Subuniversal Season of Change
She’s holding my face, kissing my cheeks, hugging me, smiling, laughing. Do you wanna sit? Join? Breakfast. Oh finally I get to meet you. I’m so happy. My Mom in her highest spirit. She’s hugging my favorite import from India, my heart, my flat mate, my friend. Berlin-India. Three days have passed since we last saw each other. Only three. Being back home, having her around frequently as if I never left. Beautiful. Her energy so bright. More kisses, more smiling. She seems more excited than when I arrived nearly three months ago. My heart filled with warmth in my weak physical state, six days hungry, my body putting yet another challenge by squeezing the monthly cleansing into the same time frame. My home. I’m asking her to put a few things together for me, she will bring them later after we will have returned from the whole sale Indian shopping with my flatty.
Roaming through the tightly packed shelves stacked up with all the exotic spices, lentils, beans, grains, vegetables I know from the far south I feel thrown back in time. Almost nostalgic. Synchronically she’s writing me, my latest, closest friend from the last weeks of Dharamsala. Ghee. Love. Connection. The Universe. All comprised in one shop within the hundreds of stores in the uncountable number of containers. Asia in Berlin. Same crowd, same tastes, same flavors, same smells, same noise. I can barely withstand my appetite. I will be back when I’m allowed to put all the delicious far east flavors into my mouth myself. Only one more day the go. The week’s been hard but I managed. I needed it. Now the air starts getting thinner and my world brighter again. All these details popping up in my head constantly about what I will eat first and next while she’s by my side, grabbing all the ingredients for an authentic composition of her native cuisine, the amazing cuisine of the largest subcontinent. I can’t wait.
Despite my weakness her warmth gives me radiant energy, also the second time when she returns to our temporary home. She kisses me a few more times all over my face, embracing me, she smilingly. Even this is unusual now. I enjoy it. We’re already arranging our dinner for the weekend. All together. Indian cooking while she’s renovating my old room with my brother. Shared work. Win win. Connecting once more, the rest of the family is invited too.
She’s lovely. She loves you so much. I can see that. I feel that too. Such a deep change in how we have come together. How she’s the mom that everyone would wish for. Caring for me in any way imaginable. All these weeks I’ve been touched through our changing relationship becoming close friends. A dramatic shift in my perception. For years I have thought I was so similar to the other side of my family tree. As I return, things turn out to be different. Do I very well have similar interests and sometimes similar habits like he does, yet my deep values, desires, my view on the world, my social behavior, my way of handling things, of doing, of being… it’s her. Not him. I never noticed. Things change. I’m part of both in different ways as I had to realize a week ago when my head exploded as he had started provoking me for no reason and I could see my mom coming out of me, fury, loud, passionate. Arguing with her loud voice with him. I. Justified. I didn’t want to let it go. It wasn’t right. I couldn’t leave it at that. He knew as well. Looking at him, my love for him I could see a broken little boy in front of me. It wasn’t his fault. I could see his pain. I went to hug him, it broke my heart as even the next day it would make my eyes teary. I love him so much.
Connecting through to the next day to my brother, bringing me for the first time to his closest circle, with besties. His beautiful, happy circle of open friends, giving space to the most selfless, blissful, free Saturday night party place in Berlin. Home. I feel like a teenager again. Throwback. Surprising, curious, excited, ecstatic, moving. Wenzel’s Schwester, Wenzel’s Schwester, Wenzel’s Schwester. I’m laughing, covering my face with my hands, feeling a mix of shame and flattered. Dancing freely to the beats of the 90ies, colorful party lights flickering, people laughing, jumping around me, yelling my name. His name. It shouldn’t be the only time that night that was to last until the early morning hours. My brother, their modest center of the group. So much love for him as it was directly distributed no less to me that night. Such kind, wild Open hearts, there for life
Beautiful Girl I love you. My phone keeps plinging. I wish I could have stayed with you all day.
My excitement for today like the one of a child in a candy shop. My day in the candy shop. Chocolates, cookies, waffles, the supermarket is mine. Returning with full bags, I start baking my own most beloved cookies. Fast breaking by baking. My hands sticky with the sugary dough, the chocolate I’ve chopped up into rough pieces all over the place. I put one finger in my mouth. Delicious. Seven days. My phone is beeping again. Karneval. Let’s talk on the phone. You can stay in our place. Family friends from my childhood. My mom’s friend. My mom. Let’s go to the Berlinale. My head is buzzing. Good buzzing. Traveling, partying, friends. My lovely comes joining me in the kitchen, completing my ecstasy. How did you make the cookies? My phone is ringing. She’s preparing my breaking meal. It’s all ready for the breaking ceremony. Where to stay, which costume to wear, who to meet. I need a few minutes of rest before I will dive into my Indian treat, followed by the worst idea I’ve had in a week… freshly baked cookies, waffles, whip cream, hazelnut cream, pudding, ice cream… I need to stop myself but I don’t.
The first soft piece of cookie melting in my mouth. Natural. As if I never stopped eating. Three days later, my body slowly recovering, again a piece of chocolate melting on my tongue, the sun melting into my skin, a bit too warm for the season. It feels like spring. People are sitting in the sun, taking walks in the parks, the boys playing basketball on the court, couples sipping coffee in the cafes, ducks trying to swim in the still semi frozen pond. You wanna come for lunch? And tomorrow we can go to the dance theater. I’m holding two cups of ice cream. The best in Berlin after the mushroom truffle pasta sautéed in butter, served with corn salad, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes bathed in a little pool of Balsamico. My mom. Spring definitely is coming and so are pieces of ideas towards the season of change.
I’m not sure if I will be back in May. My fix point. Unfixed. Shift. This is starting my engine, setting up my thoughts for circular motion. My mind slowly becoming unsettled. Plans. Ideas. What to do? Where to go? Why? When? For what reason? Who am I and where shall I go? I apply for a visa. For no reason. India.
It comes as a surprise. It’s shaking my perspective. Am I not ready to leave? My mom hugging me, buying my ice cream laughing, we’re sitting, talking as if it’s always been that way and always will be. The wind is blowing through my hair, the sun piercing into my eyes. I feel inside, confusion, I’m overwhelmed. Is it time to decide something? Anything? Time for a decision? Some tears rise up my eyes. No it’s not. It’s my mind. I can be wherever whenever I want to. Pressure. My mind wants to send me off traveling. Free spirit, yoga woman, strong and independent, conquering the world, nobody stopping her.
I’m lying on the couch shoving yet another cookie into my mouth, snuggling under the cozy blanket in my luxury 100m^2 apartment. I feel very comfortable in my privileged life. Doesn’t feel like leaving, like running, like anything pulling me out at the moment. Only…. My mind, my self image, my identity, my own expectations. Battering, scattering.
I deserve to be here. Just be. For no further reason. Enjoying the pampering, the love, the care, people cooking for me, having a home with multiple rooms, a large equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a washing machine, a shower and a bathtub. Two balconies, a hammock, uncountable couches and a spacious living room where all I do is switching between arm chairs and couches, doing yoga, meditation, reading, studying Ayurveda and munching on chocolates, cookies and whipped cream. Why change that? It’s not time but it’s given me a glimpse of what it may feel like once it’s time to go again. And it’s scary. As it is very single time, posing the question of life. Every time. No more mom who’s holding the space, who’s setting me as a priority, who’s loyal in everything she does. It will be lonely again. It will be tough, it may feel scary and it may feel like I’m on the edge of the universe again. But not yet. Season of Change. I feel it coming.
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