I was at the end of my breath late last year. I was ready to pack it all in, give up, and just hide in a cave for the rest of my life. I was emotionally withered, socially shut down and mentally broken.
Yeeeah, I’m overreacting. It wasn’t as big a drama– though it was bad enough. I blamed it on Berlin. I wanted to get away (funny how that’s exactly what I did before coming to Berlin). Eventually, I mustered up the guts to say “fuck it, I’m leaving for a world trip in 9 months” (we’ll leave the details for another time). And here I am, seven months later, a month and a half away from leaving. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still stoked about my travel plans. But in those last weeks of work and general life, something happened to me. Berlin happened to me.
Time flew by suddenly. And it wasn’t bad time. Being excited, I started considering Berlin my first destination of my world trip, opening up new (also touristy) ways to bide my time. In doing so, I also opened up a door for new friends, new ideas, and apparently, my eyesight got a lot better too.. damn. Life was (and is still) good. Just like that, I got used to staying, as opposed to leaving. I arrived in Berlin.
Berlin is just a city like every other place in the world. It’s got buildings and cars and history and dirt and clubs and restaurants and whathaveyou. In all honesty, fuck Berlin, it’s a shithole for all I know ((err, I’m kind of going over the top here, I love Berlin, please don’t hate me y’all)). My point: if you’re not happy, no place in this world will make you feel better. No magic here. Just inspiration and experience to gain. You will not see the stunning view if you walk around with your eyes shut (like I used to). I learned it the hard way. I let the city and my high expectations crush me. Then I met someone. Someone inspiring. Someone who wasn’t special, but who made me feel like one in a million. Someone just like Berlin.
And then, slowly.. ‘here’ became home. The friends I found (and keep finding) became family. Friends who are 99% responsible for all the good things that have happened. People of all kinds, races and backgrounds who I would have never met in any other place. The one thing we have in common? Drugs. If traveling is our weed, then Berlin is our goddamn fucking crystal meth whore house.
I’m spilling because I’m back home at my parents’ for the next couple of days. Blame it on my dentist in Berlin, who conveniently decided to go on vacation right when all of my wisdom teeth just ache to break out. So now I’m in Frankfurt. Again. I miss Berlin. I miss my bed. I miss sitting on the windowsill and just watch the stars and the Fernsehturm at the other end of the city. Listen to the sounds of the street.
Deciding to leave Berlin made me love Berlin. Who woulda thunk it.
(I hereby vow to refrain from using anymore kitsch, romance or pseudo-psychological themes for at least two weeks)