Notes from Berlin
We woke up in Berlin slowly.
The kind of slow that only happens when you feel safe.
Still in bed, stretching, not rushing into the day, just letting the morning arrive. The light was coming in gently, and for a moment there was nowhere else to be.
Yesterday was our first real day at home after all the travelling. The first day we opened our laptops and disappeared into emails, academic responsibilities, work tasks, deadlines.
We were sitting at the same table, but mentally in completely different universes.
Hours passed without noticing the outside world.
At some point — maybe six or seven hours later — we stopped. We made dinner.
A small glass of wine. Easy conversation.
She did the dishes while I searched for a movie, something to close the day softly.
I found this Spanish movie, Rainbow. A bit strange, very visual, different.
We cuddled in bed, wrapped in blankets, watching the Berlin sky from the window, feeling the cold only from a distance.
Tomorrow is Christmas.
We made last-minute plans — a community event that started years ago as illegal raves in the woods. Now it’s their anniversary, hosted in a very Berlin kind of space.
Sixteen hours of music. Fire. Vegan food.
We’re meeting friends there.
I’m excited to wear my new pants, bought in London. Not cheap — especially for something mostly worn at raves — but this summer I have four festivals planned, so they’ll live a good life.
We bought the tickets.
Then we went to bed.
Cuddling. Tired. Grateful. Warm.
The sun came through the windows this morning, and we tried to stretch the waking moment as long as possible.
We felt rested. Calm. Happy in each other’s presence.
It was one of those wake-ups that feels intimate without trying. Honest. Unrushed.
When we started talking about the day, we both wanted coffee.
And because the sun was out, I had this romantic idea of drinking coffee outside, fully dressed, writing on my tablet. Sun and coffee always trigger something in me — inspiration, movement, clarity.
I woke up inspired.
But I also noticed something else.
That when I don’t practice writing regularly, it stays a bit on the surface. And I don’t want that. I want to go deeper.
So I decided I will write a lot these days — when I’m not at a rave, in a sauna, or working on my thesis.
We got dressed quickly. I grabbed my iPad, she grabbed a book, and we went out looking for a café.
Honestly, I don’t know which country we were mentally in.
The moment we stepped outside, our faces froze.
Coffee outside?
In Berlin?
It will probably snow tonight.
We walked to a café with nice pastries. Closed.
Another one. Closed.
Everything was closed.
Merry Christmas. Sync your calendars.
So we went back home, made coffee, had breakfast in the kitchen with sunlight on our faces.
This place makes me feel at home.
I’ve lived many versions of myself here.
Last year I was here for New Year’s, partying for days, mostly in KitKat.
Then there was the time I was supposed to move here — actually, that’s the France story, I still need to write it.
The last time I was here before now was at the beginning of my internship, mid-July. We arrived from Rome together. I remember how nervous I was about that new chapter.
Coming from Rome, Berlin felt fresh and breezy. It rained often.
I remember sitting in the kitchen, watching the rain, listening to philosophy lectures — at the time I was taking a course from Yale.
I was also trying to relax as much as possible before taking the train to Copenhagen for the first part of my internship.
My blog was barely a month old then.
I was so excited about myself, my tablet, my stories.
I was here too when the decision to move to France was still alive.
That mix of thrill and fear — the excitement of a new country, paired with the weight of starting again.
Now I’m here again.
For Christmas.
Until mid-January.
This time it comes with raves, yes — but also with closing a big chapter: my master’s degree.
My thesis draft is due on the 7th of January.
I’m not ready to close this chapter — not just the thesis, but the whole degree.
It was my favourite period of studying.
But I know I have to let it go, and be grateful that it happened.
And trust what comes next.
Some days ago, I was browsing projects, events, courses — one of those moments where curiosity takes over — and I found a course that looked perfect.
When I tried to apply, I realised I already had it.
With humility, but also honesty, I can say I’m overqualified for many things now.
I’ve done so many extracurricular courses, workshops, programs, that I’m starting to forget about them.
There was a moment I almost did another master’s — a triple degree between Paris, Bologna and Berlin. That’s also part of the France story.
I was supposed to study in Berlin for a year.
In the end, I didn’t do it. Another crazy plan among many.
But this spring, in early March, I’ll still do a module at the Berlin Polytechnic, related to my thesis, focused on gender and diversity in STEM fields.
So I didn’t follow that dream exactly.
But I still get a piece of it.
Each city feels different depending on what you do in it.
I’ve always chased being a local, not a visitor.
I like waking up with somewhere to go, something to do — not just sightseeing.
Berlin feels different when you study here.
Right now, it feels like a place where I catch my breath — before and after intense periods.
Where I studied the most for exams.
And where I disappear into the nights through psytrance music.
I love festivals.
And Berlin is the only place where it feels like a festival can happen at any time. Very few places can create that kind of parallel world.
Well — it’s Berlin.
The playground for adults.
Soon I’ll be here again — this time as a master’s graduate, specialised in industrial design for neurodivergent people.
Who would have thought?
When I started this degree, I thought I’d design a bike.
How did I end up here?
No idea.
But I’m exactly where I should be.
In London, we met a girl at an event on a Friday night. Her name was Autumn.
The music was loud, so we didn’t talk much, but we met the next day in Camden.
We had drinks, and somehow ended up talking about neurodiversity for hours.
The kind of conversation that makes you feel seen, understood, excited all at once.
I used to be proud to say I studied at Politecnico.
Now, when I say my thesis is about neurodiversity, I feel like I might implode.
It’s still a taboo subject.
But it’s opening. Slowly.
Talking to Autumn about my supervisors, my work, my research, I suddenly heard myself from the outside.
And I realised how lucky I am.
After drinks, we ate Pakistani food — so spicy I was literally crying.
The diversity of food in Camden is amazing, almost overwhelming in the best way.
Then we took a red bus, twenty minutes to Oxford Street, then Soho.
A lesbian bar.
We danced like teenagers, surrounded by girls who love girls, until our legs gave up.
Only people from minorities truly understand how important spaces like that are.
A world just for us.
“I Kissed a Girl” played multiple times.
And every time, we screamed the lyrics like it was a collective release — loud, shameless, joyful.
Now, after so much movement in such a short time, our internal clocks are a bit off.
Christmas Day in Berlin. Cafés closed. Cold outside.
So we’re heading to the gym and sauna.
Then later, the Christmas rave — until tomorrow afternoon.
And before that, just this.
A Christmas wish.
I wish everyone the courage to be different —
because it takes work, and it takes commitment to yourself.
I wish everyone kindness —
and people in their lives who offer support, patience, and real understanding.
And I wish you a Christmas that feels like yours.
Dance.
In your pyjamas.
In your bathroom.
In your kitchen.
Just dance.
Don’t let that die in you.
Life is fragile, intense, beautiful —
and it deserves to be lived.
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