Homecoming

Or is it another escape?So many thoughts are running through my head, and I’m not sure I can write as fast as they’re spinning around. Too many impressions, too many parallel processes — I fear much of it will need time to settle. To digest, as they say. To let the important separate from the unimportant, to sort through it all, to keep what’s good, and let go of what’s bad.What’s really worth fighting for?

The train ride from Barcelona to Paris passed uneventfully. In Paris, I checked into a small hotel near the Louvre, went out for a short walk, and treated myself to a crème brûlée — the essentials covered. Back to the hotel, fell asleep instantly. Woke up late, brushed my teeth, went back to sleep. Sometimes, it’s okay to just be tired.

The next day drifted by quietly. À Paris — yes, beautiful, but my mind was elsewhere. Something was simmering.Did I really want to go up the Eiffel Tower — with my fear of heights? I stood at the ticket counter; the top floor was sold out. Not really disappointed, I took a few nice photos and wandered off again. A lovely sunset session with the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop. That was it, the day.

The next morning, another train — to Germany. First stop: Mannheim. Transfer, thirty minutes to wait. I thought about going to Amas for noodle soup, for old times’ sake. Decided to go later, in Stuttgart. Checked the app — the next available train was in four hours. The reason? Wasen. Crowds of people in “traditional” costumes at the station — not my scene. So I stuck with my booked connection instead of wasting time in Mannheim.

And so, into my train, heading for the Mutterstadt — my home city. It’s hard to describe what went on inside me; as I said, it was layered, confusing, contradictory. At some point, I found myself sitting on the Karlshöhe, looking down toward Heslach. It was oddly soothing, as if I had never left. That feeling stayed with me the entire time. Everywhere I went, it was as if I had just been there yesterday. Nothing had really changed. No matter where I looked, no matter where I went — it all felt like I had never been away. I knew every corner. Nothing new. And I began to feel bored. Even the people I met — it was as if we had seen each other only yesterday. Everything felt strangely surreal. I withdrew further into myself and began to think.

That feeling had started even before Stuttgart — already in Paris. I know it hadn’t been that strong in Italy, maybe because I was still exploring places I truly wanted to see. But ever since Barcelona, especially being alone there, I’d been… bored. The train to Schwäbisch Gmünd didn’t change that mood — if anything, it made it worse. I was increasingly irritable. Nothing new. Just routine: cemetery, nursing home, shopping.

Nothing new with the old man.He was surprised to see me, of course, but had nothing to tell. And me? Well, I didn’t need to tell him I’d emigrated. I’m simply a bad son — never there. Then again, he was never there when I was young. He hid behind his illness, I hide behind my work. Touché.

As a child, I was turned into a weapon against him — it didn’t help him much, being mentally ill. But this fight isn’t against him. It’s aimed at the one who caused it. The mere fact that I visit him and not her already says enough. Even the longing to speak with her is gone.

Standing at my grandparents’ grave — or rather, my grandmother’s — I had a completely different story in mind.Her story: how she held the family together, and how quickly it fell apart after she died. You could already feel it at my wedding — the last time everyone came together to celebrate. Everyone? No, all but one. The one who had been dividing the family for years, successfully, and who behaved more divisively than ever before my wedding. Driven by jealousy toward those born after her who had stolen her spotlight. It doesn’t make sense? It’s not supposed to.

But this much I’ll say: that you, Sandra, came with me to visit our grandmother in the hospital for her 100th birthday — I’ll never forget that. The moment she squeezed my hand tightly and I could tell her I loved her — that moment of farewell, just days before she died, will live in me forever. And I owe it to you. Thank you, Sandra — I’ll never forget it.

Leaving the old man, I told him I probably wouldn’t make it back before Christmas. The sadness in his eyes — he’s alone, and I think he knows I’m lying. But I don’t want to stir anything up in him. He had already been deeply worried when I told him I work with radioactivity — it preoccupied him for months. How would he react if he knew I now live on the other side of the world?

He wanted my cap — my AdvanCell cap. I left it with him.Farewell, old man.I hope you live a long time still, even though you say you’d rather die so that I’d inherit something. Don’t worry about me. Enjoy your four meals a day and the care you receive — you’ve earned it. Money doesn’t matter to me. Possessions neither. On the contrary: only those who own something can lose something.

My mood didn’t improve during my time in Stuttgart. Only in the evenings, when I messaged new acquaintances, did I feel at ease. Time was running out. There was so much I still wanted to see, revisit, do. Send a box of beer to Australia. Visit the university. Take a photo of the periodic table we built twenty years ago in the student group — still hanging there today. I smiled at the memory. What days those were. Everyone working together, building it in four days. Everyone except — oh God, what was her name again? That woman from the East who always had to be the center of attention? No clue anymore. Awful person. The best, the smartest, knows everything, can do everything — until it came time to actually do something. Total failure. Background noise.

I met some old acquaintances at the university — hadn’t seen them in ten years, yet they still recognized me, and the conversation picked up as if no time had passed. Learned a bit about their lives, about others’. Most are struggling now. Bosch shutting down departments, BASF handing out termination agreements, and so on. So life in a big company after university isn’t as comfortable as it once sounded. Really? Who could’ve guessed.A house, two kids, suddenly no job, maybe having to move. Out of the comfort zone, starting small again. Not everyone manages that.

And me? I realized I can be a spiteful person.

I wandered through the university, looked into my old labs in the basement, the office where I did my PhD, and for the first time, I saw how worn down it all looked. Old, decayed, neglected. Ten people hired to do the work of one. Filling in Excel sheets, managing, repeating the same lectures year after year.

I had to leave.That’s what I once wanted to do? I would’ve died of boredom. No wonder I drank so much back then. No one’s doing real research anymore. They sit around, complaining about the same problems and the same people as ten years ago. Writing the same papers.I had to get out. I got what I wanted — in that sense.