Let’s start by stating what’s obvious. I’ve been growing roots in Berlin over the past three years. To a point where I’m now ready to call this damn gorgeous crazy impossible city my home. There once was a time when the thought of having all my belongings fit on the back of my bicycle was reassuring — that way I could push the eject button and ghost at any opportunity. But something, I’m not sure when, shifted.
I started buying plants. I got a second-hand sofa and started chilling on it for the simple enjoyment of being home. I started fermenting stuff. I even got a goddamn dressing gown. Me. A dressing gown.