When I moved to Heidelberg, I was miserable. So miserable, I spent a lot of time trying to convince my program that I should be allowed to move. As you all can probably gather, they didn't let me and it's good they didn't. Eventually I found my stride in Heidelberg and found an internship that was a good match. I would always tell my Deutsche BFFin that Germany is mein zweites Zuhause - my second home. There were moments where I felt confused, isolated, and frightened, but I can honestly say those moments came more often in Boston than in Germany. I would always joke to my friend about how I needed to become more German somehow. Whether it was through riding a bike, playing Settlers of Catan, complaining about the trains, wearing scarves, learning new slang or giving people judgmental stares, I was always looking for more ways to blend in.
Germans are afraid of storms. Call it a sweeping generalization if you want, but they just aren't used to them the way Midwesterners are. Most Germans I know are perfectly OK sitting at home watching a storm through their window and some of them will even appreciate it, but if you put them outside in a storm they will flip. In Heidelberg, it is tradition to walk up to the Thingstätte the night before May 1. I was headed up there with a group of people, when my Deutscher BFF decided he was scared of the coming lightning and didn't want to go. I was baffled by this reaction, but did not want to get caught up on top of the mountain when rain came, so I chose to go to a bar with him instead. I made fun of him a bunch for being scared, since storms were just a normal part of summertime in the Midwest. I explained to him how Boston was not a very stormy place and I always enjoyed thunderstorms there, because it reminded me of Illinois.
By coincidence, this summer turned out to be a very stormy one for Heidelberg. Without fail, after every storm, Deutscher BFF would text me "Fühlst du dich zuhause?" Maybe he genuinely wanted me to feel comfortable, maybe he wanted to converse about storms with someone who shared his appreciation, maybe he just thought he was being cute. Whatever the case, the question always amused me. During the EM, I was invited by my Deutscher BFF to the public viewing. One of his friends knew me and was asking me who I would be rooting for. I stared at her blankly. "You're American. America doesn't have a team, so you have no loyalty, so who do you choose?" I gave her another blank stare. "Doch! Deutschland ist mein zweites Zuhause," I explained. Now that I am back in Illinois, I email and skype my friends fairly frequently. I made a pretty stupid German mistake chatting with one of them recently and she said to me "Oh well, vacation in the US does that to a person". It was then realized why these questions had struck a strange nerve. Somewhere between the bike rides, lab work, late trains, confusing moments, bureaucracy, stare downs, blogging, and Tatorts, I had crossed out the zweites. My apartment in Germany, not my home in the US, became the place I was excited to return to after I'd spent time away. Germany became the country I rooted for in sports matches, the people I wanted to see during the Olympics, the place my eyes dart to on the map when I wish to be elsewhere, the place I was comfortable. When I sit down for the news, I still expect to see an outline of that country, not my own. Whether I liked it or not and by no effort of my own, Germany became my home. It's a struggle readjusting. It's honestly harder than going to Germany in the first place.
And that's why I have to go back. My biggest mistake when I left for Germany was assuming that I would come back the same person with the same relationships, goals, and desires. It's terrifying to change at a rate that you yourself can't keep up with. Perhaps that sounds unsettling, but I think it's what's meant to happen. If someone gave me a place at a German university tomorrow, I would take it in a heartbeat, but that probably will not happen for me. Maybe going back can't happen immediately, but it will. It has to.
No comments:
Post a Comment