Where has my heart gone ...?

... trapped in the eyes of a stranger? How is it possible? How is it possible to be in a relationship with a wonderful girl for years and still not be sure of the future with her? To know, to damn-well know, how good she is to me and how much she has done for me - and still does. To find her the sexiest thing on earth when she so much as takes off her sweater. To be able to talk to her about anything and everything without having to fear judgement or ridicule. To be respected, loved, adored by her, unconditionally. To be forgiven almost any transgression, any offence. To be the only one she admits into her heart.
Still my heart is unsteady, fickle, easily changed. It wanders away at every possible chance. As Shakespeare puts it: it hunts after new fancies. At the blink of an eye feelings change. They don't fade. They re-focus on a different person.
Here's my quest for answers. Is it because she's not "the one"? Is it for the excitement of someone new? Is it just because of the male excuse that I'm too young for commitment? (too young?! at 26?!) Is it because she's been the only girl I've been with before discovering that others find me attractive too (against all odds)? Have we just been too close too quickly? Is it because I'm thinking with a part of my anatomy other than my brain (and not the stomach either)?
I know I enjoy flirting - even when she is around. Still, her presence reminds me where I belong and prevents me from going to far (this generally does not happen even when she's not around - I'm simply too shy). When she is not around - especially when she hasn't been for a long time - things are different. Maybe feelings had already begun to fade a long time ago without her noticing and maybe even without me knowing. Maybe I only loved her back for what she was doing for me not out of my own initiative. Strangely enough, no matter how she probes and questions me, I cannot think of anything that I really dislike about her. I cannot remember ever not having a good time with her. There was the occasional quarrel - some of them her fault, some of them mine. Maybe more of them mine. At some point, however, I realised that even though I was perfectly content with her company I had begun to enjoy other people's company more. Maybe this coincided with my move to a different city where I could only see her once a week. After a long time that I had been happy not having any friends beside her I began feeling the urge to spend time with my new friends - and not her. What was more that a number of those new friends were female. I discovered that other girls also like me when I had believed that she would be the only one. Thus, spurred on by my new-found confidence, my heart began to wander - wonder. Maybe, in a cocky and selfish way, it was the realisation that she was not as unique as I had thought. Maybe it was none of the above but due to the distance and my new friends she became less and less important. 6 out of 7 days on average she could not be there for me and other friends filled her place in many aspects. And even though our relationship seemed even more passionate during the few days that we had maybe that was the beginning of the end - a very slow and creeping end but an end none the less. There are many maybes in this and I don't expect to ever know the answer for sure. It matters little now, anyway.
I feel guilty and ashamed that I do this to her and her family. I know that they, being traditional minded people, were already counting on me as the son-in-law. This is looking exceedingly unlikely now. I am also sad that with her I will loose her siblings and family many of who I have grown to like. Loosing her altogether - even as a friend - leaves me empty inside and seeing all our dreams crumble into dust weighs even heavier on my heart. Imagining that somebody else will at some point take my place in her heart and soul now only stirs a quiet resignation where jealousy should have been. I have no right to feel like this. I am to blame.
I also fail to live up to my own standards. Before I met her I had sworn to myself that when I had a girlfriend I would treat her like my queen, be faithful and loyal and make her life an easier and happier one in whichever way I could. I was going to be different from the guys that you hear or read about, who cheat on their girlfriends, treat them like toys and don't pay attention to what they want or need. To my horror I have now come to realise that I'm not so different from them after all. Maybe I'm just a man and maybe that's the statement that answers all the questions above. But is it an excuse?
No.
Why am I writing this here? It will not make anybody like me more - much rather less. If and when those that know me ask me "why?" I know I will not dare to tell the truth - how things really are. This is my confession. I want to confess - not before God since I'm not religious or catholic enough for that. Instead of receiving absolution from Him I put myself at the mercy of those who read this to judge me, and, in His stead, spell doom or maybe grant me absolution.

Ein Freund, ein guter Freund...

This one's a short one - just a note, a thought even (does happen despite the pain).
Today, just now, I came to realise the difference between friends and colleagues. You may guess it's that friends matter. True. But more still friends are remembered.
I can probably still name most people I called friends during my MSc, my three years doing a BSc, at secondary school and even primary school even though I haven't seen some of them for many years (decades for some - god, I'm getting old). I might not recognise some of them after 10 years but I remember them and who they were. On the other hand, I just met a colleague from a different department that I worked quite closely with for a year. I even got along quite well with him. I had not really spoken with him for a few months. Of course, I recognised his face but I could not remember his name. After only a few months!
Maybe this is something most people know anyway - I certainly did know that colleagues are not equivalent to friends. Still, this was an interesting demonstration of this fact. Maybe it will serve to make me think twice before cancelling on friends because of some after-work event.

TV madness 3: Investigate this!

Guess what: another month, another letter. I'm actually beginning to look forward to them. When I find a new one in the mail, it's almost like Christmas as a child. You get something wrapped up, you wonder what's inside, it's exciting to unwrap, it entertains you for awhile, then you wait to get the next one.
So, after waiting - lurking - for two months the trolls of TV lincencing have stirred again. They have not forgotten me, no, their henchmen, the Enforcement Officer Brigade, are still scheduled to descend on me shortly. How I wish they would stop calling me "shortly".
As usual there's a number puzzle hidden in the letter (a bit like in The DaVinci Code). According to this, this year, they have already caught 78,224 hapless victims. Fans of numeric puzzles can now calculate from the other numbers given how many more people will go into their trap during the remainder of the year. They must have been very active in the first quarter but get a bit lax after that. Furthermore, all of these people were caught in Chatham. This suggests a grave misunderstanding: I live in Woking. Why threaten the poor people of Chatham any further? Moreover, even if Chatham has 78,224 inhabitants they're a bloody dishonest lot. Shame on them. Letting themselves get caught red-handed like that, making it so easy. They've ruined the entire statistic for this year!
I would imagine that by now I must be ranking high on the to-hit list of TV lincencing godfathers. Strangely, this letter is a lot less offensive and harsh than the previous ones. That left me feeling confused. Have I weakened their resolve? Is it possible that they might be giving up? Otherwise, why are they suddenly using the word "please"? They even offer me their help! ... Or is it all a cunning trap? "Even at this stage we want to help you stop this investigation." Aha! Having found me guilty, they extend a merciful hand to save my soul. We don't want to punish you - we want to help you. Inquisition, what a show!
Lastly, I'm being warned that the interro- ahem, inquiry will be conducted "firmly and fairly". Again a statement that leaves me bewildered - that would be the first time anyone from that company treats me fairly. I wouldn't know how to react to that. Does that mean they won't break down my door and drag me out by the hair? Do the tin men have hearts? Surely, that must be another trick to get me to open the door.
I do hope that they will not help me but rather themselves and stop this madness. The entertainment factor is wearing off. Once I get to the stage where I don't know what to write about them anymore I might actually get annoyed.

Impressions from the Middle Kingdom

(Due to popular - ahem - demand here now the English version)
How unsual it is to speak German or English again, to see so many Westerners, to eat Pasta or Pizza, to sit on the toilet. China is still in my system even though I'm thousands of kilometers and seven timezones away. The wonders of modern technology: just now I was in Beijing, now back to Europe, Munich, London. I see familiar features in peoples faces, I hear familiar languages, I can read the menu again. And somehow I wish it was not so.
All the remains are the memories, the floods of impressions, endless photographs and some of Beijing's dust on my shoes. I don't want to wash it off. I don't want to miss the noise and comotion of this vibrant city. Still I know that nothing can stop the fading of the countless impressions.
The cars with their crazy drivers, the swarms of cyclists, many even crazier than the car drivers. The countless eateries, stalls and restaurants that give off almost as many different smells. The colourful markets. The people, the way the talk, discuss, bargain, advertise, dance in the park or practice calligraphy or taiji. The girls with their elegantly curved, faithfully deep brown eyes, silky skin and jet-black hair. The kindness, generosity and curiosity with which people meet a simple stranger like me. The language so mind-boggling, different, difficult, melodic and fascinating at the same time. All of it so much that you can't help but want to learn it. Even if it is just so that you know what you just ordered.
There's so much more that already begins to fade. The torrent is boundless.
If I lost something on my trip to China it is my heart - almost in every respect.
How can I call a street lively if it doesn't cause the same kind of noise as a market in Nanjing? Never again will food be spicy if it does not have the same infernal effect as the dishes from the Sichuan province. Never again can I call a city big if it takes less than an hour to get from one side to the other (using a train!). And never again will I call anything utterly mad (for lack of a better word) if it does not surpass the "godknowshowmany channel spectral Dolby Surround fountain" of Nanjing!
Memories may fade and intermingle. Old impressions will be replaced by new ones. But how could I ever forget China! I will return. I must.

Eindrücke aus dem Reich der Mitte

Wie ungewohnt es ist, wieder deutsch oder englisch zu sprechen, wieder so viele Westler zu sehen, wieder Pasta zu essen, wieder auf dem Klo zu sitzen. China steckt einem immer noch im Blut obwohl man tausende von Kilometern entfernt ist. Die Wunder der modernen Technik: eben noch in Peking - jetzt schon wieder in Europa, München, London. Ich sehe wieder vertraute Gesichtszüge, höre wieder vertraute Sprachen und kann die Speisekarte wieder lesen. Und irgendwie wünschte ich, es wäre nicht so.
Alles was jetzt bleibt sind all die Erinnerungen, Fluten von Eindrücken, die endlosen Fotos und ein Rest von Pekings Staub an meinen Schuhen. Ich möchte ihn nicht abwaschen. Ich möchte den Lärm und den Trubel der Stadt nicht vergessen, nicht missen. Trotzdem weiss ich, dass nicht das Verwaschen der unzähligen Eindrücke verhindern kann.
Die Autos mit ihren verrückten Fahrern, die Scharen von Radfahrern, viele noch verrückter als die Autofahrer. Die unzähligen Lokale, Buden und Stände von denen ebensoviele Gerüche ausgehen. Die Menschen, wie reden, diskutieren, feilschen, Waren anpreisen oder im Park tanzen, Kaligraphie oder Taiji üben. Die Mädchen mit ihren elegant geschwungenen, treu-braunen Augen und seidiger Haut und nachtschwarzem Haar. Die Freundlichkeit und Neugier, die man einem einfachen Fremden entgegenbringt. Die Sprache so irrwitzig, anders, schwierig, melodisch und faszinierend zugleich. Alles davon so sehr, dass man nicht umhin kann, sie lernen zu wollen. Allein schon damit man im Restaurant weiss, was man gerade bestellt hat. So viel mehr, das jetzt schon zu verblassen beginnt. Die Flut nimmt kein Ende.
Wenn ich etwas in China verloren habe, dann ist es mein Herz. Fast in jeder Hinsicht.
Wie kann ich eine Strasse lebhaft nennen, wenn sie nicht mindestens den gleichen Lärm verursacht wie eine Marktstrasse in Nanjing? Nie wieder ist Essen scharf wenn es nicht dieselbe Wirkung hat, wie die Gerichte aus der Sichuan Provinz. Nie wieder kann ich eine Stadt gross nennen wenn es weniger als eine Stunde von einer Seite zur anderen dauert. Und nie wieder werde ich etwas völlig durchgeknallt nennen wenn es nicht den 12-wasweissich Kanal Dolby Surround Springbrunnen von Nanjing in den Schatten stellt.
Wie könnte ich China vergessen! Ich werde wiederkommen. Ich muss einfach.