Dearest Germany: A Love Letter

My first day of school in Germany, my skin still tan from the sun in Georgia.

Dearest Germany,

The first time I met you was July 4, 2018. I was jet-lagged and could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t even realize I met you at that moment; I was too tired. My memories of the first day together were captured through an out-of-focus camera lens at the airport, the drive to the hotel, and then sleeping -- all seen through a blur.

As the days passed, though, I got to know a little bit more about you.

In the numerous hotel rooms I stayed in, I went to see you as I walked through all the different villages. I saw you at summer festivals, concerts, restaurants, the pool, and even my new house. I was shocked that I finally met you and we would be together for two years.

On my first day of school, I got to learn more about you. I walked to the bus stop through a fog-covered field, seeing all the German kids board their bus, standing awkwardly next to all the American kids waiting for our own bus to arrive. I learned a bit about how you speak in my German Introduction class. I got to see how you live life -- watching everyone after school riding their bikes, walking, or playing in the park. And I observed the hushed and reverent Sundays you had, with the jubilant and celebration-filled Fridays and Saturdays that preceded them.

Yet, I still did not understand you.

In the beginning, I thought you were too difficult. I missed Georgia -- and, by extension, America -- so fiercely in those first months when I met you. The shoebox room you had given me didn't compare to my huge room that I had in Georgia, the difficulty you created when making friends contrasted with my ease in Georgia, and my thorough knowledge of Georgia was incomparable to the unknownness of you. I was unable to figure you out, and that scared me.

We grew together, though, and in only a year, you gave me so much. My favorite moments of us from the first year were riding my bike through the field you gave me that surrounded my neighborhood, the powdered mess my hands would be after eating a pastry, the chaotic bus rides back to my house, and the colors you would paint the sky before I went to bed and the grey that you filled the mornings with.

I loved you the most in the summer, though. Those days together were the perfect length, and you boasted some of the most beautiful shades of green I had seen in my life. I would be out with you for hours, enjoying the beauty and the ease you had in the summer. The balmy air, a festiveness from everyone, and the leisurely nature of you all shone best during that season. 

When I left you, I was too distracted to mourn you. It was 2020, and the pandemic had hit us hard. While we struggled with each other during this time, some of my most memorable times with you came from that spring. I left you that summer, my favorite season of you, tainted by my departure, with a mask around my face and a melancholy that I did not understand. After six years without you, I’ve learned the reason why.

At the time, I think I understood at some level I would miss you acutely. When I think about you, which is often, I think of everything you have given me and my brazenness to accept it with no hesitation. I thank you for that, your willingness to give with no expectation of me to return the offer. Returning to you will always be in the back of my mind, and when I do, I hope we will be able to rekindle the magic of those two years.

With Love and Hope,

Grace M.