Hey you my
little sugarmuffin,
This is
going to be emotionally hardest letter to write. For some reason, I don’t know
why, I decided to write you this time in English. Maybe it’s because of Irfan’s
accent that I can hear in my head or the tiny hope of Mr. Thompsonowski to be
curious and read this and be happily surprised… Or just the screaming feeling
of enjoying that I understand every word said around me and deep inside I
almost hate it.
It’s just a
week ago as we sat around the table having brinner. All my crazy, stupid,
weird, Sex and the City 2.0, hopeless drinkers, awesome kids. Sliding from the
feeling of sharing a family and the whole lifetime to the athmosphere of
leaving and doing these things for the last time ever. Laughing and talking,
taking deep breaths and observe the glances, motions, sentences and the double
meanings behind them. I’m still amazed by the city that brought me in contact
with those crazy people.
This one
week feels like months. I’ve been crying in the airport. I’ve slept right
beside you. I’ve eaten enormous amount of chocolate and my coffee machine has
been working around the clock. I’ve stayed awake two nights until 7 o’clock in
the morning working on my Thesis. I have had my Thesis seminar, which I have to
admit, I was awesome. I just walked there, talked with the slides for hour and
a half and in the end there was applause. I did it, I really finally did it. Less
than a week ago I was sitting in that smoky kitchen thinking if I’ll ever
manage all of these. But I did. I’ve washed almost all the clothes that smell
like smoke so that I cannot return to the scent of Kosmos even I would love to.
I’ve twined the scarf around me so tight that it should keep me together in
case of all a sudden I fall apart.
There’s
snow here everywhere. And cold. You walk outside and you cannot feel your
fingertips. Ten minutes later you cannot feel your nose either. But it doesn’t
matter, I’m strangely feeling totally ok with this. If I close my eyes, I can
be still dancing on the stage in the middle of Reeperbahn where the lights
change their color slowly, there’s no music, just the rhythm of the city. I can
wait for the S-Bahn eating Franzbrötchen and I can be walking from St Pauli to
Schanze. I can be wearing summer clothes, call Rob to join me for a beer and
end up to the Fischmarkt. I can see the cranes drawn in the horizon. A year ago
I didn’t have any of these.
So sugar,
we’ve come to the end of an era. But if something is for sure, this is not the
last letter telling you about the stories from Hamburg.
Some
places, scents, people, feelings, they just get under your skin. And whenever
feeling lonely, there are always memories to return to.
Smile and
dance like you’ve never enjoyed life before. And write letters. And love.
-Isa
