Magister dixit

“She took all things of life for hers to choose from and apportion, as though she were continually picking out presents for herself from an inexhaustible counter.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

*Photo by John Reynolds


A series of unfortunate events

 We all know those days in which bad news seem to pile up, happy plans crumble and Murphy's law acts relentlessly over you. Yesterday was one of those days. The recount of the events:

- 07:00 - 

I finally decided to stop being a lazy ass and start jogging in the mornings. Ambitious as I am in almost every  freaking aspect of my life, I stablished a 3 km route that I cover in 17 minutes. The first two days I managed to do that surprisingly well, specially for someone who is a regular smoker (although not a heavy one) and hadn't done any real workout in year and half (and over three years if you don't count month-long stints as "real workout"). 

I attributed my physical condition to my fucking Spartan-like genes (thanks, Dad!); then, on the third time,  my body most probably thought something like "What is this? I thought the other time was an emergency so I played along, but you are seriously planning to do this in a daily basis whithout any proper conditioning? Seriously? Hell, no!". Long story short, after 15 minutes I ended up with severe cramps in my lower abdomen, light headed and afterwards threw up on a nearby bush. Glamourous.

- 10:00 - 

As I was signing up to use some equipment in the lab, one of my labmates greeted me with a letter from the Institute's administration, that states (in BIG, red letters) that I have not paid for the month of june in my previous temporary accommodation and that I should pay immediately. The bill is for 195 euros. "This is ridiculous, I already paid for that like a month ago!" So I went and retrieved my deposit receipts in order to scan them and send them with some kind of "Ha-ha!" note to the administration, when I realised the horror: In the payment for the month of june, I missed a "0" at the end of the bank account number. Then I panicked thinking that I sent money to the wrong account number, so this money was probably already gone. It was not like that: turns out that the bank detected the missmatch and returned my transfer one day after I did it, and I never noticed. So somewhere along the way I spent them. Oh. Now I am 195 euros short on my budget. 


The guy that is supposed to be my scientific sideckick in the lab is very distant. Our schedules coincide only rarely, and after a few tests I've verified that, unless I start conversation with him, he would never speak to me. Which is strange, given that at the beginning we used to have lunch together and have nice little chats, but somehow we grew apart. He is extremely self centered (yes! that coming from me, just imagine) and he is (or at least, says he is) busy all-the-fucking time. Very seldom, I go to him and ask him for things, and today was one of those days. I needed some cells to use in my experiment, and asked him for them. "Why don't you make your own?" I told him that I was making some, but needed even more cells for this experiment. Then, the cherry on top of the cake: "I can give some to you, but not now, because I am stressed". Yes, he did say that. Sometimes he can be a real man-bitch.

He made a faint smile and almost by reflex I smiled back. Then I started my daily work while I brooded over my anger. I don't take this kind of crap from nobody, not even from my boyfriend, so why should I take it from him? I'm not going to wait until he is in the mood to provide his minimal help. From now on, I will do everything myself, even if it takes longer due to my inexperience.


I realise that the cells I intended to use for tomorrow's experiment are all dead. This will put my experiment back for one week. Great.


Get an e-mail from my mother, telling me that my pet rabbit is very sick and she needs to be taken for examination. I feel so bad to be this far away and unable to do anything about it.


At this point, I finally decide to go home before a fucking anvil falls down on me...


A pot of tea and a good book was the best medicine for this kind of day. Moon Palace: a blend of green teas from India, Japan and Ceylon with a vanilla-citrus natural aroma. Soothing to the senses and the spirit...

Emilie Autumn, you gothic nymph, die Teufelsgeigerin... how much wisdom can be found in your words.




Signs of life

Ticked off my reading list, at last... this plunge into the mind of Esther Greenwood (and, for that, Plath herself) during her time in the bell jar brings back sour memories from the first months of my 25th year in this planet. Where is that elusive point of no return, when you finally slip away? What makes the differences between dim hope and bottomless despair? If untreated, depression can become a terminal illness.

The genius of Waters. Such an inspiration seeing him at 67, gray hair and wrinkles, showing the same passion for his music as he had at 36.

One of my latest adquisitions is this flower shaped tea strainer. So beautifully unneeded, like all the items from the shop it came from. The cat is a timer.

Shopping saturday. Göttingen.

Recently, I came across Webstagram, a web interface for your Instagram account that allows you to share your picture timeline via web, and not only through your smartphone/iPod. The system lets other users comment, share and also search for photos with specific tags and keywords. I might give it a try...

See you soon! And enjoy the last day of summer... I know I will.



Moving abroad is much more than a new apartment and a new subway card. It’s a total change, a shift of what seems important, a questioning of priorities and this series of small shocks that you can’t really talk about when they come because there’s no perspective. You don’t yet understand them.

I've just read that in this blog. Describes the exact feeling in such a transparent way.

Nevertheless, I have to say that I found an oasis in my new white walled, IKEA furnished appartment. I finally got a flat for myself to rent (WITHOUT sharing, so no annoying roomates to deal with), and I'm loving it. It's such a curious feeling, to feel in your own space, to be able to close the door and know that you can do pretty much whatever the fuck you want. That you can come here at night and truly relax; that you can slowly shape this place to match your taste and indulge your quirks. To be able to go out and walk around, and know this is your neighbourghood. I feel like I finally live in Berlin.

 My new fortress is in Wedding, which I know it's not as hip as Kreuzberg or Neukölln, but it is quiet and cheap and close to my work, as well as the city (from here I can get almost everywhere within 20-40 minutes) and I'm absolutely content with that, at least for now. Also, my sorroundings are quite nice to look at, and I have basically everything within walking distance. As a bonus point, one girl at a party told us the other day that some people -like her boyfriend- are talking about how the inexorable gentrification is pushing the scene out of the aforementioned hip districts, and all the cool indie people is moving here; as a consequence, soon Wedding will be "the new place to be". However, she immediately added that these people have been saying that for the last three or four years, so I would not hold my breath...

I guess I shall wait for it (like I have a choice, ahaha), if it ever happens.




Sysiphos, or the future of clubbing.

... continues from this post.

After basically outhipstering everyone by having Abkhazian for dinner, we headed to Kreuzberg with the intention to spend the night drinking and chatting at Golgatha, but on our way there, a better plan came out: one of my (few) german friends called me and told me that there was this cool party at this really cool place called Sysiphos in Friedrichshain, so we decided to meet there.

Turned out the place was in the middle of nowhere. The nearest train station was like 2 km away, and no tram was running after 11:30 p.m., so we had to walk. These really looked like the city's ripped backsides, unkempt, lonely and dirty. When we finally got there, an assorted crowd of hipsters, glittered electro fans, yukis and cool kids was already gathering outside the venue. Lights, music and fire filtered through the doors, soothing our tired and anxious mood. And I was definitely mollified when, one day after my 26th birthday, the bouncer asked me for an ID to let me in.

Inside it was like an urban warehouse-style wonderland. A few people were hanging out inside what it seemed like a hybrid between a circus cage and a vintage train wagon; a small, beach-like space faced the illuminated bar. Everywhere, rickety furniture and shoddy improvised seats and tents lodged the drinking and smoking attendees. A couple of installations marked the way to the dancefloor, inside the warehouse. It was beautiful: lights and intense neon colors contrasting with the deep darkness, between industrial columns and old walls, while the people there danced energically. We joined them and danced non-stop for about an hour.

I like dancing to Electro, but is just not my kind of music; it gets repetitive to me very fast, and more sooner than later I get tired of the rhythm because I feel like I've been dancing to the same song for half an hour. But it was quite fun, it was my first real dance in a long time. One thing that is also liberating about dance clubs here in Germany, is that you can really let go and never feel like you are making a fool of yourself (more on that later, let's just say that my boyfriend can't dance, but most German people make him look like John Travolta on the dance floor).

I didn't get to take any pictures, but if you are curious, apparently this is what it looks like in broad daylight:

(Pictures by Claudio from iheartberlin, and Stylons)
I have to say, by night it looks more... magical.

Around 3:00 we decided to leave, and one of my friends told me: "Stay, we will party until the trains start running again at 6, party until it's bright!" Which to our ears sounded quite like a Syshiphean task at the moment, being burned out from the day before. Besides, the way back home was about 90 minutes long (yes, my temporary accommodation was that far away), so we said goodbye and left.

When we finally got to my place, it was already bright.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.