Let me start by stating something that hit me this weekend: a cake isn’t a good thing because it smells and tastes great, but because it can be shared.
I haven’t been writing for quite some time. It’s difficult to get back into the blogging game when the only major things happening in my life are intensely private moments (I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl in early May). So let me take the fact that I managed to bake a cake this weekend and run with it. But I’ll come to that later.
Firstly, I’d like to address the current xenophobia running rife in Dresden (and elsewhere in Germany, to be fair). I do not want to go into too many details because let’s not give these fascist idiots the time of day. I have been wondering what I can do, apart from the obvious such as donating clothes and sharing positive messages on social media, as well as supporting pro-refugee initiatives and charities.
Then it struck me: too often, Dresden is said to be provincial, its residents unable to see beyond the end of their noses. That’s why I want to make my subjective view, my own personal reasons for living and loving Dresden more accessible to people who’ve come here from far away places.
Now, of course I don’t think that refugees who arrive in Dresden will be checking out my blog before long. I have only vague ideas what their lives might look like: browsing the internet for local mommy blogs might not be a priority while perched in the tents of the „Zeltstadd“ (tent camp).
Rather; I want to make regular readers question what happens if things we consider normal suddenly change.
I am aware that not everybody who stops by to read my blog speaks English, and I apologize if my decision alienates you. But I think being faced with a small change such as a German blogger suddenly writing in English might increase understanding for the upheavals of refugees who are not only faced with a different language, but with different food, different people, even more: lives for themselves entirely different from the ones they imagined before war, hunger and other hardships drove them out of their countries.
My husband and I are currently trying to find the means to offer our children a safe place to grow up in. Our first attempt failed. It’s frustrating, but hey: I baked a cake this Sunday, which means I have an oven and the chance to nourish my family. Ultimately, what more can one wish for in times like these?
May we all have a place to feel at home. And may our city become a home to everybody who wishes to live here. And may there always be cake to share.