We cycle from the lake saturated area of Weißensee, Berlin. His friend’s birthday party is tonight. Buschallee to Hansastraße past the Berliner-kindle-schultheiß brewery. I admire the graffiti, searching for something fresh. The asparagus tower positions my location, we cycle fast, as Dan is always on a mission in life. He knows nearly every shortcut and I keep up most of the time. Crossing the Konrad Wolf Straße and into the side streets to Landsberger Allee. Fixies, cruisers, and speed bikes move beside us. I can smell the Pho as we near the Dong Xuan Center, and we turn onto Vulkanstraße into Josef Orlopp Straße.
Dan slows towards a warehouse on our right. We hop off the bikes and walk towards the rusty and broken windows, but I can’t see anyone. I see the path begin with paper bags of candles and I hear familiar voices. They speak English to me. I’m filled with a 50/50 feeling of gratitude as they try and include me and annoyance that I can’t seem to confidently converse with them in German. The warehouse must be three stories high, music playing, and a table filled with salads, veggies, Cevapi a Balkin style Kebab. A small path lets us rotate conversations as more people arrive and move around the space. Everyone holds a classic brown bottle, half liter of beer. I’m introduced to more new faces, holding to the seconds of surface connection, and craving something deeper. I’m out of place here, and I don’t know how to genuinely open myself to them. Inside lights are forming trippy circles around the room simulating a lava lamp ceiling, The stage is set and the room fills as Ihr Wichser starts to play. I admire them, playing on stage and writing punk songs together. I crave community. I crave the love deep friendships provide as we move in all phases of our lives.
I wander through the party, talking to people, meeting new people. Collecting bottles for refund, replacing my next beer. I open a thick metal door into a room away. A collection of young and old, gypsy skirts, suspenders, and worn, found clothing. The room lit from outsides’ street lamp, a candle, a soft red glow covering floor to ceiling. I sit and listen, the accordion playing new melodies. My heart starts to swell and I feel at peace. I feel connected, my place and I start to hum. Humming new rhythms coinciding with their flow. I sing a word climbing the
ladder of my vocal chords, repeating phrases I somehow let out of my soul, connecting, combining, building. I form sentences and I’m singing. I’m in their world. I’m singing loud and without reservation, bouncing my feet, and moving in my seat. They are creating a melody, and I’m sending the words of peaches and love. I’m singing at the top of my lungs with this group of 7. I’m yelling among the notes. My soul embraced, I am full, whole.
As others flow in and out of the circle a man leans to me and says “you are a surprise”. I stay and soak in every ounce of the joy I’ve been craving, building muscle memory of every sensation given to me. I soak in as much as I can. It’s time to go now, I can feel it. So I step away from the circle, open and close the door to their haven. I weave through the bodies dancing, through the conversations, through the heavy metal doors and back outside. I climb onto my blue bike, and hold tight to the turquoise handlebars. Rewinding the last hours in 30 minutes past Joseph Orlopp Straße, graffitied corners, crossing from Lansberger Allee to Konrad Wolf Straße. The Asparagus Tower behind me, Buschallee a head. Turning into the courtyard we share with 100 other people, I feel it in my muscles, deep in my chest, my arms, in my knees, and in my throat. I lock my bike, imprint, and walk inside.