The good year (Part II)

published January 5, 2008

Last week, I indulged in fond recollection of the people and places I encountered in my eight-week sojourn in Germany. Today, as I conclude this New Year piece, I will talk about the things I discovered during my stay there. Much to my surprise, the gems that I unearthed had been with me all along.

I was assigned an apartment in the quiet part of the city, right on the same street as a cluster of retirement homes. This was where all the foreign students were housed, especially if they were on grants. The apartment complex was a 15-minute walk from the nearest train station, and while walking home, one could see surroundings transform from a busy metropolis, with wide roads and a slew of vehicles, to a neighborhood with trees, chirping birds and flower pots on the window sills.

Spartan would be a good word to describe my home. The main door opened to a short hallway. To the left was the bedroom-cum-work area. Straight ahead was a cute kitchen with two hot plates and a three-foot refrigerator. To the right was the bathroom. Everything was wooden— the floors, my working table, the little dining table, the chairs, the giant bookshelf, the closet and even the bed frame. My first thought: Would it not be nice if I could keep the place as polished and uncluttered all the time?

Like any Filipino, I was used to the noisy company of family members. I grew up sharing a bed with my grandmother, who committed the crime of reading my diary and then reprimanded me for writing about my wish to have a room of my own. And then, marrying very young, I jumped from being the one my lola looked after to the one who looked after other people. I slaved away to be Wife, Mother and Homemaker of the Year. Grandslam.

But alone, at last, and halfway across the globe, I started looking after myself for the first time. This ranged from the simple tasks of going to the grocery, cooking, and washing dishes. The line from a song—“I’ve never been too good at cooking just for one”—never sounded more true. I always had too much or too little food. In the end, it seemed more prudent to buy food from outside and use the pans, not to concoct anything fancy, but to heat the portion I had allocated for a particular meal. For breakfast, I stacked up on eggs, plums, peppermint tea and honey. On top of all this, the two packs of crackers I brought from Manila lasted me a month. Believe me, Sky Flakes never tasted so good. Of course, if I wasn’t hungry, I always had the option not to putter about in the kitchen at all.

I did my laundry on Saturday afternoons, giving one-and-a-half hour for washing and rinsing and another hour and a half for drying. The preciseness of the time spent performing these tasks enabled me to plan the rest of my weekend. Sometimes, the Institute arranged trips to museums. At times I went around the city with some of my classmates, in search of parks or flea markets. Exhausted at the end of the day, I sat in front of the TV, splitting pistachio nuts and sipping Reisling wine while watching Spongebob Squarepants in German (it reminded me of the kids) or the only channel in English, CNN.

I never ran out of things to do when I had difficulty sleeping or missed my children so badly. I ironed my clothes to perfection, fixed my closet, rearranged furniture, scrubbed the floor until it gleamed or transferred pictures taken from my cell phone camera to my laptop. I did so while listening online to my favorite Manila radio station—it made me feel closer to home. Afterwards, I always slept so soundly. I never had a single bad dream.

I also learned to fight the fear of getting lost in that monolingual country. The S-bahn and the U-bahn, as well as the transportation guides, looked formidable in the beginning. Train stations looked identical. But since it seemed that predictability and accuracy was a national trait in Germany, any visitor, if at least he were of average intelligence and knew how to read, would be able to survive. I said “survive,” and not “not get lost.” Of course I got lost. Okay, thrice. But I see it now as a badge of honor. Obviously, I was able to find my way back. I’ve never been scared since of venturing into unfamiliar territory.

The course was tough. There were a lot of research projects and workshops, the preparation for which ate up on our evenings as well. During the morning tea break and sometimes during lunch, I was back in Manila, online, of course, doing work for this newspaper as if I were not six time zones behind. Despite this backbreaking schedule, I learned to make time for what I loved. I kept a faithful log of events, impressions and sentiments. I wrote letters to the children and to friends. I made use of the Internet to e-mail and chat with people I loved to share all that I was experiencing. I did some real bonding out there, realizing it was all right to say you were scared or uncertain. I learned too that finally being able to speak your mind was priceless.

Out there, I perfected the art of delaying gratification. The impulse would be to bring home as much of that new place as possible. Especially since I was on stipend, I figured I could set aside a generous amount to bring home things for the children. However, as the days went by, I became more deliberate (okay, kuripot) than ever. I reminded myself it was not a measure of the amount shelled out. On the practical side, all that bulk would have gotten me into trouble with the airline, anyway. My homecoming in late May would also coincide with enrollment time, so there were better channels for my savings. And besides, the best part of the trip was intangible. You can’t express it in euros or in kilograms.

Somewhere over the Caspian Sea, on the flight to Manila, I wrote in my journal that the person coming back was a decidedly different one. Having seen all she was capable of doing—alone in a foreign country, barely knowing a soul— she was reminded that she had a lot to be thankful for. For the first time, she did things at her own pace, her own terms, and heard her own voice. She was in control and not just allowing things to happen to her.

She must never again be swayed by sweet words or booming voices, or tremble before the devil she didn’t know more than the devil she was familiar with. She knew she had a great hand in shaping the characters, and hence the future, of four beautiful children, and there was no way she was messing up.

The day was just beginning when the plane touched down. I smiled. I knew I had a lot of time.