Nahno McLein

The day starts late, bright sunlight passing through the few clouds that floated over good old England. For five days I have been working non-stop, no wonder I slept until 3pm in the afternoon. Fortunately, I don’t have other plans this Saturday.

I slip out from under my warm blanket, feeling a slight chill on my bare legs. Luckily, a soothing stream of heat illuminated my body through the window. Outside I watch Mrs. Clarson coming out of the house, getting into her husband’s red Cadillac, and driving it into the garage. Weird, I think.

Invaders of Mind
Can’t keep mine shut.
Snakes visit nightly - but,
though far behind,
intrude, unkind,
and perforate my head.
Can one escape this thread?
Make noxious heartstrings end?

Anguish, old,
it will not cease…
Comes knocking endlessly.
But, behold,
afield is peace:
Sown seeds there thrive for me!

The sun bathes your skin in bright light. You hear the ducks quacking while you walk over the bridge that surpasses the slow stream of water. The green of the bushes and trees along the winding path have a calming impact on the mood that just starts to brighten up. Today’s work is finished, you know there is an afternoon of rest ahead of you and you eagerly look forward to it.

After a turn around the corner, following the way of the water for a few steps, enabling your eyes to catch more of the beauty that derives from Mother Nature’s child, you happen to slide your hand down to your pocket. There is no real reason to do so but, nevertheless, an ownerless force drives your hand magically. It takes four or even five seconds until you recognize, your head being occupied watching the natural movement of the ducks, then, it strikes you! There is something wrong. Your pocket is empty. You were looking for your keys, because your home is close, but they are gone.

The Lion King -- The Circle of Life (Disney), Age 8

At the age of eight so many things seemed a lot easier than today. Whenever you see one of these deeply in your mind engraved Disney films, your memory carries you back to the times when you believed that Peter Pan can really fly and Simba watches over you.

The pure fascination of the wide field with antelopes jumping across the dry grass, dancing to the voices of African singers and the lyrics of Elton John. The meaning of “the circle of life” is irrelevant, only the rhythmic pattern and the amazing pictures matter. Now years later, the meaning of the song is obvious, but visiting the musical and letting the play take you back in time, again it all becomes irrelevant, the past years seemingly wiped out. The joy is what counts; your emotions are caught in the moment of childish happiness.

The computer, with its copious gadgets, is holy, my shrine, because it incorporates my soul. I use it as a TV, a typewriter, a DVD player, a telephone, as my personal st office, alternative credit card, low price supermarket and sometimes also as a game station, just to name some of them. Thus, it is not unusual that first thing I do after getting home from the University English course is to unconsciously turn on my computer, even before throwing the backpack onto the blue sheets of my untidy bed.

While the screen shows the standard Windows booting logo, I hang my jacket over the backrest and take a seat. The smell of apples and bananas that I keep on the shelf above the desk arouses my appetite, so I take one apple out of the rustling bag. The sweet juice spreads generously inside of my mouth while chewing, sending a bright smile onto my face.

The plane has landed, I collected my luggage and now I need to find a place where I can exchange my Euros for the bus. Standing there in the big hall where the passengers claim their baggage at one of the oval band-conveyors seems unreal; then there is the rumbling of the bands, the passing-by fellow passengers and the weight of the ten kg and fifteen kg bags hanging heavily from my shoulders that slowly throw me out of the imaginary world onto the solid floor of the airport.

It is the first time I set foot on English ground, with me only a bunch of people who decided to take the cheapest flight that late at night. I head forward to leave the building, trying to find the bus station first in case the next one arrives in the next couple of minutes. Once the glass doors slide to the side a fresh breeze surrounds my face and the smell of dewy leaves crawls up my nose. It is cooler than in Berlin which suits me well as carrying the heavy bags already triggers my sweat glands.

Choosing to study in England in a small city called Leicester without ever having been to the British Isles is crazy to the core. The first day was hard, especially with the flat in Grange Court. I shared a flat with three or four Chinese students who barely managed to tell me what they were studying. Fortunately, I was able to change accommodation and move in above another German student, Hanna. From then on, everything seemed easy, happy and fun. We even persuaded another German student, Anne, to join us in Victoria Hall. Cooking and sharing brilliant recipes was one of our major doings, for the International Pre-Sessional course offered many opportunities. Thus, we met the Greek Chris, Spanish Louis, Chilean Montse and Christian, as well as others from all around the world, but mainly FIFA master students.

It took only a couple of days until we were known throughout the residence as “Hell’s Angels”. It is unbelievable how many other folks needed our help. One Japanese girl was not allowed to enter her room (some administrative issues), next we assumed to have a swine flu case in Anne and Hanna's flat, and on top of that we spend a whole night correcting an Arabian friend’s essay. It took until 4 in the morning, so I did not even bother going to bed.

This blog is supposed to present me as a writer and maybe even rouse interest of some similar minds. I would be pleased to receive elaborate comments, true to the bone, which enable me to enhance my skills. Every advice is highly appreciated, yes, also the devastating ones; it is after all a learning process.