There are no photos, but these are, perhaps, the most vivid memories of a travel I hold:
It’s hard to verbalize it, Germany had always been a feeling waiting to be felt.
Maybe it was because of Tokio Hotel, I don’t know. Or my nails then black, could be a reason too.
It must have been colder by the time I got there, for it was, allegedly, spring. A suffocated, yet hospitable, warmth inside the heaviest coat I had worn. I had also forgotten my cellphone charger in Lisbon, then, but all was fine. There were cartoons and a TV with English subtitles.
But the nicest thing I remember, was that half a sleeve would do. The weather wasn’t really that ambiguous in Berlin, see, there wasn’t much variation from the underground hurried steps of busy Germans, when contrasted by the, well, not really contrasted with anything, as on the ground Germans were as busy.
There was a time I went to the supermarket, and this man with black hair put his groceries on a backpack and cycled away. “It’s a way of saving money”, my aunt whispered as I wondered.
There was a tainted shade of autumn, too. The accidental fall of leaves that became free to soon, for others were still being born. The grass was moist, awakening from winter in its’ April vigor.
One day we went to a fellow Mozambican family’s house, and the host made me eat so much meat I had to pray for forgiveness. There was just a lot of meat in general; and canned fruit. Who eats canned fruit? Europe.
I remember shedding a tear when the newspaper arrived, front page read, “Tokio Hotel Concert Cancelled“, turned out, Bill Kaulitz was having an operation.
A baby once smiled at me on the streets. It was a grey day but it didn’t matter.
I also said, “Dankie”, once, to a lady at a store. She smiled as if she didn’t notice German wasn’t my first language. That was nice of her.
And also the tower, the Berlin tower, of course. I could see it from my window. It felt nice.
Germany, keep remembering me…