tomistree

How glad I am that November passed and the first weeks of December too. With this season the grey nasty cold came and brought along a messy amount of feelings I haven’t asked for. I remember sitting in the berliner ringbahn one evening early November on my way to my friend’s place. Didn’t want to bail out last minute – but how do you feel knowing that you will be standing the next day on that exact bridge again, where you had your first date, with this person that will tell you – out of the blue – it’s over. Sitting on the train listening to Leonard Cohen ironically, pathetic with a broken heart. Again. Almost funny. I will spare you with the details and the endless mad or sad poems and paragraphs that made it into my notes app the past weeks. I’ve spent so much time the past years with emotions caused by relationships or situationships or whatever, that I could write novels about it. Nevertheless, quite comical that I still end up getting my feelings hurt by those guys. Like my heart won’t listen to my gained wisdom.

Anyways, as days slid by, life goes on and distractions kept me from drowning in thoughts (mostly). One of them is observing people and collecting situations without realizing it, non stop. Like a film roll; never stop rolling. Here are some of them – a collection of anecdotes:

Holding hands with my biggest sister while lying on my back, my left upper arm being tattooed. A bird pointing its wings to the big scar on my arm. The bird is flying just like I did when I fell from the roof as a little naive kid.

In the dance studio. Loud music like heart beats, one move each beat, 8 counts, sweating and forgetting, dancing away the breakup (earlier that day) every time we start again and repeat the sequence.

Waking up at night, Oskar the cat is tapping with its paw on my cheek, checking if I’m still there, rubbing its small soft head against mine, laying down and getting cozy right next to where my arm rests below my head on the pillow. could be worse I’m thinking and falling asleep again.

Sitting in front of him in this small dark bar by the window, it’s dark outside, I light my cigarette and I know he looks at me. I look back at him and I start talking. Confidently, calm and exactly what was in my mind for a couple of weeks. Not more, not less. We are more vulnerable and honest now. This would be perfect if it wasn’t so sad actually. Its gonna be ok, I think, and show him my tattoo.

At the opera; seeing the ballet I wanted to see since I am sixteen. Great dancers, great music, great choreography. I came alone and I’m glad I did, because it’s like one of those things that mean so much to us that we can hardly share it with other people. Like a show we love, and we think no one could ever love that show as much as we do. Like any company – no matter how much I like them – could not share or understand my gratitude for this. But alone I have this moment for myself without having to explain. Without hearing another opinion that might interfere with mine, that might interrupting this perfect peaceful night out.

Writing here at the big table with dimmed light; only the wind outside and the clock inside accompany the silence. The kids are already asleep (not mine, I don’t have kids, sometimes I wish I had though). Having the kids fall asleep next to me while I read a book to them makes me want that adult life. The same relieved feeling of actually enjoying this process of growing up came to me last night when we threw a small christmas dinner in our living room. Candles, wine, good grown up food. And small but very well chosen gifts were exchanged. It makes me wanna have my own family, my own little traditions and my own adult life. So that I can look forward to the holidays again – like back in early childhood, when I was too young to understand family fights and too young to be responsible to solve them.