24 Hours in Germany – Fragments

So familiar. So calming, so soothing, so intuitive. Like a hug.

And yet, in these streets, I keep spotting an old version of myself. Walking to the bakery. Cycling along the Isar. I loved that life. But that’s not who I am anymore. There’s no going back to it. Now I move through my hometown as someone else. A guest. A tourist.

I duck into every souvenir shop, take photos of the Frauenkirche with a slightly goofy grin on my face – and even the ugliest corners have never looked this good. A tourist in the city where I spent ten years. Streets I once knew by heart. They look different now. Or maybe I’m the one looking differently.

I’ve barely landed, and there’s already an email with the check-in for my flight back home.

What even is home?

The café I’d planned to go to was still closed, it was raining, and I didn’t feel like waiting. So where did I end up? At the French café across the street. Which is how I found myself at 24h München, surrounded by croissants and brioche, Radio Nova playing in the background – the same station we listen to at home. Except here, they also had pretzels shaped like mice. Brezn Souris. I think that’s basically what I am now. A Brezn Souris. Bavarian and French, all at once.

And honestly – I think I like that. I couldn’t even tell you anymore which one I am more. I’m both, equally. Doesn’t matter that I lived in Germany so much longer than I’ve lived in France so far. Because in the end, I think it’s about a feeling. Home is a feeling. Maybe, before anything else, a feeling toward yourself. If you feel at home with yourself, in yourself – then maybe you can be at home anywhere.

At the same time, I’m noticing: in this short stretch of time, France has quietly become home too. There’s something oddly peaceful about that.

Maybe I just have two homes now. One that’s rooted deep inside me. One I actively chose.

Sitting in this French café in the middle of Munich, in the rain, I feel this deep wave of gratitude. For the first time, I don’t feel split – between the two countries, the two cities, the two worlds. Instead, I feel whole. Full, almost. And at the same time a little dizzy – from all the memories, the flashbacks, and the strange thought that in just a few hours I’ll be back in 27-degree Provence.

Dizzy and pretty damn content. And grateful – for the two worlds I get to call home.