(2007): It was just getting dark and we were on the bus leaving Dresden heading back to Prague. Ollie asked to borrow my iPod, so I let him and then carried on with another conversation. He tapped me on the shoulder a couple moments later, turned the screen of my iPod so I could see what he was listening to, and pointed to the playlist title — “Middle School Dance Party” — (the one with all my guilty pleasures). Instantly embarrassed that he discovered I still had music by Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, and so on, I expected him to laugh and make fun of me, but instead he gave me a thumbs up and a big smile and carried on listening to my music bopping along. (2013): We were at an outdoor beer garden in Munich in the middle of summer. It was a nice day, so it seemed, but then the skies quickly turned and a heavy downpour suddenly washed over us. We ran to the nearest covering, as did everyone else. We huddled amongst the crowd of strangers for what seemed like the better part of an hour. Then the skies cleared up, the sun reappeared like nothing had happened, and we — and the strangers — all moved on in our separate directions. Anke in her barefeet, splashing in the puddles. (2007): Reflection photos. Warm hats. Chocolate banana. Berlin Wall. Spiral stairs. Everything big. Dresden mural. Jace. Lindy. Molly. Ollie. (2013): Dumplings. Trees. Boar statues. Warehouse dance party. World's tallest steeple. Animal faces. European football championship. Ulm. Munich. Ebermannstadt. Nuremberg. Julia. Melissa. David. Ben. Anke. (2015): I was strolling through Melaten Cemetery in Cologne. I like cemeteries and the reflective space they create. The hundreds and thousands of souls buried in their final resting place and the millions of lives they have collectively touched at one point, all now long forgotten. I saw a man sitting and reading the newspaper with perhaps his recently deceased wife, who will forever live on in his mind for the rest of his life. Another man watering a grave patch of perhaps his son or daughter who departed much too soon. An elderly couple slowly walking along the shaded paths, possibly to picture their future resting place side by side. And then there was me. Alone. Not fearing death itself but fearing the impact of death on those still living. Memory is a funny thing. It was my third time to Germany — and as I reflected on my past visits, what I remembered most vividly were not the places and the sights, but the people I was with and the connections we had. The simple moments, the bonding experiences, and the shared understandings. And for the first time in a long time, I was very aware of being alone. Not lonely, but alone. So I let myself feel deeply and imagine being in a past or future place and time, as a different person, surrounded by familiarity and closeness. And I felt sad and lost and uncertain all at once. There are times when I really think hard about how I felt in a certain time or place in my past. And if I think hard enough and feel it enough, it becomes a deep sadness and longing to be in that place and time again. And to be that person again, with those people again. With so many fragmented pasts and times and selves, I wonder if I will ever be able to settle into one. Or if I even want to, or know how to... The possibilities of the new and the next forever tugging me along, whether I want to go or not. |