A Piece of (Personal) History.

Monday’s children.

Part of the Berlin Wall – painted by artists after 1989.

Birthday Wishes.

I was born on a Saturday. Twenty minutes to midnight I came: no beautiful dress to show off, just one of the smooth glass slippers, the left one. Old spells seem to wear out much quicker these days. Even on your birthday. Old superstitions, however, never do: my mother always says she would have wanted me to be born on a Sunday. If only you could have taken these extra minutes, she’d say, you’d have been born a Sunday’s child – born under a lucky star, as they say. Maybe then, things would have been a little different, she thinks (and sometimes my mother must have wished for things to be different). That’s probably what she’s really wanted, for a long time (but there’s no spell, not even an old one, that can turn back time) – you just never understand these things when you’re younger. On the other hand, maybe things wouldn’t have been that different after all – but who knows? (I don’t.) Probably a lot of babies were born that Sunday, and possibly, all of them lucky– but again, who knows? (No one does.)

Written in the Stars.

I’m quite sure, though, that all the babies born on the Monday after, they were born under a revolutionary star – born under a night sky lit up by candles, torches, lanterns; born to the sound of raised voices; born to the smell of autumn; born to the bittersweet taste of frustration paired with anticipation. Every time my mother sees a shooting star and wishes I was born on a Sunday, I close my eyes and wish I was born on a Monday – I would like to be a Monday’s child. I would raise my candle, torch, lantern and leave a mark: a dab of light, like a tiny hole in the dark sheet that covers the earth at night. There’s more to life than simple luck; more than old spells that wear out even before the clock strikes twelve, more than old superstitions that leave you hanging on to things that could have been. You can’t change the past, but maybe, if you try, you can change the future.

Zeitgeist.

Sometimes, in the short moment before falling asleep, I feel the light of candles, torches and lanterns warm on my skin; I hear people chanting; I can smell fallen leaves and I’m overcome by a sullen feeling, quickly followed by a feeling of hope. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel restless. It’s nothing I could ever explain, it’s just something that is. If I had to try to find words for it, I might simply say that I’m a child of my times. We all are.

Hearts and Cages.

Even now, the idea seems so strange, so unnatural, that I can’t wrap my head around it. No matter how hard I try. No matter how often I try. Sometimes I look at a map and trace the borderline with my index finger. With my scalpel, I cut through a city, an entire country – I become a surgeon. I take out half a nation’s heart (pincers!), just like that (swab!), and it’s bleeding all over me. Desperate people behave in ways that scare me. They get that frantic look in their eyes that always reminds me of a caged animal. And maybe that’s what they are: caged. Trapped in their despair.

Solidarity.

We’re all people. We’re all in this together. We’re all created equal. But then: How could anyone be so mean (cruel)? How could anyone be so indifferent (inhumane)? How do you sell an entire country for a breadcrumb’s worth of power? How do you barter with millions and millions of people’s fate? Everything’s going to be okay, they said. In the end. They’re all liars; or blind and dumb and deaf. Or all of that. The upside : They’re also solidary like nothing else: you didn’t even have to kill yourself – it was done for you (working men of all countries unite. Unite, unite, unite. Shoot, shoot, shoot.). Once there was a man. He looked at the grey concrete, the barbed wire and the men with their nice uniforms and polished guns and he realized: you have to run. For freedom. Whether you’ll make it or not – you’ll be free, everything’s going to be okay, in the end.

Dancing.

I don’t know whether my mother was truly happy about the fall of the wall. I once asked her if she remembered what she’d done the night people were dancing on it, if she’d been dancing as well. I probably changed your diapers, she’d said, and that was that. My mother never was the dancing type – but maybe not because she didn’t want to dance, I often think the world just wouldn’t let her.

Aftermath.

The sudden feeling of liberation might have been too much to handle for some – as anything that comes down on you so unexpectedly and overwhelming. The wall came falling down in front of their feet and then the ground fell out from underneath them. Maybe it was that feeling that scared away my father. Or maybe he was just high on freedom and so he went to find some more, another fix. And I don’t think anyone could have held him back, not with any luck of the world.

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21 responses

  1. I liked the evocative nature of your style, the pain and the confusion distanced through your consciousness. . .

    1. Thank you! Usually people call it cryptic 🙂

  2. You say all that and more about Sunday and your wish for Monday. All of that in one day, I wonder what it would say of Wednsday, that is my day

    1. In some way or other every day of the week can be meaningful – I guess you just have to find out what it means to you personally!

      1. It means writing and creative creation out of nowhere with a twist of magic.

  3. Nice topic and good writing.
    Follow my blog also…..

  4. I was born on a Monday, but I don’t think that makes much difference of what you may become. 😀

    1. This is actually a reference to the demonstrations that led to the fall of the wall – they always took place on a Monday. But of course and thankfully (!) you’re right! 🙂

  5. I am really enjoying your writing style… peaking around for more!

    1. Thanks! I like your “undaily musings” as well – keep musing!

  6. Very interesting perception and style… I am a Wednesday.

  7. I have just this weekend learnt’ more about peoples experience of the life in East and West Berlin before and after the wall. Made this post all the more relevant and interesting. Thank you.

  8. Lovely post

  9. Beautiful. Really wonderful structure, and flow ❤ Congrats on the Fresh Press

  10. beautiful post! thank you for sharing

  11. you’re blessed with an amazing sense story telling, and the best part is that you know how to take your reader for a journey to different corners of your curious mind.

  12. Really impressive! I love your amazing style of writing and thank you for sharing!

  13. I’m very new to this site & just trying to learn from others’ stories, etc… So please don’t mind me, I’m just trying to get an idea of just what ‘blogging, etc…’ means. I was always a good story teller, but I haven’t written many similar things to this, besides songs or poetry at all!
    Umm, how do I get a day of the week? I noticed some saying they were ‘Wednesday’ or another day… are our assignments alphabetically listed?
    Thanks for letting me sit on the side while I soak this up. Personally I like this lady’s output!
    Alyson 🙂

  14. I like this piece

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