five things after one month in Berlin
like, is there still time for me to have a Brideshead summer?
one
Before moving here, Tom and I visited the city at least seven times. It is the most familiar I’ve even been with a place before moving there. One of the things I was particularly looking forward to was the sound and smell of the Berlin metro. When you first enter a metro station, particularly one underground, you’re met with a singular odour. It is not unpleasant at all. And it doesn’t last beyond your first few inhales. I always loved that. Public transportation sounds are some of my favourite city sounds. The metro’s doors open and close with smooth clangs, the buzzy warning that the doors are closing is delightfully harsh tone. I was worried that these things had been made more dear in my memory, but I am happy to report that I remembered them exactly as they are.
two
A few weeks ago we met some friends for drinks in a park and we all ended up walking along part of Tempelhof field, an abandoned airport used when the city was divided by a wall between East and West. If you’ve never walked on an airport tarmac, it is so much longer than you’re imagining. And we were just going along the taxi-way connecting the two proper runways. Halfway along I realised that my uncle, who was stationed in Germany must have flown in and out of this airport as part of his job. A fact that was confirmed by my mom asking him about it. I keep thinking about how quickly things can change, even things as massive and oppressively inevitable as our current world order.
three
On the hottest day ever recorded on Earth, Tom and I ended up at a university graduate art exhibition. The art was fun, thoughtful, and deeply earnest as only those of uni graduate age can be. My favourite part, however, was the two people we saw hugging each other on our way into the building. By the look of their outfits they were art students and their hug looked like the kind that lasts for a rather long time because either you’ve broken up fairly civilly or one of you is leaving the country. I tried not to stare but I love, without irony, the younger generations. I love being reminded of how deeply everything felt at that age, how every thought or feeling was both so immediate and so important. I was skeptical about the exhibition, but their hugging in earnest set the tone, for me at least, and I was able to see the work through that lens. There’s an interesting lesson here in setting effective context for creative work.
four
Today is my birthday. I am 39! I expect a lucky year because three is my favourite number and nine is my third favourite number. Because you asked, seven is my second favourite. That is why I went from 35 straight to 37 for two years. When I turned 38, 39 seemed a bit scary, but now I regret spending the last year with the number 38. I am dreading my 40s, only because four might be my least favourite number. What if I do my 50s twice?
five
Upon consultation with the proper authorities, aka my sister with a Master’s in Psychology, I decided to pack five book with me for our stay in a temporary flat. I ended up with seven.1
Devotions, by Mary Oliver — poetry is always a good idea
How Novels Work, by John Mullan — will this be the time I write my novel whilst waiting for my visa approval?
Berlin, by Bea Setton — obviously
We Don’t Know That This is Temporary, by Adrienne Marie Barrios — little sneaky poetry book barely counts as one whole book, right?
In Defence of the Act, by Effie Black — emotionally attached to this book as an object
Molly, by Blake Butler — emotionally attached to everything about this book
Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh — I’ve not given up on my Saltburn summer and this is my ticket
And four notebooks that all serve different purposes. I function best when I can sort my inner chaos on paper.