Moving to Berlin was always an adult dream of mine. I imagined Berlin to be a place of artists, writers, musicians and hippies. I imagined it was a place of left-wing movements, a place of freedom, and the most significant location in modern European history.
I had watched The Lives of Others and Berlin Calling in awe. My techno-loving heart yearned to get a taste of Berghain. I wanted to see the remains of the Berlin wall, wander around second-hand vintage shops, and most importantly, be granted the freedom to be myself in place that did not judge people for being themselves.
Even as a child, I held a piece of the fallen Berlin Wall in my hand after a school-friend's father managed to salvage a few pieces during his visit in 1989. I could not have foreseen back then I would one day walk past the East Side Gallery, and be more engrossed with what my German friend was saying about his intrinsic motivations for moving to Berlin, than what I would be by some famous commissioned art on this international memorial for freedom.
I do not romantise Berlin. After living here for nearly one year, I have certainly had my ups and downs. I even saw a post on an English-speaking expat site, when searching for a doctor, people talking about getting a psychologist for simply being an expat, to relieve the difficulties faced for being a foreigner in a foreign place.
I do love Berlin though. The loveheart traffic light, seen here in Prenzlauer Berg, (there are similar in Kreuzberg), hopefully suggests Berlin loves me too. Hmm, she says, perhaps I should have waited for the lights to change...
