5 weeks later. Germany still is cold, not cold as usual, as it should be around this season, in winter. The weather is more a provocation to joke about the climate change. Who is discussing nowadays about that topic? In some areas the weather was never like that, since men measures and keeps record. Imagine you are a fashion designer and you have to guess what temperature you have to cover with your pen and stitches. Horrible. I am sitting in a cafe in the most relaxing quarter of Munich called Westend. Listening to wedding plans, building-a-house problems and what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about terrorizing lusty speech bubbles. Randomly a pair of eyes of these air sucking and blowing sunday dressed-up upright zombies hooking in, surprisingly loosing their dummy smile, returning to their stock and lost ground floors, securing their fears and unpredictability. It is raining outside. My head is bombing my awareness. German cold. I escaped the birthday bash of my goddaughter, unfortunately.
I visited a couple of days ago my oldest friends on the countryside, my province of birth. They bought a house and scrambled their rebellious youth. I admire them in a way. Life is not about being rebellious or fighting against your desires, because you have to, because you would feel like betraying your ideas, the ideas of a 16 years old kid, the dreams of an unborn self-being. Rebelion is a part time job. Revolution doesn´t exist. An insurrection in favour. Accepting changes, call it surrender. Or finalizing a revolutionary idea. Or giving a shit about what rules a childish fool. I expected nothing. I even didn´t expect a feeling of escaping, in the choke-hold of an ended horizon. I enjoyed sitting in the train, distracting visions, visions of distraction, leaving nothing in front, just behind, being on the road… grand memories, grand life! So I arrvied in this small village called Irsee. A kind of elitist island. Wealthy. Green. Native. A famous abbey. Deserted streets. Darkened windows. Ruins of a forgotten oppressed world between modern architecture, reminding the rural exodus. I felt in love with the silence. Eventhough I am missing movement. But I can imagine how this hilly spot looks like in summer, when the villagers are gardening, kids rolling down the streets on whatever kind of vehicles. Easy evenings on the narrow shores of quarry ponds. When all gets more narrow, in the fresh breeze of a german summer heat. A narrow I miss. I am pretty sure that I would get pissed now and then, more than here and there. Imagine life here, my life, is not anymore a splatter movie like it was before, before leaving. Just the costs. You spend less than half of your money, you have to earn just half of the money you need in a city like Munich. For more space, a healthy environment and curious neighbours. You never get everything, but I wouldn´t accept everything anymore to stay in a boring, trend-looping village with not a spark of a metropolitan character but similar living costs like Munich. And the best part, sharing the disadvantages of living on the countryside with oldest friends isn´t that bad, in particular if you share the same sarcasm. They suprised me with their taste of designing their homes, in a discreet warm-heated way. I started to plan my future, after my first future, meaning my homeless road. Owning a small house, siting on my bench, enjoying dawn, smoking my pipe, telling my loved kids, from other parents, stories about exploring and exploiting yourself. I like that picture. I love my friends for and not only for that picture, pushing my ideas – again, like they often did in the past, in another direction, going straight forward. You kicked it!
The wedding planners are leaving. My intention was to write about my goddaughter, her parents and their boundless loyality and depth in the face of my love for them. They never questioned, except in a way friends have to, if you feel like your loved is freaking out its egocentric counterpart. They never doubt, they push me to doubt. They never force me, they hug me. They let me be a part of the family, without branding me a patsy. Today in the morning Nika, my goddaughter, entered my room, the living room to be exactly, crawled up on the mattress and giving me a kiss, repeating my name she created by her efforts learning to speak. I felt like being embraced by the world.
Like all of my friends in this world and around embrace me, everyone in their special way. I feel so blessed, sometimes, like now, lost in search of finding words of wisdom – google sucks.
