I no longer live for the weekends like I used to do

I’m one of the countless German teenagers that leave for a gap year after school. No big deal. Going abroad was not really a dream of mine, but rather based on the lack of alternatives. Well, surprise. I had the time of my life.
Now, here, in Brno, Czech Republic.

1. See all these things I can do now. I’m a volunteer in a media department - you’ll hardly ever see me without my beloved camera. I took many thousand photos here - I improved. I learned a lot about videos and sound, too. I learned how to talk in Czech (like, you know, at least a bit), how to live on my own. And hey, I’m a village girl. I had no clue how to read public transport maps. Now I do.

2. See how I grew. A year ago, I was too shy to order a pizza on the phone. Life can be pretty comfortable with your Mama around, or whoever it is who does all these little things for you. Once you start fighting your battles yourself, no matter how small, you grow.

3. See, this is the first home I ever really had. The first city I love dearly (I never liked my hometown). A lot of first times happened here.

4. Who would’ve thought my heart would be so into it? I am more patriotic about this country than I’ve ever been about my own one. Czech Republic is like the cool casual twin of Germany.

5. I learned about myself by observing my reflection in strangers’ eyes. I had no idea how cliché-German I actually was. In order to understand your otherness, you have to surround yourself with people who grew up differently.
Yes, some stereotypes apply sometimes (which I realised when I first saw the terrified face of my French flatmate realising he was out of cheese), but this is not what I mean. Racism will always be the wrong choice. I will continue to love as unconditionally and unbiased as I can.

6. And I know now that I know nothing. Newsflash: My vision of the world is nothing but that – my vision. All I ever believed to know about life is just the view I have from the very small windows that are my eyes. Naturally, every time I learn a new thing about the people and all the cultures surrounding me (believe me, there are a lot), my mind and heart grow a bit wider.

7. I was at the bottom. I found myself in situations I was not able to deal with. People encroached upon my young age. I felt isolated sometimes. My grandmother died while I was gone. I had breakdowns in public transport, cried in toilets of strange pubs. I felt empty. I felt misunderstood. I sometimes was so lonely.

8. But, god, how did I love. I could fill a hundred books with the things I want to tell you about my friends. There’s a French girl who hates sweet dinner and loves pyjama parties; a good-hearted Czech boy with curly hair who says ‘sorry’ too much. My flatmate from Spain, who’s a brother to me - the summer was filled with sunny Sundays that we spent on the balcony together, discussing politics.That’s right: I get to live with one of the best friends I ever had.

9. And god, how did I live. This year is filled with memories for a lifetime. My first Czech conversation with a toddler in a kebab place, a cloudburst at the lake. I went to Budapest on my own and to a festival, got pierced and tattooed, explored an old ruine in darkness, celebrated christmas in a Czech family, went on a balkan-roadtrip, experienced the most tragic starcrossed-lovers-sentiment in a closed pub at 4am with a boy who saw the world in my eyes.

10. I know everything comes with a price. How can I ever feel whole again when the people I love are scattered all over the world? How will I ever stop missing a piece?
And now, that I got a glance of this world, how will I ever be able to sit still again?

11. I partly found myself, or maybe, I FOUNDED myself, with my mind like a house you can enter, where everyone leaves footprints. I made the decision to be myself - in that I let all the good things surround me, and find out what makes me the happiest.

12. I am more awake and more alive, so free.

13. I am more.

(The cursive sentences combined make a poem.)