Just be there
You won’t have to talk
You won’t have to hold me
You won’t have to smile
Just be there
This once.
Just watch me
No need to say you’re proud
No need to support me
No need to lift your thumb
Just watch me
This once.
I know that you’re proud
And you would like to hold me
I know that you can’t.
I understand.
Please be there
This once.
Samstag, Mai 24, 2008
Montag, Mai 12, 2008
Big*B*log
Once more, a little bit of Bollywood has found a way into my life.
Amitabh Bachchan is not only an actor, but one of the greatest heroes of Indian cinema - a superstar since the early 1970s. By chance, I stumbled across his blog on its first day. For almost a month now, "Big B" (as his fans call him) has been blogging. Daily! And his blog has countless readers. Hundreds of comments of his ardent fans appear within a few hours of each of his blog entries.
I could not resist posting a few comments, too, although I am not his 'fan ' in the sense of the word. 'Fan' comes from 'fanatic', and I'm too much of a skeptic to be fanatical about anyone. But he writes very interesting - sometimes fascinating - posts. I am surprised at the vulnerability of this superstar, his touchiness whenever some tabloid or magazine writes a critical comment - but then, "Big B" strikes back in a witty, ironical and sometimes cynical way, which reminds me a lot of my late father. So human, tender, and endearing!
Thus, I'd like to recommend the "Big *B*log" as great reading to everyone who's interested.
Amitabh Bachchan is not only an actor, but one of the greatest heroes of Indian cinema - a superstar since the early 1970s. By chance, I stumbled across his blog on its first day. For almost a month now, "Big B" (as his fans call him) has been blogging. Daily! And his blog has countless readers. Hundreds of comments of his ardent fans appear within a few hours of each of his blog entries.
I could not resist posting a few comments, too, although I am not his 'fan ' in the sense of the word. 'Fan' comes from 'fanatic', and I'm too much of a skeptic to be fanatical about anyone. But he writes very interesting - sometimes fascinating - posts. I am surprised at the vulnerability of this superstar, his touchiness whenever some tabloid or magazine writes a critical comment - but then, "Big B" strikes back in a witty, ironical and sometimes cynical way, which reminds me a lot of my late father. So human, tender, and endearing!
Thus, I'd like to recommend the "Big *B*log" as great reading to everyone who's interested.
Hard Work
Today, as most Sundays lately, I have spent in the garden. Digging, planting, weeding, cutting trees, building paths.
When I was young, just out of school, I was a professional landscape gardener for some time. It was my job, my daily routine, and I did it for a living. It was hard work, tiring and monotonous. Maybe that is why I did not enjoy working in the garden for so many years.
But now my mother's garden needed some attention. My mother is wonderfully fit for her age, and she still does a lot of work around the house and garden herself. But that garden is quite big, and during the last decade, weeds, shrubs and trees have taken over much of the spaces that once were a vegetable garden, flower beds and a lawn.
So, some weeks ago I started going there every weekend, and fighting a battle against nettles, ground elder and other weeds that formed a thick, green carpet in the former vegetable patch. Square meter for square meter, I dug it up, pulled at thick mats of nettle roots, carried buckets full of weeds to the compost heap, and planted strawberries, raspberries, and currants in the re-conquered ground.
Then I dug up another patch for potatoes. And in the sunniest part of the vegetable plot, I planted tomatoes and courgettes.
The plants are growing fast now. Of course, this summer there will only be a couple of handfuls of berries, and just enough vegetables for a few meals. But they will be mine - the result of my work, my own harvest. Ever since humans became farmers, they must have felt this same anticipation and satisfaction. And suddenly, I found out about this simple bliss. Just now, I want to forget about my efforts in scriptwriting and filmmaking, and be nothing else than a gardener.
Maybe the hundreds of generations of farmers in my DNA are stronger than just three generations of intellectuals.
When I was young, just out of school, I was a professional landscape gardener for some time. It was my job, my daily routine, and I did it for a living. It was hard work, tiring and monotonous. Maybe that is why I did not enjoy working in the garden for so many years.
But now my mother's garden needed some attention. My mother is wonderfully fit for her age, and she still does a lot of work around the house and garden herself. But that garden is quite big, and during the last decade, weeds, shrubs and trees have taken over much of the spaces that once were a vegetable garden, flower beds and a lawn.
So, some weeks ago I started going there every weekend, and fighting a battle against nettles, ground elder and other weeds that formed a thick, green carpet in the former vegetable patch. Square meter for square meter, I dug it up, pulled at thick mats of nettle roots, carried buckets full of weeds to the compost heap, and planted strawberries, raspberries, and currants in the re-conquered ground.
Then I dug up another patch for potatoes. And in the sunniest part of the vegetable plot, I planted tomatoes and courgettes.
The plants are growing fast now. Of course, this summer there will only be a couple of handfuls of berries, and just enough vegetables for a few meals. But they will be mine - the result of my work, my own harvest. Ever since humans became farmers, they must have felt this same anticipation and satisfaction. And suddenly, I found out about this simple bliss. Just now, I want to forget about my efforts in scriptwriting and filmmaking, and be nothing else than a gardener.
Maybe the hundreds of generations of farmers in my DNA are stronger than just three generations of intellectuals.
Dienstag, Mai 06, 2008
The Greenest Time
My life is not really a happy one, these days. I feel lonely a lot, and I don't have work.
As a free-lance journalist and filmmaker, I often went through phases of overwork, followed by a lull. I was used to a roller-coaster life - like a boat in a storm, then a calm and then another storm. But since a couple of months, there's no storm in sight, and the endless calm begins to fray my nerves.
So, am I going to spiral down into a full-blown depression? Not in springtime! May in Germany is the most beautiful month of the year. All the migrating birds have come back to nest, and they fill the air with song every morning and night. Wild flowers thrive in every meadow, all trees are in bloom, and the forests are so intensely green, it seems almost unnatural - as if someone took a digital photo, and boosted its colour saturation to the limit.
I go out for a walk every day, just to see it all. I watch squirrels, butterflies, birds and bumble-bees, and forget to feel lonely and jobless. Every day I am amazed at the speed of growth in all that greenery, at new flowers and different colours.
It surely beats Prozac!
As a free-lance journalist and filmmaker, I often went through phases of overwork, followed by a lull. I was used to a roller-coaster life - like a boat in a storm, then a calm and then another storm. But since a couple of months, there's no storm in sight, and the endless calm begins to fray my nerves.
So, am I going to spiral down into a full-blown depression? Not in springtime! May in Germany is the most beautiful month of the year. All the migrating birds have come back to nest, and they fill the air with song every morning and night. Wild flowers thrive in every meadow, all trees are in bloom, and the forests are so intensely green, it seems almost unnatural - as if someone took a digital photo, and boosted its colour saturation to the limit.
I go out for a walk every day, just to see it all. I watch squirrels, butterflies, birds and bumble-bees, and forget to feel lonely and jobless. Every day I am amazed at the speed of growth in all that greenery, at new flowers and different colours.
It surely beats Prozac!
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