alice's peephole

Part I “Are we human, or are we dancer”? -           The Killers My first soiree with the continent of Africa went quite sour, quite quickly. I landed in Abuja, Nigeria on 1 February with some colleagues. We proceeded to the visa on arrival/ immigration office. 4 visas were processed and biometrics recorded, but not mine. I was told that the visa procedure was new and had glitches. I was assured I would receive my passport in a few days. I didn’t have much of a choice but to leave for the hotel, passport-less, along with my colleagues. A few days and some minor misadventures later, I asked after my passport. I was told that many others had to surrender their passport, and I should not worry. Gauging by the general chaos of the Local Organising Committee for the event, I started to do exactly that. M and I were the only ones in our organisation who were without a passport, and due to fly out a day after the rest. They had t...

5 business trips (Hungary, Switzerland, Kazakhstan, London and Dubai), 3 friends visiting from overseas and my family doing their annual visit. I also travelled privately to see friends in Stuttgart and Zweibrücken, and explored Spain with my family. This past year has been busy, but still feels mundane when I look back. Its full of confusing paradoxes.  Unsexy as it sounds, I am not sure I really do enjoy travel. The last 2 times I travelled for work, I was confronted with racist, sexist and downright risky experiences that have probably resulted in my current crises of confidence. It is eating into my state of feeling safe, whether at home or work, in Bonn or abroad.  When I am at “home” in Bonn, its been unnerving settling into this “lifestyle”. I feel the constant pull of the desire to be social, yet I like my own company and many times stay in rather than go out. On one hand I enjoy having a routine, a regular café and gym to go to, a swimming pool next door ...

Several months after turning 30, after over a decade of being able to vote, drive and consume alcohol (except in Maharashtra, where I’ve been legally drinking only since the past 5 years!), I can say I feel like an adult. However, before you jump to conclusions - this post isn’t going to be a rant about the dark side of adulting – the endless chores, bills and to-do lists. (I’ll save that for a post about the privileges of moving to a “developed” country, i.e. where one is confronted daily with classic cases of choice overload. Choices are abundant e.g. disposing of garbage into the appropriate bin, which of the myriad of highly specific Sunday-quiet day laws to break, what obscure cycling-traffic rules to ignore, and the like.) Adulting came to me in a big bundle, which is why I am so aware of it having arrived. The same time that I turned 30, I started to work at the organisation I had set my sights on years ago. I also moved to my very own little apartment, in a small (b...