As I face the sun I cast no shadow

This is the story of the past three and a half months of my life. They were neither epic nor relevant in bigger sense. But they were definitely good for me. I learned. A lot. About work-life. About my life. About me. I am going to tell this story with all the honesty I can muster and answer for. I have roughly five hours of train-riding ahead of me which should in all likelihood suffice for me to tell this story and do it justice. So consider yourselves my priest and this narration my confessional and my confession.

But let me start in the middle. Specifically where I left off last time I was here. That was right in the coat room line in Magnet where I had just met who would later become The Proposer. Well, in that moment he wasn’t yet. We chatted for a bit in the queue, and when it became too crowded I abandoned my friends and just sat down in a niche in the wall with the future Proposer. A few minutes later; B, who had trouble staying awake and thus staying upright, joined us after having almost mistaken another woman’s bottom for his girlfriend’s. Not willing to risk a similar mishap happening again, J sent B to sit with us, where he, and all the women’s bottom around him, would be safe. When my fabulous friend came back with all of our coats, the future Proposer had bought me a beer, and well-behaved as I am I felt the obligation to reciprocate. Thus my friends went home while I stayed in the club. After some more animated chatting and some compliments by The Proposer, we grabbed another beer, when he received a text message. As we had been talking about his ex-girlfriends quite a bit (who, according to him, generally mourned the end of their relationships more than he did), I asked – actually without any poorly hidden inquisitiveness – whether this was one of his exes texting him. His reply: “No, actually, this is from my girlfriend.” I assume I must have looked something like this:



From the way he behaved and talked I had, in rather ingenious fashion, deduced that he was single. I wasn’t terribly disappointed, just a tiny bit, and also hugely irritated that I had just experienced one more instance of proof that my gut, or rather my people-reading skill, was not to be trusted (as if I needed a reminder…). Anyway, I was curious where he was going with our encounter – he was going to the proposing place –, so I stuck around. He suggested introducing me to his girlfriend – in retrospect this is where I should have become suspicious – and I played along. Again, I wanted to see where he was going with the whole thing and didn’t want to let him get off easy (pun definitely intended). However, I had to visit the bathroom first and when I came back he wasn’t where he said he would be. So what else would I do (for example: GO HOME) except go looking for him and his girlfriend. And I found them. Where he was a nice- and fun-looking relatable guy, his girlfriend was a big, square, hillbilly girl who looked like she had managed to catch the train to the big city for the very first time. I was, again, dumbfounded. This I had not expected. And again, this would prove to be quite logical during the course of the night.

The Proposer’s girlfriend did not look particularly pleased (which I don’t blame her for) when I arrived and, broadly grinning, introduced myself. The Proposer seemed completely unfazed. I stayed with them for some time and tried to make some polite conversation, but eventually gave up. After a while The Proposer nonchalantly danced away with the help of a friend and left me with his still rather reluctant girlfriend. This was awkward. After a short while she left, too. I was by myself. Trying hard to look like I wasn’t alone I scanned my surroundings and casually chatted up the guy next to me, who was also alone, who was wearing a ridiculous hat (though I don’t mean to imply any causal link here), and who looked approachable enough in that moment. We exchanged maybe two sentences and that was that. At that point I realized that I was standing in a Berlin club at I guess five, five-thirty in the morning all by myself. On New Year’s. Suddenly it seemed as if I could see myself in a mirror, or as if I was standing next to myself, quietly watching and judging myself. It was then that I realized I needed to go home. On my way to the coat room I veer off into the smokers’ lounge to close the night off with a cigarette among strangers. And lo and behold, who was sitting there at the smokers’ bar? The Proposer, his friend and his girlfriend. I casually strolled over (have you ever noticed how whenever you attempt to be sincerely casual in reality it never looks more forced?) and tried to converse politely one last time. That’s when it got weird. Because The Proposer started to compliment me right in front of his girlfriend. And he also got a little handsy. Also right to his girlfriend’s hillbilly face. I was confused. Shortly thereafter they decided to go, which was fine by me. Trying to save face for all of our sakes I asked the hillbilly girlfriend if it was okay to stay in touch with The Proposer, seeing as I was new in town and had yet to make new friends. The girlfriend didn’t seem to mind. Alas, The Proposer had something else in mind entirely. Right then he shut me down: No, he didn’t want to stay in contact; no, he didn’t want to exchange numbers. He thought I was cool and he found me sexy (again, his girlfriend was right there), but no, he didn’t want me as a friend. He’d rather have me as a part and party of their relationship.




He was kind enough to elaborate: He was indeed looking for a third party, uncompromisingly female, to join himself and his hillbilly girlfriend in the boudoir. Again, she was right there. And again, she didn’t look too happy. I found this insulting to her, to me (come on, I am not her kind of gal), to all sorts of people, things, and senses of propriety. And this I told him in no uncertain terms. He effusively tried to explain, which I stopped then and there. He said he would go now. I said that was a great idea. They left. I stayed, a little perplexed. When I turned around towards the bar, my eyes took notice of the guy sitting next to me: the guy with the ridiculous hat from before. As we already had, in my mind, become great friends from our briefest of exchanges in the other room, I felt no hesitation to talk to him some more. It turned out to be more fun than anticipated. After a brief while I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I turned around I almost couldn’t believe it: The Proposer had come back to do some more proposing. I was fed up. And told him so in no uncertain terms. With a firm voice. And a stern look. Eventually, he gave up and I returned my attention to The Hat. And the night began.