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I’m a German, and I like being one. To be German, for me, means being goal-oriented and ambitious. Some might find it boring. So what? In that case, I’m happy to be the boring German.
I finish what I start. And when I meet new people, I don’t cling to them right away. I’m careful that way.
Mostly, I enjoy living in Germany. I don’t know anything else. But sometimes I don’t feel comfortable anymore in my own country. Sometimes, other people give me the feeling that I don’t belong here.
As soon as I say that I’m German, they start giving me mean looks. I see upturned noses and rolled eyes, as if I’d said something inappropriate.
When I walk through the streets in Berlin, young men, mostly of Arabic descent, hit on me.
“Hey baby,” they say. If I brush them off, they get angry, because they think that with me they can get away with whatever they want.
“Someone like you wouldn’t have a chance with me anyway. You’re gross,” one said to me recently.
For a while, I worked as a retail assistant in a shoe store in Berlin. There aren’t a lot of Germans like me in that area. One time a young couple came into the store. I greeted them. The man was friendly, he chatted with me. But the woman turned around and pretended to shop.
