International Ambassador for Peace

Critique is not always appreciated. But a necessitiy to overcome the stigma and the prejudice of oneselfs own imagination.

Dear Reader, I’ve never been a person who’s holding back. Growing up in the south-west of Germany, I realized there’s more to this world, than a simple social pattern, a society only opening up to one another, once or twice a year. When alcohol is involved and infamous occasions such as the Schützenfest are the main attraction at my family vacation.

Back in BC

I only remember myself as a rebel, as someone who talks, thinks and reflects for himself, probably indecently but at least for my own sake. But most importantly, as another human being and someone who’s able to communicate. Being a millennial unicorn with a few other unicorns by my side in a society and speaking various languages fluent, I always feel a kind of responsibility to educate the opposition and be a kind of godfather of party culture to others, especially in the region of my hometown.

I speak with others, mingle in the crowd and discuss, if I don’t agree to the expense of a firework or a racist comment on a party. We all have the right to exist and feel or think differently, without being attacked verbally or physical. In the South-West, with a 15% vote for a right wing party, this isn’t socially accepted.

The thin line…

As sort of fundamental critic to a social pattern, an oppositional voice is hard to ignore, and even worse, pointing out the inconvenient truth. A simple firework costs more than a new car. I may call it social blind spots, people simply ignoring others, who might need some acceptance for changing regions in the own country, or for those who simply think outside of the box.

The moment I visit my second family, I find myself as part of something bigger. Or in other words, simply loved for who I am. Seeing the motherhood struggles, the journey of growing up and fall in love with someone or something, I reflect on them as well and I’m part of a real family. For the first time. It’s not my genetic one, it’s my gifted ones.

Constanze chose me, when I was sixteen and supported my entire journey of growing up and becoming the man, I am now. She’s also the person, who stands out on a party, in a bar or in her job. A strong independent and critical woman, complex but emotional and intelligent, she’s someone who enjoys life and the occasion as it comes. Shaping the concept of family and love for me, she’s responsible that I finally found, what I love the most: writing. And I probably owe her even more lines for that in the future. 

Opinions, Opinions but no consent

When it comes to parties, genes are not necessarily responsible for opinions, memories are and as far as mine of last night goes, we’ve been ambassadors of peace and freedom. This was basically my first party in ages and I was highly medicated in many ways, since I got a flue the minutes I arrived at Biberach. Honestly, it has become a tradition, may it caused by the city air or the feeling of acceptance and the release of tension.

None the wiser about the society there, I simply enjoyed myself and the well curated guest list, containing a talented Brazilian blues Chansonnière, a punk band, dating app strangers and the peculiar hosts. The other locals are not worth to mention further, but the location is:

A bohemian style midcentury-meets-luxurious-punk apartment of two male best agers, set the middle of a medieval city–and positively sure medieval shaped minds–with a roof top terrace facing the whole town and a gay flag in every corner. Or was I the only one, who saw that  international sign of love?

The Morning After

And as the alcohol were flowing in rivers, the records got a bit dizzy and very cinderella like, we left the party just around midnight. Glad that I didn’t lost my new shoes, we walked. I still can’t remember, a single detail of our walz of … home, but Constanze did. Might have been the shade around the eyes, but I must have behaved like a British hooligan on the way home and acted out on cars, showing off both middle fingers, to the society in which I grew up.

I wasn’t the only one, who had some blindspots on his lenses last night. Our neighbor Toby was making the crab steps and Constanze probably did some squats, which might explain the muscle pain the morning after and a needed power nap in her medicine class this particular Saturday morning. 

The last time, I’ve been that drunk, I was fourteen years old and lived in Ravensburg. But I never had such a great time, ever before. Even with the patriarchal caused fascisms in some details. I have been with the many hers that night.


Discover more from B'SPOQUE magazine

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.