Tomorrow marks a month of having left the motherland. Having left the mother, who sends me images of recipes she is going to try out and FaceTimes with me while I sort through my books. Having left the friends who communicate through words on screens. Having left the sun, as here the cold holds on tightly to the days and the nights. Having left having to drive. Having left Afrikaans being spoken. Having left a strange sense of belonging.
Berlin offers up bureaucracy. I have never signed my name to so many papers in all of my years. Paperwork left and right, that is what uncertainty means here. But Berlin also offers up hope in many forms: that spring may come soon, that summer will be good and that somehow, somewhere, things will start falling into place.
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