Growing up in Prenzlauer Berg

There is a little girl who lives downstairs, and the other day, I was just contemplating what it must be like to be her. She’s 4 years old and can speak 3 languages: Spanish, German, and English. She lives in a freakin’ Kollwitzkietz apartment that’s at least 150 sq m with a full backyard with a bbq and grass (honestly, what a luxury in the middle of the city). Her days consist of getting ice cream with her grandma at Rosa Canina, going to the park on her bike with her dad, and strolling the streets with her brother trailing behind her. She’ll probably grow up in that apartment, wear cropped baby tees and baggy jeans, and wreak PG-13-level havoc on the neighborhood on Friday nights.

Honestly, what a childhood! I don’t know what exactly about this is so attractive to me, but I am so into it for her and would love to meet her again in 20 years to see where she ends up.

Am I the only one who just sits and thinks about stuff like this? I find people and the trajectory of their lives so interesting - all the different possibilities of the “Lok-verse.” Will my life be any different because I know her? Will her life be any different because she knows me?

Sometimes I forget that when I meet people who were born and raised in Berlin, that their world is not at all like mine. I’m here in this weird, twisted city as a foreigner. Everything is new to me - the food, the accent, the customs, the ways of being. And for them, it’s completely normal. I realize that I also never went out of my way to be friends with foreigners in Boston. That I never thought twice about them when I met them at a party or pilates class. While that’s totally normal, it makes me realize that it’s only me who is looking at people, at every interaction, as a novel thing. Everything is new and amazing and interesting to me here because it’s novel for me, But for everyone else, this is their life and they’re just growing up in Prenzlauer Berg.