Writer Between Worlds

Soulful writing about humans and places

Author: Andreea Sepi – author

  • With a heavy heart – and body

    Ciao, we’re back. I didn’t want to come back. Had no choice. Italy seduces me every time, and one of these days I am going to cave in and move there. For good. Until then, if there’s one conclusion that can be drawn from our little Italian stint (apart from the fact that I ABSOLUTELY…

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  • All packed?

    Yes, we’re finally going on vacation. I feel pretty safe making that information public because, even if somehow (God forbid!) thieves were to hit on our home while we’re away, there’d be nothing left for them to steal. We’ve packed it all. Seriously. Even the laptops, for the kids’ entertainment, toys, books, more food than…

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  • Just an inkling

    Maybe that’s why young people everywhere are lured by all sorts of fundamentalist ideologies: They feel the same nostalgia for a simpler, clearer, more honest past. A straightforward past of black and white. That seems authentic to them. It’s important to relativize in order to protect basic rights and freedoms, but too much relativity, in…

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  • Engines of the world

    I don’t know if this means I’m getting old or I have just been pushed into insanity by two sweet nagging children, but the world used to be so much quieter when I was little. The days seemed fuller, too, although I cannot imagine what we could have filled them with. No TV, no Internet,…

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  • Penny-pincher extraordinaire

    Advertising has got to be the easiest profession on Earth in Germany. You start out with a comprehensive technical description of your product, and then you just add “BILLIG” ( CHEAP) in large, bold capitals on top of it. Or the “creative” version “SCHNÄPPCHEN” (BARGAIN).  Heck, you can sell any rotten fruit, any withered vegetable…

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  • Life is a cucumber salad

    I’m into natural beauty. I hear people are giving their daughters nose jobs for their 18th birthday. I love my daughter’s nose, and I’d much rather cut up anybody who comes near it. It is perfect just the way it is. Who would want a mass-produced Barbie for a daughter?!.. But that’s another story. This…

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  • Small town blues

    I used to be a big city girl, dynamic and fulfilled. But then I emigrated and became a shadow. First, I couldn’t speak a word of German. Yes, to the extent that I would bring home a jar of red cabbage thinking it was red beet. By the time I was einigermaßen able to communicate,…

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  • Sons of a gun

    At this point I just want to say something about the recent shooting sprees in America. It seems all sorts of maniacs are on the loose again. And their guns, too. Now, I am not trying to pick a fight with anyone, but I cannot stand the blatant hypocrisy and shortsightedness of the gun-loving party.…

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  • Paradox of our existence

    That you cannot keep any of it. That is the most sadistic part of life, its sardonic grin. That you cannot keep that which you hang on to the most, that which you love the most, that which is most said to be yours. You cannot keep that which you are held most responsible for,…

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  • Latest ownership craze

    I remember my mother raising me with that Central European sense of politeness, where she would constantly nag: “What does it cost you to say hello? What does it cost you to say thank you?” It used to cost nothing, and so we grew up always politely saying hello and thank you. But what do…

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  • A touch of German humor

    Well, since I did such serious German-bashing in my last post (and my conscience has been shaken by vigorous spasms of guilt ever since…), let me make it up to them by saying that they do have occasional bouts of excellent humor. Take this guy that was on Deutschland Funk this morning, a stand-up comedian,…

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  • Prozedur über alles

    Would it be possible to write a piece about the periodic absurdity of German life? The eye-popping, mind-boggling, neuron-grilling absurdity of the bureaucratic mindset? I don’t think so. See, I can’t even come up with the right adjectives… Remember those Tom-and-Jerry cartoons where a desperate Tom pulls his own tongue, hits himself over the head…

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