Nahno McLein

Crowds gather before the silver gate, surrounded on one side by a little jungle of bushes and a small brick wall on the other. Slowly, family progressions are lead by five, six or sometimes seven year olds to the scene; all dressed in superfine clothes, colourful or simple black-and-white. Bright faces compete with the sunshine enlightening the celebration from a cloudless sky, while eager relatives capture each moment with their flashing cameras or focus their camcorders relentlessly on the little ones.

I’m wearing beige trousers and a multicoloured shirt. Today, I got a lion-king backpack and a huge cornet of cardboard like everybody. It is bigger than I am. I am curious what I will find in there. The top shows yummy Haribos and a video. I also see a rubber and felt-tip pens, but there must be lots more hidden under that.

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.