Flowers, a Spanish Essay and Sewing

We're expecting 33°C weather tomorrow. So while lush May and early June flowers remain — like elderflower, jasmine, and bellflowers — especially in the shaded hedges, and the linden trees are still diffusing a lovely fragrance from their pale leaf-petals, I expect everything green and bright will become withered and straw-like sooner or later. It is a particularly bad year for rain, but I still can't water the trees in the neighbourhood because the street water pump is still out of service; the RBB news network has even run an article about the widespread problem of non-operational pumps. (This malfunctioning is also a spanner in the works of Berlin's emergency planning, because the Notbrunnen are meant to be a back-up resource for civilians.)

While frantically cycling between universities — again, it's sadly a necessity every Thursday due to my schedule this summer — I noticed that the diesel(?) price at a gas station has finally dipped to 181 cents per litre. Thanks, probably, to the Memorandum of Understanding that was just signed between Iran and the United States.

I've been struggling with overstimulation at university: due to the Franco presentation, then an in-class essay, regular homework, and bouts of migraines/tension headaches that make it impossible to do homework.

The 600-word, Spanish-language in-class essay was especially stressful as I didn't quite know how to prepare for it. Nevertheless, at first it went beautifully. I was well-rested before writing it, the argumentative structures were neat, and I recollected many pertinent details from our semester materials, etc. (Of course I did make mistakes, but still.) ... Then the professor alerted us: we had 5 minutes left. Sadly, it was impossible to transfer the rest of of my draft essay text to the final version paper in that time.

My main consolations (besides a fairly decent class attendance record, and the successful tackling of much of my prescribed readings and homework) have been 1. the fairly warm atmosphere amongst my classmates and professors, and 2. little discoveries along the route to campus — like random police officers standing on deserted sidewalks and foxes trotting into the underbrush.

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Another factor in the overstimulation has been performing in my choir's two summer concerts. That said, I enjoyed the first one hugely, and Mama, T. and J. came to watch it. It was just that practicing the songs at home before the concert, to avoid singing off rhythm and out of tune, is stressful.

(It was only when they and I walked home together after the event that J. divulged the details of his highly adventurous afternoon. He and Ge. capsized their canoe in one of Berlin's southwestern lakes, soaked their shoes and clothes and wallets in evil-smelling water, and ruined a smartphone and a digital camera (which now have to be replaced). But they were wearing life jackets, and they were in such a shallow area that they were able to wade through the mucky urban lake bottom to terra firma. Meanwhile Gi., staying perfectly dry and on top of the water surface in his kayak, helped steer the canoe to the shore.

As a temporary measure, J. is enjoying the use of my old smartphone — the phone that I was phasing out because its battery has been bulging, a little alarmingly, for months.)

Ge. had already wisely decided to stay at home instead of attending the concert, since he would work an early shift the next day. So he recovered at leisure from the canoeing shenanigans.

The second concert has not happened yet. It will be on Sunday: part of the Fête de la Musique.

***

On Wednesday, I had a brief phone interview for a one-day job that I am very excited about: conducting voter polling during the next Berlin city government election, on behalf of one of Germany's two big public television channels. They have promised to contact me again, with a positive or negative response, in July or August.

I'm also keeping an eye out for other jobs to help fill the summer holidays. (No news from the political think tank, mentioned in the last blog post, yet.)

I am growing increasingly cranky about worrying about my spending.

My latest flight of anxiety: Even buying darning wool for my socks at €1.20 per package now seems extravagant. So I thought to ask the local zero-waste shop if I could have the packing yarn that is used to sew shut some of the bags of food. Happily the staff said yes, were delighted by the idea because they've just been throwing away the yarn, and have already given me the first string. But, to be honest, I felt a little embarrassed...

The round of socks that I mended over the past months is beginning to dissolve into holes now, which is deflating my morale. But I have mended a pair of pajama pants as well, and that made me feel very accomplished.

Dim Pages of History, and Hunting for Work

Today was well below 30°C but humid and warmer than I'd like again. Exhausted from the past week and the Franco dictatorship presentation preparation — I was practically reading articles and taking notes night and day for a while, and on the day of the presentation I had to cycle from the Freie Universität to the Humboldt Universität and back again (I only had 30 minutes to do each trip if I wanted to arrive to class on time; but it takes at least 45 minutes for me, if not 50, so I was chronically late) — I only got up around 11 a.m.

Then my siblings returned from their travels to Ireland, sleep-deprived but happy, and we feasted on porter cake, Oxford cake, and vanilla fudge that they had brought back. We postponed the viewing of their travel photos to a later date. In the evening, Uncle Pu popped by for a visit.

My only outing was shopping: at the zero waste store, for eggs, powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and tomato passata.

***

Friday was easier, university-wise.

In the afternoon the Greek History professor gave his usual video class. He was, lamentably!, confident that we had all read the prescribed texts and therefore did not need to be told year by year what happened during the Greek Civil War. But after the Franco research, and last week's immersion in the Pontic genocide after World War I and the fall of Constantinople in my other Greek classes, I was all warfare'd out. Before the class I'd opened up the website that hosts our course materials, twice, and tested myself by looking at the links he had posted; it was rather as if I'd had the stomach flu and were checking if I could stand the thought of eating certain foods again. But both times I felt an instant aversion. So I definitely have not read the prescribed texts, did need to be told year by year what happened during the Greek Civil War, and will have to review that material in future.

***

This week I also did my personal household accounting for May. It was of course easy, given my somewhat limited set of expenses and a very limited set of incomes. My largest cost centres are the rent, food, and health insurance.

Then I sent off an application for a job at a political think thank that would require 10 hours of work per week.

In general I feel uncomfortable about figuring out which jobs to apply for and how to configure my CV. Firstly, I haven't entirely figured out which way I want my career to go, secondly I have many interests, thirdly I wish I'd had at least one other full-time job of 2 years or more to fill out my job history (my volunteer work timeline feels more impressive than my paid work timeline), fourthly my 40 years of living are breathing down my neck, and lastly I'm sitting on many fences when it comes to junior vs. senior qualifications. The pragmatic thing to do would be to finally self-study math, statistics, computer architecture and computer programming, and put my last full-time job to good use. But another central problem, aside from qualifications, is that I detest tooting my own horn, and (to paraphrase Burns) have never been given the gift to see myself as others see me.

Telegrams of Student Life in Early Summer

It's the time of year where it makes less sense to sit indoors with one's nose in a university notebook or one's face in front of a computer screen all day, but the homework load is keeping me busy.

Roses and elderflowers perfume the air when I cycle to campus, and the beauty bushes with their whitish flowers and dabs of orange always remind me of the garden that Opapa planted in Canada.

I've been exchanging emails about the tutoring volunteer work that I've wanted to do with refugee children here in Berlin. So far it's still unclear whether it will happen, because the children are understandably reluctant to fill their schedules with more academic drill.

In any case, once the pressure from university releases a little, I'm planning to volunteer at the food-sorting place again.

The same goes for amateur-journalistic enterprises — given the class presentations that I need to prepare for, e.g. 10 minutes about Francisco Franco's dictatorship in Spain, I don't have as much time for projects as I'd like.

Today I played the piano again, but it wasn't very exciting: I was trying out sight-reading primers for children who are taking lessons. Admittedly the scores were zeitgeisty, and I'm quite sure they're left over from my Aunt Nora's piano teacher years in Washington state and in Canada.

I earned money last week by helping people vote in the student elections. This year's were quieter than last year's. For example, there were far fewer parties and candidates. I think this is partly explained by the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, and a détente between pro-Palestinian and pro-Israeli groups and the university administration. Fortunately the voter turnout was higher this year — at least in the polling station I was at.

And this evening I cooked a lentil soup with leek, onion, carrot, potato, parsnip, parsley, and Vienna sausages, with one garlic clove, for dinner. Maybe next time I'll use a recipe so that the proportions of vegetables are better, but the family liked it anyway.

Summer Research and the Life Story of Tante Lieschen

Morbidly, perhaps, I've taken to doing family history research journeys during university holidays, taking the Holocaust and Nazi era as my focus.

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Last summer holidays I started by looking at my great-great-grandmother's sister. My father's paternal family wasn't religiously Jewish any more in the 1930s, due to converting to the Protestant faith before the 20th century. Largely they had assimilated — a practice which I gather became controversial amongst 20th century Zionist-leaning thinkers like Gershom Scholem. But, as my grandfather's Ahnenpass reflected, in the 1930s he was considered part-Jewish, and some of his living relatives were considered even more Jewish and thus were in great danger. (In the early 2000s, as he was tidying up and we also went through his sister's papers to see what to keep, I remember that we found both of their Ahnenpässe.)

My grandfather wrote in his memoirs, in the late 1980s or early 1990s, that his 'Tante Lieschen' had died due to the Holocaust. So last summer I was interested in learning more about her life story. It felt especially urgent because of world events: if the Holocaust is only remembered when it is used as a cudgel to justify killing civilians in the Middle East today, or suppressing pro-Palestinian activism in Germany, I am certain that it does the victims of the Holocaust a disservice. Regardless of what my Jewish ancestors and relatives would have thought and felt about the political situation — it is, of course, impossible to know that, although I can say with certainty that in the early 2000s my grandfather sympathized with my father's opinions that Israel's Likud governments went too far — I felt it was important to shed post-World War political interpretations and go back to what we do know about the real people who were affected by the Holocaust.

As others have already researched my family's history in great depth, I found an online biography of Tante Lieschen: her real first name was Elisabeth. She was born into a family of medical researchers at the Charité in Berlin. One of them wrote about transgender identity at a time where I gather it was not often discussed, let alone accepted. After taking care of her sick mother for years, Tante Lieschen ended up (if I remember correctly) in a care home in Potsdam or southwestern Berlin, in her seventies. I don't know if she herself was in the crosshairs of the Nazis early on. But her brother, a politician in Potsdam, incurred the Nazis' ire when he wanted their flag taken off a public building. Eventually a relative of ours found out that she was about to be arrested and transported to a concentration camp. He passed on this information to Tante Lieschen, who took her own life.

My great-great-grandmother, meanwhile, was whisked away to Sweden until it was safe to return to Germany. I felt weird about the situation while reading the biography, and since I've done my research there's been anecdotal evidence to support my doubts. Recently one of my relatives was talking about Tante Lieschen and my great-great-grandmother in a different context. It sounds like the family paid millions of Mark to the Nazis to buy my great-great-grandmother's freedom, but that there wasn't money left over for Tante Lieschen. Perhaps 'Sophie's Choice' is not the right term here, but it is a horrible situation to decide which of two sisters lives and which dies.

To round out the story, at any rate, I found out to my surprise that Elisabeth is buried in Kreuzberg, in a cemetery on the Mehringdamm that I've visited before. It surprised me even more because I thought that the Nazi government buried Jewish Germans in separate cemeteries on the outskirts of the city, or that Tante Lieschen was buried elsewhere in Germany; but it turns out that her remains were transferred to that graveyard years after World War II ended. Visiting the cemetery, I found her resting place: tucked in a black-fenced plot, alongside her siblings and parents, as sunshine and evergreen branches and ivy framed the rather formal monuments. It felt even more personal because my grandfather's cousin, whom I have met, is buried opposite.

Tante Lieschen's story also, however, made me realize the complexity of trying to de-politicize the Holocaust: her brother Ernst's children emigrated to Israel, and one descendant died fighting in a mid-to-late 20th-century war. I can't in good conscience give an interpretation of what her life means for the present day, because it may clash with the interpretations of her closer relatives.

Step-Stones for the Summer Semester

University is inching closer and closer: the summer semester formally resumes on Monday. In preparation, I've signed up for my classes online. So far I've received no response to my application for helping with the student parliament elections. But I've been reviewing elementary Greek grammar exercises, hoping to build a stronger foundation for the next semester. In that sense, my preparations are complete, although a few castles-in-the-air that I had last semester — e.g. reading Spanish literature, reviewing Greek history, finishing the essay about a Spanish playwright in comparison with Molière, and/or reading Isaac Babel about Odessa — would have been a good idea to round out the curriculum...

In the meantime, this evening I went to a volunteer get-together for an organization that supplies refugee housing centres with locals willing to lead sports, sewing or art activities, help with homework, and organize outings.

The get-together was near Tempelhofer Feld. I was a little antsy riding my bicycle toward this area because my stereotype of Neukölln is that nobody obeys the laws of traffic and everyone (being in a great hurry) has a lead foot on the gas/bicycle pedal. The streets, often being older, are also often narrower. Needless to say, all my stereotypes were confirmed. Due to my blundering I also managed to take two wrong turns before realizing and correcting my mistakes. Anyway, at the event we gathered at will at different tables of five to six people, sipping lemonades, water, beer, and wine that the organizers had made available. Then we cooked Mediterranean-style dips, salads, a vegetable and rice stir-fry, garlic flatbread, rice with lentils, and muffins together, which took about three hours. At the end we sat down and ate.

It was, predictably, a friendly and diverse group of volunteers and organizers: others mentioned that they were, for instance, from Argentina, Hungary, Italy, India, Paraguay, Syria, and Ukraine. One or two children and a dog (it was as large as a collie, and I thought moderately but not bumptiously sociable) roamed around amongst us young adults/adults. There were a few glitches in food safety that both horrified and amused me, but while I've already told my family the details I don't think I'll go into them here.

In 2-4 weeks my police certificate of good conduct should (hopefully) have been printed and sent back by the authorities, proving that I'm safe company. Then I'll be tutoring, accompanying refugees to bureaucratic appointments, or both. Likely on Mondays, when it looks like I won't have any classes this semester, and/or on Saturdays. I've been soul-searching about my past volunteering and have come to the conclusion that it's more helpful for organizers if I really treat volunteering like a job, carefully arriving on time etc. (instead of being late, as I've been many a time for clothes-sorting or food sorting...).

A volunteer coordinator gave me advice about being a volunteer, when I asked her:

1. Do communicate to the coordinator, letting them know of problems. It's better than worrying about being a bother or assuming that things are supposed to be dysfunctional ... and letting problems escalate. But being independent is good at the same time.

2. Don't expect adult refugees to be full of energy and enthusiasm for new activities; they're often exhausted and struggling to adjust to living a life that they never expected.

3. If you start dreading going to volunteering appointments or start being unhappy in general, recognize your limits and stop what you're doing.

It seems like good advice, so I've noted it for later.

Fish and Chips, and More Spring

Last night we passed into Daylight Savings Time (I'd prefer to keep winter time, especially as I am not an early bird), but I still woke up early.

T. rang the doorbell for the weekly weekend journey to a bouldering gym with the siblings. The last weeks I hadn't gone because I felt too sleepy.

We went to a gym in the bowels of a post-war building, past a glass door and an Edeka. It was fairly empty. So we didn't need to wait for other boulderers before we could begin. Soon Gi. — who had been delayed by road closures due to the Berlin Half Marathon — joined us, too. My siblings can do difficulty level 4 and 5 courses, but after doing two difficulty level 1 course and one level 3, I ran out of steam. My hands felt too painful to keep going; because since I haven't bouldered lately the skin isn't hardened enough, even if I apply a lot of chalk. That said, regularly cooking and washing dishes by hand for at least 2 months has serendipitously strengthened my arm muscles.

In the meantime, our mother has impulsively ridden the train off to her hometown to meet for coffee with some of our uncles and aunts. She'll be back tomorrow, and so far the journey seems to have been a nice slice of family and early spring flowers in the German countryside.

The past week has been a change from routine in more ways, too.

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Yesterday, I took photographs and notes on a protest about American politics, and saw part of the Berlin Half Marathon festivities as well as a pro-Palestinian protest on the way.

The weather was too cold and windy for (probably) any of us to enjoy standing for over an hour, although I was pleased that my hands weren't too chilly to operate my pen or smartphone.

To go on a tangent: I'm a bit surprised that more American expatriates aren't protesting. It's true that having worked for a US company I understand the concern that political activity can kill a career if one nosy person complains. Yet I don't see the efficacy of sitting at home on one's rear end, if one wants a change. Admittedly I think this skepticism is stronger because I have the chance to see that action is effective firsthand in my amateur journalism: it's not possible to raise awareness of points of view or of how strongly they're held if I have no people and no signs to photograph in public, whereas from the moment people and signs appear in public, the nucleus of a blog post or social media post exists. Passersby respond in real time, too.

Besides I think there's a basic logic to political activity. The more people stay quiet, the easier it remains to retaliate against employees for holding political opinions in their personal lives. It may get worse and worse indefinitely. But if everyone were to firmly state their (reasoned) opinions, employers would have no replacements left to hire.

                                                                                    

Regardless, on Saturday the American protest's organizers struck a cautious note about demonstrating being effective. 'This isn't activism,' a speaker in her fifties told the audience, 'this is just for community. We need to go out and do more after this.' Voting, writing letters to Congresspeople, donating, and repeating all of the above, was what she and others advised. But the speakers' outlook on the efficacy of voting was also pessimistic, because the SAVE Act could undo any hope of voting from abroad. Privately I'm wondering if even a general strike would make any difference to improving civic life in the United States; I suspect that workers' rights in general and labour unions in particular are a lot weaker now than they were during the 1960s, for example, so employers could easily throw people out of work. Do I think, on a personal level, that it's sad and angering that US citizens seem to be reduced to begging for democratic rights, which we've been told for decades were practically copyrighted by the States? — Yes.

The speaker did strike a note of optimism when she recounted the story of Mary Manning, the Irish store clerk whose refusal to handle produce from apartheid South Africa ended up playing a large role in the economic boycotts of the 1980s.

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Returning to personal life, the other departures from routine were, for example, our trip to an Irish pub last weekend. The pub: exposed brick walls in a pre-war residential building with peeling plaster, English Premier League games on the 'telly' and loud whoops from the audience, and bubbling table surfaces that seemed to be made from orange laminate that doesn't take well to acidic cleaning liquids. One of the waitstaff was Irish, judging by the stereotypical lilt, and she called something 'grand' when she was pleased. The restaurant outing was a reward after a bicycle outing to the Drachenberg, a hill in the southwest of the city that was also teeming with other Berliners out for exercise and a panoramic view of the city. We all ordered fish and chips, except for T., who had a chicken burger.

The weather was and is still kind of grim, the trees largely still ashen as they were in winter. But in addition to all the other flowers I've mentioned in past weeks, the intense blue hyacinth blossoms are also out, as well as sparkling golden maple tree blossoms. The green hazel foliage and lilac leaf buds, too, are more intense.