bought this really fancy mattress. When I lived with my family all the ones there were kind of used and not uncomfortable, but also not high quality. I splurged on my own mattress, mostly because I suffered from back pains from time to time. I bought one of those fancy memory foam 7 zones with extreme awesomeness things. Downside: You have to turn it over every 2-4 weeks and it’s so heavy, I always need help.

3. I always sleep on my right side. I can’t fall asleep in any other position. And once I’m asleep, I’m asleep. Seriously, you could have a band playing right next to me, I won’t wake up. I’m used to sleeping with noise in the background. Downside: Now that I’m living alone, I need 5 different alarm clocks placed in places that I can’t reach from a sleeping position to wake up in the morning. Unless my roommate is home and awake to wake me up.

4. My bedroom is a mix of old furniture I repaired and beautified and Ikea furniture. I’m obsessed with Ikea.

5. I do not like colorful bedding. I like things in the bedroom to be almost clinical white. Lots of people don’t like this sterile feel but I love it. Colorful bedding and sheets feel dirty to me.

6. Back to the swedish obsession: Imagine Ikea had a baby with H&M, what do you think would come out? H&M Home. It’s pretty pricy and I don’t know if H&M US has it (it’s not on the American page so I guess not), but I love almost all the things they make. They’re actually really cheap once they’re on sale. I bought these duvet covers in white with 2 different prints, the one on the imagine and one with an china-ink orchid design for 10 Euro each on sale. I was hyped.

7. I make my bed every day. If I forget to make it in the morning, or don’t have time, I will make it the moment before I go to sleep. It doesn’t matter that I’m about to mess it up again. I will make it in my PJs and jump right into it. I can’t stand sleeping in beds that are not made.

Any pointless thoughts to add? =D


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Delirium

I recently read this novel, Delirium. And it felt a bit like my story. Well, it’s actually young adult fiction but I was recommended to take a look at it and ended up loving it. Recently the sequel called Pandemonium was released and I enjoyed that as well.

Now, for the many of you who have not read it, here’s a real short summary: Lena is born into a future where people believe love is a sickness. In order to stay healthy, they get “cured”, meaning a part of their brain, the one responsible for emotions, is removed. The cure is administered around the age of 18. People wh are cured can’t feel emotions anymore, neither love nor hate, and every day is the same to them. Now, Lena falls in love and decides to run away, hide in the woods and stay uncured – an invalid, illegal and pretty much KOS.

It’s supposed to be a futuristic, dystopian novel but all of it felt awfully true to me. Not having emotions brings you closer to God, life the same every day, the same routine, no surprises. The past forgotten as soon as a new day breaks… forgiven?

Lena, the main character is terribly afraid of love. She tries to ignore it, tries to get rid of it, tries to do anything it takes to fall out of love. Doesn’t that sound terribly familiar?

So many people live in a world where they aren’t allowed to love as they please, or even show emotion. The more neutral you are towards other people – even “just” friends – the better.

So many times I thought YES, YES, YES when I read it. So many times I felt like I would have reacted the same way. Run away when you’re feeling too much. Trying to be the good girl everyone expects you to be, being afraid of the world around you, trying desperately to fit in but failing again and again… and, finally, being locked up in the house like Lena, with a family trying to “protect” you, trying to make you “understand”.

I don’t know why but I feel like the author didn’t intend to capture truth in this weird society. I think she wanted to come up with a real shocking, surreal world. But it’s not surreal, it’s true. And that’s what shocks me a bit.

I wonder, do people actually read this and think to themselves that it’s so unlikely that would happen, it’s so unlikely it’s already happening?

Yeah I’m just raving but this book really touched me. I just felt like my life, our lives, are made into a piece of fiction that most would consider totally impossible to be real.

If you don’t mind reading a book that “feels” written for 15-20 year olds, I definitely recommend it. It’s an easy, fast read, good entertainment for in-between when you don’t really want to think too much.


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“A nice place to run”

ATTENTION, A QUICK NOTE: This is purely fictional. Nothing of this has ever happened to me or anybody I know. I felt like actually posting one of my private fictional stories here because I somehow felt it makes sense in the context of this blog. It’s not really spell- and grammar-checked, so please forgive me some weird expressions. It’s kind of long, so if you don’t care for it, you won’t really miss out on anything!

I’m not much of a runner. I’m not a sports person at all to begin with. But a few months ago my doctor told me I needed to do something. Some sort of sports would be good, he said. Well, I can’t do much. I’m not good at team play. I’m not very patient, or anything that would make me a good sport really. I figured I could at least put one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. Yes, that I can do. So why not run?

I was very exhausted at first. I didn’t manage more than a quarter-mile without getting real close to death through a lack of oxygen. But I got better. By now, I can easily run three miles without major signs of exhaustion. Five if I’m really pushing it. But I always go more. I read somewhere that if you always stop at what you think is your limit, you will never actually get past of what you already can do. So I push it as hard as I can. Step, step, step.

I don’t like running through the city. I look like a terrible mess within the first five minutes. Hair messy, sweat dripping down, clothes disparaged. No, it’s not a pretty sight. I usually get into my car and drive into the woods, not too far from here. There’s a small house with some parking spots right in front of it. My car isn’t the only one there. Lots of people go there to walk their dogs or run like me. But the woods are big and I’m not too worried somebody will see me all messy. It’s a very nice place to run.

That one day, I tried to warm up before running, but I already told you, I’m not very patient. So I took off without bothering too much. First I ran along the path that leads away from the small house towards the woods. It zigzags through fields of wheat and I don’t know what other grain. Wheat on the left, other grain on my right. The woods are maybe a quarter-mile away. From here, I can overlook the area because it’s on a small hill. It falls down on both sides, revealing fields of wheat, more fields, patches of trees here and there, and then, finally, the forest stretching out for I don’t know how long, infinite, maybe. Surrounding me like a soft warm hug. It was a sunny day, I recall, the warmth burning my exposed shoulders, the dried up path feeling hot and dusty under my shoes. As I entered the woods I instantly felt reborn. The fresh, cool air breezed through the lush greens of the trees and noise, noise everywhere. Birds sang, pecked, rustled through the bushes. It was such a wonderful day, I felt as if I could go on forever. Maybe if I did, I would get to the ends of the woods. I suspected there would be a cliff, and nothingness. If I jumped, I’d fall off and stop existing. Or maybe only time would. I’d be caught there forever, watching the eras pass.

The crowns of the trees formed a roof over my head and I followed the path. Here and the sunlight broke through the leafs, spotting the soft, damp ground yellow and white. It smelled of freshness and greenery. Step, step, step. And then, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful patch of white flowers just a few feet off the path. The wonderful smell ran over me like a wave and I stopped, completely in awe. A huge patch of may lilies, their sweet, lovely scent covering every inch of me. I left the path to pick a bunch. The ground felt so different there, softer, covered in year old needles and leaves of the trees around me. The perfume was incredible. I don’t think there is a better smell in this world than fully blooming may lilies of fresh forest earth. I took deep gulps of the air there and suddenly felt whole. I followed the patch of flowers, bigger than I first thought it was, followed it into the unknown depths of the forest. With fresh may lilies in my hair, I took up running again, enjoying the bouncy feel of untouched ground. I closed my eyes and the woods lit of with an explosion of the loveliest sounds I know. Birds, birds, more birds. I took a deep breath and -

I lost the ground. It was gone, suddenly. For just a second I though I had actually reached that cliff, and fell off, and cursed myself for making it real. With a loud thump I hit the ground, my bones moaning at the power of the impact. I immediately felt it, the cold, the awful cold, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the darkness all around me. I didn’t move at first, waiting for the pain to shoot up one of my limps or maybe even my spine, but it didn’t come. After a few minutes, my vision focused on the world above me. Dark all around, but there, a hole in the roof, and through the hole, the woods and the pale sunlight. I got up, sighing from the numb throbbing in my entire body, rubbed my back and tried to look around. I couldn’t place it at first, or rather, I refused to place it, until the words came out as a whisper. „A cave.“ I looked up again. I couldn’t really see the tunnel I came through or how deep I was, but I suppose it was something like fifteen feet. I felt to see if I could find a wall, and as my hands reached stone, another stone, neatly aligned and sealed, I knew this was man-made. The floor was soft, covered in leaves and needles, but under it, concrete.

I don’t know how long I stood there, yelling for help, trying to climb the walls to no avail. And even if I could climb them, how could I reach the tiny tunnel in the middle of the roof? It was pointless, and the muddy forest probably swallowed my voice.

Time passed and it got darker and darker. The sun was setting. I was shivering from the cold, from the fear, from the anger. The less light was coming in from above the better I could see the cave around me. And once darkness had completely fallen, I noticed something. In the distance, to my right side, I saw the weak shine of green light. Green light, in the distance? Here, underground? I went through my options, there weren’t many. I slowly started to feel my way towards the light and realized that there was another tunnel, leading into the deeper undergrounds. Hypnotized by the possibility to find light, I followed the small doorway into the tunnel. It wasn’t a high tunnel, but I could walk upright. The tunnel formed an U-shape over my head and again I could feel the signs of man-made construction running my fingers along the walls. After 25 feet the tunnel ended into a sort of hallway, continuing to my left and my right. The hallway went on for a long distance, I could not see the end of it. And every ten feet, a green emergency light. Even with the lighting, it seemed endless. I called out „Hello? Is there anybody?“. No answer – no sound except the muted whizzing of the power through the cables. In the hallway to my left I could see something on the ground, pieces of wood or furniture, or something like that. I decided to follow that hallway. My steps bounced off every wall, creating echoes, sounding like an army marching. Long before I had reached the rubble on the ground I saw that there were doors every few feet. In the low light I could see they had writings on them. „Amunition Storage 4-A5“ and „Power Supply Hallway 1-A“ and „Dorm 23-A36“. I called out again. No answer. I kept following the hallway until I reached the pile of garbage. A broken down wooden door. Dusty. Destroyed. The door belonged to a room that was now open and lit only by more emergency lighting. I stepped into the room. „Hello?“. Silence. It wasn’t very big. Some closets on the walls, a desk and a chair, all covered in dust. But under the dust, right there on the desk, I saw some papers. I took a quick look at them, nothing that I understood, weird texts of aunts with green tea and babies bitten by lions and the uncle having left for Hawaii. Then I spotted a more familiar sight, a newspaper. The yellow paper and the paled ink looked unfamiliar, and the headline read like a foreign world: „We will not surrender!“ and under that, a pictures of happy soldiers on a tank. I scanned the first page and found the date: April 25th, 1945. I stared at the date for a long time, trying to make sense of it. I looked around again, the newspaper still in my hand. There, through the slightly open closet door I could see a piece of clothing. With a squeaking sound I opened it. A grey uniform and on the collar two white letters, „SS“, on black ground. I turned away, put the newspaper back on the desk and went back to the hallway. I screamed. I called for help. I screamed again. Nothing. Just the hallway stretching out to both sides, silent, staring at me, wondering what I was doing there. Just before my eyes could fill up with tears and blind me, I took off running again. Ran along the hallway, passing doors with more writings on it, reaching more hallways, a maze of hallways, stretching out for I don’t know how many miles, green light everywhere. I must have ran at least five miles, I could feel it. And still no way out, no door saying „Exit“ on it. I stopped, slumped together in the middle of one of the endless hallways, right under a green lamp, and cried. I cried for minute, for hours, for days. And as I looked up, I recognized the writing on the door right before me: „Nutrition“. My thirst suddenly seemed endless. I steadied myself, stood up and turned the handle on the door. It sprung open with no effort. The room was dark. In a sort of reflex, I felt for a switch next to the door. As I found it, and pushed it, single lamps started to flicker up, enlightening the large storage room I was in. Shelfs over shelfs, going on and on and on, filled with water bottles, with cans of food, untouched. I walked along the first row of shelves and grabbed a water bottle. It was full. Thirstily, I drank what felt half of it. I tried to memorize the location of that room and followed the hallway, this time calm and slow. I was incredibly tired. After a little while I reached a room marked „Dorm 75-C63“. Again, I could easily open the door. It opened up into a small hallway. As I turned on the light, I could see the signs on the walls. „Bathrooms“ and a little arrow pointing, „Community Room“ and another arrow, and finally „Bunk Room 1“. As I entered Bunk Room 1, I realized that at least 50 people must have slept in there. I followed through the bunk beds, all neatly made, untouched. I walked all the way to the back wall and climbed a bunk bed. I could oversee the entire room from there. I decided to settle there for some sleep. I left my bottle on the bed and took a look at the bathroom. It was dusty, a bit dirty maybe, but in a good condition. I turned the water on, and after a few minutes of noise and sputtering, dirty red-brown water started to flow steadily. After another few minutes, the water had taken on a sickly pale yellow color, which I deemed clean enough to use. I let the cold water run over my arms, my legs, and sprayed some into my face and onto my neck. I grabbed on of the towels, hung on hook on the wall, and dried myself up. I went back to the bunk room and settle for the night’s sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept. I didn’t feel much better afterwards. But I got ready anyway, putting my shoes back on, to find a way out. I wandered through the complex, not finding anything interesting, close to giving up, when I saw the sign on the wall. „Exit“. Arrow pointing. I suddenly had new energy, started to run towards it. Down the hallway. Another sign. Exit. Arrow pointing. Step, step, step. And finally, the bunker door. Sturdy, possibly made of tons and tons of heavy metal. A huge wheel to open it. I grabbed it, and turned. Nothing, Turned, harder this time, still nothing. For hours I tried turning it – nothing. I collapsed crying. I screamed, I called for help. Nobody.

 

I tried to open it with all sorts of things I could find. Never anything. I tried to find other exits. All locked too hard for me to open. I slept in my bunk bed, night after night after night. I rummaged the Store rooms, ate canned meat and beans and all that. Never anything. Never anyone. None of the doors had ever opened for me. I tend to forget how long I have been here for. No clock that works. No time. I finally seized to exist, I guess. I suppose I did fall off this cliff.


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Little school girl

My, have I been busy for the last few days (and weeks, actually).

Summer break is over and school started again for me. I’ve been a little nervous but I’m enjoying it so much! But it’s really keeping me busy – I have some tests and exams coming up next week and I have to give a bunch of presentations as well, which really scares me!

I couldn’t have imagined school would be like this back in my old life. I was taught public schools are about as devilish as premature sex and white bread (it kills you!). And now, being there, I can’t see what’s so terrible about it.

When I was looking for school options last year I had a huge variety of choices. See, the school system is different here. You can graduate school at 16 and pick out a job. If you do that, you’ll go to a specialized school. Nurse school, business school for sales managers and such, all types of schools really. You don’t need a “high school” degree for many jobs around here, just special school. That way, you can get out of the general education system if that’s just not your thing at all and specialize right away. If you want to go to university, however, you must get a high school degree. High school is 13 years here, not 12.

Now, I looked at my opinions and decided that at least trying for a high school degree was the best for now. I could still change my mind and go to a specialized school, I just didn’t do that because I had (have) no idea what I want to be. But there’s many options for high school too! First off, I was offered to go to a regular high school despite my age. I didn’t feel comfortable with that idea though, as I was tested and they told me my education was on a 10th grade standard. 11th grade is 16-17 year olds and I wasn’t sure if I could deal with that.

But my advisor at the local job center told me that there was special high schools. They were only grades 11-13 and made for people who left at 16, did something else and now wanted to get a high school degree. They told me there would be people of all ages, 16-100, and from different stages in life: Working moms, older people, unemployed people, people who wanted a different career, people who changed their minds, everything. I felt comfortable being summed up in that group. When I told my advisor I wanted to go to that school, she even asked me what field type of school I wanted to go to. I could go general education, business, nursing and computer specialized again! I asked her what that was for, and she told me that the difference was second and third language acquisition. Only general education high school demands a third foreign language, the other specialized high schools demanded only a second. At university, about 50% of all majors demand a third language. If you don’t have that you won’t be admitted for those majors. I looked at the majors which ask for a third language and my favourites were among them (geology/geography, archeology, history). And I figured since I already have english (english is the mandatory second language here), I might as well go ahead and learn some french or spanish. So general education was the pick.

when I started school I was so nervous. i was afraid I’d somehow be the weirdo in my classes. But when I first entered the classroom I realized that wasn’t true. My fellow students are a funny, colorful bunch. We have some immigrants who want to improve their life and didn’t have a chance to go to that type of school in the country they came from. We have some younger people in their twenties who left school at 16 and learned some type of job. We have a carpenter, some salespeople, two nurses, office workers and a car mechanic. And then, there’s also some younger people who are unemployed and want to switch careers to get a good job. and an 19-year-old girl who quit school at 16 because she got pregnant. Now her baby is old enough and she wants to make a good living with a good job. and then, of course, there’s me.

Everybody is eager to learn, people help each other out a lot and meet up for study groups. There honestly isn’t a single person who doesn’t want to be there and you can really feel that. The atmosphere is very joyful and disciplined. The teachers don’t treat us like kids, they act appropriate, teaching adults who want to learn.

I have to say that it wasn’t easy for me. They are asking for a lot and even though I’ve been tested and they told me I was going to be ok, I feel like I have to do a lot of extra-studying. But my grades were good last year and I wanted to improve some more this year. Especially in French, which turned out to be much harder than I expected!

Oh, by the way: General education high school like the one I’m going to is quite packed – it’s only 2 years (up to 12th grade), though normal high school goes to 13. You have to learn the same amount of stuff. Maybe that’s why I sometimes feel like it’s too much for me. But I’m managing!


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A “modest” girl in Naked-Town: Anecdotes from the lake

One of my favourite Bloggers, Incongruous Circumspection wrote a post about modesty, inspired by yet another blogger, Darcy’s Heart-Stirrings (post here). Both of the posts brought back memories, good and bad, so I want to join in and talk about my experience too.

When I was a small girl, I loved dresses and skirts in every form. I didn’t mind the strange, old-fashioned prints they had. They were flowy, wavy, girlish, and I felt like a princess, strolling through a kingdom in which I was the only girl wearing pretty clothes. When the sun was shining, I would go out and spin spin spin to hear the dress flow, quietly, giggling.

But this changed even before I hit puberty. I was able to do ANYTHING in a skirt as a small girl, but the realisation that many things like climbing trees looked terribly immodest hit me like a bus – and BAM, my beautiful, flowy skirt was my prison.

At a certain age, sometimes 8, sometimes 10, sometimes 12, girls start being really picky about what they wear, developing their own tastes and styles. I wasn’t allowed to do that. My mother bought our clothes without asking for much of an opinion. The dresses WE liked weren’t good enough. My mom would pick out dresses with huge flowers on them. One of my person highlights of terror is the fact that they had those HUGE collars. I dreaded them. I looked ridiculous in them. One time, my mom held out one of these to me at a shop, and I begged “Mom! Please! Not one with collar! I’ll look like a sailor!” Mom lovingly ignored my concerns and when I tried it on, she made sure to point out many times how beautiful I looked and how the collar perfectly accented my tiny shoulders.

Whenever I went outside, I envied the girls in normal clothes. Many of those were beautiful, too. I wished so badly to find a certain pattern or a certain cut I had seen on the worldly girls at the thrift store, only to find myself standing there trying on burlap sacks with huge collars once again.

As I grew older, I learned to ignore the fact that I looked ridiculous most of the time. I learned to overhear the giggles and whispers. And I found a way to work my way around the worst dresses. My secret were denim skirts. Out of all the modest “fashion” you can buy at thrift stores, the denim skirts are the prettiest. You look somewhat fashionable, and many people wear denim skirts, so you don’t look like a parrot among chicken. I reasoned this to my parents as “Denim is so sturdy and lasts for years! I can do harder, dirtier work without having to worry!” It worked, but nevertheless, denim wasn’t nice to wear on those humid, hot summer days.

I had accepted my fate as the girl with the denim skirts. I still envied, almost hated the normal girls, but I was somewhat at peace with how my denim skirts and shirts looked. When we went to home school conventions, I saw those girls at my age, 16, 17, still wearing those ugly old flower dresses with the huge collars. I so pitied them. I gave my ego a boost: There were girls who wore much uglier stuff. I looked at myself and thought “Those denim skirts aren’T that bad!”. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel proud, but I did. I was proud to look a bit less like I was part of their freak show which was supposed to show all those terrible people of the world how it’s done. I felt like, if someone approached us and asked about the ugly dresses, I could say “I’m not that bad! I’m ok looking! I’m not a Victorian era freak!”

A thing that really bugged me was my body. In the movement, there is this very weird reception of female shapes. Most importantly, you need to hide it as well as you can. I know of girls with rather large breasts who just couldn’t hide them. No matter how many huge shirts and jumpers were layered, you’d still be able to see their very feminine shapes. I was on the other side of the fence: I’m a very skinny girl with next to no femininity about my body. I don’t have those big sexy hips and I don’t have those admired big breasts either. While I prefer the term “petite” to describe my body, many others found a better expression: They called me the fish bone.

I know many girls in the movement really hate their bodies and torture themselves in multiple ways, I had a natural gift of eating whatever I wanted and not putting on weight. My bones just show on many places, particularly my neck and collar-bone. On one side, this came in handy as I never had to be afraid to look too sexy, because you really have to put an effort into looking sexy with this body shape, on the other hand, people didn’t consider me female enough. And the clothes I wore didn’t help. I looked like a little girl and on bad days, I felt like I looked more like a boy. You’re not supposed to look boyish, so while others considered certain shirts too tight to be modest, they were just right for me.

Whenever I saw worldly girls with my body shape, I admired how feminine they could look. I never felt like I was that… feminine! Standing next to them, I felt childish, undeveloped, unattractive, in short, I felt like the fish bone everybody said I was. I envied the girls with feminine bodies, while they envied me for not having to worry about big breasts and looking immodest. It’s such a crazy system that nobody can be who she wants to be, that nobody is allowed to feel good about their bodies because there are always something sinful to pick on.

After I left, I rethought the system of modesty. And after I moved to Europe, my standards have shifted – had to shift.

You have to imagine that I now live in a country where public nudity is not an offence. This means that when you go to a lake, there WILL be women topless. That’s fine, that’s allowed. Sometimes, people will ask the ones sitting next to them if they mind full nudity. Usually, nobody minds and you’ll see fully naked people. And you know what, nobody cares. Nobody stares. Nobody is offended.

I came from a mindset where everything below the collar-bone was a big no-no, and was thrown into a culture where a naked body is old news. When I was at the lake a few days ago, I was wearing my swim-dress which I didn’t take off the entire time. Kathy and I went to get an ice cream and had to stand in line with a huge pack of hungry kids. They jumped around, loud and nervous and full of happiness. I stepped back a bit when one was jumping like crazy, and my elbow touched something… soft. I turned around just to see a topless woman behind me and I can only guess I touched her breast. I was humiliated and I don’t even really know why. She smiled and said sorry, and so did I, trying to conceal just how embarrassed I felt. But it didn’t seem to be a big deal because she just went on chattering with her friend.

Sometimes, I feel very embarrassed for how open people are about their bodies and nudity here. Breastfeeding women don’t cover up when they feed in public. People go swimming topless. At clothing shops, people try on stuff just right in front of the shelf, not even going to a changing room sometimes. And nobody bothers. It’s really hard to wrap my mind around this, and not act weird.

Oversexualized? I’m not sure. It doesn’t have any sexual connotations to them. It’s how people are. It’s natural.

Nobody stares at the topless woman. If they stare, they rather stare at me. When I go into the water only knee-deep and splash my arms with water, not taking off my knee-length dress simply because I’m not at that point yet. I’m the weirdo, not the naked old 80-year-old lady and her equally naked husband, walking around holding hands. And somehow, that makes me laugh just a little.

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