I have always been the impatient sort. Not the kind that gets frustrated waiting in line or for the phone to ring, rather its been more about wanting to get out there. I remember staring at my map covered walls in Manila, Philippines and feeling completely trapped. It's not that the Philippines is a horrible place (although many of the bourgeoisie Western tourist coming out of their airconditioned buses would say otherwise), its just that I liken the experience to people from small town middle America dreaming of New York. I just felt like I was stuck in this "waiting room" of sorts. I have been searching to escape that feeling. Travelling throughout Southeast Asia after graduation, then moving off to Hawaii then San Francisco, I still felt unsettled. I felt like a child in a adult's body. Then came Europe. Flitting from place to place, I kept trying to escape my reality. Or maybe it was searching for a reality. Whatever that means. Somehow I ended up in Berlin. I was trying to escape some awful drunken memories of Paris and decided with a fellow hostel mate to jump on whatever train was leaving next. Watching the sunset on the train seemed to promise a new beginning. Arriving at 6 a.m. and wandering the seemingly vast city on the 1st of May, I saw a hoard of older gentlemen rushing off with flags and giant protest signs. I rushed off, camera in hand and caught up with a tall, young man wearing the Kurdish flag around his neck. I asked him what it was all about and he told me that it was the May 1 rally and asked if I would like to join him. Not one to turn down a chance to be a part of something historic, I said yes. Walking through Kurfursterdam to the Brandenburg Gate, he began to tell me the struggle of the Kurdish people in Germany. I listened intently, giving out flyers even though I spoke no German. I later got hit on the head by a flag. A curly haired blue eyed boy laughed. I shot him an angry look. I then began to laugh as well. From that moment we ended spending the entire day together. Talking about everything and nothing. I have yet to see him again. I spent two days in Berlin, the familiar feeling of anxiety began to overwhelm me. I decided to take the night train to Rome, Italy. It turned out to be a 16-hour train ride. I later ended up circling around Europe. Travelling to Rome, Munich, Frankfurt, Morocco, Spain, France, London, Amsterdam, then finally, Berlin. Berlin. How did I end up back here? Whilst travelling, I knew that I wanted to live in Europe. I began an expensive relationship with internet cafes until a tour company with headquarters in Berlin asked me to come by for an interview. I took the next train out. Unfortunately, my depressive side got to me and working as an intern for the company turned out to be...well, depressing. I quit. Yet, Im still in Berlin. Recalling that Hemingway (although I am by no means close to as good he was) once quit a miserable job in Paris to be a writer, that is what I am trying to accomplish. Will it pay off or will I end up being deported or homeless on the U-bahn? I still dont know. Life is good. Laying on the grass in a small park in Berlin, my friend and I got to talking about our lives and where it has taken us. I don't know how it came out but I said "I feel like our lives have finally started." She said, "Yes, this LIFE has begun." I am happy to be out of the waiting room. Happy to be like an old, grafitti adorned train chugging away towards an unknown destination.
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