Flashback

I'm deleting some old photos tonight and I stumbled across some real gems. If you've been following you may remember the post on my unlucky August this year. There I described how I had moved house and the state my fridge was in when it got handed over to me by the previous tenant. I completely forgot at the time that I took some photos with my mobile phone as evidence before I cleaned it. Only enlarge these if you have a strong stomach. Anyway, you get the idea. It was vile.

Sandman

I've been listening to Rammstein a lot recently. Their song "Mein Herz brennt" got me thinking about the sandman and inspired me to this little tale. Enjoy.

Do you believe in the Sandman? No? Then why do you think there are little grains of dirt in the corner of your eyes every morning when you wake up? When you were young, who do you think made you sleepy when it was time for bed? Your dad's bedtime story? No. You wanted to hear another one. Your mum coming to kiss you goodnight? No. You said you still wanted some chocolate. It's the Sandman that pours sand over your eyes. Why do you think your eyelids became so heavy all of a sudden. He wants you to sleep. He needs you to sleep. To dream.
Each grain of sand is like a seed and like with all seeds some take root and some do not. Some grow a bit and die and some never open. But some, if watered properly, will grow into beautiful flowers or sturdy trees. Your long hours of sleep are like water for the dream seeds. They make them flourish and bloom. The Sandman looks after them patiently like a farmer does look after his crops. He is diligent and watches over them carefully for they only have until morning to grow. When the first sunlight caresses your skin, when the first rooster crows, when the smell of coffee begins to slowly rouse you from slumber they whither and die quickly.
From midnight until the hour before dawn the Sandman waits for the dream seeds to grow to maturity. All night he does his rounds. Ever so often he peeks through your closed eyelids into your sleeping mind to inspect them - like a farmer does his tomatoes or cabbages. You would not feel his weight as he leans onto your chest. He is tall but gaunt and weighs next to nothing. Those saplings he finds unworthy he gently plucks from your mind to leave fertile ground for new ones. It's good ones he waits for. The dreams about lost love, slaying dragons, becoming president - or about ghost, goblins, being eaten alive or hunted by a faceless stranger. Those are the ones he claims for himself. With his long, immaterial hand he reaches deep into your mind and gathers together all the different strands and fills them into one of his many bottles. Then he smoothes out the ripples in your head. You would never know he had been there. And he continues his rounds.
Only just before sunrise he retreats to his abode far, far away from light and warmth with bottles full of fresh dreams. He craves them. He needs them. One by one he uncorks the bottles and presses the content into his cold veins. You should see the broad smile it brings to his pallid features and the youth it revives in his desiccated body. The taut skin around his features becomes supple again, his wide eyes roll back and his head lolls in ecstasy. He quivers and groans as life seeps back into him. This is how he spends the fitful hours of daylight. Until darkness falls and he goes out to sow his next harvest.
And then there are still the unruly children. Those who refuse to sleep and stay up late. Those that want to wander around the house in the middle of the night in search of snacks or read under the blanket. These are the ones that vex the Sandman much. They deny him their dreams. They deny him his only pleasure, his ambrosia. He still comes to them, of course. But he does not bring sand. Have you ever wondered why the dark of the late night struck fear into your heart as a child? Did you believe in Witching Hour or the Bogey Man? Were you afraid of the dark shape of a man standing in the deepest shadow in the corner of your room? Of the nameless things that lurked under your bed? Or in the closet that was never fully closed? Or in the pitch black of the basement? Would you shiver at the feeling of wisps of darkness reaching out to you like tentacles? Were you convinced there were demons, ghosts or black fairies? They would crawl out from under your bed and out of the cellar. You would pull your blanket up over your face but they would still peek at you from underneath. You would switch on the light or even scream for mummy and daddy. But that would not make them go away, only go into hiding. Until the lights went out once more.
So, little children pay good heed. I am the voice from out of your pillow. I have brought you something tonight. Think carefully before you resist its lure. I shall be here until break of day, sitting on the edge of your bed. Watching you sleep.
Sweet dreams.
They only grow in little children.

Ten Paces

Another story of fiction after a long pause. It's been inspired by (among other things) the song "Roter Sand" by Rammstein, but also a piece I once wrote for French lessons. Hope you enjoy it.

One step.
The pistol weighed heavy in his hand. He could not help but think of the price he had paid for this piece of armament: the barrel long and straight, etched with floral designs. The hilt was carved out of dark nut wood and the flint lock's cock simply but elegantly curved. It had made an ever so faint click when he had pulled it back. The sharp edges of the flint gleamed mysteriously in the morning light. Holding it up as close to his face as he was, he imagined he could almost catch a whiff of the gunpowder in the barrel, there, forming a volatile cushion for the little, round lead bullet. His finger never brushed the trigger as if fearful of setting it off prematurely.
Two steps.
The little clearing was perfectly quiet on this chilly morning as if bird and beast were afraid of what they might find or witness here today. He had been here countless times before today. He knew every tree stump, every patch of moss, every rock and root. But those had been different times. He had not brought a pistol then but books of poetry or picnic baskets. The birds had been chirping from the trees and bees had buzzed busily around him, and a golden sun had warmed his back. Instead of the scent of gunpowder there had been the sweet perfume of flowers on the breeze. And it had carried with it another sound: that of an angel singing.
Three steps.
He had veritably believed he had chanced upon an angel. From between the dark tree trunks she seemed to glow in her white dress. It formed a stark contrast with the black of her hair that tumbled lushly down her back like a flood of cocoa. All the while her lips played out the undulating melody of a slow song the words of which he did not understand. It seemed to him that her voice filled the whole forest - and his mind - with its music. It reached out to him and beckoned like the song of the siren, yet soothed him like a mother's lullaby. He never realised that his mouth and eyes were agape. Nor did he notice how much time had passed. But a sharp crack brought everything to a sudden halt. A twig had snapped beneath his foot. She started and spun scattering an armful of flowers onto the high grass, nut-brown eyes wide in alarm. And he spun, too, and ran blindly through the undergrowth his heart pounding in his chest. He never dared to speak of it to anyone for a long time.
Four steps.
She was an excellent pupil. She could read without faltering, her French pronunciation was flawless and her fingers danced nimbly across the strings of her violin. As years went by she grew taller, her shape fuller. She dressed no more in simple white but in elaborate gowns. She knew all the blossoms and shrubs, birds and beasts by their Latin names and began to quote the works of Voltaire, Kant or Locke. Her eyes, though, were ever as bright and her smile as wide; "warm enough to ward off the winter", one of the maids had said once. It was true: like a fairy she seemed to have spring in her eyes. And a wicked wit, to boot. They would sit in the same classroom and he would cast many a glance over at her when her head was turned. But somehow she would come to him to talk and they would converse at length on poetry and prose, nature, which she loved very much, or simply their school masters and their ways. Men came to her bearing roses yet she just smiled and watched them leave disheartened. He would often remark on it and she would flash one of her radiant smiles and say it was not time for her yet. And every time she said that his heart skip a beat.
Five steps.
Was it fate that led them back to that clearing - the same that he had spied her on and listened to her sing that French chanson so many years ago? She loved flowers and often walked in the forest to find some. It was a beautiful summer day and the sun light produced intricate patterns as it filtered through the leaves above them. Lilies, she told him, only grew in a few special places around their home. She knew most of them. Lilies were her favourite. They reminded her of France. How had she found this place? As a little girl she had spent a lot of time wandering and had chanced upon it. The lilies she had found here had sparked her love for them. She showed him the lilies that even now grew on the clearing amid the high grass and it felt like a day long gone. Then, as if reading his thoughts, she looked him straight in the eye asking if he had also been looking for lilies that day, years ago. What had he been staring at and why had he been hiding? He thought of denying. He considered running away again. But there was nothing reproachful in her features. How had she known? She was silent a moment. Then she said he had looked at her differently after that day. Later, when she had thought about it, it had to have been him. They sat on the grass, she nursing the slender stem of one of her favourite flowers. And he told her how he had heard her singing in her white dress with her black hair. He told of how he had been enchanted then, in that moment he had never hence forgotten. She smiled, blushing. And then he kissed her briefly, fleetingly on her red, red lips. The blush turned a deeper colour and she bowed her head as if in embarrassment. But the smile never left her face. He lay back on the soft grass and watched her and she shyly looked back at him from under the flood of dark hair. Would she sing that song again, he asked. She laughed her clear, crisp laughter and gently stroked through his hair. But sing she did and it filled his senses and he was lost. Never had he been closer to God's Paradise than at that moment.
Six steps.
They continued to meet all through that summer, cautiously, in secret, never for too long, so as not to make her parents suspicious. All his day seemed to consist of longing until he reached that little clearing and he could be with her again. Sometimes they would talk quietly, or bring a picnic basket, sometimes they would just lie on the grass and gaze at the sky idly watching the clouds float past. Sometimes they would just stare into each other's eyes and kiss and kiss until they were breathless. Winter went by tortuously slow because they had no other place to meet so discreetly. So, for several months they could only cast each other longing glances across desks or across the hall. Then spring returned and they began to meet outdoors again. The air was still crisp and she would often shiver in his embrace. But the days turned warmer and the sun climbed higher into the sky and drove the chill out. And they would spend in that little clearing little pieces of eternity filled with tenderness. And they would wish for time to stand still and leave them to their happiness. But time, the thief, did not halt.
Seven steps.
One day in late summer she arrived at the clearing with tears streaming down her face. Choking and sobbing she recounted of the row she had had with her parents. It took a while for him to get the reason out of her. Finally, she screamed it at him in a shriek of despair. And for a moment he could say nothing at all, just stare at her incredulously. His heart sank. It could not last. She was going to be married. Slowly, amid an incessant flood tears the story spilled out of her: a young man from their college, with whom she was acquainted and on friendly terms, had visited her parents a few weeks ago while she had been out. He was well situated in a wealthy family, he was handsome and had been very charming and courteous to her parents. He had illustrated how he would go on to university and lead his family's business and had promised a bright, secure future for her. Then he had formally requested of her father her hand in holy matrimony. Her parents had taken a whole week to consider. They had not mentioned it so as not to get her excited. Then they had agreed. When they had told her earlier in the day preparations had already begun. The wedding was to be that very year. She had pleaded with them to give her more time, to let her find out who he was, to let her reach a judgement. Her father had brushed it aside. He and her mother had scrutinised that young man and had found him a respectable and promising husband-to-be. Furthermore, it was time for her to get married. Anyhow, the decision had been made and arrangements had commenced. There was no turning back. They had thought it would be a happy surprise for her. They sat in silence for long after that, him holding her, gently stroking her hair. Slowly her sobs subsided and she fell asleep leaving him feeling empty and alone as the sun slowly began its descent.
Eight steps.
They continued to meet throughout the next few weeks but their meetings had a different quality now. There was something awful and final about them. There was a new, bitter taste to their kisses. There would often be tears and long silences. There was a space between them now that had never been there before. Then as summer turned into autumn her parents decided it was not good for an engaged young lady to spend her afternoon out in the forest. Whether they suspected something or not he would never find out. These weeks became unbearable for him. In mid-autumn, less than a month before the wedding, she sent him a note asking him to come to their usual spot. The golden autumn sun seemed to light the crimson leaves on fire when he arrived. Several blankets had been spread out on the grass. And she was there. The smile on her face was not as wide and not as carefree as it used to be. But it was her nonetheless. His heart seemed to want to leap out of his chest and reach out to her. All the longing and sadness of the past days and weeks seemed irrelevant as long as she was there. Maybe the wedding had been called off? A wild, unreasonable hope rose within him. No, everything would proceed as planned. She would be wed. In time, her parents had said, she would learn to love her husband. "But", she said and tears welled up in her eyes again, "they are wrong. For I love you and only you. I want to shout it out to the world. I want to write it in the stars. He can put a ring on my finger but he can never put a chain around my heart. He can have my body but he can never have my soul. Those will always be yours. I want you to know that." He held her tight then and kissed her and for a long time did not let her go. "There is one more thing", she said softly and at length, looking deeply into his eyes. "There one thing I wish to give you. It's something I've always kept for the one I love. And that man is you. Will you accept my gift?" At first he did not understand - until she took his hand in her smaller hand and guided it gently, haltingly to her bosom. He kissed her again, more passionately this time, as her felt her small, round breast under his palm. He almost imagined he could feel her heart racing in her chest. His hand and mouth began to wander. She breathed something unintelligible into his ear. They sank onto the woollen blankets and soon became an entanglement of discarded clothing and heated flesh. The smell of her perfume and the taste of her skin flooded his senses. She winced with pain when he first carefully entered her but slowly her body gave in and her gasps and moans were ones of pleasure. They continued to lie between the blankets long after their bliss had subsided. Not a word was said. None were needed. They knew any further meeting would be impossible. "Don't forget me", she told him as he kissed her one last goodbye. He promised he would not.
Nine steps.
After that day he only saw her occasionally and from afar. She would not look at him anymore. The day of her wedding came. It felt like a bitter lump in his throat. They would make the vows. The priest would ask anyone present who had objections to speak up or forever hold their peace. Then he would allow the husband to kiss the bride. The bells rang. He could not bear it. He ran out into the forest and charged on and on until his sides felt like bursting. He knew what would be next: the wedding night. She would be his. Wholly his. He saw the hands of that stranger caressing her flesh, his lips on hers tasting her. His mind raced. He saw the man sweating against her between clean sheets, his skin against hers, him possessing her. It drove him mad. Nothing could drive the images out. His desperate screams echoed through the forest. The next evening someone hammered on the door of his family's house. It was her husband- with several other young men from the college. He was fuming with rage and hardly waited until they were out of the house. Probably only the fear of public embarrassment made him keep his voice down. "You! How dare you?! How dare you embarrass me like this?!" There was no denying. Her newly wed husband went straight on, his face contorted into a grimace of hate: "You ... and her! ... I've seen you together but I thought you knew the difference between friends and ... husband and wife." He spat the last word out like a curse. "I thought you knew what is proper and what is inappropriate - inexcusable behaviour. No, don't you dare deny it now, you coward! She has admitted it. She has confessed." Was she alright, he interrupted. What was this man capable of? "That's none of your concern anymore, you hear? You stay away from her! She my wife." He pointed furiously at the ring on his right hand. Then his tone changed: "Oh, I will forgive her. 'In good times and in bad' is what they say. After all, she is only a woman. Women are weak creatures and cannot be held accountable for their actions. But you - you led her on, you seduced her." His voice rose to a roar: "You stole from me what was rightfully mine! And for that I demand satisfaction. You are a good-for-nothing, a scoundrel. You are a failure and a disgrace to your family. I will at least give you the chance to die like a gentleman." And with that he slapped his glove into the young man's face. But how to fight if you have no weapon? Her husband looked at him disdainfully. "He hasn't even got a pistol." He searched in his jacket for his purse, took out a few coins and threw them on the ground in a gesture of disgust. "Here are a few shillings. Go and buy yourself a pistol - and one cartridge. You will not need any more than that. Pick your second and meet me tomorrow morning on your beloved clearing."
Ten steps.
He spun on the heel of his boot and faced the direction he had come from. The other man did the same like a mirror image. He still would not look her husband in the face. It was not the face he wanted to remember. He held on to his pistol keeping it pointed upward perfectly straight. He stared through his opponent into space, the trees, the last wisps of morning mist. He did not even feel afraid of what was to come.
Her husband's second held the handkerchief aloft, then dropped it.
He noticed it fluttering idly downward, slowly, as if time was drawn out. His arm straightened almost out of its own volition while his mind remained blank. And still his finger would not curl around the trigger. It seemed to take hours for the flimsy piece of cloth to touch the ground and noiselessly crumple into a heap. And for one moment it seemed like the world itself caught its breath.
The sharp crack of the powder discharge ripped through the breathless silence like a hammer fall and echoed among the trees.
A single shot.
The ornate pistol with the dark wooden grip and the floral etchings on the barrel tumbled onto the moist soil, its cock still pulled back.
He wavered. Her face was there again. Her nut-brown eyes turned up ever so slightly to meet his gaze and her head cocked and her lips pursed into that pout of hers that looked to be just about to break into a broad smile. Just as if she was going to say something.
I love you?
But then the world went dark and he saw no more.

A New Perspective

It's now been a bit more than 24 hours since my bicycle was stolen. I had gone to my previous place to help out my landlady with some technical problems. I propped up the bike on the sidewalk, called her to say I had arrived, she let me into her house - and for the first time in my life I forgot to lock up my bike. When I came back out two hours later it was gone.
I was shocked. Surprised. Even now I'm not really angry or upset. Stupid me, I just told myself, serves me right for not locking it up. I pay the price for negligence. I have only myself to blame. When I told my parents about it their reaction was actually one of anger - at me. How could I have been so stupid?!
In the end, it was one of my colleagues who offered a more reasonable opinion. Sure it was negligence, he said, that was the natural reaction. It happens but that wasn't a reason to blame myself. The person to blame was still the thief and nobody else. My bike being stolen was not a logical consequence of me leaving it unlocked. So I shouldn't be too harsh on myself.
I actually think he's very right. Of course, we don't live in a perfect world. There are criminals and one person's negligence may encourage another's dishonesty. Of course, we should try to avoid that. But we should also remember that for a theft to happen it still primarily takes a thief, someone unscrupulous enough to walk away with someone else's property. That's the person to be mad at - if you want to get mad at all.
And if nothing else: Your property has already been stolen. Beating yourself up over it will only make you feel worse. Might just as well blame the actual culprit. Neither attitude will bring your property back. But one will at least make you live a bit easier.

Autumn Poem

秋天里	In Autumn
树叶变成火红 轻轻地飘下来 风带来湿叶芬 单人步声孤独	Leaves turn fiery red Float gently to the ground The breeze carries the smell of wet leaves One man's foot steps are lonely

I was inspired by a walk through the forest, which is now in its autumn gown of yellow and red. The Chinese language seems so appropriate to capture the quiet melancholy and serenity of natural beauty. I wish I could do better. I certainly can't write like a Goethe in German and my Chinese is still very limited.

Saving Up Daylight

It's that time of the year again. The one weekend in late October when clocks are turned back and we magically gain one hour of sleep. Then one weekend in late March clocks are advanced and we loose said hour of sleep again. It has confused many an Asian friend. Only the English name for this practice holds any clue as to its purpose: daylight saving time. We are saving daylight. For what I don't know. It was supposed to conserve energy and make us more efficient.
Then again, a TV channel questioned some people in my home town about the effects of the time change. Would the sun rise earlier or would we go to bed later? Most weren't even sure if the clocks were set forward or back - let alone any other effects. And those were people that, like me, have lived with this for all their lives some 20, 30 years. And what's the point? Timetables of overnight travel have to be adapted and computer software has to be made aware of the change. Night trains stand idling in stations for one hour to keep their schedule. God knows how they manage catch up one hour in spring. The change messes with our biological clock, as well. It causes confusion and, according to newer studies, more mistakes and accidents during the time immediately after the change.
And do we really conserve power? Since because of our little carnival trick the sun rises one hour "earlier" in the morning I don't have to turn on the light when I get up and brush my teeth. But because of the same trick it also sets one hour earlier at night so I'll have to turn on the light for dinner instead.
Actually, a reasonable person might ask: if we let the day start earlier in winter why not just keep it that way throughout the year? I guess that should be reduced to a theorem like: For every illogical action there is another equally nonsensical counter-action.
Maybe we should follow through and live according to daylight like in the old times: rise and go to bed with the sun. It would make working days conveniently short in winter. And since we want to switch to renewable energies soon and our office computers will be powered by the solar cells on the roof they will switch off anyway when the sun goes down. Then we could all sit around the fire and swap stories.
Of course, that's not going to happen. But then why hold on to nonsense like daylight saving time? Why not retire it and file it under "stupid ideas that don't work" - and save the world some confusion.

Who is Germany?

A few years back the government launched a campaign called "You Are Germany" in the attempt to encourage people to (as it seemed) have more children but also identify more strongly with our country.
Now, less than a week before the general election, I am beginning to have serious concerns about who really is Germany.
The reason is a recent article in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ; a major nationwide newspaper). It describes the new style most parties have used for their election manifestos: "Simple Language". As the name suggests this is a radically simplified form of German, which focuses on the active voice, short sentences and avoids metaphors and any foreign or high-brow words. It uses few nouns and many simple verbs, like "make", "do" or "be". In fact, it strongly resembles the way you'd speak to a little child and was originally formalised to help people with mental disabilities or learning deficits.
Some examples (as well as I can translate them into English):
"Cars make lots of fumes. So there should be more trains." - Social Democrats (SPD)
"Weather all over the whole world we call climate. Because of fumes it gets warmer and warmer. That makes icebergs melt. Then the seas have too much water. And there is flooding." - Green Party
Since it is now being used for election material I wonder what this should tell me. Are most voters around 10 years old or have mental disabilities or learning deficits? Has the general level of education in Germany dropped so low that the use of such simple terms is necessary for people to understand party agendas? Or do politicians think their voters are just a bunch of retards? I get the feeling it's a mixture of the latter two. I guess, that is not surprising. Leaders and philosophers throughout history have known that the general public as a whole, the masses, are stupid.
Consider Sir Max Beerbohm saying: "You cannot make a man by standing a sheep on its hind legs. But by standing a flock of sheep in that position you can make a crowd of men."
What surprises me more is that the FAZ seems to applaude this new development (unless it's very cleverly disguised sarcasm). They even seemed to chide the Liberal Party for not following this move. I for one appreciate that the Liberals obviously still assume their voters have a certain minimum intelligence.
Surely there are people with learning problems or mental disabilities in Germany. They should not be excluded from daily life. I just wonder if their mental capabilities should be taken as the new national standard. Or if somebody with drastically impaired mental capabilities could be trusted to make a mature decision and contribute to the future of our country.
And what's more is that this deliberate use of Simple Language over-simplifies potentially complex issues for the reader. It's one thing to use simple terms to explain to mentally impaired people what global warming means. To discuss possible solutions and how to implement them, and then let the impaired person make an informed choice on who to trust is an entirely different matter.
Moreover, the naïve ordinary reader may then also have the impression that the problem (and its solution) are that easy - "it gets warmer because of fumes, so let there be more trains". The thing is that these issues aren't as simple as that. It may be uncomfortable for the average citizen but that's the way it is. And to relieve people of the need to do their own thinking would mean to breed a nation of morons who get their knowledge of the world spoon-fed by the government. Another brave new world.

Augmented Reality

I've been subject to an interesting opinion today.
I was talking to someone I know; without thinking too much I said that wherever there's my computer I feel at home. The reply took me a bit by surprise:
"Great home ... the Internet.
Great friends ... who give you imaginary hugs.
Great girlfriend ... at the other end of the world, who you'll never smell.
Great reading ... without holding a book in your hands or being able to smell the ink.
Great communication ... without mimics or gestures, without seeing eyes in front of you or smelling someone's breath or hearing the loud laughing of a friend ring in your ears."
I tried to argue that it is this very technology that brings people from as far as different continents closer together.
"Some closeness", came the retort, "that can only come from someone who has long since forgotten how to live with all their senses."
I never got a chance at arguing this further since even this conversation took place in cyberspace. It did get me thinking, though. It is a very current issue. Politicians have been speaking against services like facebook or twitter arguing that young people spend way too much time and energy on the web without forming real relationships. So, I'd like to continue this argument - virtually, so to speak.
Firstly, we'd have to take into account a certain degree of technophobia on the part of some members of older generations. It's a fear of the rapid development and all the new possibilities - and risks - the Internet has opened up. On the part of my acquaintance this much more due to a philosophical point of view (and a strong and mundane desire to pick a fight). Still, there undeniably is some truth in it.
Internet friendships rarely ever go deeper than what you'd call acquaintances in real life. No matter how many hugs or smiles you send, social networking sites may call them "friends" but if we're honest most of them are just entries in a contact list. You can never be part of their lives and they cannot partake in yours. Relationships that go any further than friendship seem so easy but remain unsatisfying since you will never feel the warmth, the closeness that another person next to you brings.
On the other hand, however, long-distance friendships are not new. In the past, they were called pen-friends. Of course, times have changed. You exchange email addresses instead of postal codes. Previously, you had no more than the written word to carry your meaning. Today, with faster and faster Internet connections, you can write letters, use instant messaging to communicate in real time, make voice or even video calls to talk face to face. Web logs allow you to publish your thoughts while platforms like facebook allow you to share pretty much everything with your chosen friends from your favourite movie over your latest holiday snapshot to the contents of your bookshelf. Online libraries, encyclopedias and dictionaries are easily searchable and available 24 hours a day. Online news and information services - corporate but especially independent - are an effective way for people from around the globe to exchange ideas and opinions.
Well, I know it's not all as vanilla as all that. Social networks have their own risks and hazards, people may not be who they seem, and information may be unreliable. But for now I'm just concerned with a princple discussion here.
So, what's the conclusion? I believe it's somewhere in the middle. In terms of utilities, I think the pros have it. It's the human factor where things get difficult. Of course, Internet relationships can never (and probably should never) replace real-life relationships. Even with fully immersive virtual reality it would probably not be entirely the same. But still, social networks have helped me get back in touch with class mates I thought I would never hear of again. A friend that I kept in touch with via the Internet recently got me a ticket to a concert of my favourite band. Instant messengers allowed me share thoughts and feelings with friends that have moved far away. And keep in mind that the argument that started all this also took place via an instant messenging service. Doesn't that prove my point? Without the technology this person was condemning so harshly there would have been no way of sharing that naïve opinion in the first place.
The truth of the matter, I believe, is that like all technology the Internet cannot replace the human touch. The virtual world(s) of the Internet cannot become a healthy substitute for the real world. But it can help us exchange thoughts, stay in touch and up to date with the people we care about - a modern evolution of the classic pen friends. Instead of a virtual substitute, a virtual or alternate reality for escapism I see the Web much more as an enhancement to our lives, an environment that opens new possibilities or channels of communication, that broadens our horizon. Something that doesn't make our senses obsolete but can extend them. An augmented reality.

Unlucky August

August has not been a good month for me on the whole. Even my company's receptionist remarked on that.
I used to be quite blessed with luck. Or that's what I'd think. Maybe I've become too complacent, maybe it was just time that my luck should run out. Maybe it was divinity shaking an admonishing finger at me so as I'd not forget faith.

Where to start?

I moved flats on 1st August, so there was the task of cleaning the new flat. Routine, I assumed. What I hadn't expected was that the previous tenant had just switched off the fridge and left it sitting there for months. When I opened it it reaked of I-don't-know-what. The rubber isolation was covered in red and black mould and some black things like seeds we lying around the shelves. Almost overcome with nausea I spent some three (3!) hours washing, scrubbing and wiping the thing. The little seeds, I found out to my horror, were no mere seeds but looked much rather like the segmented carapaces of small insects. It's beyond me how someone can tolerate that kind of decay and filth. I got rid of the insects and most of the mould but the rubber isolation remains stained and the fridge still smells bad. The landlord is now deciding whether to buy a new fridge. At least, he does seem keen to resolve that matter. It's his fridge, after all.

I also needed some new furniture. I ordered a bed and a wardrobe from a mail order company called Neckermann (one of Germany's largest). I had ordered in mid-July, the order was confirmed with delivery time of beginning of September. When I hadn't heard anything by mid August I wrote to them and found out that my order had been cancelled for "delivery-related reasons" and was going to be renewed. Imagine my annoyance - I had been sleeping on a sofa for over two weeks. To make things worse the new delivery time would be end of September now. When I checked the online account the price of the wardrobe had also increased. Now I was furious. I called and complained. The price could be corrected immediately but they didn't stock the items, so there was nothing to be done about the delivery. I was, of course, free to cancel the order at any time. Great. Of course, that would not get me any closer to getting a bed. I feel like I'll never hear the end of it.

The next thing was getting an Internet connection. In Germany, a technician actually has to come and do some wiring to your house - or if you're lucky just the next external distribution box. I wasn't so lucky. The box is in the basement. So, I needed to be present for the technician. And since the agreement between my provider (Alice) and the German Telekom, who provide the technician, is so fuzzy they can only give you a time frame of 8:00 to 16:00 hours.
I really didn't want to waste a day of annual leave for that. Then I made a cruxial mistake: I assumed intelligence or willingness to work. On the set day I went to work hoping/expecting the technician would come, ring the door, get no answer and call my mobile phone to check where I was. Then I could ask him to wait five minutes while I rode my bike back home. I had it all worked out. Just that the technician didn't call. He left me a card. I had missed him by just 15 minutes but now I needed a new appointment. The following week turned out to be the earliest. Also I would probably have to pay for all following visits.
The following week I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. I stayed at home and I waited. But nobody came. At 19:00 I called the provider and was told the technician had reported I wasn't home. I almost screamed at that blatant lie. Now I'd have to wait another week. I wrote them an angry email telling them I wouldn't pay for any further technician calls. I just got an indifferent reply from customer services saying that this was the technicians report and such was their policy and that was the only answer they could give me. We'll see! At least the following week the technician did come and early enough for me to go to work afterwards and just work the rest of the day off as overtime. It seems there are people who go through this four-odd times before they get connected. How can companies do business like that?

I also wanted to visit a friend from Beijing who's studying at Birmingham university at the moment. In July I booked a fairly cheap, direct flight with Lufthansa. She was a bit worried because the dates were around the time when she'd have to resit her exams but she was hoping to make time for me. Then only two weeks before she suddenly called and apologised but I'd have to change the booking. The university had just told her she'd have to resit one exam on the very weekend I'd be there.
I still wonder why universities cannot plan further in advance than two weeks. So, I called Lufthansa but there was no way of changing the booking. I had to cancel and forfeit all but the price of the actual ticket - a trifle these days. I lost more than half the money I had paid. Also, tickets in September seemed to be significantly more expensive. The new booking I made cost more than half the price of the original ticket again. What to do - it's the last chance to see her before she's off back to Beijing again.

Even something as trivial as signing up for electricity hasn't been easy. These things are complicated in Germany, since we like it that way. I can't actually bring myself to expand upon the matter here. It's sorted for now but I expect to hear more soon.

Finally, I'm sure you've read what happened to me at the airport when I visited my friend in London for her 30th birthday. I didn't even realise it was a big number like that. I was so upset to leave my present behind - especially after leaving work early and going through the tasting of wines and finally approving the one I bought.

Now be judge yourself. Was it bad luck? For the moment, I only wish to mercifully forget this month and move on into the next. Surely things can't get much worse. Maybe short of a fire in the flat or ... well, let's say I'll steer clear of ladders and cats the time being. And faith. Let's not forget faith.

Will we change our way of life?

Years ago, when "terrorism" started becoming the international political buzzword number one there was one sentence that politicians like George W. Bush, Tony Blair but also Angela Merkel kept repeating. It ran something like:
"Terrorists may try to intimidate us/the "free world" but they will never make us change our way of life."
Now, looking back I can only find that this was either naïve or a lie. Our way of life has changed. And I'm not even talking about all the new laws on phone tapping, government trojans on your computer, being detained without charge or watched constantly on CCTV cameras.
I'm talking about the simple fact that I wasn't allowed to take a bottle of wine onto a plane from Frankfurt to London to give it to my friend for her birthday. It's EU legislation: no liquids in the hand luggage if it's more than 100 ml. The bottle was 750 ml. I had forgotten. The friendly security officers that screened my backpack told me they couldn't let me take the bottle onboard. No exceptions made. They had already "had whiskey bottles worth some €100 thrown away". It turned out it was also too late to check it in since the plane was already fully loaded. I had the option of drinking it on the spot or trashing it. So, the bottle went in the bin. I was really upset. At least, it wasn't a really expensive wine but that's beside the point: I lost half the birthday present and something I had wanted to share with my friend.
On the flight back I even had to seal my little deodorant roll-on and toothpaste up in a plastic bag.
I can certainly remember times when the only thing to worry about when taking a bottle of wine on a flight was customs. My grandfather was even able to bring an antique dagger on the flight. Nobody would demand you to throw away your present because it made you a potential threat to air traffic safety.
So, now I ask again: Have we let terrorism change our way of life?
Think carefully before you answer.

Gnawing Doubt

Starting a new job isn't easy, I guess. It certainly would be a lot easier if it wasn't for these constantly gnawing thoughts in my head.
When I interviewed I told people how I'm intelligent, a fast learner, have excellent programming skills and so on. I had made up my mind I would not only make an effort but be better than I was while working in UK. When I started work two months ago I wanted to live up to and surpass the promises I made during the interview. I wanted to work hard, learn fast, earn everyone's respect.
Now, two months later, I wonder where I am on that plan. I struggle. I'm sometimes overwhelmed by the amounts of code, even though the product isn't that big yet. I still fail to see the context, how things work together. Even on a small scale. I get confused, I try tracing values through the code and get lost. I stare at bits of code without really seeing the pattern. Then, when I ask and a colleague goes through it with me it's all so clear, so easy, so obvious. Still, the next time round it seems just as difficult again. Then when a colleague helped me with a task it seems he thinks so fast. I found it hard to follow. In the end he just sat in my place and wrote some of the code himself. Of course, that didn't help making me feel any better. And now there's another new colleague who seems so much quicker on the uptake and more professional.
It's not that I don't try and make an effort. Just sometimes I feel that I'm not up to it. That I'm too slow, don't have the talent. At those times I wonder what my colleagues really think about me, and more importantly what the boss thinks of my performance. Is he maybe regretting his decision to hire me? Is he disappointed with what he took for potential? If so, come the end of my probation period, maybe he will "regret to tell me that there is no place for me in their company, after all".
Some people tell me I'm too harsh on myself. But am I really? The thing is that others don't really talk about this. It makes me wonder if I'm alone in this. And I wish people weren't so damn polite. I would like someone to comment on my progress. Is my performance within expected limits or not? Am I just being given difficult tasks or is it that I'm being stupid solving what should be easy assignments?
Could it be that I really lack the talent? And if so where does my talent lie? I would like to think it's in creativity but I have yet to finish any writing that I've started. Then what is it? Languages? Would be a bit too late for that, right, now that I'm not in China anymore.
And I wonder if there will ever be an end to this. Will I ever be as confident as my colleagues are? Given a year or so will I have their snappy competence and be given responsibility for a project? I wish there was not so much an easier but less agonising way through this. Is it really just me?

Revenge My Ass!

This is review of the new Transformers - Revenge of the Fallen. It contains harsh language. There are also a number of spoilers. Neither are avoidable, so if you are offended by either do not read on.

I had such high expectations. I was not going to be discouraged by the initial reviews. Sadly, this time I have to agree. Yes, it's big, it's loud, it has dizzyingly impressive visuals and big explosions, and transforming alien robots. The problem is, it's also in this order. The Transformers - the namesakes of this production, for crying out loud - come last. Apart from them the film is more like a big-budget advertising reel for the US army. The only thing missing are directions on where to sign up.

The Transformers seem to be there mainly to provide a reason for America to mobilise against something - and for comic relief. Take the "twins". Take the little "spybot". Take Jetfire (in the source material one of the most powerful Autobots): a Transformer with a walking stick and uncontrollable bodily functions. Take Bumblebee: His character is reduced to a fierce but cute guard doggy for Spike. At the end of the last film he had learnt to speak. Now he's back to making unintelligible but adorable sounds. Even Starscream (my favourite): He was introduced as one of the most dangerous of all Decepticons in the previous film, where he took on several Autobots and armies of human soldiers. Now he's little more than an embarrassingly comical coward.

The first half or so of the movie is actually fairly promising with some clever Decepticon trickery and introducing some of my favourite characters (like Soundwave, Ravage, the Constructicons or Arcee). They even bring back Megatron - which got me excited like a school boy again. Then follow some episodes about family, college life and how bloody omni-present the CIA are. In the end, though, most of the big heroics - and most of the screen time - go to US soldiers showing off their impressive equipment and response times. Note that in the beginning China's military takes no action - they wait for the US to save the day. Note also that the Autobots actually live as shiny cars in a US army base and only get hoisted around when they are needed - like extras. Then, when we finally get to the climatic battle I had to sit and watch helplessly as Devastator (in the source the ultimate Decepticon fighting machine) is taken out by some damn US secret weapon and an entire Decepticon army is wiped out by an American air strike. The Autobots, who also take part in the battle, are mainly seen in the background shooting at nothing in particular. The face-off between Optimus Prime and the Fallen then comes almost as an after-though. As in: "oh, yes, we still have to finish off that part of the plot."
Now, the source material has always involved the army. It is, after all, about war. That's generally fine. So, in the first film it was tolerable since it also preserved some classic moments. Or so I felt. Here, I disagree with a lot of other viewers. This one, however, has clearly crossed the line. All I see here is that some great source material has been raped - yes, raped! - so that Americans can once again feel good about their eff-ing army.

I went to see this film to see - well, surprise! - the Transformers. What I got was a story about how America's army is so cool they can even take on alien robots. So, maybe this film should be more appropriately named "USA and the Transformers". After the first film I had tears in my eyes for finally seeing the material come the big screen. After this my eyes almost watered again. Only this time it was tears of disappointment and frustration. Such potential - wasted! This film was obviously only made to make more big money with a big franchise and Megan Fox wearing tight outfits. I'm afraid and sad it may even work. I feel this is an insult to the community that so loves these characters. I hope we can go on as if this hadn't happened. I say it now and I mean it: I will not watch any third instalment if it is still Michael Bay and his creative team producing it.

Face your Enemy

It's something you'd expect a Far-Eastern Zen master to teach you: "Your harshest competitor, your worst enemy is in yourself." I found it interesting to experience that first-hand. There's a bit of a story to it.
I had signed up for last week's JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge run. That's a 5.6 km marathon that's held, among other places, in Frankfurt once a year. I'm not the fittest person, really, so I started the run with mixed feelings. The furthest I had run previously was around 4 km and not on a regular basis. Would I reach the finish line, at all? Well, I was in for a surprise. Not only did I reach the finish line but crossing it I realised I was groggy but I could have actually gone on. You might have said I felt empowered. I ran the 5.6 km in about 31 minutes and was asking for more.
I think, a lot of people felt similarly surprised - that they could do more than they thought. "The crowd pulls you along", was something I heard a number of people say. It sounds trivial but I guess they had a point. Maybe it's a mixture of motivation and distraction that makes you go on and lets you think less about the effort of running. There's always something to occupy your mind - whether making sure you're on the right track or avoiding other runners or not tripping in the crowd.
Tonight I ran my usual 4-something kilometers again. It was in better shape than usual but nowhere near that of last Wednesday. The difference is that I know the route and I run alone. If there's nothing much to distract you it's hard to ignore your thumping heart and racing breath. Those sounds become your only companions. And that exactly must be the moment when you encounter your greatest enemy. With nothing to distract you you must face him. That's surely also the reason why many people run with a friend - to get reinforcements. But only if you face your enemy alone and prevail then you've truly defeated him.
One day ... bit by bit ... to wear him down ...

Nostalgia Animated

I guess, I was feeling kinda sentimental this weekend. You could say that my generation is probably the first of the TV junkies. It's not that my parents just set me in front of a TV, I discovered its magical attraction by myself during a stay at the hospital where I couldn't do much else. After that I'd spend weekend mornings in front of the box devouring one cartoon after another, episode by episode. I'd watch them after coming home from school. They were sometimes my motivation to do homework more quickly or my excuse for skipping them.
Talking to my friend about what we watched as kids made me think. I often say cartoons today, things like Pokemon or Dragonball, are not what they used to be. So, I thought back about what were those shows that shaped my childhood. For better or worse.
So, here they are. The list is surely not comprehensive but it should at least cover the stuff I watched on a regular basis. The links lead to videos of the opening titles, which, happily, you can still (or again) find on youtube. Join me on a tour of my childhood.

Galaxy Rangers: Law men in the future, each with their special abilities.
He-Man and the Masters of the Universe: The prince of a threatened kingdom discovers he can use his magical sword to become the "most powerful man in the universe" and fight back against his enemy Skeletor.
Transformers: Two species of convertible robots, the good Autobots and the evil Decepticons, fight an ancient war and end up on earth where their struggle continues for the resources of the planet. Probably my all-time favourite. Of course, there was a highly successful toy series.
Challenge of the Gobots: Similar to Transformers. According to sources this actually came first but was way not as popular.
Bravestarr: The Exploits of Marshall Bravestarr, lawman with mystical powers, and his robotic talking horse protecting the citizens of the planet New Texas. Also one of my favourites.
Inspector Gadget: A clumsy inspector of Scotland Yard is equipped with countless ingenious gadgets while his niece and her dog secretly help him solve cases and thwart the plans of the evil Dr. Claw.
Queen Millennia: A mysterious planet is diverted from its orbit and hurled through space on a collision course with earth while its inhabitants secretly work on earth to avert the catastrophy. Very original, I was so sad when it ended. (Here's the original Japanese intro)
Starcom: Can't remember much; law enforcers or military in space. There was an elaborate toy series.
Voltron: With the universe in danger a special force is dispatched to recover the lost super robot Voltron fight off the evil forces.
Bionic Six: A family of six bionically enhanced individuals fight crime.
Mask: A secret force of crime fighters driving convertible vehicles fight the similarly equipped evil organisation dubbed Venom.
Silverhawks: Sadly, I can't really remember what this was about.
Saber Rider and the Star Sheriffs: Special unit of law enforcers, equipped with high tech weapons and a super spaceship that transforms into a huge robot, called Ramrod, fight evil on distant planets.
Defenders of the Earth: A group of famous (super) heroes fight crime and evil.
The Real Ghostbusters: Based on the movie of the same name, a group of four specially equipped scientists catch malevolent ghosts in and around New York.
She-Ra: He-Man's twin sister, also equipped with a magic sword and "fabulous powers" leads the battle against the evil Hordak.
Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles: Four genetically mutated, humanoid turtles with a craving for pizza are trained as ninja and fight crime and the foot clan led by the evil Shredder around New York.
Ulysses 31: Based on the Odyssee from Greek Myth but in space.
Captain Future: Can't really remember this one but I did watch it on occasions.
Captain Planet: The one and only environmentally friendly cartoon around five kids with rings of power that could combine to call up the defender of the environment: Captain Planet. It's kind of embarrassing today.
Addams Family: Yes, there was also a cartoon based on the B&W series about the weird and spooky family.
Spider-man: Based on the Marvel comic, when young student Peter Parker gets bitten by a radio-active spider and develops the powers of that animal he must realise that "with great power comes great responsibility" and he sets out to fight crime and super villains around New York.
Spider-man and his Amazing Friends: Spidey gets reinforcements from two other super heroes: Iceman and Firestar.
The Incredible Hulk: Another Marvel cartoon, about Professor Connor who when under stress transforms into an incredibly strong, violent monster of a man.
Mr. T: A series about the actor Mr. T (from the A-Team) about fighting crime and providing valuable lessons for kids. Embarrassing, I know.
Robocop: Based on the feature film of the same name but way not as violent, Detroit police officer Alex Murphy is mortally wounded in action and his body cybernetically enhanced and armoured making him a super-cop.
Gummibears: A tribe of tiny Gummibears live in an enchanted forest and equipped with their Gummibear juice that gives them great power they have lots of adventures and must fight off evil monsters.
Ewoks: Based on the characters from Star Wars - Return of the Jedi, a series about the adventures of the ewoks on the forest moon of Endor before or after the movie happened.
Jem: Can't really remember much, except that I watched it every weekend on the English channel.
Smurfs: The good-hearted little Smurfs live hidden in their village deep in the forest and must evade the evil sorceror Gargamel and have many other adventures. (Since I can't find this intro in English this is the original French opening.)
Michel Vaillant: A series about the race driver of that name and his adventures. (this is the German opening.)
Ring Raiders: A short-lived series about a special military organisation that could give their fighter planes special power stored in a ring worn by each pilot. There was also a collectible toy series.
Rude Dog and the Dweebs: A pack of dogs lead by the ultra-cool (or so he thinks) Rude Dog trick cats and other people that want to get at their home.
Dungeons & Dragons: Based on the roleplaying game, a group of kids are magically transported into a fantasy world where each receive special powers, where they have to fight evil, find a way home and receive guidance by the mysterious Dungeon Master.
The Flintstones: What, you don't know the Flintstones? The stone-age family?
Beverly Hills Teens: Can't remember much, a lot of it seems to be concerned with being cool but it's been a long time since I watched it when the English channel still had cartoons.
Tom & Jerry: A slightly dumb cat and a clever mouse - guess what will happen.
Die Schnellste Maus von Mexiko (never found out the English title): A spin-off of Bugs Bunny about Speedy Gonzalez a lightning fast mouse, Sylvester the cat, Duffy Duck and Roadrunner and Koyote. I loved this, I would even come indoors from playing to watch this.
The Bugs Bunny Show: Lots of short funny episodes about Bugs and his friends.
Around the World with Willy Fogg: A cartoon adaptation of Jules Verne's classic except that all characters are talking animals.
Ducktales: The adventures of Disney's favourite characters, Scrooge McDuck and his family.

The list goes on ...

On how hard it can be

Love isn't easy. A very dear person once told me that. When you see a couple that have had their "happily ever after", that are still happy after many years of being together, what you don't see is all the effort and endured hardship that have gone into the relationship and without which they wouldn't be where they are now. Still, sometimes I do wish there was an easier way out.
I'm talking about distance, immeasurable distance, even though you feel so close. I'm talking about hearing, seeing but not touching nor feeling. I'm talking about being separated by 12 hours flight, 7 hours time difference, national borders, a telephone line, a computer screen. I'm talking about letters not delivered, static on the line, connections failing and, who knows what's next - bosses' whims? I'm talking about frustration. I'm talking about loneliness even though there's should be somebody right next to you. I'm talking about dreams made together but having no idea if they have a future. I'm talking about feelings that defy words but having no other way to express them. I'm talking about the moment when mere words are not enough. And I'm talking of hoping against likely odds.
It's not only about love but about patience. And in a way also about faith. And finally about that bit of wildly unreasonable optimism. But I couldn't do it alone.

Objects in the Rear View Mirror ...

"Are you a movie star?"
That's the first thing she said to me. Would you think it's an effective pick-up line? I actually thought she was making fun of me at the time. I was growing my hair. It wasn't short anymore but it still wasn't really long either. I was in that awkward time when you can't tie a ponytail and your hair hangs messily into your face. I certainly didn't feel like a movie star. Still, her smile seemed genuine. She squeezed onto the bench next to me. The table in the little student bar was getting crowded - the guy she had arrived with had to sit at the next table. And the girl I was trying to have a date with sat unreachably two people away from me happily chatting and laughing with a guy I hadn't been introduced to.
So, partially to avoid feeling jealous, I made conversation, too. Who was this girl who was teasing me with fame despite my hair? She explained she was from Malaysia but was ethnically Chinese. Indeed she was short, maybe 1 meter 60 with long black hair and a cute Asian face with big, brown eyes. I clearly remember thinking that she was really cute. I had to ask her where Malaysia was. I asked her about the golden necklace she was wearing. Dangling from it on her chest was a Chinese character. She showed it to me, explained how to pronounce it and told me it was her family name. A few minutes later I had forgotten most of those facts again. But the conversation with her was very easy and time passed quickly. At the end of the evening she left with the others and, in private with my date at last, I got turned down.
Fast forward to next week. Same group of people. This time we went to the student club. She was there with two other Asian guys. On the dance floor, jerking wildly to pop music, I met her. We started dancing together and soon the group around us was forgotten. We smiled at each other, bumped hips in time with the music and stared intently into each other's eyes. When her friends wanted to leave I asked her to stay but she couldn't. The two guys were taking her back.
The next day I met her outside the dining hall. I was actually quite excited to see her again. She greeted me with: "Hello, dancing man." My heart sank. She was making fun of me, after all. She thought last night had been silly. Still, we chatted and I eventually went ahead asking her out. No intentions. To make a friend. Dinner at a pub near university. She said yes.
Fast forward again to the night of our dinner. We talked all the way through the meal and on until the pub closed. When we left it was raining. Where to go? Our halls were 20 minutes' walking distance from here. We ran for shelter to the maths and physics building, which had a porch with a small roof. We sat in the dark and talked while the rain poured down. She was cold, so I put my arm around her. She told me many things about herself, her life. Today I can't remember anymore why she started crying. Hearing her sob in the dark, rainy night I didn't know what to do, so I just held her, hugged her close, tried to comfort her. Next thing I knew she had turned around in my arms and planted her lips on mine. It was my first kiss. And even when she pressed so hard that I cut my lips on my own teeth I didn't dare to speak up. I was afraid the moment would end. We were still sitting there long after the rain had stopped. I remember when I finally got to my room 3 am had already passed. I was wondering if everything had just been a dream.
We continued to meet in the evening, after dark. Her friends were not to know that her boyfriend (I was her boyfriend - it had a nice ring to it) was a Westerner. It had something of a mystery romance, meeting in secret behind the halls or down by the beach. It was cold but I never cared because she would be there. We went for walks in the park or on the beach between lectures during the day, met again for dinner in the evening and shared one of our small single beds at night.
Friends on my floor in the halls were getting excited. Who was my new girlfriend? They wanted me to introduce her. A course mate who lived next door told me he didn't like me seeing her. My affection for the last girl, he said, had been more genuine. It wouldn't last. I didn't know what he meant. A friend of hers asked me to his room. He told me that she was his good friend, he wouldn't let me hurt her. I didn't get it: why would I want to hurt her? Another course mate, I learned later, was talking behind my back: I was having myself some "bamboo". I didn't even begin to understand where he was coming from.
I did know that for the first time in my life I was falling completely, deeply, hopelessly in love.

But it was long ago and it was far away
Oh God, it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway
Then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
...

Fast forward days, months, years. Separation. Reunion. Exams. Holidays. Job hunting. Present day. So many things have happened between us. Some good, some less so. She is far away in a different country under different stars and with a different man now. I have also moved on. I am not the man that dreamed with her on the beach then. I have found someone new again. Our love is only a distant memory. She has chosen to forget, to not let the past burden her. But I refuse to let go. Why?
It's like the box of memorabilia that you keep in the attic. They collect dust. They fade. And everyone tells you to throw them out already. Life goes on, friends come and go, people change, you gain a bit you loose a bit. But sometimes, in a quiet moment, you go up there and flip through them slowly, inspecting them one by one before you carefully put them back. And you're glad they're still there. Because this is something nobody can take from you. This is you. And sometimes you think what a funny old life it has been.

I Wish

I wish you were not so far away,
I wish you were near,
Right by me, here,
I wish I could find an easier way,
For me to say,
You're my dear.

I wish I could hold you close,
And have nothing to fear,
Because we'd see clear,
What it is that means the most,
We'd never be lost,
If that time was here.

I wish my nights were not so lonely,
So empty and cold,
Without you to hold,
My darling, it's you that I want only,
I wish it was easy,
For the heart to be bold.

I wish that time was not so long,
Until I can see your face,
And feel your embrace.
For you I wish to be strong,
And carry on,
I wish months were just days.

I wish these things were simple and plain,
I wish this to be true,
So we won't have to feel blue,
It would not be in vain,
My little Elaine,
Because I love you.

Don't Disturb the Dead

How I'd love to be able to write about all the good things we have going on in Germany. How I'd love to be genuinely proud. Sadly, time and again I am reminded not to carry my head too high.
Consider all the things that a government should be concerned with: taxes, education, public health (very important these days), public infrastructure, public safety, foreign affairs, trade, just to name a few that spring to mind. What they actually do concern themselves with is often a vastly different matter.
To give an example, I have just learnt, there is a law governing the "Peace of the Dead" (Totenruhe) which lays down your "post-portem personal rights". One effect, my landlady told me, is that if you have a relative cremated somewhere other than where he or she will be buried the urn has to be sent by mail to the place of burial. It cannot be handed over to the deceased's family (as it can in other countries). They might set grandma's remains on the mantle piece and that would be "disturbing the Peace of the Dead". It would be an offense. The Peace of the Dead is protected for ten years. I'd agree it would be extremely bad taste - but to be punishable is going a bit too far. And then I consider that representatives in parliament must have sat down to debate this and make it law. What precious time they must have spent on this! Sometimes I think it's so that later when challenged on what they achieved they can point at it and say: "We weren't idle. We passed a bill to protect the personal rights of the dead."
Similarly, there's a bill somewhere covering domestic violence where a husband physically abuses his wife. You'd think that such things were covered somewhere under rape, assault or grievous bodily harm. But parliament stuck their heads together and came up with a separate bill for this just to show that they are very concerned about the fate of women. Now, I agree that there should be zero tolerance toward such offenses. Still, is this what our government should spend their time on when economy at the time was stagnant and unemployment on the rise? Later they will say: "But we protected women's interests." While neglecting their duties toward the future of the country.
Environment: There has been - and still is - a big debate about abolishing nuclear power in Germany (Atomausstieg). This egg was hatched by the Green Party after the Chernobyl incident. All around us our European neighbours like France, the UK and even the Czech Republic are actually increasing their nuclear capacity. We also have as yet no workable alternative. Still, environmentalists go on shouting their slogans of renewable energies, setting an example and making our country safer. I don't think they have given much thought to how many wind generators it would take to power a city like Berlin or Hamburg. Or that the French have nuclear power plants right across the border from us (so much for safety). We might well end up buying electricity from them later. But that's what parliament spend their time on.
Or education: When I was in secondary school the government spent years agreeing on a spelling reform and finally introduced the "New German Spelling" (Neue Deutsche Rechtschreibung). It turned out to be mainly a rearrangement of the existing rules. Nothing new or ground breaking. The usage of "ß" and "ss" has become more complicated rather than less. The government spent God-knows what resources repairing something that wasn't broken in the first place. With the only effect that I can throw away half the rules I painstakingly memorised at school and now have to rely mainly on my spell checker. Some reform.
The list goes on.
Sometimes this kind of behaviour seems to me like children that are told to do unpleasant chores. Mum says: "Clean up your room." When she comes back little Timmy stands in front of the door of his room and proudly announces: "Mum, I washed my face." When mum tries to take a look at his room he quickly steps in her way and beams his clean face at her. What he did wasn't useless but it would have happened anyhow and his room is still a mess.
My grandfather always says we have the government we deserve. There are times when I fear he is right. The next general election is coming up and I can already see the propogan- I mean, campaign posters. "Financial sharks would vote for Liberal", the Social Democrat posters proclaim ominously. They promise to deal out more money. The current government has already ensured the "scrapping bonus" (Abwrackprämie: a €2500 bonus you get from the government if you scrap your old car and buy a new one) will continue to be paid until the end of the year. This will boost economy, they say. To blind voters, they're handing out money they don't have. And they pass laws that allow them to pretend they've been busy. And they're surprised that young people are frustrated and loose interest in politics. It's all really a lot like kindergarten.
What to do? I will cast my vote and do my personal duty. And hope against all hope that something will change.

Dream in the Pavilion by the Lake on a Rainy Day

Another story - inspired by a rainy day and a few cheesy Chinese fairytales...


The rain started as the sun began to set. It pattered down on the roof of the little, lonely pavilion. It made endlessly complicated ripples on the surface of the lake it overlooked. It ran in tiny waterfalls off the green tiled roof and splashed noisily onto the ground below. Soon puddles had formed around the stairs that led up to the platform. The refreshing summer shower turned into a downpour dense enough to obscure the dark forest on the opposite banks of the lake. A light breeze rose and carried with it the scent of wet grass and wood. The wind chimes dangling from the eves of the roof rang out their melancholic music. Nobody ever heard the sound of a single rain drop falling, the general mused, but a million of them are enough to drown out the battle cries of an entire army.
The general stood perfectly erect in the centre of the small building with its pointed, green tiled roof, sweeping eves and dark wooden posts. His travelling cloak was pulled closely around him to ward off the rising chill. Even now, when there was nobody around he had not undone his hair or rid himself of the cap that was the symbol of his rank. His horse was tied up a short walk away under the trees. He could hear it snort or whinny occasionally. He had brought nothing except a few rice balls and a bottle of liquor. He was waiting for the dragon.
Dusk was slowly settling in as the rain wore on. The general raised his cup, toasting nobody in particular. He knocked it back and warmth trickled down his throat and spread comfortably through his insides. Idly he observed the drip-, drip-, dripping from one of the eves of the pavilion into a puddle underneath where each new drop produced a new concentric, perfectly circular ripple. It was a symmetry that the Great Sage would have been proud of. After the humidity of the day a fog began to rise from the surface of the lake. Its milky veil turned the trees on the opposite shore into mysterious shades drifting in and out between them. Even the great poets' praise for the West Lake seemed pale in comparison. This hidden lake offered true serenity.
He never noticed the figure until it had emerged – without so much as disturbing the water – out of the centre of the lake. Unheeding of the fragile water's surface the shape that had now settled for that of a powerfully built man strode surely across it as if it were solid stone. It was wearing a grand, richly ornate suit of mail with a finely crafted breast plate that even General Cao Cao would have envied. His robes were of a sky blue and dusk blue, purple and a starry silver. At his side the man carried a decorated broadsword. His silvery beard tumbled like a frothy waterfall over his chest down to his belt. Only as he approached closer did the general take note of the stubby antlers on the top of the man’s head.
As the being that looked like a man strode up to the pavilion the general dropped down on one knee.
"Do I have the distinct honour of addressing the Silver Dragon of the South?", he enquired without looking up.
"People have called me many names over the centuries", the dragon replied. His voice was a deep rumble yet every syllable came out pronounced round and full and beautiful with a touch of nobility. "It has always pleased you mortals to call me what you wish."
"I am but a humble servant and of not much use to one such as you", the general intoned. "Dictate and I shall obey."
The dragon chuckled and it sounded like water lapping against the side of a keg.
"You have come a long way indeed to tell me that you are no use to me", he observed. Startled the general raised his head, forgetting etiquette. The dragon's eyes, clear as polished crystal, studied the general who dared not return the gaze but stared vaguely at the dragon's chest plate. Embossed in it was a bizarre grimace staring back at him. He noticed that none of the dragon's garbs were wet – neither from the water through which he had emerged nor from the rain which was soaking everything else.
"I ...", he began, "I have come this far to seek your immeasurable wisdom, great one. Taoist monks in the temple nearby told me about you. I come to you seeking purity of thought and clarity of mind."
The dragon nodded gravely still holding the general transfixed in his gaze.
"I know of you", the dragon spoke slowly as if reflecting on every word before uttering it, "the winds have whispered it to me. You are General Jin Su Liang from Jiangsu Province. You come from your campaign in the far north where none other than the Son of Heaven himself ordered you to lead his armies against the barbarians called the Xiong Nu. Your endeavours in the field have been rewarded with great success. His Majesty even bestowed on you the title of General Who Pacifies the North. Now you are on your way west from your home where it pleases the Son of Heaven that you shall smite a peasant revolt that is troubling the Empire. You have proven great prowess and cunning in the field while maintaining utmost integrity and loyalty to the throne. Thanks to you China will be safe once more. What for could a man of your stature require any more clarity of thought or purity of mind? What wisdom could I have to offer you that you do not already possess?"
"But you are a dragon, my lord", Jin objected surprised. "I am nothing compared to you. I am but an ant while your might is the sky above me."
"They call you the Tiger of the North", the dragon reminded him gently, "soon they will call you the Dragon of the West."
"I would never dare to even allow myself to be called that so as not to offend your splendour", Jin affirmed.
The dragon lips curled in an amused smile. "You have no say in what people call you – be it by word or by lash. But it is no false modesty that makes me speak thusly – I have no military expertise to offer you."
Jin bowed his head.
"Sad and lonely my days are, General", the dragon resumed after a brief pause", speak with me." He motioned towards the bench that surrounded the circular platform. "Come, rise and let us sit and talk like civilised folk."
Jin obeyed and sat on the wooden bench as the dragon lowered himself onto the bench opposite him. Only now he remembered the drink. He produced the bottle.
"It is cheap and not worthy of a palate as refined as yours but may I offer you my cup to drink?"
The dragon took the proffered cup with a nod, inhaled, then took a sip. Without a word he handed back the cup motioning Jin to drink. Only after Jin had himself lowered the cup the dragon sighed and smiled.
"Now tell me your story, General", he rumbled. "Tell me what really brings you here and what holds your mind and heart of hearts."
“It has been a long journey, my lord”, Jin began quietly, his head bowed, more to himself than anybody in particular. He was still trying to avoid the dragon’s piercing gaze.
“Sometimes”, he continued, “I hardly remember the last time I saw my home town, spoke with my mother or paid my respect to our ancestors.”
The general paused reminiscing. The dragon shifted on the seat looking expectantly.
When the general still hesitated he asked: “And that weighs heavy on you and burdens your conscience?”
The general sighed. He gazed out into the rain. It was almost time to light the little lamp that hung in the centre under the roof.
“It’s been a long time since I have seen my home”, he began again, “I went to war. In the grass lands of the far north I fought the mounted barbarians with sword and spear and bow. I saw wonders that few in my day may behold: The Great Wall that Emperor Qin Shi Huang first commissioned. It stands now, generations after him, in even greater splendour with the imperial banners still flying high on every turret in the morning breeze. I saw the mighty gates of Beijing, the West Lake of Hangzhou and we even made a stop at Mount Tai to pray for good fortune. That is to say the other generals prayed for success and good fortune. But I am ashamed to admit that I prayed to the Immortals only for myself.
In Zhejiang Province we stopped to rest in a small village, me with a troop of soldiers. The villagers were in awe, some seemed afraid. There I saw her: a young woman, probably the daughter of a local farmer carrying a large basket. Suddenly in comparison to her the all the great wonders of China seemed insignificant. She moved among her peers like a dancer. Her colourful dress simple though it was seemed to shine like a rainbow before grey clouds. Her features were delicate as if cast in fine porcelain or wrought out of jade. And her eyes were large and clear and deep. Even the memory of the golden sun rising over Mount Tai seemed to loose its brilliance the moment I laid eyes on her. And as our gazes met she looked back and smiled. But before I could utter a word or greeting she had disappeared around the corner of a house. When I dismounted and ran after her to at least ask her name I saw her walking toward the fields. Just when I was about to call after her she looked back over her shoulder and smiled again. Suddenly I felt foolish – not like a man but like a young boy.
Later that evening she came to our camp carrying a clay bottle. She bowed before me and presented me the bottle. When she spoke she had the delicate accent of the region but nonetheless her Mandarin was flawless.
‘General, to show our respect and loyalty for our lord our village would like to present our lord with this humble gift. We apologise that it is not more but we are poor and can give little else. We wish our lord a hundred years of good health.’
Forgetting etiquette I jumped up and also bowed to her accepting the gift. I could hardly believe that I should be allowed to meet this beautiful creature twice in a day. And as she passed me the bottle for one fleeting moment our fingertips touched before she pulled away bowing her head coyly. I was still mesmerised by her exquisite beauty and yet bold grace. She bowed to take her leave.
‘Young miss’, I called after her not knowing really what to say next. The best I could think of was to point at the bottle and ask: ‘Does your family make this?’
She curtseyed saying: ‘It is hardly worthy of my lord but we do our best.’
What else could I say to her? I continued blindly with what came to my mind.
‘Your village is a pleasant place.’ I meant it. ‘It reminds me much of my home to the north of the River.’
‘Where is my lord’s home’, she asked me then. I marvelled at the way her lips moved and shaped the syllables. It seemed like an artist whose brush gently caresses the paper leaving stroke upon elegant stroke.
It told her it was many days’ ride in Jiangsu Province and she frowned ever so slightly.
‘My lord is far away from his family’, she commented with a hint of sadness in her voice.
‘We go to war’, I told her, ‘to serve the emperor, to fight those who would see our great empire and its thousand years of unity in shambles.’
She nodded. ‘My lord’s duty is a dangerous one. And a lonely one.’
‘You are right’, I agreed, ‘so will you sit with me and join me while I try a cup from your generous present?’
‘Surely my lord is very busy and does not need a simple peasant girl around while he attends to his business. My lord has a long road ahead of him again in the morrow.’
‘Yes’, I conceded, ‘but as you said it is also a dangerous one. I may well not live to see tomorrow’s sunset. Then would you deny me the pleasure of being in your presence for a while longer?’ Feeling emboldened I added: ‘I find it soothing.’
Her smile was full of warmth and sympathy when she spoke again: ‘My lord carries many burdens. Where is my lord’s wife to help bear the weight?’
I shook my head telling her I had no wife. She apologised but I explained to her that my duty to the empire had not yet allowed me to find a suitable woman and get married to her.
Then out of an impulse I asked her name. She replied shyly that people simply called her Fei. Fei like flying. I wrote the character into the air with my finger. Fei. She waited, probably for me to dismiss her.
‘What do you dream of, Fei’, I asked her before the silence could turn awkward.
She cocked her head in surprise. The motion showed of the elegant curve of her neck.
‘The simple dreams of a simple girl, my lord: a kind husband, a fulfilled life, many healthy children and grandchildren.’
I envied her and I told her so. ‘For’, I said, ‘you may dream of such simple things. My duty forces me to bear in mind the unity of the empire and the safety of my men. But really I would much rather share your dreams.’
She came a step closer then and finally squatted opposite my seat looking at me intently.
Thus we continued speaking until the hour had grown late. She asked me many a question about my family and my life as a soldier. I told her of the battles I had fought and saw her flinch at my description of the peril I had been in. I saw her eyes sparkle when I told her about the Great Wall and the grass land of the north. And she told me of her life in her village and the seasons and the simple pleasures of a summer breeze or the autumn sun. She smiled many a warm smile and though she never stopped calling me ‘her lord’ I could feel the distance between us melt away.
When the time for her to leave had come I accompanied her to her house. There, in the light of the moon, she produced out of her hair a simple wooden comb with a flower carved into it.
‘My lord is very kind and has a gentle heart’, she said, ‘will he accept another humble gift from me. When, after year and day, my lord returns and this comb still reminds him of the simple girl Fei and her simple dreams may he look for me here. Until then I will wait and pray for my lord’s safe return.’
And I bowed to her again saying: ‘I will not forget you Fei. I will come back to find you. Until then I will guard this treasure like my precious eye.’
Thus we parted under the starry sky. The next morning she was nowhere to be seen and the villagers did not know of her. Even when I produced the comb she had given me they assured me there was no such girl living among them. So we broke camp and left without seeing her again. Weeks have come and gone since then but the memory is still fresh.”
The general fell silent for a moment. His hands toyed with the simple, small wooden comb with the flower carved into it. The dragon nodded.
“The tale you tell”, he announced, “is a timeless one as ancient as the world itself. Yet it enchants us anew again and again and never really grows old.”
“Sometimes”, the general confessed pensively, “I wonder if meeting her was not merely a pleasant dream; maybe one that I still have not woken up from. Other times I doubt she was real. Maybe she was a Fox trying to seduce me, testing my resolve and purity.”
The dragon nodded knowingly.
“There are such creatures as you describe. Yet would they not have been more ruthless or aggressive in their approach?”
“Do you believe in true love then?” the general asked abruptly.
“True love”, the dragon mused, “you speak of the kind of love that you chance upon like one of the peaches of immortality that will never grow old or bitter or stale? No. In all my life I have never heard of such a thing.”
The general hung his head.
“You must think me such a fool”, he exclaimed.
“You are no more a fool than the poet who praises the clear lake and the green mountains. He does not see the thunderstorms that descend on them every year nor does he see the lake dry up every dozen or so summers. True love is like the Way. No matter how hard you strive for it you may never achieve perfection, yet your endeavours will bear their own rewards.”
“So you are saying that I should give up my idle dream but live in the real world?” the general questioned.
“I am saying”, the dragon intoned, “that a dream that does not test your patience or your perseverance, your courage or your strength of heart; a dream that is not worth fighting for, that is not worth suffering for, that is not worth dying for – is not worth dreaming at all.”
Jin nodded considering this for a while still turning the comb around and around in his hand. The dragon looked on patiently.
Finally, Jin continued: “The monks said you know the future, great one, as you know the past. If I endeavour hard enough will I see her again?”
“Hmm”, the dragon rumbled, “no one, not even Buddha himself, can see the future in such clarity. Both gods and mortals may step in your way to thwart your plans and dash your hopes. It is up to you to make the choices you can and not look back.”
Then rising he declared: “You have driven off my loneliness for a while, general. I thank you. May you go in peace and find your way.”
The general jumped up almost toppling over the bottle of liquor.
“Great one”, he called out, “I still have so many questions.”
The dragon had already walked out onto the lake but turned once more.
“I have no more advice to offer you. You already know all the answers. Farewell.”
With that the dragon turned again and slowly marched out onto the lake and into the mist leaving the general alone in the little pavilion on the shore of the lake. Then as he reached the middle of the lake there was a flash as of distant lightning and for a moment the general believed he saw a great length of body with an antlered head and gleaming crystal eyes that twisted and turned in several coils until it vanished into the water without so much as a ripple.
Slowly the rain subsided and the mist cleared until only a fine layer remained on the lake’s surface. Long gaps tore into the sheet of clouds that hung in the sky and one by one stars began to twinkle.
Long hours General Jin still sat in the pavilion but he drank no more of the liquor in the bottle. Finally, pulling his cloak tightly around him he fell into a fitful sleep.
When the sun raised him the next morning he climbed onto his horse and rode back to his troops. Another day later they broke camp and marched on toward the west to end a peasant uprising that was led by a charismatic young woman, a girl originally from Zhejiang Province going by the name of Fei Hu – Flying Fox.

Between Two Whistles

Here's another short story. Again, it's based on true feelings. Seems I've been inspired this week. It's a way to pass lonely evenings and my mind off things. Hope you like this one.

The whistle blows shrilly echoing through the station hall. It even drowns out the din of the crowd for a moment. People are coming and going, pushing and shoving. The vast hall is filled with noise and the smoke and steam from the great engines.
But all that is not important. There is her in front of me. Her large brown eyes are locked with mine. Eyes are the window to the soul. So I let myself sink into the soul of that wonderful being that holds my gaze, that holds my heart. She holds every fiber of my being. She knows that. And I'm lost. Willingly and happily. I love you, those eyes tell me. I'll always love you. No matter where you are, what you do. You are the one I adore. I see a passion deep as the ocean. It doesn't burn bright anymore like fire. That's only for those sweet first months. Her passion is of a different quality altogether. It makes her glow from within. It's like with coals. A wood fire burns bright and fast but is easy to extinguish. But try to put out glowing coals once they are hot enough to melt iron. She told me about this once. She knows so much. That's one reason I love her. One glance and she seems to have figured me out. She understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. I don't know where I'd be without her. How comforting her presence is. It's like a warm blanket for my soul. When she is there I know things can't be as bad as they look. With her around I have faith. I believe we will find a way no matter how difficult things may look. I let myself fall into that deep well that is her eyes. The love I find there envelopes me, shields me but it also gives me strength and courage. The strength to grow beyond myself, the will to be more than I am, to strive for higher goals. And she, like a gentle goddess, bestows on me the courage to go forth and do what I must do. I do it for her. Without questioning, without doubt.
The despots of the past were all wrong. Loyalty can't be forced. Even the political icons of the modern world are mistaken. Promises can't win the hearts and minds of their citizens. Love can't be bought. Trust can't be bribed. In fact, that's what makes it the most valuable commodity of all. It comes for free but once broken no money in the world can buy it back. She also taught me this. And I do trust her. For the smile on her lips I would walk through fire. For the caress of her hand I'd swim an ocean of storms and maelstroms. And for the place in her heart I'd travel to hell and back without a second thought. I'd do that for her and her alone. And I'm in heaven knowing that this beautiful creature loves me back. And I know she'd never ask for any proof. Because a look in my eyes will tell her all she needs to know.
Looking into each other's eyes like this we need no spoken words. I can almost see her thoughts pan out in front of me. I see the many ways she can love me. The manifold ways she adores me. I see the countless memories we share. There's us lying next to each other in fields of golden barley staring at the sky. There's us gazing at the sunset across the lake. There's her first and completely failed attempt at cooking dinner and my even more failed attempt at assisting her. How horrible it tasted and how we laughed. There's the time a downpour surprised us on the way home from the inn when we sought shelter under the narrow porch of somebody's house. We were completely drenched and her dress clung beautifully to her body. There's the time I nursed her for several days when she had the shakes and high fever. There's, of course, our first kiss. At first neither of dared to make a move until in the end we bumped heads. Then there's the passion we shared last night. All our lives together pan out like a grand painting. Everything that led us to how we feel today, right now.
There's also fear in her eyes. Fear because of what's happening around us in the world. Fear because the future has made a turn for the worse and we can't know where we are going anymore. There's the desperate wish that we could forget all this and go back to the way things used to be. To the fields of innocence. And I wish with all my heart that I could grant her that. Like a genie just by snapping my fingers. But I cannot. There is no way back. We both know that. The world has descended into turmoil. A turmoil that threatens to swallow everything in its path like a hungry beast. Just like it devoured our paradise on earth. It forces us to do things that are against our nature. It forces man to lift his hand in anger against man. And it forces me to part with the one I swore never to abandon, the one whose presence is more precious to me than the warmth of the sun. My love. My life. My one and only. My everything. The unthinkable has become reality. Powers greater than us demand it. So I must go and follow. I cannot even resent it. That is the way things are. I look into her eyes and we understand. There is no option, no choice, no alternative.
There's just that little flicker in her eyes that says: “I cannot live without you.” “Come back to me”, her eyes say to me, and: “I'll wait for you.” “I'm yours”, her eyes tell me. “Always”, they affirm. “Don't ever forget that”, they reinforce. “I'm with you where-ever you go”, they console me. “In my heart I am”, they add. “Come back to me”, they implore one more time, and: “Be safe.” “For God's sake, be safe.” And in my mind I tell her all the things she already knows, knowing she can see them in my eyes as clearly as though I had said them aloud. “I would never forget you”, I say. “You're mine and I'm yours”, I state. “Be strong”, I beg her, “for both of us.” “I'll come back to you soon”, I comfort her. “Everything will turn out well”, I tell her what she wants me to say. “Nothing can ever keep us apart”, I promise her then in the silence between us, “not distance, not enemy lines, not even death itself.”
There's nothing left to say aloud. And as other couples embrace and make each other tearful promises and parents give their sons their wishes and encouragements. Wives and mothers cry and fathers try to look proud of their sons. But none of that matters. We stand in silence in a space where no words are needed. But we share this moment and for the span of a heartbeat the world seems to fade away and we are alone. We're running across fields and kissing in the rain.
Then the whistle blows a second time and the moment passes. It's time to go. At last, I let go of her hand that I realise I've been squeezing. I'm huddled into the carriage full of other young men waving their farewells. The noise comes rushing back into the world. The door slams shut. The hiss of the engine cuts through the noise like a knife. With a jolt the carriage starts to roll. And still, all I see is her figure standing at the platform edge. Her slender hands are clutching at her skirt. “I love you”, her eyes are shouting after me. Then she's lost among the crowd as we accelerate toward our uncertain destiny. Death or glory. Who can tell? I dare not hope for anything.
Only one thing we can rely on: Our love will stand true though everything else may fail.