New Year's and Zombies

Brandenburg Tor (Personal Photo)

Hello again. 

 I know it’s been a long time since my last post. Ever since New Year’s, I feel like I’ve been on the go and running, and it’s only now—April--that I’ve been able to catch a proper breather. Between exams, planning more trips, choosing courses, editing (for work) with the workload of three, applying for jobs, doing schoolwork/midterms and completing the biggest French project/giving the longest presentation of my entire life...  

Well, “zombie” doesn’t even begin to cover it.  

It was sheer determination not to miss class that dragged me out of bed in the morning. It was by sheer necessity that took care of myself, if you can call it that. It was by sheer force of will—and the need to present a strong front of chipper strength—that I attended karaoke, soirées, expeditions... that I left my apartment at all. All I wanted to do was lie in bed, stare up at the ceiling and cry for no reason at all. I stayed up late working, spent forever falling asleep due to a buzzing mind, and woke up half an hour before my alarm leaping out of bed, heart racing to work some more. I couldn’t even sit still enough to read in bed, my usual wind-down ritual. I slept when I was exhausted; I woke up exhausted. Even the Riviera sun did little to cheer me up.  

The Berlin Wall (Personal Photo)

In the middle of January, during my trip to Paris, I also dealt with the death of a friend, and it hit me harder than I expected. Guilt plagued me for several weeks, and I think it left me emotionally weak and vulnerable, which led to a never-ending cycle of work in February and March. It is April, and it is spring, and I am hoping for a new beginning. I apologize for the overall bleakness of this post. If I am going to post about depressing subjects, I might as well only dampen my keyboard once. 

In case you didn’t know, Berlin hosts one of the largest free outdoors New Year’s Eve bashes in the world. Live music, midnight fireworks, and so many bodies that you could be celebrating in a t-shirt without freezing. Better get there early: Brandenburger Gate gets packed tighter than a frosh’s suitcase and once it’s “full” (i.e. 200% full), nobody else can enter.  

I confess, part of my reason for choosing Berlin for New Year’s because I found an inexpensive hostel when so many other cities were already booked solid. However, I came across a cozy place a bit out of the way that was an absolute steal, provided I stay for a week. No problemo. It was nice to have a home base for such a long time instead of constantly checking in and out in city hops. And there were no shortage of activities, sights, or day trips. I also wanted to take Berlin more slowly—for many of my trips, I’ve been on the go and running (think: Italy).

Mmmm! Expensive hot cocoa (Personal Photo)

 New Year’s was great, although since I am not someone who likes to party all night, I guess you could consider my celebrations tame. I bumped into a trio of Brazilians en route and spent the evening with them. We found out the hard way that the closest U-Bahn station was inaccessible, and even when we got to the party at 7pm, it was jam packed. We squeezed and excuse-meed our way to a spot about 75metres from the stage. Yet, well before midnight, my feet ached; the last twenty minutes were torture, a dance of shifting weight from heel to toe, toe to heel. The fireworks were lovely; the swarm of bodies that followed them was not. It was crazy. The streets were foggy with smoke, the air thick with the bitter odour of gunpowder. Firecrackers exploded out of nowhere as people set them off in the middle of the street. One of them burst only a meter from me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Broken bottles and bits of cardboard littered the road, orange powder blowing in the breeze. And the crowd surged forward like a scene from The Walking Dead. I was glad when, at a mere 1am in the morning, I could collapse on my hostel bed and sleep.

 

The following day was a more solemn one: I went on a tour of Sachsenhausen, a concentration camp near Oranienburg, a 45-minute S-Bahn ride from Berlin. Although at the time I didn’t feel emotion, by the end of the visit and well into the evening I was on the verge of tears. Even typing this now, months later, tugs at my heart strings. As it should. I won’t describe. It is hard to imagine that so many innocent people were murdered and buried in this spot. The horror, the horror.

Holocaust Memorial (Personal Photo)

That night at the hostel, a group of people from Wales was drinking. Not a lot, they said, but they got to that point where they were loud without realizing they were loud. For some, inexplicable reason it bothered me. More than it should have. All the noise, every slurp, every mouthful chewed bothered me. I wanted to scream; I felt like choking. I actually had a small panic attack. Perhaps it was my delicate state of mind from the emotional day trip, perhaps my fatigue from New Year’s. 

I apologize again for the depressing subject material this post—but this is reality. I am not going to paint a false picture, to post only the happy times. This is part of living abroad, of life. The good times and the bad. Moods surge and ebb like tidal waters, negativity sneaks in unwanted, and tomorrow creeps in its petty pace. You can’t be strong all the time.