Birth

Inspiration is a beautiful thing.

I’m reading a book. Rumor says, it will be available in German soon. Until then, it can only be read by the tongues of the northern most kingdom in the world. The man behind is no one special. His name is Karl Ove Knausgård and he is 41 years old. He never did anything revolutionary. Still, he has already written 7200 pages about his own unimportant life. It starts like this:

For the heart, life is easy; it beats as long as it can. Then it stops.

A love story

When I left Berlin, I wrote this note to my friends:

I remember my first evening; Berlin. Wandering the warm summer night underneath the thousand lights of A Big City - My City. My Home. It was the beginning of everything, of the greatest of adventures. A love story was about to take place, and the rotating colours of the TV-tower made the sky glow of anticipation. This was where I was going to live. This was the crossroad of Europe where I was to create my Nirvana; find friends, cry, laugh, love and be loved. Time would pass, and somehow, in the future, I would suddenly understand the language. Hell, I would even speak the language!, cause I was one of them, one of the citizens of this wonderful city, where east meets west and history becomes hipster reality. Rebirth. I was home, and my heart was beating so fast, cause I had fallen in love already.

So what was it like?

- It was red roses hanging down above the tiny tracks along the city's many canals while I manouvered my bike to falafel eating at Kotti
- It was children being dragged on sledges on the tarmac, just because mother nature had blessed us with two millimeters of snow
- It was falling of my bike
- It was taking the M1, dead drunken, danced to pieces, from Oranienburg Tor to Prenzlberg after unspeakable scala shenanigans
- It was smoking with Cora while Alfred Hitchcock put yet another person to death in the Hitchcock Hour
- It was spending hours painting my entire body in gold just to go to a costume party
- It was gorging in food Sunday morning at Frida Kahlo, talking to Petter about how much we loved Berlin
- It was standing at Mehringdamm subway station and suddenly feeling the urge to lie down and hug the city
- It was Tatort on Sundays
- It was my boys, MY BOYS, auf dem Marechplatz
- It was champagne at Flo's and Diana Ross singing "I'm coming up"
- It was baking christmas cakes and drinking glögg from Ikea, secretely texting dan to make him come and join us
- It was Michael Jakcson's 50th birthday
- It was going jogging on hidden tracks in Treptower Park
- It was drinking, dancing, eating and drinking even more with the sweetest girls in history, before we covered our sunday eyes behind big sunglasses and promised to never date hipster boys ever again
- It was breaking that promise the same evening
- It was everyone being a DJ... or an artist... or both...
- It was BBQs in Görli and swimming in lakes in Grünewald
- It was flirting with the coffee boy at Goethe
- It was American Sex and the City lunches, with French-Norwegian influence
- It was never letting the party die at Bar25
- It was Lord of the Rings, Starwars, my Ka-Pling and salvation from all evil powers
- It was dinners with red wine, neighbours and generally being a family
- It was getting a hug whenever I wanted it
- It was the city I loved and still love
- It was all of you, my friends, who will stay in my heart forever

Trust me, I'll be back! Just having a small break, my people - getting educated and all that shit.

Lots of love,

Gry
x

Maybe it's about time to return to my people soon

I write about my head