today was our last day of class. i feel like we finally become a whole class today. it has been like braiding hair- the pieces have been there and they've been intertwined but loose. with pieces straggling. and only at the very end did it all pull together to make something coherent. and also something to just let be. we made it and now it is done. we played games, sang songs, laughed. we listened to german pop music and had an awkward almost dance party in our chairs. it was funny. i felt nostalgic as i left.

i want to feel things but mostly it is all a little muted.

five years ago today, diogo left my house. five years ago today, i woke up in the morning and he was lying with me. he had been there for two weeks. we would make dinner and drink wine and he would spoon me in the night. we would come home from work to each other and talk about our days. five years ago today, i went to work at smart alec's in the morning and cried the whole way because he was leaving for brazil and i had said goodbye. maybe five years ago minus an hour, he came into smart alec's to say goodbye again. and he took pictures of me across the counter with a disposable camera. i wore my cat-eyed glasses at the time and lots of gummy bracelets because i was 20 and moody. i can only imagine how those pictures looked. maybe they are still waiting to be developed. in a camera somewhere in sao paolo. a strange delay of reality. maybe if those pictures have not been developed yet, then diogo is not yet dead.

we went out to the delivery door, where my boss always smoked her skinny cigarettes with her skinny fingers and talked about which purse she should buy next, and we hugged and i sobbed and then he said he had to go because he couldn't look at me anymore. i can clearly remember watching him walk up durant avenue. he was wearing his grey zooyork t-shirt and shorts. i watched him until i couldn't see him any longer. when i got back to my apartment, there was a story on my refrigerator that he'd written. at the top it said, "beth, this is on account of my loving you forever, diogo." 

i loved that he always used my name. it was not general. it was me he was loving.

today diogo is dead and i think it scares me most that i am nowhere near that experience. that i think about him and love him, but i struggle to hold onto parts of him in my mind. sometimes i recite them. a laundry list of qualities. sometimes i wonder if there is even any life left in my memories, or if it has just become memories of memories themselves. i write them down. i recite them. he put salt on everything. he played the tenor sax. he always used proper grammar, even if it sounded strange in conversation. he had a knot in his lower back. he liked to tap my nose and tell me to be careful. he had a box of tapes in the back of his car. my hand fit perfectly into his. he always carried a portuguese/ english dictionary and a just english dictionary. he was diogo, not diego. i am getting frantic as i think about it. it is too many things.

now his words are tattooed on my arm and i tell the story too often and i rarely actually think about it and maybe it is better. tonight i will go to jazz again and someone will ask me. they always do. and it will be fine.

five years years later minus a month, i moved from san francisco.

and i gave away his typewriter. it was an electric typewriter and it wasn't beautiful but we bought it together. he had asked me where to get a typewriter and i obviously knew and i think it made him love me.

we gave each other writing assignments each month and his always ran from one side of the page to the other without margins. the day he died, i tore all the eraser tape out of the typewriter. he had deleted whole lines, which i read backwards. like some strange mirror into death. inverted and discarded. i hung his deleted words from my ceiling like lights.

i saved that typewriter for years and never used it.

i saved it and then i gave it away.

i told myself, it is just a typewriter.

i told myself, diogo is not in a typewriter.

and i took it to goodwill with all the other millions of things i decided i didn't need anymore.

today i've realized i barely need anything. i have too many clothes here, too many lotions, too many socks.

i don't even wear socks.

i am in berlin and i don't wear socks and my first love is dead and life just continues.

the week before i left san francisco and everything felt like it was falling apart, i just started to say, and so it goes. i didn't mean to, but somehow it kept coming out of my mouth every time i didn't know what else to say. that i'd resigned to, or embraced rather, the fact that the only real option is to just keep going.

i feel sad. i suppose sad isn't even the word. i feel reflective. i feel consumed by the idea of endings-- the end of class, the end of our relationship, the end of life. endings of every kind occur at every moment, but they do not stop us.

i guess i felt like coming here i was losing something, that being away from people i love means i don't matter anymore, that if people could deign to survive without me, then it must mean i am not important.

then i realized i'm an idiot.

i loved diogo with my whole, infant baby heart. and he is gone and i am living and so it goes.

i feel really lonely suddenly. but i don't think it's for lack of people or love. i feel lonely because i've spent most of my life trying to not be me, or to change me, or to distract from me, or to cushion myself with people so i can't see me, or to just not be at all. and now i'm here, sitting with myself, and for the first time i feel like maybe that was a mistake. that i am not so bad. and i think the most important part of realizing i'm not so bad is that i can let myself not be as wonderful as people like to tell me i am. that i look pretty unkempt and i have not baked cookies in a while and i haven't gone out of my way to help anyone, but i'm just a person and i'm regular and that's fine.

it's fine to just be regular.

i am crying. i am sorry this is not a happy post. it is not unhappy. i just feel really overwhelmed by life. how much it is. how far away from it i've been. how much i have to learn. how i'm responsible for my own life.

today our teacher handed back our tests and said they were mostly good, and one was very good. and then she gave me mine and said "sehr gut bess," which she calls me because she cannot make a th sound. 

very good. 

i got a 49/50. 

i suppose i am a little special.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cloughridge/1317771943/

aren't you glad you're in berlin? beth said at the end of our conversation.

and i thought about it for a minute.

yes, was the obvious answer, which i didn't realize was obvious until i said it and it felt right on my tongue. yes i am glad i'm in berlin. i'm glad i'm here, exactly where i am now.

i am glad i'm in berlin. today was just a day. and i loved that.

i am living a fairly regular life in berlin. i woke up early and unpacked from my trip. i sat on the deck a while and savored the sun that almost always announces the rain's later arrival. i wrote some emails, put in a load of laundry, and took a shower. i even shaved my legs. then i cleaned up my room a bit and went to my favorite little coffee shop, where the woman who works every day of her life calls me bella. she is petite and delicate and fits perfectly in the tiny shop, which is framed by crackling yellow benches. she only speaks to me in german, which i appreciate. she is patient when i don't understand. she repeats and gesticulates and enunciates.  she can speak english, but she sees i am trying, so she lets me speak german. i like her. 

i went to the library at school and attempted to read the german newspaper. i got a letter from kate and savored it like the last bite of cake. i glued things into my journal- ticket stubs, pictures, receipts, coasters scratched with reminders of each kölsch we drank. i talked to some classmates, reviewed my homework, and then went to class.

class was easy and fun. we had our first and last test, which we opted for to gauge our progress. i felt good about it. we learned the konjuktiv II so i can talk about my dreams and wishes with proper grammar. during break, we sat at a cafe and talked. tomorrow is our last day and most people are leaving by sunday at the latest. we have quite the little collection of people. irene and leida, from spain who giggle likes little girls and clap and sing songs with rolling r's. shao han, from taiwan who wears neon green tights and blue eyeshadow every day and calls everyone dahling. jacob, from oklahoma who loves to talk about poetry and translation and tucks his hair repeatedly behind his ears. carlos, from chile who asks many questions and is fixated on ping-pong. we sit at tables and talk and share our discoveries and our difficulties in berlin. i have known them only 3 weeks, but we have a bond and it is warm and a little awkward and beautiful.

after class, we all had a beer and then i came home.

i did my homework, talked to my sister and to beth, folded my laundry.

it was just a day and it was good and i am learning to not require drama from life to enjoy it, or to feel like i am living it rather. sometimes i almost get scared when i feel fine, when i don't feel elated or crushed, when i am not vacillating wildly, when i'm just existing. but it's less permissive here. there's no one to collect me should i fall apart. so i try not to. and that responsibility is scary, but also liberating. i can take care of myself.

just a day in berlin.

this weekend i am thinking of going to poland.

i am having a regular day in berlin and maybe in a few days i'll go to poland or maybe not. 

i guess that's just what it's like when you're in berlin and you might be the luckiest girl in the world.

what you don't know, you can feel somehow. what you don't have, you don't need it now. it was a beautiful day.

i heart köln.

this weekend christian, his friend dominico, and i traveled to the quaint and lovely köln. it was incredible from beginning to end.

i had my first european train ride. trains in germany, as maybe everyone but me already knew, are the most efficient things in the world. everyone seemed upset that after a breezy four and a half hour ride, we were eight minutes behind schedule.  after this grave setback, we arrived right in the thick of wonderful tourism at the kölner dom, which is one of the most daunting and beautiful buildings i've ever seen. it is jagged and ominous and dark from the outside, but strangely warm and welcoming on the inside, despite its enormity. we toured around a bit and i finally appreciated what it is to be a tourist. for years i've seen these people in san francisco, taking pictures of street signs and salads and thought they were a little bit silly, but now i understand. i wanted to remember everything, to hold it, to remember what it is some years from now when it has paled in my mind.

and then i met kölsch. kölsch and i are in love. kölsch is how all beer should be. it is served in doll-sized glasses and is light and easy to drink. my favorite thing about kölsch is that they serve it to you without asking and continue serving it until you deliberately tell them not to. they carry them by the dozen in a kranz, which is essentially a wreath of beer. the servers are surly old men with beards who don't care if you smile or say please but just continue depositing glasses on your table. they mark the number of beers you've had on coasters with what seemed to be always the same stubby pencil and then leave without saying anything. we sat outside in the rain at früh and it did not matter that it was raining. a band started playing. there were trumpets and horns and cymbals  and people sang and danced and we drank tiny beers in the tiny doll city that looks like you might find wooden people with straw hair sitting on balls of cotton inside.

and it rained and then it didn't and then it rained and then it didn't and we continued sitting in this cobblestone square until it was time to eat and it was beautiful. we went to a traditional german restaurant called päffgen, which was loud and lively and amazing. it was long rows of wooden tables framed with wooden chairs, punctuated by the rows of kölsch, which sat like never-ending ellipses across the massive tables. and even though everywhere in köln is always full, there somehow seems to always be room. it welcomes you in. so we sat and christian ordered all the most typical german food. plates of meat arrived at our table. plates of meat, bowls of potatoes, and salads made of meat and potatoes. we feasted and laughed and spoke only german and i was happy and full. full of food. full of life.

we went for a walk across the rhein, circled back, and sat on a bench and watched the water for hours. i felt so calm and wonderful at that moment, sitting between two people i don't really know so well, in a city i've never visited, which speaks a language i only barely know. i felt safe. i felt safe because, for a minute, i trusted myself. i felt how important it is to be welcoming to people and how precious it is to be welcomed in return. to share yourself, to be willing, to learn about other people and places. how alone i am-or how singular- and therefore how lovely it is to be connected to people. i say that maybe every day, but every day i realize it more and feel more blessed because of it.

once we were ready for bed, we stopped for a last drink, which turned into a dance party at a hysterical bar called "night fever," which boasted a checkered floor lit beneath by changing-colored lights. we danced until the sun came up and urged us to sleep. 

the next day was equally full- lattes in the sun, a special tour of the excavations they're doing beneath the kölner dom, an afternoon boat tour on the rhein, more sausages than i care to remember, a walk through the bustling riverside fleamarket, a ridiculously incredible tv on the radio concert, fancy cocktails on an outdoor patio, then beer and silliness at a playground across from our apartment. everything was saturated and bustling and lovely. people were friendly and willing to give directions. there was fresh bread and pastries to be had every ten feet. the city was sweet and charming, the company equally so. 

for the weekend, i stopped worrying about money and just enjoyed myself. i stopped worrying about what i will do next week or tomorrow night or the next time i feel lonely. i stopped worrying about how stupid i feel when i speak german. i stopped worrying if i am missed or loved or fat or unhappy or wrong or if i'll ever figure it out or grow up. i stopped worrying about everything and i just had fun and was with kind people in a charming city filled with life and warmth and was happy. i cannot even quite explain. we did so much it is too extensive to detail and too unjust to only list.

let it be said, simply then, it was beautiful. 

today we took a car share home. it was eight people crammed into a tiny van on the only day that hasn't rained since i left san francisco. it was sweaty and uncomfortable and i sat between two boys who spread their legs wide open leaving me crammed on the "seat" between them that was really just the strange gap between their two actual seats. one was very cute and named gregory and when he laughed it was so wild and shaky i was never quite sure if he was laughing or crying. the other's name i could not discern despite frequent repetition. in return, he thought my name was "puff" and the three of us spoke some disjointed collection of german and english. it took almost seven hours and my whole body still feels contorted and strange from the experience. 

but it was perfect because of this, the most perfect end to my trip-

christian gave me a book that he had told me about before. it is called "berlin blues-" a story about a guy in his late 20's, living in berlin in 1989. the story is actually about me. i felt almost strange that christian, not knowing me so well, chose to give me this book. i think he just likes the way sven regener writes, but i felt seen in an almost over-exposed way. i read the whole thing. at the end, i cried. in a hot, sticky car that smelled of sweat and stale bread, between two boys legs, which were pressed uncomfortably against my own, i wept.

herr lehmann is young and living in berlin. he works in bar and hangs out in bars. his friends are all bar people and he seems to know everyone in his little community. he is not particularly unhappy, but not happy or fulfilled either. he seems smart. he seems like he could do something if he tried or if he did not drink so much or if he weren't afraid of being something more. he falls in love with a girl, who loves him but always avers she is not in love. she breaks his heart. other things go awry and his imperfect and simple life starts to unravel. you can tell he is ready for something new. 

it is not a dramatic book. there is nothing big or suspenseful about it. it is easy. it is just a piece of life. 

and then the wall comes down.

and it ends like this

herr lehman stood there like an island in a sea of traffic, feeling empty inside. he didn't want to go home, where nothing awaited him but a few books and a bed as empty as himself. maybe i should get another tv set after all, he thought, or take a vacation. in bali with heidi. or in poland. or make a completely fresh start. alternatively, i could have another drink someplace.

first off, he told himself, i'll start walking. it'll all work out somehow or other.

i'll start walking.

green light: go.

ach!

ich fühle mich unglaublich gut. 

i feel lively and enthralled and happy. 

i am having a love affair with music. i forgot how it felt. i forgot how it felt to be nowhere, with no one. and to have music be enough. when erin moved out and concurrently diogo broke my heart for the first time, i found billie holiday. i had known her before, but suddenly she was my companion, naming my pain, letting it trickle out, slow and sultry, her voice engulfing the ache. like it was easy. and also the most agonizing thing her mouth had ever let escape. i listened to her for months. we walked together. she was my friend. she kept me strong, when i didn't feel strong. i forgot, until now. i forgot how we had met.

and oddly, today i listened to her. her round, rich voice that aches like the full moon- almost too full to hold itself. i listened to her on the way to a jazz concert with some friends. friends, classmates, acquaintances, people- whoever they are. billie and i walked together and today i wore little kitten heels and my twirliest, twistiest dress and i felt billie holiday in my hips as i walked. i felt her everywhere as i hip-hip-throbbed down the street, going to meet my friends. i felt alive and i felt aware and i felt for maybe the first time, fuck yeah i am in berlin. 

it always feels like the first time. 

and that is what i like. that every time i become aware of berlin, it feels new and fresh and electric. it feels like someone else touching your skin for the first time.

so we went to the club and there was wine and a grand piano made of silk and a humming, sweaty crowd and colored lights and my eyelashes, which were suddenly made of fireflies that shivered and shined with each deliberate blink. and it was beautiful and there was music. the clear speech of the piano and the sandy tremor of the drums and the wordless hum of the bass, that only made me think of peanuts and the indecipherable speech of charlie brown's teacher, which surely meant something but could not be understood. 

i didn't understand anything, but i felt it in my skin and i swayed and i felt good. i felt not alone. i felt like i was walking with billie holiday and someone was finally articulating what my heart only often hums. i felt like, we do need love, but we can find it in unexpected places. that warmth and comfort can be found in things other than people. 

the room was buzzing and it started to unravel and it was beautiful. they allowed random musicians to come up and play and it was often dissonant and disorganized, but somehow still a whole concept, like splayed threads, waiting to be woven into yarn. it was imperfect and awkward and i loved every moment. i stood there for hours, following the sounds, my body moving involuntarily.

i didn't want to miss my last train, so i turned on billie holiday, and we walked again. in the overly sweet, thick moonlight of this berlin night. where even a cardigan is too heavy and it threatens to rain any minute. the air is so dense, it rains even when it doesn't.

and i feel lovely and perfect and delirious. because it's late and i just reconnected with an old friend. we walked together and it was good. we walked together and i remembered what it was like to be alone, and be okay. we walked together, and i felt like i was unsure of everything, but my solitude and my hips, and that that is enough. we walked together, and i felt strong.

i've got my love to keep me warm.

when you look back, it will shine.

i keep meaning to say, but keep forgetting because i am so enthralled by myself, how incredibly grateful i am for all of the love that (despite my declarations of being so isolated and alone) has been pouring in the last few weeks. i am glad i have cultivated such an insightful, supportive, loving group of friends and family.

might i also say that mom should probably get into pr, because the number of people i've discovered are actually reading this daily nonsense is startling. 

i am so blessed, and while i may often get sad or insecure, i am always certain of this fact.

really really thank you. 

or as we say here in deutschland, danke schön!

(and please keep writing, emailing, texting, loving.)

something nice.

i said i would write something nice. i feel nice. i feel fine. 

i think about the day i arrived here, two weeks ago, in the scope of actual time, but some eternity ago in memory and feeling. when i summon that moment, i realize how far i've come, how much better i feel. i feel at home. i feel at home on my tiny single bed with its coarse burgundy blanket. i feel at home on frankfurter allee and its collection of spätkaufe und kneipen*. i feel at home since i've finally learned how to use my keys- a little click to the right before turning left at the front door and three times to the right then a pull on the handle at the apartment door. everything has its tiny nuance, its particular way of being. i feel at home because i've let myself be at home, instead of longing for something other than what is here. sometimes i want some salty tortilla chips or water with ice in it or most often a hug that comes with love rather than familiarity, but i am learning to relish the things i find here that i won't necessarily have when i get home. incredible apotheken* and sausages on the street from people wearing umbrella hats and kisses on the hand from spanish men, who call you bella. 

i realize more and more every day that each city, each country, and each person too has its own attributes and faults. berlin is incredibly clean, but no one picks up after their dogs. people are efficient and punctual and varied, but perhaps not as overtly friendly as in san francisco. food and housing are cheap, but things are expensive. i am trying then to enjoy the beautiful things berlin offers, without begrudging it the things it does not. i am finding the most precious parts and savoring them. like being at the flea market and being overwhelmed by all the stimulation there, i am sifting through berlin to find the things i like best.

i like berlin's coffee. i like its often cobblestone streets. i like its latticed walls and its endless parks and its unsettled weather. i like its freedom. i like its collection of people, of languages, of nationalities, of histories. i like its honesty and its art. i likes its babies (i like everywhere's babies). i likes its willingness to let you stay, to relax, to be outside. i like its riverside bars and late night tango dancing on the sand, where the music is so quiet and gritty with age you can hear people's feet scuffle. i like its distance from time, despite being so punctual. i like its trains and its language.  i like its abundant colored lights that blink their heavy eyes at you in the early morning hours. i like its museums. i like its genau* that people utter often, with the same quick, soothing drop in pitch at the end. i like its chaos, its liveliness. i like its many things, its more things than i could name.

i have been quite busy, occupied. i do more in one day here than i would do in a week in san francisco. yesterday some classmates and i had a very un-german dinner at a japanese restaurant. this time four spaniards, a chilean, an oklahoman, and a cupcake. we ate sushi, while speaking in some senseless collection of german and english and spanish. we drank too many bottles of sake and laughed maybe too loudly for the quaint restaurant. we walked later to a bar on the river and drank more in seats that were more like cradles, begging you to sleep, than chairs. by 1 am, i'd missed my last train, so i walked home an hour in the rain. instead of a playlist, for once i chose a whole album. i walked home listening to the music that felt so precious and appropriate at the time, i almost don't want to name it. i felt strong and happy, even when my shoe fell apart and just started flapping-soggy and unstrung against my ankle. i came to the house and clicked right, then turned left to come into my home. i am home.

every minute is new, every minute is familiar, as life tends to be. i feel very neutral this moment. calm. it is perhaps the strangest feeling i ever have. i am reveling every minute in myself and my surroundings, the fluidity between them and the barriers. i am going. i feel fine. i feel nice. i feel something nice.

wortschatz

spätkauf- mini mart (literally "late buy")

kneipe- pub, specifically a seedy bar

apotheke- pharmacies, ie shops where they sell amazing, inexpensive skin-care products

genau- exactly, said in response to an it-goes-like-this? question

i am a disaster. a complete disaster. i cannot get a hold of myself. one minute i am excited and the next i am lost and forlorn.

i think i have cried everywhere i've gone in berlin. either because i am happy or sad or just simply overwhelmed. i am littering berlin with my tears. i am leaving my mark.

this morning i went to the flea market and was happy. i like flea markets. i like old things. i like the smells and the colors and the chaos of stacks of old teacups and shoes. i like searching. i like sifting. i did not buy anything but i breathed it in. it was good. i ate a real breakfast instead of some various form of bread from a counter. i sat and drank coffee and read. i listened to babies screaming and their mothers calming them and loved how the same shh shhh shhhh is in every language. how being lulled seems to feel the same everywhere. i felt nice and then read a sad sentence in my book and started to cry.

i wanted to go to the zoo but it started raining again and i am tired of rain and cold, sweaty skin. i considered going to the pergamon, but i am emotionally exhausted so i took a small walk and came home instead. tonight i will meet up with a friend i haven't seen since high school who is in berlin for the week and i will be fine again. i might get a little drunk and walk home listening to peppy songs and dance on the street. i might feel really happy and hopeful for a minute.

i have said it a thousand times, but every day i realize more and more that i am just me. i am beth and beth is tumultuous and volatile and extreme. i may be in another country but my self is the same. i still spilled mustard on my white shirt at breakfast and i still cry too easily and i still obsess and i still feel fine one moment and dire the next.

and i think my lows may be worse here because i feel obligated to have an amazing time. because everyone keeps telling me how incredible it will be and how much i'll grow and how i'll never want to come back and right now i just feel like the same stupid, emotional girl, except i'm in berlin. and it feels even worse sometimes because there is no one here that loves me. no one to call to say, hold me for a minute. maybe that is the most important part. that there is no security for once so i have to find it in myself. but i have to say, i really fucking hate it.

i feel dumb and i feel like i'll get home and be disappointed i didn't embrace it more or like i didn't do enough. i don't know.

i'm excited for thomas to come. he is coming in a month and we will go to prague and amsterdam and paris. thomas is perfect because we love each other but i have never relied on him. he is not that person for me. but he is fun and we can have adventures. he has also seen me at my worst. he was there when diogo died and when i've been crying in hallways and when erin moved out and when i gained 20 pounds and when my hair was blonde and when most everything in my adult life. and then kate striano will come and we will be in sicily and then to some island whose name i can't pronounce and we will drink too much wine and hug each other for hours and be happy. i am thrilled for these things. i am not thrilled for the 3 weeks after my class ends, in which i have no plans and am too paralyzed by fear to make them. and maybe i am learning nothing because all i want is to be near people i know and trust. i just want a moment of comfort.

i feel stupid. i feel so stupid and i keep working myself into tears or just meeting them unexpectedly and it all just feels worse because the people i do love seem to want so much from me. i know it's for me. i know they just want happiness and growth for me. but constantly hearing that makes me feel like what i was was not good enough.

this is stupid. i am going to take a nap and read something not sad and get over myself.

shh shhh shhhh

it is saturday and my first full day alone. no class. no plans. no friends in town.

i woke up excited and ready.

i do not think much about how i look here. this morning i put a belt on over my nightie, added a cardigan and some dirty shoes, and walked out the door. i do not feel beautiful and do not worry if other people think i am. normally, i decorate myself to distract from me. i add ruffles and bows and mascara and bright nail polish. i layer myself with sarcasm and hair dye and too many words. though it's all a part of who i am, sometimes i feel i'm just deferring attention to some facade i've created rather than just letting people see me. sometimes i wonder if people like what is underneath all the noise or if they just like the show.

but that is a whole other story.

i am in berlin and everything is different and the same. but in this instance mostly different because no one knows me and thus does not await the show. if someone saw me walking down the street in pants, they would not be surprised or care. they would not know i always wear a dress and a bow. (okay. so i put on a bow this morning too. but being bow-less is practically being naked for me.) they would not be surprised if i didn't smile or if i were quiet. they would not be surprised about anything about me, because i am just another girl they probably do not notice. i am currently relishing this anonymity. i am just a girl. living in berlin. there is no expectation.

i took my disheveled self on some three trains and arrived at gneisenaustrasse. it was raining but i took my time walking through the streets, watching everyone eat plates of meat for breakfast under umbrellas. they smoke cigarettes and don't seem to notice it is raining. my nightgown became soggy, but i walked slowly still. i deliberately took the train a little outside my destination, just to see some new streets, to take my feet around berlin.

eventually i came to the jewish museum in kreuzberg. the jewish museum is perhaps the most amazing place i've ever been. it is shaped something like a lightning bolt and not at all symmetrical. it is not winding, but ricocheting. i felt like a pinball, bouncing in every direction, overstimulated by the amount of colors words textures stories around me. at first i just cried. not because it was sad. it is not a holocaust museum, though that's definitely addressed. it's a jewish museum. it celebrates all of the contributions jews have made to german society and the prejudices they've faced. at first i just looked at pictures and they were not sad, but i was overwhelmed because of how big the world is and how little of it i know. that there are cultures and people and places and histories and moments and centuries and rituals and religions and families and crises and futures and everything else that i am barely remotely aware of. and maybe it is that i have heard their names so many times in my life that i've never really bothered to find out who they really are. that, in this case specifically, i have obviously known that judaism existed my entire life but never learned any of its history. or its present. of the divisions there, of their struggles, of their contributions. i have "known" it certainly but i haven't known it. haven't looked at it. maybe like i think someone looks at me, at the surface, and they think they understand. think i am obvious. think they have it figured out. or do not bother to think at all, but just take one look and assume i'd never be a lonely girl in a wet, grey nightie. like that, we have all to some extent known but not known.

so i cried and i cried because there is so much happening in the world and i am so enthralled by own precious existence that i haven't really seen much of it. and even those tears were a moment, or many moments, of self-obsession, but it is slow, this rending of myself from my self. 

now i am not making sense.

the point is i eventually got over myself and just absorbed and it was beautiful. there is every anything a person could want to see at the jewish museum. movies. documentaries. animation. painting. pictures. artifacts. interactive exhibits. sculptures. stories. it is tactile and sensuous and dizzying. it is intimate. it is like sifting through someone's personal box of secrets. holding each tiny item in your hand. smelling paper and maybe putting something small in your pocket just to see what it feels like to have it there. it is rich and layered and incredible. it is also vacant spaces, awkward jagged corners, free from any art. to let you think about what is not there, what has been lost. i can't even do it justice to describe it. i can only say, i learned a lot. it felt as though the museum embraced you, allowed you into judaism, instead of telling you things as an outsider. it said, feel how beautiful and how tortured our past has been. see how hopeful we are now.

i stayed for five hours.

i was glad i was alone. each person has their own cadence in a museum, has the exhibits that hold them- like the fermata in music. it's there above the note to tell you the note has a given time, but you should hold it as long as it feels right. some exhibits had those above them and i stayed and watched and hummed. others were staccato. just a passing moment. it was nice to just flow through, to not wait, to be alone. to be surrounded, but alone.

in the real world, it was still raining.

so i decided to walk. and i walked and i walked. and i walked another two hours home. suddenly all the pieces of the city i'd seen came together. instead of traveling underground from stop to stop, i just walked and was finally able to situate the parts of berlin that were previously fragmented in my mind. now it feels less enormous, less scary.

i am finding my way, one day at a time.

now it is night and i have not spoken to anyone all day. i believe the only words i've uttered this entire day were "nur ein, bitte," to ask for one ticket at the counter. regardless, the day has been full of noise, of activity, of movement.

i can't remember the last day i had alone. it feels awkward and lovely and new. it feels like something i could get used to.

a weather report for my mother:

this morning it was hot and cloudy. the air is thick. i took a shower to rinse off the sweat and smoke of last night, but only kept sweating. i bathed in shower water and my own sweat. i put on some underwear, a thin dress, and a pair of sandals, and nothing else.

at school, my sticky thighs and i slid around on the plastic chairs. i fanned myself and felt dizzy and hysterical. the whole class was brimming with a heat-induced mania. we laughed and only said the most insane things we could think of in german. nothing got done.

two hours later it rained. not just rained, but violently expelled water. the sky was vomiting rain. projectile showers. it was maybe the first time berlin was dark since i've been here. dark, punctuated by the startling flashes of lightning. lightning, echoed by the growl of thunder that came after. thunder, which collapsed onto the earth and shook the room.

we could do nothing but watch and listen. it was mesmerizing.

and then it stopped.

now, a few hours later, it is raining. it is steady and warm. it is comforting, like the kind of tears you shed when you watch a movie you know will make you cry. just because you want to cry.

and i am lying on my bed, feeling like this weather. 

erratic and unpredictable. completely senseless and incongruous. i feel perfect and balmy, and violent and unsettled, and wild. just wild.

i will go out tonight and dance it out and then we will see. which kind of weather happens next.

somehow it is now friday again, which has affirmed my suspicion that berlin operates beyond time.

i am having fun.

i'm having fun!

yesterday i finally woke up excited and aware of the fact that i'm in an amazing european city and can do whatever i want. i have officially decided to say yes to everything. yes to coffee breaks, yes to dinner, yes to movies, yes to beers, yes to dancing. yes yes yes yes yes. i am ready.

so when some classmates asked me if i wanted to go out last night, naturally i replied... yes!

we went first to a hilarious bar/ restaurant in prenzlauer berg, called white trash fast food. there they encourage you to call the waitresses "baby" and do whatever you want. everything in berlin seems to have a theme and this amuses me. they are very intent on having a good time and i am rapidly adapting this attitude. we had a few drinks and then proceeded to an even more amazing place named dr. pong. dr. pong is an overly bright warehouse of a bar that looks like the basement/ personal paradise of  a teenage boy. there are leather chairs held together with duct tape, folding chairs lining the walls, something that resembled saran wrap blurring the windows and then one giant room with a single ping pong table in the middle. here you can play drop the paddle. drop the paddle is the most incredible game in the world, because my grandma used to play it at parties and subsequently i played it with my family. everyone circles around the table and hits the ball once. if you miss, you are out. as the number of people dwindles, everyone is running frantically to make it to the other side of the table and this continues until there are only two people left who play an actual, short game. it is hysterical and a little addictive.

then we went to dance. i love dancing in berlin. everyone seems to be dancing for themselves. it's not a show or a sexy girl contest. it is just too many people in a smokey room, moving and moving and moving. i am not sure where we were or how we got there or how i got home really, but it went on for hours. i am considering my dedication to dancing in berlin to be my exercise.

i loved being with people i didn't really know. we talked and everything was interesting. we're discovering each other. everyone seems fascinated by san francisco. this makes me feel fascinating by proxy. we try to speak in german when we can. again, a woman asked me for directions as we were walking to the club. i gave her directions in german and felt amazing.

today i feel good. 

today means only a week and a half of class left and also robert's last day. tonight we will go out again.

i am in berlin and i am excited. i am having fun.

i am me everywhere i go. i carry my joy inside me. people can see it.

i am having fun. i am having so much fun.

the pit in my stomach is finally gone.

i still have worries, get nervous, feel lonely, think too much, but it feels different. it feels like the aches of everyday life rather than some insurmountable pain.

my german is getting better. katja commented on it the other night. also irene, a girl from my class, said it seems natural for me. sometimes, if i'm speaking in english i accidentally use german phrases. other times, i realize i'm hearing german without having to translate it in my mind, but am just understanding it rather. all of these things are thrilling to me. i read everything. i read signs. i read food labels. i read the personals and flyers. i read t-shirts and bumper stickers and graffiti. what i don't understand, i try to infer or write down to discover later. when i am somewhere new and am unsure of how things work, i watch the person ahead of me. when i am walking in a new area, i note the street names and turn around often to see what it should look like walking back. i write notes about everything- moments i want to remember, phrases i hear, names of people i meet. i am inundated with an entire world suddenly. while my surroundings used to simply surround me, now they are a part of me. i am constantly looking, watching, listening. i feel aware of the world in a way i haven't for a long time.

one funny thing i've noticed is that most germans do not listen to ipods while walking or riding their bikes. whereas in san francisco, at least every other person travels around with a white cord coming out of either ear, here people seem to be listening. i am trying to follow this example and occasionally remove the noise from my ears to listen. just listen to the world here and see what it has to say.

the world is saying so much.

it has all been surprising. this whole experience is a surprise to me.

while i envisioned myself, lying on my bed crying every night, i've barely spent any time at home. monday i met up with my old san francisco neighbor gerardo, who now lives in berlin. we went to a cafe in rosenthaler platz and had beers and shared experiences of being an ausländer* (per lindsay's request, i will provide translations for those, die nicht deutsch sprechen können. please refer to the end of the entry for said translations) here. we talked for hours and i realized, yet again, how precious it is to be near someone who knows you, even casually.

and then yesterday i had my first, completely unprompted invitation.

irene, jacob, and leda asked if i'd like to go to the komische oper* with them to see requiem- a theatrical adaptation of mozart's requiem.

i was elated.

the theater was ornate, baffling, incredible. as was the opera. it was not so much an opera as it was a wild collection of various types of media. there were actors, singers, film clips, tv screens, an orchestra. i couldn't understand most of what was being said, but i almost liked it better. to witness just through sound and facial expressions, through tempo and body language. it was vibrant and terrifying. they were obviously discussing death, religion, mortality, christ, society... laudy topics i could feel their emotions toward. i filled in the blanks with some combination of my own feelings on the topics and the feelings they suggested through their actions. at the end, everyone applauded for an endless 7 or 8 minutes. everything was concurrently awkward and lovely. scary and moving. strange and familiar. it was, indeed, komisch. komisch suggests something both amusing and odd at the same time. i felt this. i felt it through the language, even though i didn't understand it.
afterwards, i ate a pretzel and went to christian's cafe.
we drank beers and talked. we bought tickets to a concert next weekend. we are friends.
i came home late and fell asleep with the sun again. the sun is my new lullaby.

i think, of all things, i am realizing how strange and singular we are. i wake up in the morning and don't wait for anyone. i am not expecting any calls. i barely notice i have a phone. i am my own day.
i am reconstructing my ideas of friendship. it is wonderful to realize that friends enhance our existence, but do not define it, that i require no specific other person to get through the day, that i am, in fact, enough. to love, then, is a gift. 

i do not always feel good. i do not always feel okay. i don't expect that i ever will, as life moves in unexpected ways. today i fainted in the bathroom. i think i am just overwhelmed. i came home early and am wearing my new ugly house pants that germans like and will maybe watch german tv. and it is all okay. it is all a part of the experience. i am excited to see what happens next. what i will read. what i will see. what i will hear. what i will uncover. what will reveal itself to me.

wortschatz (vocabulary)

ausländer- foreigner

komische oper- comical opera/ strange opera

when we were mugged in december, i lost a lot of things. my i-pod. my phone. my wallet. my keys. but everything was replaceable. except perhaps my maui keychain. my maui keychain and i have been together since i was very tiny. it has been on my keys since before i ever really had keys. out of all the seemingly valuable things i lost, i was most upset about losing it. (and perhaps my stamps, which are very replaceable, but which still somehow caused me great grief.)
a few weeks after whining about it ceaselessly, kelly gave me a new keychain. a little plastic green man, who was poised to walk. i asked who he was or what he meant and kelly said i would figure it out.
i did not figure it out.
maybe five months passed and the little plastic green man hung from my keys, being a nice green gift, but not at all my maui keychain and seemingly meaningless other than that he came from someone i love.
now i am in germany.
and, though i did not recognize him at first, the little green man is everywhere. telling me to walk.
he is at every street corner. standing below every street light.
suddenly it was obvious who he was.
and today i realized that i am walking.
i told myself, go. and though the process has been scary and i've been hesitant, i'm going.
i am in germany and maui is not gone and neither are my memories. of things that have passed. things i have loved. things that have been taken. things i have been given. my maui keychain is somewhere in the world, with a whale and a rainbow and the name peka, which is beth in hawaiian. i really loved that keychain and i was actually always a little afraid of losing it, and then i did, and now it is now and everything is okay. nothing is lost in the enormity of the world. it is merely somewhere else. or often, just stored inside me.
so yes, now i am in germany and i've said that too many times already but i feel like repeating it is an assertion of my existence.
i am somewhere else and nothing is lost.
i have just gained something new. a new moment. a new opportunity to walk. to move forward. to change. to cross streets. to go places. to see new things. to fall in love with new moments and people and places. i am realizing that experiencing new things does not mean having to let go of the old, but maybe just holding them near, while making room for others. for little green men. for change.
i feel really hopeful today and for once i am not going to soil that by worrying about the next moment, in which i might not feel okay again. i am thinking about now. about moving forward, witnessing the act of walking, of movement- or experiencing it, rather- instead of fretting about yesterday or tomorrow or sunday.
i already got lost once today. so i asked for directions. and found my way.
i am finding my way.
i am figuring it out.
i am walking.
i am moving.
i am making progress.
green light: go.

(thank you kelly, for knowing things before i do, for telling me to go)