The time that I have moved out from my mother’s house, right after finishing school , I loved to come home. Even thou I moved only into the city, it felt like I got out from a german village straight into New York. Everything was reachable, possible – I was on my own. I smoked on the balcony, ate in my bed and I drank beer in the morning while doing my makeup. The possibility of coming home at 4 a.m. to my own place without my parents or neighbors around, just blew my mind. Even if I didn’t come home at all, nobody would care and it was amazing.
Coming home was like returning into a childhood fairy tale, where everything seemed perfect. The food was so delicious and the freshly made up bed smelled like flowers and cupcakes. Everyone was so happy, there was nothing hectic, no troubles , no stress. Coming home was a little bit like a break from my crazy life.
When I moved to Berlin I was rarely coming home. The distance was one of the main reasons. The gap between my parents made the whole thing even more complicated and the distance between us grew even bigger than I’ve expected. When I lived in Cologne it wasn’t a problem to see my dad because he was just (as you may say) around the corner
– in Dusseldorf. Therefore my father and I we would meet up for coffee on Sundays, sometimes for lunch on Saturdays. There was no pressure at all because we were so close. But with me living in Berlin it rapidly changed. Suddenly more than 500 km separated us from each other.
Coming home became kind of a stressful time for me. It was like a marathon for me, I had to see everyone: my mom, my dad, play with my little brother ( who was three years old at that time), visit grandma, have coffee with my friends, a Koelsch with others. I slept less than 4 hours a day while beeing there and still it never was enough. It got really depressive. I tried to visit everyone as much as I could but it was pretty hard that time. I had so much to do. My work was tearing me apart, friends, family, my boyfriend. That’s why I’ve started to make priorities.
Friends are important but for me, family always comes first. In the beginning, I’ve stopped calling some of my friends upon my arrival to hometown. Then, I stopped reaching out to everyone that I knew. Maybe I am not a sentimental person ( even thou I always thought I was) or maybe I am just a loner – at least that’s what most of the people are telling me, but it was surprisingly easy to let go. Some of those friends tried to reach me. They’ve started to get disappointed and angry at me because they just didn‘t understand while others became closer than they have ever been.
Surprisingly the good friends are not the one you have the longest but the one who’ll stay by your side, no matter what. I think no matter what, you will always have this kind of friends, where you cannot meet or call them for a few month but when you do, it‘s like you have never been apart.
Probably, at the end of the day, people from my hometown never were my real friends. Right now, I think I wouldn‘t even like them at all. I’ve realized that holding on to something just because you have a lot in common and grew up together is not the right way to go. Looking at their pictures it seems like nothing changed. I see the same faces, same places, same drinks, same clothes, same music … Maybe that‘s why it was so easy for me to detach them from my life. Now I can clearly say that I’ve finally moved on.