Berlin, trilogy

Page 1

Berlin, trilogy Guim Bonaventura i Bou Octuber 19th 2007 – August 31th 2008

Translation: Jordi Torres



Berlin, chronicle that isn’t Already on the plane. I write so that Berlin isn’t lost to memory. What was Berlin? - Liberty - Diversity - Humility, Caretaker of - The first step. I won’t avoid returning to the now famous “Post Traumatic Show”; what good would trips be if we couldn’t miss them later? I confess that I am somewhat platonically in love with Linda, even though it is actually a love for the life I would lead in Berlin: Mon, Wed and Fri in the morning university (Projects: the river and the city; Film architecture; and History of Berlin through her buildings). Tue and Thu until 4PM working at the Museum of Film Library. Afternoons free, except Wed because I have German class (2h30 per week). Every Thu from 6PM to 10PM free visits to the museums (Pergamon, Altes…) and, after that, dinner with friends. This Thursday, however, I am meeting Linda to go to the theater: we’ll catch a double showing (Les quatre cents coups and Dies d’agost, in their original languages, with subtitles), then we’ll walk to her house and we’ll stay talking in the doorway for more than half’nhour, now and then in German, now and then in English, now and then in Finnish and now and then in Catalan. She still doesn’t invite me upstairs. We say goodbye with an innocent kiss, stretching out the game we love so much. Ah!, and this weekend in Leipzig, we got a deal on train tickets 10€ round trip! (leaving Hauptbahnhof at 7:58), with the Catalan troupe, because somebody will carry the guitar and we’ll make a little raucous on the train under the half accusatory, half encouraging looks from the Germans. But we’ll be back early because everyone has work to do and exams aren’t as far away as we thought. Night falls over Berlin and the first flakes of winter snow begin to fall and I, seated on the inside windowsill, with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands and with the chords of Feliu Ventura filling the dark space devoid of light, I will miss, a little bit, my life in Barcelona. Plane Berlin-Barcelona, October 19th 2007



Berlin, once again The sky is blue, the sun reflects off the communist palaces of Karl-Marx-Alle, it is windy and people walk along the street. I am alone in the cafeteria, writing I-don’t-know-what to I-don’t-know-who in my notebook. If only it were a postcard I would have an excuse to say hello, how are you?, I’m doing very well here! I am having a great time and Berlin is so pretty, even the second time you visit… I’ve been walking around all day and I’m tired but I still have things to see, I have to make use of my time! Kisses, Guim. The last drop of coffee has frozen like my thoughts of you. The sky is blue, the sun reflects off the communist palaces on Karl Marx Avenue, it’s windy and someone has come into the cafeteria. Maybe I’ll order another coffee. B., February 23rd 2008



Berlin, still. Berlin, still! I am on K-M-A again, more tired than ever, more confused than ever, with less desire to think than ever. Berlin, still. Without knowing what has brought me once again to the city where everything began, to give the snail of my existence another whirl. Berlin, still… As if a return to the scene of the crime of a blurry October surpassed by the (il)logic of the events would be able to give birth once more to a phoenix made of papier mâché. Berlin, still? As if a strong enough invocation could make the south more northern, bring the poles closer together, shrink the distances not only between words. Berlin…? (still) I see the same sun shine the same light from the same window over the same marble but it’s not the same clarity, it’s not the same warmth. (Self compassion…) Berlin: still. Because a strong enough will fights for what it wants, a strong enough character always forges ahead, because a free mind always dreams: still Berlin. B., August 31st 2008



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