IDENTITY Monica Lefèbre
Monica Lefèbre
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BOLD & BRAVE
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WHO - EMRE
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HI, RADA
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PLACE & TIME
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WHO - MARION
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HI, EMMA
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LE MARAIS
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WHO - AYA
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HI, AIJA
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I BELIEVE
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WHO - JASMIN
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HI, EMRE
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When I was in a kindergarten, our parents had to write something that they’d hope us to become. My dad wrote brave and bold. Of course it wasn’t meant to put a pressure on me, my dad also hope’d me to be famous tango singer. Anyway, at times the brave and bold comes to my mind and I see myself asking have I been brave enough? It’s not about thinking if I’ve been brave enough in my dad’s opinion, because I know I have, it’s more thinking about have I been brave and bold enough for myself. Have I done everything I hope I had so far? Am I regretting something? For that I can answer yes for sure. The more important fact is that how I see and face it. Are the things that are being regretted worth of regretting? Being brave and bold is not only doing something instead of others for helping them or overcoming myself all the time. I believe being brave is doing something that deep inside I am really afraid of doing. It’s putting myself into situations I feel the most uncomfortable. It’s allowing myself to feel in a way I feel. Doing things I feel are important. Saying what I want to say so that after all this I wouldn’t go home thinking oh no, I should have done that. But at the same time understanding that actually I don’t need to do anything unless I feel it is necessary or justif iable.
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Most importantly, I think being brave is to be true to myself, doing and thinking things that are me. Being honest. It’s a waste of life living in a way that is not truly mine. If I can explain it to myself, then everything is f ine. There should be no other explanations needed. Because in the end, I am my own judge. I am the one who has to live with myself.So, have I done all these? I’m trying hard but there are days when I feel I have totally let myself down and thinking I should consider again my way of living. But then I remind myself that being brave and bold is to dare not punishing myself too much. It will go on in a speed that is right for me, and maybe for me it’s not taking baby steps but foetus steps. I will never know unless I f ind out. All in all, I think it would have been way much more easier to be a famous tango singer. But on the other hand, I still have time to change.
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Hi, my name is Rada and I´m 21 years old. My cultural background is a “Yugo-mix”; because my mother is half Croatian and half Serbian; while my father is only Serbian, but both are from Bosnia. So, you see it’s pretty tricky to tell you my “right cultural identity”, because I myself don’t have the right answer. At school I sometimes had big problems to tell people what kind of cultural background I have, especially when some of them had a Serbian-, Croatian- or Bosnian-background too, because they knew their identity and I didn’t.
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So, in my time as a teenager I often had an identity crisis. I felt lost and sad, because I didn’t know who I am and it didn’t help me to talk with my family about it. Sometimes I thought they would be mad at me if I start this topic all over again and again. In this crazy time literature and traveling helped me.
• Literature: I am a big fan of Franz Kaf ka. The way he writes about loss, pain and love is so incredibly beautiful and sad at the same time. But the book which really helped me in this hard time, was and still is Paulo Coelho´s novel “The Alchemist”. To see how the protagonist becomes, step by step, happy and full of joy had such a big impact on me, so I became more relaxed about the topic “identity”. • Travelling: By travelling I get in touch with new cultures. I see that I have a deep connection with some and how fast some countries felt like home for me. That kind of feeling is great! To be honest, the fact that I don’t really know what exact identity I have doesn’t bother me, because I know who I am and an exact identity would not change that. I like the fact, that I have roots in Serbia, Croatia and Bosnia. I also like the feeling when my family and I visit these countries in summer. Every time it feels so familiar, like coming to another home. And for me that is enough.
I never understood what a home actually was. A familiar physical surrounding, the places we refer to when we talk about our childhood, or the places we recall with such detail, having not even visited in the past ten years, because the memories we attach to that place are so strong. But the lexicon of the places we know by heart grow the longer we live. We start to archive every cafe where the waiters greet us by name and hand us the “usual”, every super market we arrive at 10 minutes to closing because we know where everything is by heart and it only takes us 5 minutes to gather and pay. And before long, we’ve built a new home somewhere else, a place we need and feel needed; the place we think of when we return from a vacation somewhere else. For the longest part of my life, I lived on Roosevelt Island, a small piece of land between Manhattan and Queens. The decision to move came when I was in second grade, when it became obvious to my parents that having three growing kids crammed into one room, sleeping on the f loor, wasn’t going to work much longer. I didn’t have any objections: I wasn’t leaving
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school and I would have more space! What more would a seven year old girl want from a move to a new house? Roosevelt Island in 1998 was nothing like the glamorous manhattan I was previously used to. There were no theaters, no large fast food chains, no museums, and no shopping malls. It was a suburban village, where you could count the number of shops on your two hands and you saw the same people everyday at around the same time. One of my favorite places to be on Roosevelt Island was the library. It wasn’t a particularly big one but it was local and the place was f illed with warm yellow light that bounced off the wooden chairs and tables. My favorite thing to do was pick a corner on the rug where I could drop my stuff before going around to collect the various books that caught my eye. I loved everything by Leo Leoni, Kevin Henkes, and Maurice Sendak. I could sit and read for hours about one particularly hungry caterpillar or one mouse and her purple plastic purse. When I f inished reading those, I would go on to the next and it would repeat and repeat until my hunger for
adventure was satisf ied. When my hunger was ever for actual food, my favorite place was Trellis, the diner situated in the middle of the island. Trellis was a dimly lit diner with green faux-leather seats that stuck to you during the Summer when you were sweaty and wearing shorts. They had a standard menu for a diner, meaning an all-day-breakfast of scrambled eggs and pancakes, or burgers and fries for the rest of the clientele who didn’t believe in breakfast past 10 am. My family and I were there once a month for the f irst few years. We didn’t eat out often so despite the restaurant being a close location, it always seemed a kind of special detour. I always loved pancakes. I was mesmerized by the way the cook there made them. On a large f lat top griddle, he poured several rounds of batter, giving them enough space to rise and f lip. After a few minutes, the surface would start to bubble and he’d take a large metal spatula and f lip two at once. Almost in an instant, the pancakes would rise up an inch, and after another minute, he’d stack them up and put them on a plate. I’d eye the waitress who picked them up and walk out from behind the counter
towards me. It didn’t even matter that they were served with little plastic single serving containers of maple syrup f lavored corn syrup. The real magic was watching them rise, come to me, hot and piled high on a plate, just like in a commercial. It was almost like the thrill of receiving them and eating them made up for everything else. Thinking back on the places on Roosevelt Island and the memories I hold to each location, I recognize that it was a home to me. But to def ine it as my only one or the one I spent the most time in wouldn’t be accurate. As a city kid, I spent all my time moving around from one street to the next. Walking around the city, I never grew bored of looking at the new changes every corner had in store and feeling like I was a part of the picture. Even after I moved to Berlin and I struggled to f it in, I felt the places I frequented and became comfortable in were also somehow a home. A home that wasn’t made for me but one I built and saved a place for in my mind.
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Hi! Who are you? Hi! I’m Emma. Where are you from? I’m from Kuusankoski, Finland.
How do you feel when people ask you this question? I feel neutral about it since it’s easy for me to answer the question, and being an international student I get asked this somewhat often. I’m interested to always see the reaction after my answer. It can tell so much about the person who’s asking, and people’s responses can be funny. Since I’m not blonde I sometimes hear that I don’t look Finnish.
Do you identify with the place you were born or the place you currently live in (if you are living in a different place)? A bit with both I think, but I’ve started identifying more with my current city after living here for 1,5 years. How strongly do you feel connected to the place you were born? Why or why not? Quite strongly. I only lived in one house, one town before moving to Berlin so my roots are still very strongly in my hometown. I try to visit home often, otherwise I start missing my family a lot. Being back in my hometown still feels like I never left, everything so familiar there. I’m happy to notice that Berlin also is feeling more and more like home, too.
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Do you believe identity is something you are born with or that you can choose? And to what extent? I believe you do have some sort of an identity when you are born, one that is formed by others, like family members. When growing up, your selfformed identity starts to show as you can express yourself (hopefully) how you wish to. Is there something that made an impact on your identity in particular? (can be a person, place, situation, moment, piece of art or music etc.) I went to a community college art school from the age 7 until 17. It was my longest and dearest hobby growing up and I don’t think I would study what I do if I didn’t go. Studying art and learning different ways to create definitely have had a huge impact on my identity. I wasn’t happy when my mom told me she had signed me up for the classes, but ever since going to the first lesson I’m so thankful she did. In addition to this hobby, my family and upbringing have affected my identity a lot. Do you have an aspect of your identity you hide or do not like? Why or why not? No. I’m lucky to always have been surrounded by people who are encouraging and supportive, so I’ve never had to hide anything. Is it possible to not have an identity? No, I don’t think so. :-)
The f irst place I felt at home was in Le Marais, Paris. Le Marais spans the 3rd and 4th Arrondissements bordering onto Canal Saint Martin in the 10th and Boulevard Richard Lenoir in the 11th. To be in Le Marais is magical but what is even more luxurious is the walk there, passing through the buzz of the Parisienne Matin into the calm village like oasis of the Marais, cocooned within the heart of La Ville Lumière. The left bank used to be the home of the Boheme Bourgeois, abbreviated to BoBo, yet now Le Marais is their quartier of choice. During the year that I lived in Paris every Friday was BoBo Friday. I would wake up throw open the curtains of my studio to see the neighbouring balconies and net curtains. Once ready I would meet Shoshana downstairs, a bubbly Jewish New Yorker studying French Literature at NYU Paris and we would begin our journey into Le Marais. Opening the wooden blue door of our residence on 100 Rue Oberkampf we would descend onto the chaotic and bustling bar promenade, Oberkampf. Mornings always began with a wave to the Crepe man at Chez Cousin who always provided us with free drunk crepes on nights when we were ‘Oberkampf ing’. Then we would pass by Chez Justine, a bar that became our adopted living room because of its convenience and beautiful bartenders. Steve was our favourite because of his gorgeous afro and seductive smile. His friend Archer, covered with tattoos and a cheeky smile, was another favourite character of ours on the Kampf. 7
We would follow Rue Oberkampf to the end, passing by our local Boulangerie and Charcuterie, often receiving a smile or a wink from the owners. The hustle and bustle of the Parisian rush to work would quieten as we entered the 3rd Arrondissement on the way to our f irst destination, Le Boot. Boot cafe is the smallest cafe in Paris, possibly in europe. The wooden blue facade painted with the sign ‘Cordonnerie’ kept it a secret meaning you would see the regulars each morning. There was Frank and his Pug, an american ‘cake boy’ who would supply all the best local cafes with his homemade creations, Sati, an Algerian hippy from Portland who owned a vegan juice bar and Genete, a Danish barista who kept us all caffeinated. The walls were adorned white tiles hidden by postcards and art magazines. There were no tables, as it was too tiny, only a few stools decorated with fresh f lowers. We would order a Creme to go and continue down Rue du Pont aux Choux turning left at the end on to Rue Vieille du Temple, the majestic cobblestone paved road leading to the heart of Le Marais, past Breizh, the Bretagne Galette cafe whose fragrance of freshly made crepes f illed the street, past the Jardin de l’Hôtel Salé where
Parisian dogs had their morning play and f inally past La Perle. Occasionally Shoshana and I would stop in ‘Art du Basic’, a clothing shop that was anything other than basic.
Mr Finkelstein. To celebrate this achievement and keep our bellies full until our Friday night dinner we would stand in line for ‘L’As du Falafel’. L’As was the Berghain of the Parisian falafel scene and the Jewish ‘bouncers’ Our f inal destination was Rue des wearing Canada Goose would walk up Rosiers, the famous Jewish street that and down the line before telling you was f illed with Boulangeries, Creperies whether you made the cut to enter. and most importantly falafel. Our The wait was always worth it because favourite place along this street was L’As really did have the most delicious aptly named ‘La Boutique Jaune’, falafel en Ville. And so, to f inish our otherwise known as the Yiddish Marais hunt for Challah we would sit bakery of Sascha Finkelstein. Opening in the green ceilinged nightclub-esque the yellow door was like entering booths devouring the overf lowing, and a Jewish grandmothers kitchen in one could argue overpriced, falafel. preparation for a wedding. Linzer Torte, Sachertorte, Pavés, Strudel and Streusel distracted us from the mission of f inding our beloved Challah for Shabbat. We would push our way through the cashier, grasping the Challah before saying ‘Shabbat Shalom’ to
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Hi! Who are you? Where are you from? How do you feel when people ask you this question? When people ask me this question it seems like they are interested in knowing more about me and it feels nice when somebody is curious about your origins and I am always glad to answer and in my case I come from Latvia and 90% of people have never heard of this country. And it is very interesting to see people’s faces when they discover a new country. It’s fun :)
Do you identify with the place you were born or the place you currently live in (if you are living in a different place)? I do not identify myself with the place where I was born in because I do no follow the traditions, neither do I keep in touch with people who live there, I do not have the Latvian mentality and last of all I am not fond of my country.
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The last 10 years I have been living in 5 different counties and I can’t identify myself to any of them. I am still looking for my place to be. I would say I identify myself as a human that comes from Earth :)
How strongly do you feel connected to the place you were born? 10% only I would say because after all I was born there and lived there for 16 years. The only connection I have is my mother who lives in Latvia. Do you believe identity is something you are born with or that you can choose? And to what extent? I think each human being has been born with an identity. When you are old enough you have the possibility to create your own identity. People have their reasons why they don’t want to keep their identity and I think other people should respect it. Is there something that made an impact on your identity in particular? I can’t answer this question. Do you have an aspect of your identity you hide or do not like? hahaha yes when I was 16 years old and it was the f irst time when I left Latvia , when people asked me where I was from, I ALWAYS lied by saying I come from Denmark. The reason why I lied was because my mother is Danish but lives in Latvia and I never considered myself as a true Latvian person and always thought that I am more Danish than Latvian. When I moved to Denmark I realised that I am less Danish than Latvian. Now of course I tell that I come from Latvia even though I don’t like it. I love my country because of the massive forests, the Baltic Sea, amazing landscapes, rivers and lakes but I hate it for the people who live there. The only thing what they care for is money and this is the biggest reason why Latvia is the most corrupted country in the world. It is sad to admit it but it is true. 30% are very wealthy and 70% very poor and f ighting for their existence. I am simply ashamed of my country and prefer to stay as far as possible. Is it possible to not have an identity? I think it is not possible. Everybody has an identity. It depends on you if you accept it or not. I believe that you can have more than one identity but every person has always at least 1.
Human relationships are diff icult; sometimes intense and not always the easiest thing to wrap our heads around. For me, human relationships are one of the most challenging things in life that required a hard work to bring to the level that I could lead normal friendships and affairs for a long time. Throughout our life we meet and say goodbye to hundreds of people; some stay longer and some disappear after one time chat. I have disconnected from several friends during the last couple of years. There are several reasons for this but the main reason has always been the differences between us. It gets hard to maintain a relationship when there are signif icant differences in the characters, temperaments, viewpoints and etc. (not even starting with the Zodiac signs). It could not have continued like that. I could not lose the friends that I loved because of our differences. What about the power of love then? Weren’t we supposed to solve problems if we have enough love for each other? Wasn’t love the only thing we needed? Why we break up with friends, lovers and family members, distancing them from our lives while still loving them?
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Well, what I have learned from all of these experiences is that if you are really willing to maintain relationships that are important to you, you have to work on your judgment and acceptance levels. The only way to remain in a relationship with the people that you love is to accept their differences and understand that you do not have to feel the exact same things, and always think alike, agreeing on the same things.
Agreeing to disagree is what saved my relationship with the closest person and biggest love of my life. We gave it a try. We got together; we talked about our differences and agreed on accepting each other’s faults, weaknesses, and the differences. Instead of seeing these things as a gap between us, we are now working together to f ix the things that we are able to f ix and accept the things that we cannot change.
It worked because we both wanted so hard to be together. It worked because we love each other. But most importantly, I believe it worked because we know that we are not the same person; we are two different people whose worlds meet and clash at some point. That’s the beauty of it.
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Where are you from? I am from Istanbul, Turkey.
Hi! Who are you? My name is Emre Caglar Aydogan.
How do you feel when people ask you this question? I feel weird, I have always found the idea of nations and borders racist to be honest. It never made sense to me that because two people are born 10 meters away from each other maybe on the different sides of the border, are they supposed to be so different? Or do we teach them to be? Do you identify with the place you were born or the place you currently live in (if you are living in a different place)? I identify with neither of them. The place I come from is much more chaotic compared to Berlin, and I love being far away from that chaos but at the same time, there is a certain coldness to Berlin’s order as well, but maybe I am too picky, after all one can’t always get what one wants. How strongly do you feel connected to the place you were born? Why or why not? I feel strongly connected but not because I was born there, but rather because of the time I spent there. Living, seeing the good and the bad, seeing what could have been and what isn’t. It def ines you as a person. If there are wrongs you wish to be f ixed, maybe you become someone who personally avoids those wrongs, and it becomes a part of your character. 12
Do you believe identity is something you are born with or that you can choose? And to what extent? It depends on what you are thought I believe. If since birth you are told that you are one thing, and have to be that one thing, how long does it take to realise that there is always another option? Or on the other side of the coin you can have someone who has been told that they could be anyone, anything, when they discover who they are, doesn’t it mean they couldn’t be anyone except themselves at the end? Is there something that made an impact on your identity in particular? (can be a person, place, situation, moment, piece of art or music etc.) All the rebels in the history I would say. I would describe myself as a rebel if nothing else, rebelling against everyone and every rule who are supposed to def ine me. I am the only one that can do that, I am the only one that can def ine who I am. So pick and choose, whether it be f ictional or real. Che Guevera, Princess Leia, The Rolling Stones or Straw Hat Luffy. I f ind myself in everyone who rises to the challenge of being good and not backing an inch no matter what to be so. Do you have an aspect of your identity you hide or do not like? Why or why not? I do. I feel like sometimes my ego is trapping me. I look around me, I see the lives people are living and I want something more. I want to have an impact on the world. I want to be able to f ix some of the wrongs that I see. And I think that is my weakness because after all, who am I to say what is right and what is wrong? What importance does my stance hold to anyone except myself ? When I think about these questions, I rather show the tip of the iceberg that is my ego and hide the rest under water. Is it possible to not have an identity? It is possible to have an identity, but you need the will to do it. You need to know yourself and be able to know your limits, or lines. After that whatever remains within those limits, those lines, is your identity, it is you.
Growing up in a family with a multicultural background and travelling a lot, I never had a place I could truly call home. Of course, up until a certain age, home was where I lived. A place where my parents waited for me with a warm meal when I came back from school. A place where I cuddled up in bed with a pile of pillows accompanied by my cat. For many reasons, I cannot call the place I was born in and grew up in as home. During school, I had multiple places throughout the city I called a second home. These places I always kept close to my heart like a valued treasure and cherished every moment I could spend there. These places were cafes, benches or even friend’s houses which I would frequently visit. Small, momentary escapes from reality and sometimes homework. One of these places was not just a spot, however I considered it much more my own little town. In the city I grew up in there was a historic centre. It was filled with tiny cafes, shops, restaurant and streets. All these tiny streets formed a labyrinth of beautiful sights and tourist traps, which by the end of my stay, I knew better than the inside of my pocket. Being the curious person I am, I spent a lot of my time living there navigating this maze. Around every corner was a new and exciting discovery waiting for me and I felt like a pirate, hunting for treasure. Depending on the time of day or season, different scents and sights left an impression on me. Strolling through the streets I would follow the smell of freshly baked cake. It would often lead me to a small bakery in which an elderly, but friendly lady would be passing a tasty pastry to a little child, who would immediately bite into it with a huge, heart-warming smile. Loud chatter in a language I could not distinguish came closer, so I walked away from it, not to get caught up in a tourist group. Sometimes they get lost in the smaller side streets and wander around aimlessly like headless chicken. As I turned the corner, impressive baroque stucco framed a colourful shop window filled to the brim with exquisite silk and leather goods. The window belonged to one of my favourite men’s outfitters, which was located directly across one of the large art museums in the city. The shop enjoyed a wellrenowned reputation in the heart of the city and was situated in a historic building. Seeing a man walk out of the shop with his brand new tailored suit, the air was filled with an all too familiar scent. Both me and this man noticed the smell it seems, as we headed in the same direction. Beneath the art museum stood a nearly shoebox-sized booth selling sausages. The clientele span across any social class, as this was one of the few places in the city where you could see the gentleman from before in his new suit standing right beside a homeless man. As they both happily poked a small wooden stick into a piece of sausage, it seemed as if it were a synchronised sport. Friendly chats as well as heated discussions were a daily commodity which one had to be prepared to face as one
touched elbows with one’s neighbours. One of my most distinct memories is enjoying this national treasure with a group of close friends as we sat at a fountain and watched the sky turn a large spectrum of colours at sunrise. Every week it seemed as if I was on a pilgrimage to my favourite cafés. I would often times get off the underground a stop earlier, just to have a walk and let the atmosphere of my surroundings soak in. Squeezing past tourists, I always ended up leaving the main shopping street and rather enjoying the silence and window displays of small boutiques. I lost myself in daydreams as I walked past an array of distinct smells. Coffee, cake, cigarettes, Schnitzel and horse faeces. One of the many tourist attractions were tours in horse-drawn carriages, to immerse oneself even more in the rich historical background of the city, thus it smelled accordingly. Arriving at my destination, I fought for a table. It seems the smell attracts a lot of visitors as the place was always lively and full of people. It was a traditional pastry shop with some of the most delicious treats the city could offer. Again, the people visiting are extremely diverse. The older generation enjoys a Sunday treat while sitting beside young students. On the menu, their list of cakes is longer than their list of meals and beverages combined. That is, if you exclude the list of different kinds of coffee variations they serve. The café has been refurbished a few years ago to cater to modern needs and standards. Its main rival has seen better days as it feels like a time capsule from the 50s. Of course, this too can have its charm, however less so, if one also keeps breathing in the dust from the 50s while eating there. Many places around the city are fighting modern times and change. Tradition and accompanying values are strongly rooted into the city and the citizen’s mentality which has pros and cons and was one thing I always fought while living there and ultimately made me leave.
“If the world ends tomorrow, I would go to Vienna. Everything happens 50 years later there.” – translation of Gustav Mahler, a Romantic Austrian composer (The origin of this quote is not very clear, however most often attributed to the composer)
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BOLD & BRAVE
Anna Nurmela
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WHO - EMRE
Emre Caglar Aydogan
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HI, RADA
Rada Pantelic
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PLACE & TIME
Aya Sakamoto
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WHO - MARION
Marion Legrain
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HI, EMMA
Emma Joutjärvi
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LE MARAIS
Clara Kelvin-Grey
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WHO - AYA
Aya Sakamoto
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HI, AIJA
Aija Bane
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I BELIEVE
Huseynagha Rassulov
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WHO - JASMIN
Jasmin Khalilzadegan
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HI, EMRE
Emre Caglar Aydogan
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7 3
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2 12
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Monica Lefèbre
IDENTITY Monica Lefèbre