i met the east german military officer that opened the door to the berlin wall the glorious day the wall came down. i shook his hand.
i was walking alone over a bridge and saw people filming an older man pacing pensively around this bridge. i asked the crew what they were doing.
i met the writer of the book about the man that opened the door to the berlin wall the glorious day the wall came down. the writer introduced me, and we took pictures together. i shook the man’s hand, the hands that opened the door to the wall the day the wall fell.
it was like touching an avatar of peace. the greatest arms build-up in history should have leveled this city. instead, a bunch of officers like this man i met, a bunch of people in positions of authority, decided all at once to open the door instead of opening fire.
i turned around, half-expecting someone to be running over the bridge to me – someone i could have shared this amazing moment with. but nobody was there. i walked on to the huge outdoor museum where the portions of the wall complete with graffiti stand alone as a monument to the way the dark time ended.
written on the a picture on the wall, in english:”happiness is possible if you have the right pen”
i must not have the right pen.
i didn’t say good-bye to her in münich two days ago. i only had said good-night.
the night before i left, she hugged me from the second-step, because that’s what friends do.
i said something stupid, because i was afraid to say “thank you”.
she said “you should work on that”, and disappeared upstairs.
i snuck out that morning at 6am for the early train to berlin. i didn’t say good-bye because i was afraid i’d say something stupid again.
i’ve been in berlin for two days. i’ve carried this little ghost on my shoulder, like a conscience with a prettier face, whispering in my ear these things i should’ve said.
i wandered this wall, trying to force myself to be happy alone, because i’m usually happier alone.
i don’t think i’m ever going to see her again. i only knew her for a few brief hours, in one city, in one little section of our two separate quests. the most important thing about traveling is meeting new people. these people you meet – some of them – you will never forget.
and, you’ll never see them again.
“happiness is possible if you have the right pen”, and this blog must not be the right pen because i’m not happy.
i reveal other people’s small oddnesses and tiny heartbreaks in this foolish blog. sometimes it’s only fair to reveal my own.