Who?
The lady who sells the homeless paper 
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
A smile and a hug
How did she react?
She gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "sorry, sorry..." 
How did I feel?
Today something magical happened. I could tell the minute I woke up. It was that gut feeling. Still, though I was prepared, I gasped for breath the second I stepped out of my door. I couldn't believe what I was facing. Sun and 52 degrees: Spring was in town! In Berlin that means more than a smaller fuel bill and more daylight. For us spring flips the switch from dead to alive. Spring is the hero who grabs the remote control, presses stop and shakes the screen so we fall out of the zombie apocalypse we've been living in and land right in our favorite nature documentary. Or some romantic movie. Or both. Once i had found my breath again I capered and yodeled down the main street I live on. I could have sworn the cars were dancing along. I decided to ditch the subway and walk the three miles to my destination. There were smiles everywhere: The mom with her kid strolling home from school, the grandma friend date I passed, the late to rise-dude and the early drinker girls. They all played in my personal Harold And Maude. If you wanna sing out, sing out... Even the man who picked up his dog's poo seemed delighted to be doing so. I'm telling you: It's spring. Among the hundred smiles I saw there was one that I won't forget. It was the homeless paper lady's. I passed her, smiled at her, she smiled back. I walked on. Then suddenly I stopped. There was this urge in me: I wanted to go back and give her a hug. I don't know why. It was- her. Me. The moment. Spring. But I thought, "Nah, don't do that, you are not in California. Going back would be really inappropriate." I waited a second, then decided to go for it. Turned around, walked up to her, said, "Hi! Can I give you a hug?" She shrugged and looked at me with two question marks on her face. I could tell: She did not think I was a completely off but she had no idea what I had just asked her. I opened my arms. Now she understood, and opened hers, too. She laughed, we hugged, and held each other for a moment. She kissed my cheek. When I said goodbye to her a few moments later she cried, "Entschudlgung... Entschuldigung!" (Sorry... sorry!) Her face wide open and her voice chortling. I realized: Sorry was probably the only word she knew in German. And in this particular moment the meaning of sorry seemed to be "Have a great day." I took that, chuckled and wished her the same. Then I started dancing again and didn't stop until I finished my journey.

If they are received, compliments connect. They create a moment of togetherness. Often I have to bring myself to approach a stranger. Though I didn't compliment  the paper lady I had a moment of resistance there, I brought myself to go up to her and I experienced a moment of togetherness. So I say: Hugs approved! 

Along the way I took a few pictures of the rom com I saw everywhere:

The mini yogis are on my top ten Berlin street art list. 

My favorite feature of the Görlitzer Park's is setting sun's reflection in those windows. I was right in time for that.

Who?
Max
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"Your ability to see the sun is amazing!"
How did he react?
He hasn't yet. I will forward him this. 
Update: He writes, "Omg!  Thank you so much! I wanted to write something cool and witty, but sometimes thanks should just be enough. So thank you again!"
How did I feel?
I first met Max 1.5 years ago. We studied together in Bonn. Brainstorming about alien sitcoms and nude yogis we weirded our screenwriting class out. It was awesome. A crazy coincidence made both of us move to Berlin and start studying at the JFK last October. Today I know: Max is not only a talented writer but also a reliable guy. Toting my furniture he saved the day I moved.
A week ago spring break started. I was just about to drown in paper procrastination when I got an email. It said: None of my classes have been accredited this semester. I had failed to do one click in the beginning of the semester. No one had told me the platform I should have clicked on even existed- so today I ran from one office to the next, trying to persuade secretaries to make an exception. The response: Head shaking, some shrugging, a lot of "I am not in charge!". The German culture bursts with beautiful things. Its fetish for bureaucracy is not one of them. When I left campus at noon I was-- well, let's just say I'd had my fill. On my way to the subway I ran into Max. I recognized him from 300 feet away. It was his dancing ponytail. 

"Max, hey!" 
"Hey there! How are you?"
"Eww.. I'm tired." 
"You are not tired. You are awesome!" 
"You're cute. Thanks. What the heck are you doing here?" 
"I'm on my way to lunch."
"During spring break? At school, voluntarily? Seriously!?"
"Look at you, all grumpy! How's that? It's spring!"
"Told ya, I'm tired. And I'm annoyed."
We chatted for a moment. He told me the reason he was headed to the Mensa was a friend. The guy was writing a paper and spent all day at the library, so Max figured it would be nice to go and have lunch with him at school. Our school's pretty far out. I was impressed. I told him I thought he was being a great friend. And that I had to leave for an appointment in the city. We said goodbye. I got going. Max stopped me: 
"Hey, Rosa, one more thing: I've been meaning to tell you this: I've been reading your compliments and I really like the way that you take the time to reflect each time, sharing your thoughts... So precious! I think that's what makes this project of yours extra special to me." 
I smiled.
"Wow, Max, thank you so much! That means the world to me! Thanks!"

In two minutes Max changed my mood from pissed off to happy. How? By continuously seeing the sun and expressing that. Everywhere: In me, in spring, in his friend waiting at the Mensa. In life. To me, that's Max. Always chatty, always ready to point out a piece of beauty somewhere. He does so in his unique way; He talks faster than anyone I know. Sometimes the beauty he sees lies in the mere fact that it is spring. More often he'll see greatness even weirder than aliens and nude yoga sitcoms, especially if he writes- which I appreciate immensely. Once he pitched a story whose content I did not understand a word of but I could tell it burst with creativity. I'm all for weird. When I die and look back on my life I want to be able to say: I was always a bit strange. Never made it to normal, thank god. Of that I'll be proud. I hope Max will be, too; And of his amazing ability to spot greatness everywhere. 

Who?
The Hair Lady
Where?
Jüterbog, Germany
What?
"I love your hair!"
How did she react?
"Oh, sorry, I got you wrong before. In that case: Thank you!"
How did I feel?
I have a routine. I realized that today. While I still feel into every compliment moment as deeply as I can the moment's frame has become a pattern: 
1-I spot someone, or something. 
2-I notice my feelings, maybe get insecure and have a silent discussion with myself. I give myself a push.
3-I walk up the person and say. "Hi! I am doing a project in which I compliment one person per day for one year and write about it. Today you are my candidate."
4-Then I tell them what I noticed and liked about them.
5-The person reacts in their unique way, I react to that, maybe we chat, maybe not.
6-I give them the blog's address and tell them to email me if I write something they don't approve of.
7-I ask them whether I can take their picture
8-We say goodbye (or don't, but the particular compliment moment is over) 
This applies to compliments I pay strangers. With people I know it works differently. 
I started explaining about the project before complimenting early in the game, back in July. I noticed: It made it easier for people to open up because they could see where this was coming from and that I did not want them to sign anything, or pay, or both. Today made me see that it's not always easier that way. Here's what happened: I passed an older woman, she was about 80, at the store. Her hair styling reminded me of my grandma's. As a kid I used to watch my Oma do her hair for hours and hours, combing, blow drying and spraying it into all directions. Her hairdo would make her grow two inches and still look elegant- a masterpiece considering that her hair was two inches long altogether. Then when today's lady had that same hairdo I thought "Wow, this looks impressive", and: "I know exactly how much of an effort this takes." I saw her again at the register and decided she was my candidate. I waited till she had been checked out, then started my standard procedure. Between point three and four she interrupted me and said, "No, thanks." And I was: Heavily irritated. This had not happened before. Something in me sensed that she had misunderstood me. When I passed her on my way out I said, "I am going to tell you this anyway: I really like your hair." She stopped, I continued to walk. She cried, "Wait! I'm sorry, I got you wrong back there, I thought you were a journalist." I said, "No no, I'm not, I just wanted to compliment you. "Aw," she sighed, "I am sorry, and thank you for your compliment! I do my hair myself!" With pride glowing in her eyes she explained, "It takes flair!" I nodded and told her about my grandma. We smiled at each other, then said goodbye. 
She got me thinking: I am sure she would have said "Thank you, how sweet of you!" If I had not mentioned the project at all. She was so turned off by my introduction I almost missed the moment. I learned: My routine is not an all round template after all.
I love that she challenged me to be more spontaneous instead of using that situation frame of mine, because it makes me be more awake and aware again. It inspires me to feel the other person, the moment more intensely then I would just pulling the introduction out of my pocket. This way there is more potential for different situations, too. Being present: One of my general life goals. Thanks for reminding me of that, dear Hair Lady!

Who?
Meike
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"When we first talked on the phone I was impressed with your tranquility. Your voice becalmed me and got me all focused. Then when I saw you today I was blown away by how pretty you are. I love your looks, you have beautiful eyes and your style! Throughout the day I fell in love with your empathy and your sharpness but most of all I enjoyed your openness. Thank you so much for that."
How did she react?
She smiled. "Thank you!" A few moments later she added, "Wow I can really tell this is opening up something in my heart!"
How did I feel?
Everyone has a role model. I am not talking that pop star whose poster you would stare at for hours when you were fourteen. I am talking someone who changed your life face to face. 
The ways we come across those idols differ.
Sometimes you live with them for years until you figure out their greatness. Finally you appreciate them endlessly but it wasn't love at first sight. At other times life throws them right at you. It is the guy sitting next to you on a plane whose stories turn your life around. Or the girl who you will always remember saving a kid from being hit by a car with one quick move. That stranger at a party who listens to your drunk stories and shares a perspective on them no one has pointed out before. The woman who hands you a tissue when you sit in the park crying. Or Meike, the journalist who I spent last Friday with. This woman did not blow my mind by doing one particular thing; she got to me by being herself. 
The calm, focused interview partner I had expected her to be after our phone call last week was who I met, yes; And an attractive woman, someone who had style, a beautiful appearance and charisma. First thing I gave to her: A big apology. I had forgotten my notebook which she had asked me to bring. "No problem", Meike said as she got up, "I'll get one for you." She went back home and returned 30 minutes later with a computer in her hands. I was sorry about my sloppiness, but more than that I was amazed at her spontaneity and ease. With the computer on the table and the camera in place we got started. She asked me questions, I answered. A normal interview, you might say, but no. This one was more- because it was lead by Meike. She provided the ground for me to walk on with her friendly, open eyes, her nods and her present "uh-huh"s. I did not do anything but float in her presence- Meike was a born conversationalist. Before I even noticed the interview was over and we started driving to our next location. In the car Meike unwrapped her humor. She told us stories from her neighborhood and I found myself bubbling over with laughter. She sure knew how to tell a joke. In passing she tamed her team when their teasing -- which we all loved -- got a little out of hand. The next hours were framed by the professionalism of the three of them and all of our mutual inspiration. Obviously Meike played a major role in that, coming up with ideas the minute something did not go according to plan. So you got that Meike was pretty, great at her job and a fun storyteller. All that was part of her turning into a spontaneous idol for me. But more than any of her traits listed so far it was the person I saw behind all that. The way that she communicated her ideas - clear, steady yet friendly and open to discussion - impressed me: She knew what she wanted. She was straight forward. If she didn't like something she just said no, and if she was all in she was not afraid to say yes. At the same time, towards the end of our day, she opened up about a conflict she was struggling with in her life. She did not hide the wide range of emotions present within her, she was not ashamed, and she talked about what was going on in a way that was both confident and fragile. It was that combination of strength and vulnerability that I admired immensely. This was the moment that ultimately turned Meike, the talented journalist with the pretty face, into Meike, the role model for me. If twenty years from now (can you believe it? She is twenty years older than me! I can say that because it's on Wikipedia...)  I will be as clear and warm and fragile (and smart and good looking and rocking my job)- I will clap on my back pretty hard. This last conversation with her stuck with me for days and changed my perspective on conflicts I have in my life, not just because I heard what she thought about hers but because I saw and felt where she was. Thank you so much for that, Meike, it was a huge gift to me. All the best to you, keep being the awesome lady you are. 

One day, two Italians. One compliment, two meanings. One place, two moments. First I met Alessandro, thirty minutes later I spotted Diego. They got the same statement, "I dig your style!" My praise was completely different each time because Diego and Alessandro were- and so was their style (and the specific parts I complimented in it). No two compliments are ever the same, just like no two moments are. I have been asked, "So do you still mean it when you tell the fifth person you like their smile?" My answer: Sure! If their smile lights up my day and I feel that spontaneous urge to tell them I mean it. And no, it doesn't matter if it is the first smile or the tenth, as long as I let myself in for the moment and the person, as long as I am present. If you tell your friend you love them, do you still mean that even though you have told your partner the same thing before? And what about ex-partners and former friends? Look at all those I love yous! Is I love you a disposable phrase? No way. Neither I love you nor I dig your smile (or your style) are. No I love you means the same as any previous declaration of love- because it is never the exact same feeling, or the exact same person, or both. Those sentences are reusable, eternally, as long as they are heartfelt. 

Who?
Alessandro
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I love the way you are dressed today! Look at all these shades of green! They make me happy."
How did he react?
"Haha, thanks! Now look at that... Wait for it-..."
How did I feel?
Alessandro was personified extroversion. If he read this now he would probably say, "that's because I am Italian!"- at least he kept repeating this sentence when I asked him about the fact that he ended up in Berlin ("It is full of Italians!") and his job ("I cook in a restaurant, what do you expect!? I am Italian.") He was unbelievably easy to talk to. I don't think the corners of my mouth went down a single time during our chat. When I complimented him he started laughing, said, "thank you!", and opened his jacket to reveal a green hoodie over a green shirt. "Look, there's more!", he smiled. I chuckled, "Do you know that green stands for hope?". He answered, "Of course I do!" His eyes radiated with joy. When saying goodbye it felt completely natural to give him a hug. I saw him again a few minutes later, we waved at each other from afar and exchanged a few friendly words; Two moments of Alessandro sunshine, lucky me! Thank to you, Alessandro. 

Who?
Diego
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"Two things: First you mustache. This one is amazing. And your style... I love it. That hat, that pirate earring, the jacket... Wonderful!"
How did he react?
He nodded, "The mustache.. Yeah, thank you!" 
How did I feel?
Diego was cool. With his light smile he was down for being filmed by three people and complimented by a random girl. When I got to his earring he grinned and said, "Yeah, up there is my mansion!", as he pointed towards the old granary whose wall now says "Pirates Berlin". We laughed. I learned that he is from Turin. "I love Italy!", I told him, "When I was a kid my family used to go every year!". While we were chatting I could not stop thinking of Johnny Depp. I don't know why: Maybe it was because of the whole pirate idea, or maybe it was Diego's shades which he would not take off. His eyes stayed in the dark throughout our encounter which gave him a mysterious look. I liked it. Who knows, maybe it is all true and Diego's ship is waiting for its captain to return on board when his Berlin time is over... Diego: When you do hoist the flag to go back to Italy, let me know. I have always wanted to be the pirate myself. I could join the crew! I may not have a mustache but a parrot on my shoulder suits me well! Can't wait.
Anything else?
These two happened on the same day yet they have a number each. I think that's fine. There were so many days in the past in which I complimented but did not document that it is okay to do two compliments in one day every now and then. 

Who?
Lena
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You look insanely beautiful!"
How did she react?
"Thank you! You're gonna make me blush!"
How did I feel?
It was the rom-com scene. He sits on the subway late at night. Flickering lights, empty faces, fading conversations. The train stops. Doors open. And-- SWOOOSH! Suddenly every corner of the wagon is sun-drenched: She has just entered. She radiates with glow. Not the sparkly spotlight kind but the natural beauty one. He shining is subtle yet omnipresent. Her hair like gold, her eyes soft, her smile radiant. He stares at her, and can't stop. He is bewitched.
Today I was him; Call me pathetic but this is exactly what I experienced. There I sat, for two stops, looking at Lena, thinking "Now I know what it feels like to fall for a girl head over heals." I did not feel an urge to ask her out, the rom-com stopped right there, at me, unable to take my eyes off of her. That was it. I did not want more than to admire her appearance. Everything about her was beautiful. The way she moved and her gestures. Her fragile pulchritude next to her clear and steady voice. The way she laughed with her friends. It's hard to find words. Let's leave it at this: She was special. 

When I walked up to her and complimented her, she laughed and said, "Thanks, you are making me blush." Then she asked, "But is this honest now?" I had told her about the project before sharing my admiration. Now she was suspicious. I shook my head and said, no, it was totally honest. She nodded and added, "This is a nice thing you are doing there! Now that I think about it... I see so many people myself and think, "What a beautiful human being!", but when do I ever walk up to them and tell them?" I said, "Yeah, totally!" "Especially in Germany..." 
We chatted for a moment and I learned that she studies at my school and is about to leave town for 6 months: She'll be in Ecuador from next week on. Lena transformed from beautiful subway girl into an encounter who listened with her eyes wide awake and her mind open. And of course, who stayed beautiful. Thanks, Lena, for the rom com feeling today, and everything else! All the best for Ecuador!

Who?
The guy I saw walking down the street
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I dig your pants!"
How did he react?
Read below.
How did I feel?
This was a ten seconds one. On my way home from the station a man came towards me. He was wearing the kind of pants that are hip right now. I have no idea what they are called but his caught my attention: Their cut fell like a waterfall and made them sway from right to left around the crotch. The way they moved was a piece of art. I kept staring at their swinging  for about five seconds, then looked up to see a question mark in his face. His expression said, "Hey there, my eyes are up here, not at my groin." I have given people this look when I felt they were talking to my cleavage instead of my face. But that minute I realized: This was the first time I ever saw it on a man's face interacting with me. I burst out into laughter and, more explaining than explicitly complimenting, told him "I dig those pants of yours!". His face lightened up. He smiled and said, "Thank you!" We both went our ways and it was not until a few hours later that I realized I wanted to use that compliment for the blog- so no picture or name today but instead a fun misunderstanding from my day. Oh, and how did I feel? Very much uplifted! 
Happy Wednesday! 

Who?
Gur
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"The way you feel the music is plain wonderful"
How did he react?
He stopped me with the wave of his hand. "Ah, come on..." Then he said, "I like how you sing, too!"
How did I feel?
Music is not about reaching perfection. Music is about feeling alive. 
Gur knows all about that: Tonight he played me a tune. Actually, several. When he started I was exhausted after a long day. I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes. A few minutes in I started feeling a tickling all over my chest, and a wave from top to bottom. The pling plong of the guitar gently massaged my face until finally that tension in my jaw softened... 
Rising up again a few minutes later my bones had transferred from heavy to light. A smile on my face I looked at his fingers climbing their way up and down the strings. They looked like a thousand legger dancing ballet.
I said, "I want to pay you back. I'll play something on the violin for you."
"The violin!", Gur answered, "That is awesome! An actual instrument! Not just the guitar...". We laughed. I unpacked my instrument and Bach entered the stage. That last sentence--Bach enters the stage-- translates in "Good things are happening.". Always. And they were: Gur, the fun guy I study with, turned into Gur, the man who feels Bach. I was delighted. After I finished playing, Gur said, "Now you have made me want to play some Bach real bad." I smiled. This is probably the best compliment one can get for playing his music. We listened to some tunes, though listen is an understatement here: We got immersed. 
Then finally we played together. Jazz. I sang, Gur accompanied me. He site read and transposed the chart. I knew the song by heart. While he played Gur kept apologizing and beating himself up in words ("Ah, shit, which one is that in f...No not this one...Sorry, sorry..") but I didn't even hear what he said: I was feeling his rhythm. Sure, he did not hit all those hip tones but did I notice? Not at all. There was a homunculus inside of me who swayed from side to side so hard my whole upper body started moving along. I was blown away: Gur had got the the groove! I hadn't felt that strong of a dancer in me in a long time. Gur switched him on. Unaware of what was happening to me he fought with the chart- as most of us who play music have. We've all struggled mastering fingerings, interpretations or forms. It is part of practicing music. While it is easy to get frustrated with that it is the hardest thing to stay connected to the groove in the meantime. Gur did. 
You don't play music? You have no idea what struggle I am talking about? There is something else you know for sure. Picture this: You are at your favorite band's concert. They're playing your number one tune. That up tempo song, the one you turn up on Monday mornings. That puts you out of bed and a smile on your face. Got something? Good. It takes one chord and you know: This is my song! You give in, fall into the sounds, instead of you dancing to them they dance you. 
This is music right? It is that one moment in which nothing matters anymore. In which everything is inside of you and you are everywhere. You don't care whether or not the lead singer is slightly out of tune, or if the drummer is too loud. You are busy being full of bliss. Maybe music is about perfection after all: The perfection that you find when you give in to the moment. The perfection in feeling alive. There is no perfect or alive: I think they are the same. Alive is perfect. 

Thank you for getting me there, Gur. You are a wonderful, no, a perfect guitar player for that. Whatever tones you hit or miss-... Just don't stop playing!
Anything else?
Yes! Apart from being the guitar guru Gur studies with Karen,  the guys and me. He brightens up every class with his dry humor. And I found out about yet another talent of his yesterday: After he had left I found a bird sitting on my table! I called him Nepomuk. 

Who? 
Alisha
Where? 
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I dig your style! Just passed by and looked at you- I had to come back and tell you!" 
How did she react?
She burst out into laughter. "Thank you! But to be honest this is not the way I dress usually... I just came from a casting that was all about being a hippie..." 
How did I feel?
This was fun! Alisha was a sweet girl and our encounter started off with a good laugh. 
After she'd told me about that casting I asked her, "So are you an actress?". She answered, "Not primarily. I study jazz vocals and just transferred from Hamburg to Berlin-..." I interrupted her, "Really?! I sing jazz, too! It is my favorite thing!" 
And off we went, talking about singing and finding one's way as a singer. We agreed that if you have a lot of pressure in your life your voice will show immediately. And that freeing yourself from expectations and doing your thing as an artist is incredibly difficult. I asked her whether there was music of hers online and she said, no, she had just taken down most of the songs and videos because she had not been content with them: She had just recently transferred from pop to jazz and was in the middle of figuring everything out. 
Alisha was such a sweet girl, I am sure her music sounds wonderful. Her vibe makes me imagine her tunes to be warm, playful and sexy. I can't wait for the day that I shall find out!
Looking forward to hearing you sing, Alisha; Thank you for the nice encounter! Crossing fingers for that casting of yours... All the best to you!

My last post was a dare. For three days I did not know whether or not I wanted to share my video. Too intimate? Too private? I wanted to be sure I did not force myself to share something I would rather have kept to myself. Eventually I decided to go for it. Why? I explained in my last post. But even after posting the insecurities were not gone. I showed a lot of myself. I have said it before: This was a soul striptease. That's why every like for this post means the world to me, and my friends' "I watched your video. I thought it took guts." filled me with relief. She had seen me naked and she had liked it. Writing the piece on complimenting myself yesterday I was busy reacting to the hate mail I had been receiving in the last weeks. I focused on formulating my arguments. Now that that is over I can feel: This was a lot. A good lot, but a lot. And: I want to fill in the "How do I feel?" blank again. For right now. I feel proud for sharing this. I feel a bit timid whether or not I opened up too much. Most of all I feel amazingly grateful for all the people who read my post and said, "You are beautiful." Writing about other people is one thing, trying emotional exhibitionism is another. I want to shout out a huge thank you to the community reading this blog for supporting me not just while complimenting but also while undressing my innermost feelings. Thanks for turning my emotional nudity into a beautiful experience. 
This project would not be the same without you-- and I would not be the same person either. Thank you for carrying me through this marathon with your encouragement and validation. For making me feel appreciated, not only doing what I am doing but also being who I am. 
You rock.