Dancing Queen

An image that remained with me today. I was at my volunteer job at Cancer Research, and because there were hardly any volunteers there today I was stuck behind the cash register all afternoon. Not my favourite, but you get to chat with nice customers on occasion, and I like that. 

A Kylie Minogue Best of CD was playing, the third time already, because the player in the back was so blocked in by bags and donations that all we could manage was to reach the play button, not any other CDs to change the music. But really, there is only so much Kylie I can take, and at some point I dug a way through just to get some other music, The Beatles, incidentally, and half of the customers in the shop sang along, including me... But that is another story.

So, back to Kylie. An older lady came in with her... daughter? Niece? Friend? A younger woman anyway, and handicapped, blind and she had some speech impediment as well. Anyway, the younger one obviously loved Kylie, and smiled all over, not just her mouth, she smiled with her entire body, if you understand what I mean. And she started dancing, on the spot but nonetheless, shaking to the rhythm. It's hard to describe, but it was just such a beautiful sight, everything about her was entirely happy and engrossed in the music, and without any notion of self-consciousness or inhibition. She simply enjoyed the moment, and everybody who saw her couldn't help but smile with her. 

I envy her. I remember a time when music could sweep me away and become my entire world for the moment, but I've always been more on the shy side, and just dancing all by myself in a shop, I couldn't have done it. Sing along quietly, yes, possibly audible to people near me, and wriggle a foot or even a leg, ok, but I wouldn't have had her courage. 

She told me later that she was afraid of walking around by herself because people on the street would abuse her or take advantage of her disability, so she may have been quite conscious of her surroundings despite her blindness. But at that moment she just seemed to feel completely safe in herself, probably knowing the other lady was there to take care of her, and she appeared to be completely lost in the song, her blindness shutting her off from all around her that could make her become self-conscious again by catching her eye, so maybe she did not really realise, or just did not care, what was around her. In any case, it was a beautiful sight, and I hope that more people like me who saw her today remember this image, and smile whenever they do, and maybe try to get at least some of this feeling back ourselves when we were able to become completely engrossed in something we loved. 

And I hope that she, this young woman I met today, will always keep on dancing.

Of Roots and Trees

Sitting in a train in Hamburg, looking out at the houses out there. This is where I used to live. A long time ago, more than a decade now. I used to know this area so well, my favourite cafe with the plant growing in through the window, the wonderful music shop where I bought all those CDs that mainstream shops didn't have, the cornerstore with fresh Turkish bread and sheep cheese... Things have changed. The streets are the same, but have dressed in different clothing. The cafe has lost all its charm, the CD shop is now a coffee shop chain, everything looks different, yet weirdly familiar. 

This is where I grew up, the place I spent most years that I have ever lived in one city, and even though I only moved here when I was eight I still consider it my origin. My roots. This place has shaped me, has educated me, has given me the ideas for my life that drove me on onto my path. Nonetheless, I have known ever since I started learning my first foreign language at age 5 that there was more, and I needed to go find it. I needed to travel to other places, experience other cultures, learn how other people lead their lives, and then pick and choose what I want in my life. I knew I needed to leave. 

Now, at this point in my life where, despite me having finally picked a place, I am struggling hard to settle, essentially because I cannot seem to find a job to make a living, the prospect of having to come back here is uncomfortable. Yes, my roots are here, I enjoy coming back to visit, but I have grown out of it. It is not that I dislike it, but the thought of living here, under my parents' roof at first until I can pay for a place to live, strips me of my dreams, it feels stifling, small, restricted. I have seen things out there, I have lived my life in a way that I cannot fit in here anymore. The sapling has broken out of the earth towards new skies, and the roots remain hidden underground. I can grow into other directions, into new things, but bending back and merging with the roots... It doesn't work that way. 

I don't mean to say that people who chose to stay here are restricted, not at all. It is all about choice. And my choice is to find ways of learning new things, extending my experience, and integrating them into my life to create something new, and never stop. I am slowing down, in the sense that I don't want to move all over the globe anymore, I appreciate the things I can find in one place, but I want this place to offer me enough newness, enough strangeness, to keep me interested. And not be based on German. I don't live in the German language anymore, if that makes any sense, I think in English, I dream in English, I even translate much of what I want to say from English into German. German humour has eluded me ever since I can remember, whereas British comedy is among the greatest... ok, not all of it, but the black humour, best in the world. This is what feels right for me. Other people look for other things. And that is great. 

Where it does become a problem is when my family starts pushing. Come back here, start again here, live here and leave everything else behind. For them this is the best place to be, but they cannot understand that the thought of having to move back feels to me like giving up on my dreams and destroying all I have worked for. They don't understand, and feel offended when I don't want to jump at the suggestion and pack my things. But I can't give up. Yes, these are my roots, but I can't bend back down...

       

Fighting Blandness

Here I thought Shepherds Pie must be one of the blandest things the English cuisine has to offer... Well, it is, but that doesn't mean I gotta stick to the recipe my ex used to follow - and love, but we'll leave further inferences be for the moment - right? So, dear English, I know you see condiments and herbs other than pepper and salt as suspicious and possibly dangerous, but let me implore you: Your food needs more chili! Just spice it up a little, darlings! 

Another thing the kitchen here traditionally cannot live without is meat. I do eat meat on occasion, but really I prefer veggies. And there are plenty options in the country, don't get me wrong, and even traditional British food can be made with meat substitutes - and not just beans beans bean as some people seem to believe. Our frigde was brimming with veggies that begged to be used, so I threw them all together with some onions, a can of chopped tomatoes, and then put them in the oven under a - yes, shudder to think but it worked - instant mash cover. No meat, plenty of spice and herbs and a good dose of chili! And it turned out really nice, I must say. 

So, is that all the kitchen here in this country needs to appeal? Spice? I will try and see... what shall I tackle next? Probably another kind of pie - never liked them much as they all just tasted greasy salty potato-y, in short: bland. Spices and me, here we come!