Finding home and heart.

The first time I went to Berlin was kind of a blur. I was 23 and it was at the end of whirlwind month in Copenhagen spent exploring the city and its outer limits, making what turned out to be lifelong friends, and getting to know Denmark through a human rights fellowship. When I arrived in Berlin I was sleep deprived and my thoughts were still with the Dansk folk.

As my above-ground train plodded from Schoenefeld airport to the Hauptbahnhof I could see out into vastness of the city with imposing buildings and graffitied street signs—a far cry from charming Copenhagen. But what Berlin lacked in charm it made up for in something else: stature. It’s a city where so much has happened, and it felt like anything could.

I was sucked in—out of my hostel bed everyday and into a maze of U-Bahns, Doner kebabs, and international communities. This was the final leg of my first trip out of the U.S., and all of my fantasies of international travel couldn’t have been better served.

In 2008 the city launched its award-winning beBerlin campaign, designed to give citizens an opportunity to become city ambassadors. What began as a spirit exercise morphed into a multi-year, international marketing campaign. In 2011 when I visited the city, the beBerlin campaign was branding the city as “A Great Place to Live.” That was clear even as I fell to the usual tourist groove—collecting passport stamps from the former occupation zones and circling Brandenburg Gate by 6-person bike.

But there were also quiet moments of nothingness that were perfect for the visitor seeking a sense of belonging—floating down the Spree river on a bright yellow inflatable raft, picnicking and napping on its shore, then meandering back towards the bustling Friedrichstrasse U-bahn station to welcome dusk at an outdoor bar.

And any short or long-term visitor would be remiss not to reflect on Germany’s dark past while in Berlin. My visits to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp and the memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe filled me with a sense of gravity and humility that I haven’t forgotten.

I’ve never held an address in Berlin, but the city has still managed to become a home of sorts for me. In 2013, I moved to Europe to pursue a Master’s degree. While living in Leipzig, just a couple hours south in eastern Germany, I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my 26th birthday in Berlin—each time feeling more at home and yet clinging to the excitement of that first visit. Ich bin ein Berliner now, indeed.