I have missed the seasons. I have missed my scarf, my trench coat; I have missed crushing fallen leaves with leather shoes and warming up my cold hands with a hot cup of coffee. My first few months at Hasenheide were inspiring and yet the joy was short-lived. Surely I have not missed the grey sky, the dreary walks in the graveyard, the winter depression and the sleet that soaked my snow boots.
Berlin has started making its apparition in my equatorial dreams these days. The other day I was taking a stroll in Hackesche Markt, en route to a birthday celebration of an almost famous Berlin blogger. I have always been reluctant to call Berlin my home. But what better word describes this yearning than Heimweh? For a whole decade I had my yearning for Asia, and as the years went by the memory became fragmented and contrived. I did not foresee that as I re-connect with Asia I am doomed to experience my yearning for Berlin or Europe- soon to be contrived as well as fragmented.
I guess we are always happier elsewhere.
N’importe où ! n’importe où ! pourvu que ce soit hors de ce monde !
