Somewhere in Nordrhein Westfalen, Sometimes in December 2019

There seems to exist nothing better against the sentimentality as deeds of everyday life and the pragmatism of other people.

I woke up after unruhige Nacht, thoughts swirling and me doing my best to mark my last working day in Germany (so far). I was trying to be present with my Bielefeld and my flat. As I sat down on the couch, the door-bell rang. It was a young man announcing there is something wrong with water pipes in our house, which explained why the heating was not working that morning and why I kept hearing drilling noises. I liked the drilling and made it be a commemorative fanfare for that day. The young man asked me to flush the toilet a couple of times and let the water in the sink running.

Later that evening, I was in the flat together with our Hausemeister and his two kids, both in the late twenties. We were carrying my furniture and some other stuff on the pavement before the house. Well, the man with the son carrying, while me and his daughter Melanie having sporadic chats when preparing the things to be carried.

I asked Melanie that question I have been asking people lately:  How many times have you moved?

It cost me quite some energy not to get overwhelmed with all the turmoil going on in the flat, in my life. To top it all it was a few days before my period.

Can we please stop pretending women are the same as men?

Do you like this bag? I asked Melanie.  She nodded. Then take it, I said, otherwise I would throw it out.

Letting go of all the (heavy) things I kept carrying with me from place to place, from country to country started to feel nice. I also enjoyed the company of those ordinary people. We chatted.

They told me they have family gathering the next day and that they fly to Poland, where they come from, on 1st January. Cheap tickets on that day, they said. Probably no one wants to travel on that day, we laughed. I mentioned I shall be also traveling that direction soon. I joked we could meet on the plane. It is the flight at 12:45, said Melanie.

Through the window, I saw the neighbors gathering around the pile of not-any-more-my (heavy) things placed under the street lamp. They looked like night creatures appearing from nowhere, opening cupboards, inspecting rubbish bins, finally creeping away in different directions with various objects, like vultures disappearing in the dark with their bait.

I felt glad.