Author: Emilia
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Goodbye to Playfulness
I have been in Berlin for over a month now. Our first module in school, focused on playfulness, has ended, and last week was our first “Foundation Week,” in which we have a little more spaciousness in our schedule and take the time to integrate the things we’ve learned in the previous module. This seems… Read more
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Saturday Night Womb
It’s my first Saturday evening in Berlin out from under the cloud of jet lag. I’ve found a gorgeous little spot called Rhinoceros, a small, dark, candle-lit cocktail bar spinning jazz on vinyl. It’s one of a handful of English-forward places I’ve found—anywhere that calls itself a cocktail bar is liable to be, I think—and… Read more
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A Failure to Communicate
The irony is not lost on me, going from my job as “The Communicator” to a place where I, mostly, cannot communicate. I’ve been here a week and a day. In the last weeks before my departure, I spent my churning anxiety steeling myself against the gnawing loneliness of these ten days, between landing and… Read more
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Some Observations
This city—which I barely know, and much of which I have not seen—feels like no other city I know. It feels spacious. The streets are wide, with twice as much sidewalk as driving space. With space for a car or two to drive, parked cars to line the road, bikes to bike and bikes to… Read more
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Deja Vu and All That
One of the beautiful mysteries of this journey that I’m on is that it echoes one that has shaped my life profoundly: my mom’s own journey to Germany for her masters degree (in German) as a 22 year old in 1968. My mama, Karen Seay, has agreed to share occasional reflections here, as my adventures… Read more
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On Process
I am a fast typist with atrocious handwriting. I’ve always had a practice of sporadically—no pressure—keeping a journal, which has diminished in frequency steadily since my adolescence. I also, until I went full time and therefore full GCal, used to keep a paper planner. I also, when I was directing for my bread and butter,… Read more
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Where I Am and How I Got Here
Guten Morgen! I am here! In Berlin! In . . . a flat. My huge windows are flung wide, and the church bells are ringing again, clamoring around the courtyard my flat faces. Between the peals, I can hear other Sunday morning sounds—a man unlocking his bike, a gabbling child, an unseen neighbor puttering around… Read more