Yesterday, I set off to run across the city. I started at my house and would run a little over 6 miles (10k) to visit my friend and see his new flat. For him, this is a big accomplishment as he’s been unwavering in his apartment search and desperate to make a space his home in Berlin. Running would be faster than public transport, I needed to exercise and the weather was optimal. The perfect storm!
Right before I left the house, Peter texted me and wished me a happy “friendsversary” which we had noted in the calendar. Exactly a year ago we met and we’ve been friends ever since. Our friendship story is a bit complicated for me to work through at times because while I appreciate his friendship and feel grateful for our paths crossing, this also caused a lot of pain and stress to another relationship that was dear to me. I won’t go too far into that for now but it’s not far from my mind and creates a confusing cocktail of emotions surrounding the topic.
And so, leads to the story of Peter. A guy who went from a stranger I never thought I’d see again to a person who I developed a brother-like relationship with over the course of a year. One morning we were riding the ubahn on the way to breakfast and he said “I knew early on this friendship would be important.” I’ve thought about that statement a lot because I’m usually the one making comments like that, not the other way around. For many of the months, Peter was dragging me along, forcing me to get out of the house and do things—especially when I didn’t want to but rather needed to. We’ve gone to concerts, exhibitions, hockey games, handball tournaments, movies, workout classes, and restaurants (including one fateful night at a Uzbekistan spot) all over Berlin. We’ve gone for runs, bike rides, walks with Russ and rode every mode of BVG transport together. We’ve gone the wrong direction on the ubahn on a warm spring day while ice cream melted in my lap and laughed until we had tears in our eyes about our inability to navigate a city and public transport system we know well.
One night recently we went to an open-air party but left rather early. We stopped for a döner and it started to rain so we took cover underneath the awning of a nearby building. As we were eating our vegetarian döner, the rain got worse and was accompanied by thunder and lightning. We had to huddle close to not get soaked. I looked at him and he was laughing and spilling his kebab onto the sidewalk. For some reason in this exact moment I felt immensely grateful for Peter. Despite bickering like siblings or annoying each other often, he’s kept my head above water in some critical times. He’s come to my house and sat with me as I cried my eyes out or talked to me for 2 hours on the phone during the holidays because neither of us feel comfortable being home or with family for the most part. I told him as we stood there that this would be something I’d remember in 20 years. Living in one of the coolest cities in the world, standing with my Hungarian friend as the rain poured and we enjoyed our food.
I’ve said this before here but I’ve found comfort in our lostness and similar position as it pertains to being expats. Most everything we do is for the first time and navigating life with a language barrier is a unique and unifying experience. Both of us have had to build a small community and network from scratch and we’ve come to rely on each other as a source of support. I know that if I needed something, Peter would be there. I hope he knows that in return, I would do the same without hesitation.
I wrote about this some time ago but in February, but I went to Budapest with him to celebrate his birthday. I met his parents, his close friends and saw his home. This unlocked another piece of him, one he still, or really anyone I’ve met in Berlin hasn’t unlocked about me. I got to see his other life—the place he flees to when he’s in search of comfort or grounding. I’m always appreciative of understanding my friends on a deeper level and that experience allowed me to see Peter in his element. He isn’t the most expressive person with his emotions but when he’s been vulnerable with me, I’ve listened with 100% focus. We had a serious conversation on the tram one night in Budapest and as we serpentined past the lit up Parliament building, I told him things I hadn’t really said out loud before. He listened and I could see him processing the information and in true Peter fashion, he replied simply and directly to tell me “it’s human and we all make mistakes.”
I’ll end with this memory and I could cite many… but this one serves great importance in my mind. On a cold, gray Berlin afternoon, we went to the DHL shop to make a return. As we were standing in line I was thinking of the ways in which this friendship has been a constant when I really struggled to be alone or navigate this chapter of life. I told Peter that he should be proud of himself for the way he’s showed up for me and for Russ because those are the moments that carry weight in life. When I was telling him this (and he’ll hate me for mentioning it) he walked out of the store to collect himself and again, and revealed emotions that I’ve rarely seen from him.
When I look back on my first year in Berlin, I couldn’t remember it without Peter at the center of the storm. As I turned the corner to his new street, he buzzed me into the building and I climbed five flights of steps to his new attic apartment. We sat on the floor and talked and imagined the ways he’ll decorate his place. A new, exciting chapter for my friend and I couldn’t be happier for him.
köszönöm, peter.
