Unser Übersetzungsbüro ist geschlossen: vom 20. Dezember 2025 bis 7. Januar 2026.
Our translation agency will be closed: from December 20, 2025 to January 7, 2026.
This might not be the typical expat blog, written by a German expat, living in the Philippines since 1999. It's different. In English and in German. Check it out! Enjoy reading! Dies mag' nun wirklich nicht der typische Auswandererblog eines Deutschen auf den Philippinen sein. Er soll etwas anders sein. In Englisch und in Deutsch! Viel Spass beim Lesen!
Unser Übersetzungsbüro ist geschlossen: vom 20. Dezember 2025 bis 7. Januar 2026.
Our translation agency will be closed: from December 20, 2025 to January 7, 2026.
.jpg)
Foreigners who like to get straight to the point at hand often wonder about the purpose of a visit at home or in the office when the visitor merely indulges in gentle small-talk banter - a nice conversation that doesn't add to the visit seems to justify. Of course, the visitor has been waiting the entire time for you to offer him an appropriate occasion. to talk about the purpose of his visit by simply asking (after a pleasant atmosphere for conversation has been established): "What can I do for you?" Often the visitor will not mention the reason for his visit at all, but will only blurt out when saying goodbye, as if it had just occurred to him again: Oh yes, something I almost forgot..."
The prolixity and the time-wasting pleasantries are part of a dynamic that revolves around preserving fragile self-respect. HIYA and AMOR-PROPIO depend on manners that protect valuable self-respect from possible harm, and harmonious, smooth interpersonal relationships can ensure this state.
The difference between interpersonal relationships in Western countries and in the Philippines comes from the fact that we resolve conflicts by consciously initiating them, whereas Filipinos resolve conflicts by avoiding confrontation.
+++
Ausländer, die gern unverzüglich auf den eigentlichen Punkt zu sprechen kommen, wundern sich oft über den Zweck eines Besuches daheim oder im Büro, wenn der Besucher sich lediglich in sanftem Small-Talk-Geplänkel ergeht - eine nette Unterhaltung, die den Besuch aber nicht zu rechtfertigen scheint. Dabei hat natürlich der Besucher während der gesamten Zeit darauf gewartet, daß Sie ihm einen angemessenen Anlaß bieten. über den Zweck seines Besuches zu sprechen, indem Sie etwa (nachdem ein angenehmes Gesprächsklima hergestellt ist) ganz einfach fragen:"Was kann ich für Sie tun?" Oft wird der Besucher den Anlaß seines Besuches überhaput nicht erwähnen, sondern erst beim Abschied, als fiele es ihm gerade wieder ein, herauszuplatzen: Ach ja, was ich fast vergessen hätte..."
Die Weitschweifigkeit und die zeitraubenden Höflichkeiten sind Teile einer Dynamik, die um die Wahrung der zerbrechlichen Selbstachtung kreis. HIYA und AMOR-PROPIO sind auf Umgangsformen angewiesen, die die wertvolle Selbstachtung vor möglichen schaden bewahren, und harmonische, glatte zwischenmenschlichen Beziehungen vermögen diesen Zustand zu sichern.
Der Unterschied zwischen den zwischenmenschlichen Beziehungen in westlichen Ländern und auf den Philippinen rührt daher, daß bei uns Konflikte durch das bewußte Herbeiführen, bei den Filipinos hingegen durch das Vermeiden einer Konfrontation gelöst werden.
Leberkäse is a sausage which is not filled into a casing and cooked but which is baked in a loaf pan. You can also call it a kind of meat loaf.
It is made of finely ground pork, bacon and a few spices. Sometimes, there is also beef in it.
The name “Leberkäse” is confusing, because Leber means liver and Käse means cheese.
There is, however, neither liver nor cheese in Leberkäse. The word comes from a dialect and means a compact mass, like a loaf in English. (The only exception is Stuttgarter Leberkäse which contains 5% liver, so neglectable.)
To make clear that it does not contain liver, Leberkäse is now often called “Fleischkäse”.
So, why are some tourists hesitant to try it?
Maybe they do not like liver (or other offal) and think there is liver in it. A classic misunderstanding.
I would strongly recommend it. The flavour is neither strong nor unusual, very similar to a Frankfurter or Wiener (actually, it is made of the same ingredients). The crust adds some extra flavour. It is really good.
EDIT:
This one is my favourite:
You buy it raw and you bake it at home in your oven. The crust turns out perfectly, as you like it best.
And it’s super-fresh and sizzling.
We like to eat it with a fried egg, homemade radish salad (just radish, yoghurt, mustard, parsley) and south-German potato salad.
I didn’t know how often I lay in my room, alone, and cold, in the middle of the summer, ruminating about how isolated I was with no safe place to go. The fan blew hot air over me, circling the tiny space I had seemingly memorized. The window remained closed, blocking me from the overwhelming light that threatened to spill over the hollow lines, as if reaching to fill the cave inside of me. Despite the heat that should’ve engulfed me as the sun rose, as its silent presence then loomed over me, I could not feel the warmth, and I simply sat on my bed unmoving.
Mechanical, rational, and agonizing thoughts clawed at my chest—overwhelming me, until loneliness gave way to emptiness. I struggled to breathe, but I memorized how to calm myself down: inhale, exhale, repeat. When I managed to calm down, the desire to be normal slowly settled painfully, and with that, the unexplainable self-pity kicked in—it was hard to accept that these were the closest access I had to my feelings, to the real me, yet it was still as vague as an unnamed thing. Perhaps this was exactly one of the reasons why I wanted to learn more about the social sciences—the discipline for so long looked at me like a mystery waiting to be unraveled. And maybe not so much of a plot-twist it was when, somehow, I landed in the sociology program at PUP Sta. Mesa.
The word “anomie” introduced itself to me in my freshman year. To Merton, anomie is the disjunction between goals and means due to structural inequality; to Durkheim, it is, at its simplest form, the breakdown of norms due to rapid social change and lack of moral regulation. The varying definitions spoke to me, that more than just a simple alienation—that word bearing the weight as if the excruciating grief of being different was my fault—I am the product of the construct of the world that I knew was quite wrong, I just didn’t have the knowledge to name it. So I held onto these six letters.
It was the closest word that could possibly explain the undesirable void that occasionally visits me without any warning. I wanted to chew it, recite it, and use it to reason out myself like a comfort, molding its form into something that I can grasp. With this knowledge, I could almost move on from everything that did me wrong in my past.
Yet as I once again drown in the darkness, the familiarity of the abyss pulling me in, it simply looks at me fall from above with indifference. I realized that I could simply not just discard and leave what made me different. I could almost visualize its face—the same face of people I knew who would repeatedly choose comfort over disturbance with or without a second thought.
For so long, interacting feels like performing, and if you ask me at the end of the day, relationships—a concept that values harmony—feel as if I am inside a bubble.
Yet inside those same fragile spaces I once occupied were a number of people who chose to be disturbed by me, reaching, like an attempt to touch, something akin to love. Those bubbles held an expectation that was meant to be shattered by my inability to be contained, and I couldn’t quite swallow the profound experience of feeling something as close to love and recognition that holds the power to define me incorrectly.
It is quite safer to mentally remain in the chamber of change, and what I made home of darkness that makes it easy to leave. Therefore, when they let me break through the bubble, when it got so uncomfortable already, they have proven that it was meant to be simply just a bubble, and to me, this feels like their noiseless abandonment of me, a slip of betrayal.
I go about my day pretending that I do not carry an invisible weight of accountability like a responsibility, but I occasionally spiral down with the same emptiness that perhaps may have only masked the piled-up hatred over everything. I long to be normal, to dream so big that reality would not be able to discourage me. I want relationships and life to feel more than just a duty. I long to be the person who has no inkling of difference that takes me away from the light or makes people I want to love leave me like a pattern. I hope to be preconditioned in my system, so that no amount of unkind people who do me dirty can bring out the worst of me.
Tonight, greeting the “Ber” months, as I lay in the same old room of mine, I realized I did it again. I let relationships die like they were nothing. Except this time, the light was blinding white and the room was cold, and I did not mourn or blame myself for being too much or too little. I swallowed the consequences, and little by little, I am learning to embrace, unapologetically, who I became as a result of anomie.
Mildred de Guzman
Mildred de Guzman, 22, is a writer who loves sweets, garlic, and broccoli.
Oktoberfest Kickoff Crew!