Abrakadabra Agatha

Es ratterte und flatterte ihre Kinnlade herab,
sprießende Schnurrbart Haare der alten Frau waren in Puderzucker getaucht und sie stand vor einer Explosion aus Kuchenteig,
um 3:00 Uhr nachts
und fragte sich, ob die Flecken auf ihrer Tischdecke zusammen mit den Farbspritzern in ihrem Kopf nicht Kunst ergeben würden.
Sie hätte sich nun den stinkenden Lappen schnappen können, aber es war noch nicht die Zeit zum Aufwischen.
Es war die Zeit zum rumstampfen, zum Abtanzen, zum mit den großen Zehen ein
We love rocknroll auf den Pakett-Teigboden malen.
Sie knüpfte Ihre Latzhose auf, weil Ihre Brüste auch mit tanzen wollten.
Das Haus auf dem Hügel zwischen den knochigen Bäumen am Ende der Straße flackerte wie ein kleiner Stern. Einer, der noch tanzt während der Rest seiner Milchstraßen-Genossen längst in ihren schwarzen Löchern verschwunden waren.
Hell yeah, Agatha hatte keinen bock zu schlafen.
So lag sie nun auf ihrem Orientteppich und kippte sich Farbe über den Bauch.
Sie schloss die Augen und insgeheim wünschte Sie sich jetzt freudetrunken zu sterben, damit Andere Ihre Dreck wegputzen mussten.


Why we should stop asking “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I have heard this question a million times, by family members, by teachers and even by new people my age I just met. It is probably because my studies here in Germany are a mix of everything that is seen as “useful” in this world. I study intercultural Business and the spectrum of possible professions available to graduates is enormously broad. So I don’t blame people who have asked me this. One could say it is generally just a sign of showing interest in somebody’s future, right? I have also asked this question other people way to often myself. So let me explain why I’ve come to realize that the question is indeed to be criticized and reflects a specific way of thinking of our western, globalized culture.

By asking what we wish to be when we grow up, I feel like we are aspiring to be nothing right now. That, at the end of this road called education, there is a goal to achieve- mostly a certificate, which then magically transforms us into someone. So it does seem like we can rather ” be or not […] be” something worthy. Consequently, this way of thinking creates the thought that by not earning such a graduation certificate, I am worth nothing.  But isn’t society nowadays telling us as well that the aim is the path, not the result itself? This seems contradictory.

It even creates a certain tunnel vision. As we focus on one specific thing “to become” those tiny signs of opportunities appearing on the way to switch paths or doubts become invisible. Maybe this explains why a lot of people find themselves in a deep whole once they finally “are” something but it turns out even though they have achieved financial security, the search of their life purpose is not over yet.

So here is my perception. We all are already something in this present moment. It doesn’t matter how old we are or how hard we study or how many certificates we earn; we are all experienced human beings and we are all worth the exact same. Further, we are all enough and doing the best we can with the capacity we have in this moment.

Today, more than ever life is a journey. Our own personal story book we fill with chapters. We have the opportunity to grow out of professions and relationships because we are required to move so quickly. This creates incertitude and I understand everyone who tries to escape an insecure future by focusing on one specific thing to become. But instead, let’s try to see this as an opportunity. Life creates failures and obstacles that keep returning as long as if you haven’t learned your lesson from them. They are the stepping stones; stairs we shall climb up. Not the career path stairs but the ones to get you a little closer to how we live joyfully fulfilled, knowing our selves. By opening up our minds that life is a development towards self-love not money, we have the opportunity to free us from the ambitions and expectations pushed on us by the economy.

Yesterday, I was lucky to hear Amma talking, an Indian Guru and Saint who, for Hindus, is the incarnation of compassion and love. She describes her religion to be only love, already hugged 30 Million people and founded various charity organizations. She mentioned that one of the worlds current problems to master is to teach children two things: How to earn their living and how to live life in a fulfilled way. She realized that unfortunately nowadays it is only focused on the first bit. This leads us into stress, depression and fear. For the second she suggested that living fulfilled can only happen if we learn self love through spirituality.

So by being asked this omnipresent question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”, I feel like my counterpart does not believe that I am “enough” just now disregarding my monthly paycheck. It mirrors Amma’s perception as we indicate money leading to happiness and do not worry about someone’s self-love or fulfillment as much as about how he or she can afford their living.

Another thing I realized even more after Amma hugged me is that love is ubiquitous. This makes it easier for me to accept that I do not have all the answers I wish to have by now. I am person full of love, loved and loving  and isn’t that what we are striving for by “becoming someone”-  to be appreciated, to be worthy of love and being loved?

So I decided a couple of months ago that if my grandparents would ask me this question again, I would ironically answer “a snake charmer”. However they didn’t seem to get my point and from now on I will tell them: I am already someone and I wish for my future  that every chapter of my book shall be filled with joy, inspiration, creativity and growth. Growth into an even more self loving person who doesn’t care if society can put a stamp on her and place her in a category of professions.


Ich liebte den Palast, der dort thronte, türkise Balkon Arkaden auftischte und dem Taubenpärchen, ein Platz zum Spielen bot. Die Marmorkörper, die da ruhten, sahen einander an wie versteinerte Könige. Sie waren im Herrschen erstarrt und trotzdem blühte Ihre Majestät noch.Was wohl nachts passierte, wenn keine Touristen Füße mehr von der Stadtmauer baumelten und die Dunkelheit ihre Geister beschützte, ob sie dann wohl tanzten? Zwischen den Säulen hindurch fangen spielten oder Damen lachend nach einem Festmahl ihre Seidenkleider die Treppe hinauf hievten? Vielleicht wussten es die Wächter, die sich verschlafen einbildeten, ein Schmunzeln auf dem kalten Stein zu erkennen… Vielleicht.


Wenn ich mich umdrehe, dann errate ich das Geheimnis deines Tattoos, versteckt zwischen schimmernden Haarstähnen.
Wenn ich in den Himmel schaue, erleuchten baumelnde Lichtrohre unsre Blicke.
Der Tisch vor mir ist moosbewachsen und voller Krater kleiner Meteoritensteinschläge. Die letzte Straßenecke hat nicht viel von ihren Körpern versteckt und doch verschwand ihre Haut schnell wieder murmelnd und lachend in der Dunkelheit. Ich rinne mit meinen Fingern über die Rillen der Backsteine, fühle Schatzkartenmuster in Geschichtsbuchhäusern.
Meine Seele ruht neben einer Synagoge, die so bunt scheint wie ihr Orientglas. Saure Zitronenlimonade spritzt die Winkel meines Lächelns wieder wach und Gitarrenseiten stimmen mein schiefes Herz. Ich beobachte ein paar Sternstunden in einer Stadt der Evolution.
Bewahre dir dein Wachen, deinen Blick fürs Glühen und die Funken deiner Stadtgeister.

morning thoughts 24.3.

I am easiliy obsessed with studying the art of being human.
This morning I took my daily subway ride to another day of the placement which would probably leave me miserably walking around Hamburgs beautiful warenhouse quarter during my midbreak.I was focusing on my book instead of nervously scrolling the facebook newsfeed up and down. Well this time somebody gloriously strange appeared in front of my seat. Not only was he reading a nice looking novel from the cheap section as well, but he also had to too log legs to fit into those old wagons. His reddish, curly hair was not quiet awake yet and he seemed to be such a thinker that in the deepness of his thoughts, he would not feel the freezing cold of this wintery morning. That young man only wore a tree green T-shirt and held some tiny jacket for future rain. He was so tall, he seemed way too scandinavian to be german. And of course he certainly did not notice me. So I could no longer focus an the book thief, but imagening where he would have woken up this morning, probably kissing a beautiful scout girl – as they both, not quiet ready, wondered off into daylight.
He might have been the best of average inside, but I still realised the magic of being somebody’s human inspiration, that daily sparkle or the wondering in someones thoughts. If only I would look up more to see whats hidden behind skin, so naturally.


I’m staring at the woman sitting in front of me.
Every single thing about her reminds me of the fact that I am not all put together. My hair looks like I was lost in a rainforest for a week, brushing it with leaves of a liane. My bags leather seems like pulled out off mud and its grass green colour does not fit the one of my scarf. My makeup has wondered off into space and my tiredness exceeds the ambition to look graceful.
That woman, maybe in her late 40s, had a thigh gap, a ring on her finger and fur around her neck. There was that elegant sparkle around her, that aura of nothing could ever be able to ruin her posture. She avoided my eyes but surely had she analysed all my pimples by now. congratulazione. I didn’t.
I’m too busy wondering. Sleeping till the last minute of spare “becoming presentable” time in the morning is overslept, doodling on my fingers, enjoying ice cream way too much. I am some kind of a hippie, unsanded and so pathetic.
And even though I feel the need to justify everything about it: When I stepped out of the subway, jumped down the stations stairs and looked up to the weekends night sky, appreciating the few tiny stars shining through the fog and walking home- I certainly felt more life in my lungs and more fascination in my heart, then her calling a cab.

morning thoughts 12.2.

She was a refuge of reality, hiding in between the pages of her book. From time and fear.
Until she realised that this fog of human beings still were the greatest inspiration that stole her breath this morning.
There was a fine man in his 30s, struggling with day but who had discovered the thoughts of his child were the ones that brought him happiness.
He wore a head like one of those French farmers, was covered in a black coat and his first grey hair. The only shiny thing about him was a scarf of sunshine’s colour and the smile of his little girl, discovering the name of train stations. She had the best time confusing all passengers by calling out any of those like a tiny priest at half past 8am. That kid had one great morning and thanks to her joyous soul,
I realised that I could have that too, if I only chose to let life in.