Anything at all

A lot of people in Berlin lament the fact that their city has now been “discovered” by the international artistic community - that you are more likely to meet an Israeli or an American on a night out than an actual Berliner. Mention the construction of the new airport that will accommodate Trans-Atlantic flights, and they visibly cringe. I don’t blame them. If people discover Berlin, then Berlin will become more expensive, and if Berlin becomes more expensive, the singers, performance artists and writers who have come here in droves will have to get day jobs…and then Berlin will be just like where they came from.

Since nobody in Berlin really works, there is a lot of nightlife which means you are never far from a party, or at least a warm place to drink. The fact that there are thousands of artists trying to escape from themselves means that these places are always full. It is, however, important to know at least one person with a real job - if only to buy you a beer from time to time.

I consider myself extremely fortunate because not only do I know someone who is gainfully employed, he is a friend of mine from High School. Ming Vu (not his real name) and I were the only out gay kids in school, and while you may think this would have been a big deal in the mid 90’s, it wasn’t for us. You see, my parents - in an act of atonement for their bourgeois existence - decided to send me to the worst school in Winnipeg. Actually, it was a wonderful place and I received an excellent education, but when half of the student population is strung out on glue from the art room and the other half has just gotten out of juvenile detention, the sexual preferences of a couple of nerdy kids with glasses is not front page news. At the very least, nobody is going to care whose picture you put on your locker. In my case it was an artful collage of Matthew McConaughey. I have better taste now.

I am still amazed at our brazenness back then. When we were 16, Ming and I used to go to the gay bar, which was precisely 1 block from school – a fact that amused us to no end. (To this day I don’t know where I learned more.) Where the straight boys stole porn from the smoke shop on Donald Street, Ming and I bought ours outright – even though we were clearly under age. I guess we figured the cashier would be too shocked and uncomfortable to tell us we weren’t allowed to buy Mandate. We were right.

Of course, I never thought I was going to see Ming again.

After High School we went our separate ways. Ming became a pharmacist and I became a handful, but after seeing him I am happy to report that we have both become more like ourselves, which is an achievement and a victory of sorts. Last night, we met for a beer with some of his friends in Prenzlauer Berg and I asked him how he had the energy to go out clubbing every night and still get up for work in the morning. He told me that his job was pretty boring – mostly reading spreadsheets and compiling reports. He said that he had quite a pleasant life and enjoyed his work, but that it didn’t define him.

“Be thankful you’re not creative” - I said - “it’s hell!”

My witticism elicited some knowing looks from the assembled crowd, for it was “word fag night” – a weekly gathering of literary folk who translate and teach and interpret. John, a doctoral student in Victorian history, clutched his artfully tied kaffiyeh to his breast and pretended to faint. I thought it was an appropriate gesture, given his field of study.

Ming just smiled and told me that if I ever needed anything - anything at all that I could just call him up.

I think I might just do that.