Some of the best lessons we ever learn are learned from past mistakes.

“Some of the best lessons we ever learn are learned from past mistakes. The error of the past is the wisdom and success of the future.”
(Dale E. Turner)

After almost 24 years of marriage (and a lot of fights, arguments, and lies), my parents finally decided to get divorced. If only I were just a stupid kid, I'd be pretty sad and scared. I would sob wildly and beg them to change their minds. I might have gone wild and grown up as a loser, probably been a drug addict who gets pregnant at 14 and given myself up to prostitution. Well, yeah. It might have been that terrible. But now that I’m 23, not stupid, and doing well, I have a different view. I am glad that they finally separated. I’m not afraid of having them not together at the same house anymore—I already moved out anyway. Then again, I found it better for both of them to split up, than keeping the marriage as a horrible scenario. I mean, the longer they stay together, the more lies and tension they have, and the worse their life would be.

I’m sure that there’s no normal couple in this world who wants to get married and then end up divorced. As a normal kid who was born in a normal happy family, it was quite hard for me to believe that my parents’ marriage had started to become disastrous. Then I grew up finding that my family was dysfunctional, and I hated it and was ashamed to be the part of it. I kept thinking about running away from home but I’ve never done it because I didn’t want to be a bum or teenage prostitute anyway. So I continued to live my life with my parents who couldn’t stop fighting even about small fucking things. The thing I hated the most was that I knew when, why, and what they fought about. Since I am the eldest daughter, I was getting used to hearing both my mom and dad cursing and complaining about each other, not to each other but... to me. I found it not only really annoying, but also completely irritating and cruel. I mean, why to me? Why wouldn’t they sit together, communicate it, and solve the problem themselves? How could they be so selfish and do me harm in such a way?

Let’s have a flashback with my own point of view.

My mom and dad got married when they were still young, stupid, and not ready. My mom, 21, couldn’t wait to get out of the house and get married with a prince charming and live happily ever after. My dad, 31, was (at the time) a successful young man, a bon vivant with a good prospect of career, who was told that it was time to get married or never get married at all. And then they had me and my sister. Like other parents, they always wished their daughters all the best. They wanted us to be ready for all the things life would give, to be tough, successful and rich; not to be ungrateful and not to let them spend their very last time of their life at a nursing home. But they didn’t have any idea. They were too young to get rid off of their selfishness. They were too busy making one another miserable, blaming each other for the unsatisfactory life. So they let us to find our own way, while they fought over their own prides.

They’ve never meant to make us feel miserable, but however we did. We were emotionally-disturbed. There were times of desperation, the times when we couldn’t stop cursing our parents on our diaries and thinking how unfair life was. But thanks God it didn’t last forever. And luckily, we, the daughters, grew up in such a supportive environment. We’ve been surrounded by good happy people who always make us think that it’s good to have a good life, rather than wasting it in regret and hatred and revenge to our parents for they don’t have such a successful marriage. I mean, why would we live our life with things that turn out to have no advantage for us? Yes, we were once miserable and might be labeled ‘broken home kids’, but we promised not to screw up our life. I would say that I am a high-motivated person, because of my parents’ not-understanding of the definition of a meaningful life.

I’ve learned many things from it. I represent someone who’s better because of divorce (of my parents—hopefully it won’t happen to me). What seems to be the problem for me is that I don't have a textbook example of what a marriage is supposed to be. But my wise aunt Mia said that we just have to let some things go with the flow and not be stressed out about it.


Things I’ve learned so far from my parents’ marriage and divorce:
1. I don’t have to spend my whole life living with anyone who doesn't want to be with me, and who doesn’t even want to try hard to make it work.
2. People can both hate and love at the same time. I have reasons to hate my parents, but since they're my parents, I cannot hate them as much as I love them.
3. Communication is the hardest yet most important for a couple.
4. Love is constantly evolving.
5. It takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it. Oh now I can really see the point of this sentence.

It’s true what people say: You don’t mess viz ze Germans.

And now I’m going to share my painful story with the German national railway company, Deutsche Bahn (DBahn), to whom I had to pay almost 140 Euros. Thus I still blame that bloody ticket machine.

On June 2 2009, at 10.45 PM, I rode my bike from Schmidt Bar to the Rotenburg-Wümme train station, soooo fast. I was to catch the last train that usually departs at 10.49 PM. I got there in the last minute, but I still had time to buy ticket from the ticket machine. I didn’t have cash, so I tried to pay with my ATM card. And what happened was that the bloody ticket machine couldn’t accept my card (and I’m still wondering why). The train departed just when I was still trying to deal with the ticket machine to have a ticket. I've heard that people can also buy the ticket directly on the train from the ticket controller. So I kicked that darn error ticket machine, carried my bike away, and entered the train… with no ticket. I parked my bike in front of coffee machine. I left it there and tried to find the ticket controller (you see, I didn’t mean to be an illegal passenger). On the next wagon, I found her, the ticket controller woman, the Hanna Schmidt—if you already watched Kate Winslet’s The Reader, you’ll know exactly what I mean. I came to her and she greeted me nicely. That Hanna seemed very nice—a person whom I thought I could deal with.

Me: “I need a ticket for me and my bike to Scheeβel. I was going to buy it, but I think the machine is kaput.”
Hanna Schmidt (smiled): “It’d be 6.80 Euro please,”
(I gave her my ATM card.)
Hanna Schmidt (still smiled): “Oh, sorry, we take only cash.”
Me: “But… I don’t have cash.”
Hanna Schmidt (faked her smile): “But we take only cash.”
(I looked through my wallet, found no more Euros.)
Me: “I only have 20 cents.”
(I apparently caused a mood-swing on her. She looked at me with the look of “You darn Ausländer, fooling around in my beloved country!”)
Hanna Schmidt (didn’t smile at all): “It doesn’t cost 20 cents. I’m so sorry. I have to fine you for not having a valid ticket. Your passport, please.”
(She took a pen out of her pocket and started to write on her pad.)
Me (still tried to convince her): “The ticket machine is down, you know. I tried to buy the ticket. I also tried to find you to buy one. I never want to be an illegal passenger.”
(Hanna didn’t say anything.)

URGGHH!! I wanted to scream out loud at her face, and once again kick the machine. I could buy a nice H&M jacket with 40 Euros, or eat Waffle mit heissen Kirschen ten times, or go to Hamburg and go back to Scheeβel twice. With 40 Euros I could even buy myself a Wochenendeticket and travel around Germany! F**k!

Who’s to blame?
a. The ticket machine of course. I went to Scheeβel train station the day after and bought a ticket with my ATM card, just to check if only my ATM card was the problem. It wasn’t.
b. Myself, because I wasn’t prepared enough. I should’ve checked the train schedule, gone out of the bar earlier and hit the ATM first.
c. Hanna Schmidt and DBahn. No, I don’t blame their system. It’s just disappointing that they don’t take cards. I know that Germans are always well-prepared for everything. But there’s possibility that a man doesn’t have cash and also time to hit the ATM before he gets on the train. And it was the last train on that day! Please, you guys…

Oh, I’m not finished.

A week later, I received a mail from DBahn. There were two invoices as enclosure in the envelope. Thinking that the other invoice was just a copy, I transferred the money to DBahn account, using online banking service. I thought the damage was done. But I was wrong.
Two weeks later, I again received a mail from DBahn, with the same enclosures they’ve sent me before. But the amount of money I had to pay was 47 Euros, 7 Euros more. They also enclosed a paper for transferring money (What do you people call it?). I asked my host mother about it. I told her that I paid the fine and asked her why it kept coming. She said, “It’s for you to send if you don’t use online banking. It’s the traditional procedure.”

I understood.

Three weeks later, just after I came back from an amusing holiday in Switzerland, I received a mail from DBahn again. And this time, they sent me detail of things I had to pay, with total amount of 92 Euros! I told my host mother again. She was as shocked as I was. She called DBahn office right away, asking what was wrong and also complaining (and calling them ‘wahnsinn’). She looked even more upset than I did.

After checking up all the letters DBahn has sent me, finally we knew the reason why I had to pay almost 140 Euros instead of only 40 Euros. It turned out, that I’ve got fined apparently 80 Euros for not having valid tickets for myself… and my bike (well, my bike got fined too… it’s so not fair). I paid the fine for myself, but I had ignored that for my poor bike. The total amount of the fine had then become more and more to pay.

I’ve lost 40 Euros. I was still upset about it. And then I lost more. I couldn’t be more upset.

My host mother felt sorry for me. She couldn’t help me more because it was my own mistake. She said, “That’s why people say ‘You don’t mess viz ze German’, Ocha. We’re completely strict.”

So guys, please always have cash in your wallet.

It's the day when I was spritually slapped by a 6-year-old kid.

So now I’m going to share a bit of my spiritual experience here.

Since I got here in Germany, I’m getting used to people declaring that they’re atheist. My host father is also an atheist, who was born and raised in an atheist family (“Wir möchten wissen, nicht nur glauben,” his father said).

I, myself, am not an atheist. I do believe in God. I was born with the same denomination as my parents’. Our religion has dietary law and rules about the dos and the don’ts. Every intoxicants consumption is generally forbidden (unlawful or haram). So drinking alcohol and getting drunk are forbidden. But I’ve drunken alcohol and been drunk before. I’m not very much a drinker though. I don't like alcohol. I’ve been drunk like twice or three times in my whole life. My mom didn’t know (oh by the way, she’s not that religious either, but not drinking alcohol is more like our own tradition). My mom once said that if she found me drunk, she would kick me out of the house. Beside, what is more embarrassing than telling people your secrets while you’re unconscious?

I’ve been living in Germany for months. Germany, the land of beer, bratwurst, and lederhosen. I told people that I don’t drink alcohol nor eat pork. But sometime I broke the rules by eating pudding with small amount of emulgator (from pig) or champagne-filled chocolates. I've also incidentally eaten pork sausages.

One day, I got a job to babysit my neighbor’s daughters. The parents went to a party until midnight, so I had to take them to bed at night. It was 10 PM, the kids were asleep. I was sitting on the couch, reading magazine, when one of the kids came down the stairs from her bedroom. She stood up at the door, looked at me, but she seemed unconscious.
I said, “Why did you wake up?”
She said in German, “Are you God?”
I tried to process the words in my brain because I realized that I don’t understand much of German, especially words that come out of sleepwalking unconscious kid. But I was sure that she asked whether I am God or not. After two seconds, I simply replied, “No.”
She said in German, “Are you Jesus?”
I said, “No.”
My mind said, “What the heck is she jabbering about?”
She stood up still. Her eyes were half closed.
I still sat on the couch, still looked at her. I said, “Why are you asking me that?”
She said nothing.
I said, “Do you want me to take you back to bed?”
She said nothing. She just looked around the living room.
I called her name.
She said nothing. She just looked around the living room.
After two seconds, she said in German, “You know, Ocha. God is everywhere. Although we’re far away from home, He still knows everything we do and say.”
I was one hundred percent sure of what I heard, I understood clearly. So I starred at that 6 years old girl. I still did stare at her as she turned herself around and walked upstairs. I followed her to her bedroom. She went to bed and continued to sleep again.
She said, “Gute Nacht, Ocha”. She was completely awake when she said that.
I walked down the stairs. I wanted to continue reading my magazine. But when I realized something, I couldn’t do anything but pray for forgiveness.

Exactly a day earlier, it was Thursday night. My friends and I went to a bar. There we had a party held after school to celebrate the end of the “German as Foreign Language” test. There we had chit chat and beers from boot-shaped glasses. I was also tempted to drink again. But I promised myself to get home peacefully.
And one of a friend said, “I thought you were Moslem.”
I said, “I am.”
He said, “Are you supposed not to drink alcohol? Moslem shall not drink alcohol, right?”
I said, “Yeah, I know. I mean, come on. My parents are thousands miles away. They wouldn’t know.”
And he said, “Prost!”
Then I drank. Again. And again. And I got home (not drunk but) with such a headache and pain in the ass because I’ve got fined on a train for not having a valid ticket (I'll tell you the details later).

There you go. My spiritual story. It seems boring, but for me it’s something I won’t forget. What I can personally learn, is that I'm always reminded, "GOD exists, Ocha! He does. And you don't have a reason nor courage not to believe in Him (or Her?)."

Some things are better left unsaid, I suppose.

The Things I Would Never Tell You (Part1):
1. I hated your job. I also hated it that you were famous as hell, and that you enjoyed all the adoration so much. I felt intimidated. It seemed that I supported you for your career, but I didn't really mean that way. That's why I wanted you to enter university.
2. I kissed you that day because (1) I was dared and (2) I always wanted to do it anyway. It was such a nicest dare I've ever succeeded.
3. I fucking hated your ex-girlfriend and all her dramas.
4. I still remember the name of the electronic store where you bought your TV. I was with you, remember?
5. I hated it when you were smoking because I always hated smokers, but smoking is the manliest (yet sexiest) activity you could ever do.
6. When you once said "Oh man, I feel pathetic because I don't have a girlfriend", I actually wanted to reply "Neither do I, so let's go steady" instead of "I pity you".
7. Everytime I said "I don't give a damn", it actually meant "I do care a lot about you".
8. George Benson and BeeGees are still on my play list.
9. I was never with that handsome cool guy my mom told you I was with.
10. Our chit-chat months ago was total bullshit. You bragged a lot and it bored me. I'm still wondering, what it was with you that day.
11. I've once crushed on a guy who looks like you. Though I knew that he was completely an idiot, I still wanted to go out with him.
12. I still have your name written on my diary.
13. If you think that I think that you are an asshole, then you're wrong. You are not an asshole. You never were. I was once with a guy who did not only kiss-and-tell, but also kiss-and-run. He's the winner of my 'Assholes Competition'.