Again. I am moving again.
It is the 10th time that I am packing my bags. Within 6 years. The longest time I ever moved somewhere was for 3 years, 2 months the shortest period. And now I find myself with the keys of the first apartment in my hands, which I am not renting time-limited. It seems to be way more serious than all the other times. I am moving in with one of my best friends – without a fix ending date.. Wow.
When I got the keys earlier today and found myself standing in this beautiful apartment which is now my new home, I thought about my definition of home. “I consider home not to be bound to a specific place. Home is a feeling for me, which you can have all around the globe and in many different ways.” I asked myself if this apartment would change my definition of home, or if I would always be the girl who has parts of her heart spread all around the world.
I have always defined freedom to being able to pack all my belongings into a few bags and being able to carry them on my own. Wherever I want to go. Now I find myself discussing whether we buy the grey or the white sofa. And it feels weird. I always asked myself what would bind myself to one place. I feel the wanderlust in every nerve and cell of my body. Flight tickets to Madrid, Ibiza and New York are already booked.
Maybe I just don’t know where to go next. Or maybe it is because I have the feeling, that Berlin is the city I have always been looking for. Maybe it is because the city brings out the best in me, makes me strive for and archive my dreams and wishes. I don’t know.
But what I know for sure is:
Berlin, I am staying.