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Why did I go to Berlin?

By Rolando R.
Mexico, Age 15

In nineties when I was living in Querétaro, I saw a movie. It was weir. Dialogues were in different languages. I didn’t recognize them. Trying to follow the flow (I tried to fit in that awkward environment) I pretended to understand everything, but I didn’t. In fact, that movie has been the strangest movie I have seen in my life. But I kept it on my mind. I knew someday I would be back to it.
That movie was called “Wings of Desire”, by Win Wenders, a German filmmaker, and two years after, I was taking a movie class, and I had to watch it again, and make a little essay about it. It was exhausted. It’s a complicated movie. One needs to have many historical references to understand it, I used to think. That’s not true.
What you need to have is stomach, and everything what’s in it: like liver, kidneys, lungs, guts. There isn’t another way to see the movie. Then, I understood why I felt what I felt. Nowadays almost ten years since then, I can see the loneliness of my liver, pouring hopes; I can see the hopeless of my lungs when I try to breath and there’s not air, the air is so infested, that digs in them making holes; I can feel the silence of my kidneys, they are dried, they don’t produce more liquids anymore; I can feel how my guts are walking around in middle of nothing.
I don’t know, but I was lucky in going to Berlin, and I went to the angel, and felt the same loneliness that dragged Bono in the video. The angel is there, alone, looking at the sky, indifferent to me. I could see the wall, Brandenburg’s Gate and its horses, brave horses, like if they were ready to start a race, or a war? Who knows?
That’s why I went to Berlin, in those days where the weather was rainy, and the fog was the wall between me and Berlin.