UNWRITTEN: Streets of Muri

and never again will one of those days return. As I slept on an air mattress, surrounded by cardboard boxes full of clothes, spread out around me. Because that was what I had left. What life gave me and what it wanted to give. Large windows without curtains. Like eyes staring into my frightened soul.

Never 

I did not thank the city. The place. Where I lived. Where I could bow my head. Where I was scared of the monsters, the future, the darkness, the loneliness, and myself. Hid from everything that scared me on the outside. Called it home. Getting back there. Pretending to belong there, and that it belongs to me. Opening the door with the words oh, how beautiful… it is to be at home. To look forward to this place. Fill a huge tub and keep quiet and let the foam rustle and the water slowly cool down. Waiting for what might happen. Maybe, nothing will happen. Just the silence. That daily silence. Light a candle and listening to it burn. Filled with hope.  

Never 

and never again will one of those days return. As I slept on an air mattress, surrounded by cardboard boxes full of clothes, spread out around me. Because that was what I had left. What life gave me and what it wanted to give. Large windows without curtains. Like eyes staring into my frightened soul. An empty unwritten and unfinished book. A book without a story or an end. Without love and happy endings. Such a story from which you can be defeated while watching a film and you go to bed with mixed feelings. If you can fall asleep at all. 

It’s never been me before. Like these days. I’ve never been so brave looking in the mirror and looking into my eyes for so long while drawing the eyeliner ala Amy Winehouse. I learned German. I’ve improved so much in the last two years and I’m proud of myself. I will never be Swiss and I will never speak this language so perfectly as I wish in the corner of my heart. I know. But this little success makes me happy. Incredibly happy. When I can order coffee without hesitation. Okay then. Wine. Yes, wine. When I’m not afraid to pick up the phone like it was two years ago, for example. When I’m not just a tourist anymore. And to Mia, I like to say in swiss german Ich chome grad. Which means I’ll be right here. And Mia looks happy and contented. And she believes my every word. Out of respect for the place and the city, I taught her a few tricks. You can go there and not there. She knows what it’s all about. And you certainly do too. She walks in a distinguished way to her park and stays close to her trash can.  Someone once said that I cut myself off from the world. Did I not want that? Didn’t I want to be far from everything that ruined my character? All that fancy, shiny, fake, that can be bought on any site you open? Didn’t I want to be close to the forest and the fields and farms, pretending to do all this for my Mia? Didn’t I want that peace? Especially peace. And the silence? A place where you get drunk for fun and disbelievingly pay CHF 18 and ask the waitress if she happened to be mistaken. That you still had this and that… I didn’t go there for cheap wine, but it was kind of nice there.  A place where people are still normal, where they will let you out of the parking lot for free, even though you have lost your ticket. Where a pharmacist is chatting with you at a time when others would collapse. A place where loneliness rains. A place where vendors leave flowers outside all weekend. I think that they do it because of their laziness. But actually they do it out of trust. A place where it rains quietly and the grasses color turns into something different. A place where you don’t have to worry about meeting someone but worry about not meeting anyone. Just a fox. That’s why I have Mia permanently on a leash and every ten meters I look for a point of reference where I could hide or climb up to. I’m talking about the forest and the wild animals. A place where postmen talk to their acquaintances about life and older ladies at the post office, who didn’t get taught how to use a photocopier during their youth. Surprisingly.

I like to say that no worries, one would steal here because we are in Muri. And I was proud of it. And sometimes it happened to me that I left the car unlocked or the window completely open. Even my flat unlocked. And nothing happened. Or I have left the mail in my mailbox over Christmas for two weeks. Just like that. At the mercy of fate. And nothing happened. 

Underestimated place. Ridiculously. How sorry I was for the city I called home when someone insulted it, and how much I fought for it and everyone there. And I have felt like the city is mine. I have opened the door of the apartment, which was a refuge, a rescue, literally a roof over my head. What a cliché. If only you knew. If you saw it. If you could have felt it. 

What I wanted was a home. And it was a place like this. And a poet would write a hundred verses and I…  with sadness in my soul, I go further. One house away. Just one house or a village or two. Into a different life. Towards a different fate. But I’m still close.  

Thank you, Muri. You were good to me.

Ešte nikdy 

som sa nepoďakovala mestu. Miestu. Kde som žila. Kde som mohla skloniť hlavu. Báť sa príšer, budúcnosti, tmy, samoty, seba. Ukryť sa pred tým všetkým čo striehne vonku. Volať ho domov. Vracať sa tam. Tváriť sa, že tam patrím, že mi patrí. Otvárať dvere so slovami aké krásne… je byť doma. Tešiť sa tam. Napustiť si obrovskú vaňu a mlčať a nechať šumieť penu a pomaly chladnúť vodu a čakať, čo sa stane. Nestane sa nič. Len to ticho. To každodenné ticho. Zapáliť si sviečku a počúvať ako horí. Nádej v nás.  

Ešte nikdy 

a nikdy viac sa nevráti jediný z tých dní. Keď som spala na nafukovacom matraci, okolo mňa rozložené kartónové krabice s oblečením. Pretože to bolo to, čo mi ostalo. Čo mi život dal a čo chcel dať. Veľké okná bez závesov. Ako oči do mojej vystrašenej duše. Prázdna nepopísaná a nedopísaná kniha. Príbeh bez deja a bez konca. Bez lásky a bez šťastného konca. Taký ten príbeh, z ktorého vás ide pri pozeraní filmu poraziť a idete spať so zmiešanými pocitmi. Ak vôbec zaspíte. 

Ešte nikdy som to nebola ja. Ako tieto dni. Ešte nikdy som nebola taká odvážna pozrieť sa do zrkadla a hľadieť si pritom tak dlho do očí a kresliť pritom linku ala Amy Winehouse. Naučila som sa nemčinu. Za posledné dva roky som sa tak zdokonalila a som na seba pyšná. Nikdy zo mňa nebude švajčiarka a nikdy nebudem ovládať jazyk tak dokonalo ako si v kútiku srdca prajem. Viem. Ale robí mi to radosť. Nesmiernu. Keď si môžem bez váhania objednať kávu. Tak dobre. Víno. Áno víno. Keď nemám strach dvihnúť telefón ako to bolo pred dvomi rokmi napríklad. Keď už nie som len tá turistka. A na Miu rada hovorím švicer dutš Ich chome grad. Čo znamená, prídem hneď. A Mia sa tvári šťastne a spokojne. A verí každému môjmu slovu. Z úcty k miestu a mestu som ju naučila zopár trikov. Tam môžeš a tam nie. Ona vie o čo ide. A vy určite tiež. Distingvovane odkráčala do jej parku a k jej odpadkovému košu.  Raz niekto povedal, že som sa odrezala od sveta. A nechcela som to? Nechcela som byť ďaleko od všetkého, čo pokazilo môj charakter? Všetkého toho luxusného, fancy, ligotavého, toho fejk šťastia, ktoré sa dá kúpiť na ktorýchkoľvek stránkach, ktoré otvoríte? Nechcela som byť blízko lesa a polí a fariem a tváriť sa pritom, že to všetko robím pre moju Miu? Nechcela som pokoj? Hlavne pokoj. A to ticho? Miesto, kde sa opijete za vtipných a neveriacich 18,- CHF a spýtate sa čašníčky, či sa náhodou nepomýlila. Pretože ja som mala preds to a to a kadečo… Niežeby som som tam chodila kvôli lacnému vínu, ale bolo tam tak nejak fajn.  Miesto, kde sú ešte ľudia normálni, kde vás pustia z parkingu zadarmo napriek tomu, že ste stratili lístok, kde s vami posranduje lekárnik v momente, v ktorom by sa iní zrútili. Miesto, kde prší samota. Miesto kde predavači nechajú celý víkend vonku kvety. Ja si myslím, že z lenivosti. Oni to robia z dôvery. Miesto, kde tráva sa tak inak zelená. Miesto, kde sa nemusíte báť, že stretnete niekoho, ale báť sa, že nestretnete nikoho. Len líšku. Preto mám Miu permanentne na vodítku a každých desať metrov hľadám záchytný bod, kde by som sa ukryla, prípadne vyliezla. Hovorím o lese a diviakoch. Miesto, kde sa na pošte poštári vykecávajú so svojimi známymi o tom ako ide život a staré babky, ktoré nikto nenaučil za ich mladosti použivať kopírku.

Rada som vravievala kto by tu kradol, veď sme v Muri. A bola som na to pyšná. A sem tam sa mi stalo, že som nechala otvorené auto, alebo kompletne stiahnuté okienko. Alebo odomknutý byt. A stalo sa nič. Alebo nechala poštu v schránke cez Vianoce dva dlhé týždne. Len tak. Napospas osudu. A stalo sa nič.  

Miesto podceňované. Zosmiešňované. Ako veľmi mi bolo ľúto toho mesta, ktoré som volala domov, keď ho niekto urážal a ako veľmi som sa zaňho bila. Všetci. Takmer všetci… A ja som si myslela svoje. Otvárala dvere bytu, ktoré mi bolo útočiskom, záchranou, doslova strechou nad hlavou. Aké cliché. A vravela si. Keby ste vedeli. Keby ste videli.  Čo som si priala, bol domov. Bolo miesto, ako je toto. A básnik by napísal stovku veršov a ja…  so smútkom v duši odchádzam o dom ďalej. Len o dom ďalej. Len o jeden dom. O dedinu. O dve. O iný život. O iný osud. Ale som stále blízko.  

Ďakujem Muri. Bolo si ku mne dobré.