Four things about me

I love the English language. It often feels more intimate and familiar than German. I wasn’t raised bilingually, but my mother’s best friend is from America, and she used to hang around at our place pretty much all the time when I was a kid. I tried to pick up as much as I could from their conversations at the kitchen table.

My favorite book is “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath. Back in those days when mental illness ravaged unfettered in my head, there were times when I couldn’t direct my attention to anything I was reading. But I found that things pertaining to mental illness would still stick in my mind. And so The Bell Jar was a real revelation. It became something like a bible for me.

I hate being alone, but I guess you know that. I used to roam the city during nights of insomnia, because I couldn’t stand the loneliness of my room. One night, when all the places I usually frequented were closed and it was way too late to call anybody, I wound up at a gay bar. A man tried to hook up with me, and I played along for a while. Later he suggested going back to his place, but I ran away while he was in the restroom. That made me feel very bad.

My biological father was addicted to amphetamine in the time I was born. He also worked as a dealer. He had absolutely no school qualifications. My mother taught him to read and write. I have no memory of him, and I think I’ll never try to find him. Having a father is totally overrated.