There’s something quiet and grounding about sitting here. Here, I don’t have to be anyone in particular. I can just be. This place gives me space to breathe, to think, or not think. And sometimes, that’s exactly what I need to feel safe.
When I sit on my balcony in the early evening, I hear the birds singing. What a beautiful contrast: I see the concrete houses on my street and hear the birds singing at the same time.
The drawing course. Every Tuesday in a group. At some point, I realized that the class had become important to me. That I had found something beyond writing with which I could express myself creatively. A blank slate lies before me again. And here, I feel ...
The small café is a quiet spot in the middle of the city. The regulars know each other by sight and take their time, while the passing crowd blends in with the atmosphere. The coffee is good and the service impeccable. I sit there—preferably with a good ...
During the dark days of my illness, I went for a walk every day. And I soon noticed that my path repeatedly led me to the Museum of East Asian Art. The large windows let in plenty of light, even in winter, and it was always quiet there. I felt connected ...
On good days, my study transforms into my hobby room. Then I’m not sitting at my desk doing everyday tasks. Instead, I immerse myself in projects I’ve chosen for myself. The room becomes a cabinet of curiosities, filled with all the tools ...
The moment I first rehearsed here, I knew this would be „my“ place. That I had found a space here to develop my ideas. In winter, it smells of coal-fired heaters; in summer, I hear the rustling of the trees. Or the jazz music from the cafe ...
