Before I left, I told one of my host mom’s friends that I was going to Berlin and he said, “You know that the Wall’s not there anymore.” “Yeah…” I said. “Yeah, I am aware that the Berlin Wall is not there anymore.” “There’s a piece of the Wall,” he said, “but if you’re looking for the whole wall, it’s not there.”
I have to say, though, it’s kind of crazy to me that I can be standing right THERE, where really not that long ago, just before I was born, there was this huge divide. Berlin history is the best because it’s so relevant to all my history interests, that is dictatorships and WWII and Communism. Not that I’m all whoo-pro-democracy-spread-it-to-the-world, but the story of the fall of the Wall is a good one, and sometimes, lame as this is, it almost makes me cry, all the confusion and the crowds and the hugging. Another thing that’s kind of crazy to me is how it takes years and years, lifetimes, to build up all these structures and write these books and make this art and then someone drops a bomb or starts a bonfire and suddenly all that’s gone, just like that.