Berlin, A Stranger in a Familiar Town

The Seduction of a City That Was Always There

It’s funny how the places closest to us remain unexplored, as if proximity breeds indifference. Berlin had been whispering to me for years, just a short flight away, yet I’d always chased destinations that demanded visas and jet lag. When a friend’s visit from New York forced my hand, I arrived in midwinter expecting little—and found myself disarmed.

The city unfolded in layers of gray and graffiti, its history palpable in the cobblestones and the way the light fell at 3 PM. Barcelona had made me soft with its endless sun; Berlin, in contrast, was a bracing slap of clarity. I walked for hours, aimless, content in my anonymity. For someone who’s spent years standing out as the foreigner, there was a relief in being just another face in the crowd, even if the language escaped me.

The Dangerous Allure of Starting Over (Again)

By the third day, the fantasies began: What if I stayed? The thrill of a new city, the promise of reinvention—it’s a familiar itch. But I’ve scratched it before, and the truth is, relocation is just geographic avoidance. Berlin wouldn’t solve the restlessness; it would just give it a new backdrop.

Instead, I’m playing with the idea of duality: two cities, two rhythms. Barcelona for the light, Berlin for the grit. A split existence might be the answer, or it might just be another way to outrun myself. But for now, the energy of this place lingers, a reminder that comfort isn’t the same as living. Berlin shook me awake. The question is, what will I do now that I’m up?