Alain Xalabarde - The Berlin Paradox: Chronicles of a Soviet Time Traveler

Living in Berlin is like getting a hug from a hermit who hasnt showered in months. Its not very pleasant, but you know she has a good heart.

Berlin is a tough city, and it doesnt treat its people with grace. But thats just the way the city was raised. It had a hard life. It knows nothing else.

Ive been no exception. Berlin hasnt been easy on me, but I was already a lost cause. I fell madly in love with it as soon as I laid eyes on her for the first time. Like people, cities build strong personalities through suffering, and Berlin has a mesmerizing personality, if you have the stamina to discover it.

It was during my first winter in the city that I decided to create a game that would take players on a journey of the 20th centurys history through the eyes of its capital.

After many months of trial and error, I realized it didnt make a good game after all. However, all that intense research had given birth to a story which I felt couldnt be scrapped, and so, I decided to port it into a medium that would better suit its mood.

Five years later, and on the 30th anniversary of the fall of the wall of Berlin, I have an ode in my hands. An ode to rebuilding oneself. An ode to finding purpose. An ode to stoicism. An ode to Berlin.

If you love Berlin already, I hope you enjoy reading it. If you dont, I hope by the end of it you will fall in love with this misunderstood monster.

To be human is the struggle to be immortal, and it is that struggle that tests what part of our humanity we are willing to give up in exchange for immortality.

The day my father joined the army, he became immortal. He may not have known it at the time, but he left a permanent footprint on history books. Everyone he killed, everyone he spared, had an ever-lasting effect on the world today. His actions had a weight that new generations can only dream of having. I joined the air force right after school, but what is the purpose of joining an army if there is no war to fight? No ideal to defend. No history to change. It is selfish to desire conflict when we were just struck by the most brutal war in history. It is egotistical, stupid and even self-destructive. I should be grateful for our ancestors' sacrifice and appreciate these times of prosperity. But is it selfish to desire a purpose? Is it selfish to desire immortality?

Thats more or less what I told them when I volunteered for this programme, and it seems like it had the intended effect on them. I got in. And although yesterday was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life, if theres something I have learned living in post-war Soviet Union its that happiness is never earned gratuitously. Every smile, every moment of joy, has a price. I was given both news only minutes apart. I was told Mother died early in the morning. Later that same day, Chief Marshal Vershinin officially welcomed us to the cosmonaut programme, finally revealing the real reason why we were brought here. Most of us had already guessed it weeks ago, but being here, now, makes it real.

Ive been given permission to travel to my mothers funeral, but I refused. I cannot leave this place. I cannot miss an opportunity like this. This is my chance to leave the footprint Ive been longing for. The same sort of footprint my father left. It's the reason why I joined the air force, it's the reason I immediately volunteered for this program, and it's the reason why my mother's death takes a second priority, as harsh as that may sound. They have assured me that they will wait for my return. However, I know very well how these things are run. A single day away from this place will surely put me far behind all the other candidates. I will stay.

Unsurprisingly, my sister doesnt agree. She demands an explanation, but Im not authorized to give her one. At least not a real one. Despite the distance, it feels as if I have her head on my shoulder, her tears dampening my uniform. I can picture her alone in the cemetery a few days from now. My mother and her. No one else. Nobody left. At least my mother will have one person there to say goodbye.

My sister already bought the tickets from Berlin to Kaliningrad. She will be leaving tomorrow. She hopes to find me there. She will be disappointed.

I would later find out that my sister was caught on the border and didnt make it to my mothers funeral. Mother died alone after all. Her only company was an anonymous undertaker.

Only weeks after training began, the chief doctor calls me in. I sit in his office. It smells damp. He looks nervous. Im nervous too. I think I know what hes going to say, but I will not fully comprehend his reasoning.

My fears are confirmed. Ive been expulsed from the Soviet space programme. They have found an anomaly in my blood. They ignored it at first, but have decided not to take any risks.

An anomaly in my blood. It sounds like bullshit. It sounds like something a scientist would make up in order to get rid of me. I suspect the real reason has to do with my father. Maybe the first Soviet in space shouldnt be a direct descendant of a German. Even my mothers pure Russian ancestry cant save me from this fact. Or maybe Im just overthinking it. Perhaps its an excuse. An excuse Im making up to hide the fact that maybe Im simply not good enough.

I pack my bags later that day, say goodbye to Dmitri. We first met each other back in Kirghiz. We practically learnt how to fly together. Its not that I prefer him over the others, but we have inevitably grown closer because of our common past. To be honest, I wanted to leave Kirghiz as soon as I arrived. The city of Kant was far from what I had known until then. I have always felt like a foreigner, no matter where I was, but never as much as in Kirghiz. I wish Dmitri luck. Although I do not know this now, he will never go into space either, but at least he'd be smart enough to steer away from the scandals that would mean the expulsion of some of our other colleagues and to the infamous Lost Cosmonauts. Lost Cosmonauts? It's amazing the consequences a few drinks can have on human history. I say goodbye to the others and that same day I take a train back to Moscow.

Days later, the first thing I do when I arrive to Kaliningrad is visit my mothers grave. I apologize for having missed her funeral. For letting her die alone in exchange for what I now know was a lost cause. Im embarrassed to say it out loud, so I dont. It doesnt matter. She cant hear me anyway.

When I visit our apartment, I find that someone else has already taken it. I am told that my sister finally did make her way to Kaliningrad. Late, but on time to do all the necessary paperwork. The man who lives there now with his family hands me a letter. It was left to him by my sister. At first I think its from her, but then I recognize the handwriting. My stomach burns. My heart accelerates. I should be happy that she left some last words for me, but instead I feel anxious. Ashamed that I will repay her unconditional kindness and thoughtfulness with nothing but silence.

Dear son,

If youre reading this, youve returned to Kaliningrad a little too late. You probably havent even called your sister yet. Thats alright. Call her now. Shell forgive you. You know she always will. Shes just like me.

Tell her youll be visiting her soon. Leave Kaliningrad, my son. There are only memories of death there. The city has been decaying since the end of the war. It too, will perish, like everything else. I urge you to join your sister in Berlin. There are opportunities there. Opportunities to start anew. The city is looking back at its past, lifting itself from the rubble, and creating a new identity for itself. So should you.