The Weight of Berlin {Germany, Summer 2002}

I was 19 when I visited Berlin, it’s scary to think that was more than 10 years ago, but the feel of the city and the memory have stayed with me ever since. I was working in a nearby town and enjoying trying to speak a little German and getting to know the local area. It was a lovely summer weather wise and a perfect chance to explore.

I couldn’t have survived without the Lonely Planet for Berlin, it went everywhere with me in my handbag. I did most of the walking tours out of it too, spending my weekends wandering around the main sights and the lesser known interesting districts. I felt like I had a great feel for the city.

Previously I never had much historical knowledge about Germany apart from the very basic facts, so it was interesting to learn more and as I got to know the city more I felt like there was such a weight on it; that everyone there bore a certain responsibility and that they would never forget the past.

The information available, museums, information boards and memorials throughout the city impressed me and taught me a lot about the events of the past and the German people. Everyone I met was friendly, open and helpful to me and I quickly felt at home here.

In some ways it’s a good thing that I could hardly wrap my brain around the reality of the Second World War. I’m lucky to live in a time and place in the world where these stories are so alien to be I find it hard to believe they happened. But it is important to appreciate that the events were not all that far in the past and that they were also not very far from home.

From my Diary {September 2010}

From my Diary – September 2010

I got up earlier today; 6:30am which should be my new routine. I did one of the yoga programmes from a DVD. I've decided to do something active every day and provide myself with time to plan the day and eat breakfast without rushing around. I hope it's going to make me feel more focussed and fitter.
My friend’s baby was due last week but we are still waiting on news. I've become more comfortable with the pregnancy although I do keep having moments of feeling left behind. I think if one of our other close friends were also pregnant I'd feel a bit stranger. I just don't want to feel like I'm missing out, not engaged, not married, not trying for a baby. I think once my friend has the baby I'll be happier, it's the idea of being pregnant and experiencing something my body was designed for.
I have learned a few things from her pregnancy though, the first one is that I really want to have kids at some point and the main thing I want to do differently is to really be happy that I am pregnant and show it off and take lots of photos. My friend has about 2 photos of her with the bump and she seems embarrassed to be pregnant, I'd really like to take a weekly photos, I think watching your body change must be amazing.

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It’s interesting to me the way I reacted to the pregnancy of my friend, I kept my feelings well hidden from her. But it made me realise how much I wanted to have kids, which was a positive thing. I can also say that I have been positive about the pregnancy so far and I really am enjoying being pregnant.

If you fear change leave it here {August 2012}

Edinburgh is many place to me, it drags me back, pulls me sideways and spits me out in any direction. I prefer not to travel there alone.

A glimpse in a tent and I’m part of the festival - celebration of a community for a common cause; interacting, laughing, holding back tears, questioning, realigning. Something started as an add-on but now so much more than a fringe.

I escape briefly – to get cash, just a moment beneath the dome and I’m 17 again, the bustle of a Saturday night, new friends and new places, new freedom, standing in the same queue. We were the noise and the chaos, testing limits, drawing lines, when I felt small and adventurous in this place.

Past the pub where we met, listening; frantically trying to guess the song intros, chatting between the rounds, we’re regulars again, finally established in the city, which is almost my own. I grab a hot chocolate - change for the meter, almost following the old footsteps to class, I detour around a new building, but so many other stone still remain.

I’ve only walked two blocks but covering those 4 streets covers 12 years. There’s been plenty of change, but it’s been welcome rather than feared. I have so much to thank these streets for, for sending me towards where I am, maybe they chucked me out in the right direction after all.

Suddenly I’m back more Fringe festivities, where the glamour of show business is removed. Where we’re captivated by our entertainer and we also get to shake hand afterwards. My perception of what we see is not that of a 17year old or a 20 year old anymore, the show challenges my beliefs and ideas, I’m not defensive rather curious, I check my alignment but I’m happy.

A little more muddy {Summer 1993}

We sat on the grass, four young girls, conspiring, gathered together, our treasures laid out on the ground. My favourite, a film canister, filled until the point where we had to tape on the lid, the seeds we gathered excitedly from the seed heads bursting from the top. Our parents would complain as we spread the seeds everywhere, yellow poppies appear all over year after year, marking our summers of freedom, my first lesson in gardening – how quickly seeds can spread.

We recorded cassette tapes of our voices and laughter, silly stories now unknown, some photos of us and our families, some notes, some plastic trinkets that meant something to each of us; their meaning now long gone.

We searched for containers each time, ice cream tubs and cereal boxes. We picked a location, a hidden spot in the garden, or up at the old sandstone school, now long since demolished. We dug in the dirt, conspiring and impatient for the future when we would rediscover our memories buried in the dirt, they were always buried for us to rediscover; their location - top secret. They were our time capsules and they entertained us summer after summer.

The memories remain somewhere in the mud, they need to be burrowed for, to be washed out, recycled. Did we ever really bury them in the mud? Perhaps they were tucked under a bed somewhere and forgotten; perhaps we buried then and they were discovered by a gardener or an enthusiastic dog. Perhaps one of us dug them up and that time returned for a brief period.

The hot summer days and yellow flowers still appear occasionally, but never as warm as they once were, never as clear as they once were. They’re still there just a little more muddy each time around.