The diary of a German trying to invest

Once upon a time. That’s how all fairy tales begin, and at first, it looked like it would be a tale from One Thousand and One Nights. But things turned out differently because fairy tales never come true. This, however, is a story that did come true, and whether I should consider it a “pity” or a “thank God,” I can’t decide. Every reader should decide that for themselves.

I, a man past my prime, lived in Germany and believed I had achieved everything a man and father of four could achieve. Or had I? STOP, there was something, something called love. But what is love, really? You can hardly eat it, as it turns out much later. At least, something was missing for me because I was alone. My toaster talked to me, but apart from that faithful appliance, and sometimes the stereo, there wasn’t much else. Back then, the best music came from the shower when I stood under it.

So what to do? As a man my age, I wasn’t very familiar with social media, so I asked my kids, and they quickly created a Facebook profile for me, and off I went. A few months later, I received a request from the Philippines. What was that? Okay, geography! So I knew it was in Southeast Asia, with Manila as its capital, but then what? Nothing. I accepted the request and learned a lot about a new country. My interest was piqued, and I started exploring it on YouTube. Suddenly, joy and sorrow were closely intertwined. I saw beautiful islands and pristine beaches (what’s become of them now?), but I also saw prostitution and poverty. Was it all just a movie? Naive as I was, and open to new experiences, I bought books (I mentioned before that I’m older and still read) to learn more. I bombarded my new friend from Mindanao with questions about the country, women, sights, etc.

Meanwhile, I also met other people, also from the Philippines, and I got to know the country the way a tourist does.

Very quickly, perhaps too quickly, I also learned about the downsides: women who were willing to give me more than I wanted just to — as they said — pay for their mother’s surgery or the baby’s medicine. However, many people had warned me against ever sending money, and I followed their advice because it made sense. Later, I learned that this is called “gold digging.” This issue became more pronounced as we approached the pre-Christmas season, and these women needed money. But I remained steadfast.

REALLY STUBBORN???

No, something was growing inside me, namely the word WHY. Why did they need money? Why couldn’t they earn their own money? For me in Germany, it wasn’t a problem. When I went to the doctor, I took my insurance card, and that was that. I received a bill weeks later, paid it, sent it to the insurance company, and got the money back. That’s what my monthly premiums were for. BUT what about the poor? In Germany? The state took care of them; they didn’t have to pay anything. And what’s it like in the Philippines? I’ll spare you the explanation because my readers know better than I do. Suffice it to say, the state conveniently stays out of it and does NOTHING, nothing that actually helps. What good is a prescription if I can’t buy the medicine without my children having to make significant sacrifices elsewhere? So, NOTHING.

I didn’t condemn this, even though my thoughts urged me to; I accepted it as a given.

I didn’t condemn this, even though my thoughts urged me to. But all these things kept increasing, and something stirred within me; I felt the urge to do something, but I didn’t know what.

Among all these people — and it’s no secret, they were mostly women — I met one lady who stuck in my memory, not because it was the first time I’d had close contact with her, but because she gave me a deeper insight into her daily routines. That’s how I learned about the life of a farmhand who had studied at a college but couldn’t find anything in her field or her local area. She had two daughters of her own and had adopted her deceased sister’s daughter; the children were between 10 and 15 years old, and they all lived together with their parents/grandparents in a small house. Then came the shock: her salary was PHP 10,000 per month, with no insurance or taxes. PHP 10,000, then EUR 165 — as much as I easily spend on groceries for a weekend, and that’s just for myself. My world collapsed. The planet split in two.

But more on that next week.