My Berlin Is Not Your Berlin
Cities have no life of their own — they are blank canvases and we are the artists. We are the creators of life, love, hope, and despair within them. We make the city our own and no one shares the same experience of it with anyone. The influencing factors on us are endless — this makes it almost impossible to understand someone complexly, especially when time is an additional separating factor.
We associate shaping periods in our lives with the places we experienced them in as they are often more constant than our lives. We can still visit the street corner where we had a living changing realization, the restaurant we had our heart broken in, or the clubs we stumbled into to dance the pain away. The places persist to be revisited, even when the moments in them are fleeing.
To my father, Berlin is one shaping place in his life. He spent his twenties living, learning, growing, and falling in love in the city. To him, Berlin represents his values and being open and free. He only left 30 years ago to have a family and has been dreaming of returning ever since. I’m in my twenties now and I now live in the same neighborhood of Berlin like he once did. I would like to think of this as a coincidence, but I might be fooling myself.
As children, we share the perspective of life with the people that raise us. Part of the task of growing up is deconstructing this preset to create our own perspective. We are in charge of building our own city, which will always be rooted in the people that have shaped us. And I find where their foundation is shaky, so is mine. These are the areas that need thoughtful work they are no cause for pain later.
As I am living my life and exploring my city, I find myself outgrowing the opinions and ambitions I once held dearly. This especially challenges the relationship with my father as I subconsciously strive for his approval. But in conversation with him, I am often painfully reminded of our different outlooks on life and his lack of empathy towards mine. He rarely leaves his city and is blind to my growth. Maybe he hasn’t noticed I moved, maybe it scares him.
He sees me roaming the same streets he also once walked and assumes that my experiences match his memory. He unabatedly applies his perspective to my life but misses to notice that I navigate different obstacles in life — some of which he has partly help me build. Every time I see the discrepancy, I am hurting and the pain makes me want to rush back to the place we once shared, to stop growing so I can fit into his molds again.
But more dominantly, I like who I am growing into and I don’t want to be dictated by success indicators I no longer believe in. I feel this tension tearing at me, and yet I choose to embrace the discomfort. I choose to continue to live in my city the way it feels right, moving away from the easy and familiar.
I know my father and I will never share the same perspective again. He will never know what it’s like to be a young woman, working in a highly competitive environment, struggling to maintain a healthy sense of self-worth. He didn’t grow up in a world of social media in which comparing and constant self-improvement is the national sport. He doesn’t remember a life when he didn’t have a loving partner by his side, providing security and a place of belonging. And I think he has also forgotten the power and importance of human connection.
I know that I will never experience his perspective either and I cannot make him into the father I want him to be. But I can work on myself in all the areas that he hurts me. His behavior has shown me what is important to me: I want to live as empathetically as possible to overcome the divide in perspectives to the people in my city. I try to listen to understand rather than waiting for my turn to talk. I never give unsolicited advice and remind myself in every situation that I’ve only seen the world through my perspective. Other perspectives are never right or wrong — only different. And I am careful to have my actions represent my words, to align myself with the changing ideas and thoughts in my head.
Discomfort is existed to tell us something and indicates there still is work to be done. We are the architects of our city, but we are ultimately always influenced by society, friends, and family. And the true beauty of life is the feeling of belonging — we get to welcome people in to build and explore our city with them. Even if at times this can leave us feeling vulnerable.
And despite the differences and pain you cause, I choose you. I invite you to be a tourist in my city but be reminded to behave like a guest.
The title of this essay was inspired by The Way We Live Now: 11–11–01; Lost and Found — by Colton Whitehead
