What you can't see in this picture: Underneath her cap Gabi is wearing a headband with a blue flower pattern. Under her sweater she is wearing a scarf with a red flower pattern. Her cap says "Powerfrau" (Power woman).
Who?
Gabi
Where?
Andernach, Germany
What?
"I love all our colors! Each time I see you I fall in love with what you wear. Your clothes, your appearance, your whole mode of being  reminds me of the young Maude."
How did they react?
She smiled, nodded and said, "Thanks! Yeah, I definitely don't plan on growing up..."
How did I feel?
I have seen her before. Many times: Gabi works out at the gym I taught Yoga at for two years. Every Wednesday morning she would come in with her hair all red and her gear standing out. She mixed different patterns, colors and shapes, always. Her clothing lightened my day, no matter the weather, the moment or my mood. But it was not just what she wore. It was more.
My favorite movie of all times is Harold and Maude. Watching it for the gazillionth time it still makes me happy on the spot. Don't know it? Watch it. You won't be disappointed. I promise. Here is the trailer: 

Every time I see Gabi I think of Maude. The two of them share one expression: Wisdom mixed with waggishness. Their eyes add a wink to everything they do. Gabi's greeting comes with the singsong of her light and friendly voice. When I told her she reminded me of the young Maude her face turned from slightly smiling to full on sunshine and she said, "Harold and Maude! Aawh, that is my favorite movie of all times! Whenever I watch it it makes me happy on the spot!" I laughed and said, "Join the club." She swayed her head from side to side for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I could see the similarities. I definitely don't plan on growing up either. Ever." I nodded and answered, "Right on."

Who?
Harrison and Mitchell 
Where?
Bonn, Germany
What?
"You guys make a good team! And I love your honesty. Thank you for that."
How did they react?
They laughed and said, "Thanks!"
How did I feel?
When I was little my mother used to say "Don't ever open when the sects knock at our door. They are dangerous." One day I was home alone when a Jehova's witness rang the bell. The sound caught me on my way out to meet a friend. Instead of leaving the house I hid behind the door for thirty minutes. That's how long the guy waited in front of our apartment. I didn't move. Not an inch. I was scared that he might hear someone was there and stay for the entire ten hours my mother was going to be gone for. Today I assume that the guy probably did hear something and was worried if the person behind the door - me - was okay. Back then I was unable to think that far. Busy battling with the blurry ball of fear inside of me I waited it out. All I heard was my mom's voice: They are dangerous. He could have been a serial killer running a knife into our door, screaming at me from outside. I would have felt the same way; danger was danger. He was the wolf, I was one of the three little pigs.
Today I don't hide behind the door anymore. When they ring I open and say, no, thanks. But a small piece of the past still clings to my mind: I always think, "Jesus. You guys are so lost." I feel pity. A few hours back I got a chance to question that. Finally! In the city of Bonn Harrison and Mitchell approached me. They both wore a Mormon tag. They waved at me. Before they even said anything I was already three sentences into my explanation on how I am into Buddhism and won't find my way to the LDS Church. Their answer: "That's cool." That's cool? Alright then, I thought, waiting for their but. It did not come; Instead we entered conversation. They asked me about how I got hooked on Buddhism. I told them. They walked with me to my destination. I was okay with that. In fact I realized a few minutes into our chat that this was an amazing opportunity to gain a new perspective. So I started asking questions. How they first encountered the LDS Church (They both grew up in the community, lost track of religion and later on had moments in college that defined their lives and lead them back to the Church, looking for a purpose in life. I am not sure how comfortable they would be with me sharing those moments so I am going to leave them out). How many times they had told that story (twice or three times). How they ended up in Germany (They chose to go on mission and paid for it themselves). So far, so good. I nodded to their statements and tried to ignore the little skeptic in the back of my head. He was throwing his hands up in despair and asking me, "How do you know they are not just giving you some crap they have been taught to say?" I didn't. All I knew was I wanted to meet Harrison and Mitchell, the people behind those black name tags. Two boys who spent day by day walking through town, talking to people. Suddenly I realized: The three of us had more in common then I had thought at first. I, too, spend my days walking up to people. In the German culture that can be a challenge. The next question slipped out of my mouth, "What does it feel like approaching people every day?". Harrison said, "We get rejected a lot. But I totally understand! See, if I put myself in those people's shoes, on my way to work there is this guy who wants to talk me out of nowhere I would be weirded out, too..." "Yeah", I answered, "I hear you. But you didn't answer my question. You just told me about how you understand people. Not about how you feel." Harrison grinned, then the corners of his mouth went down. "You're right. How do I feel? Honestly: It hurts. It just hurts. I don't feel like they are rejecting the church, I feel like they are rejecting me. And that hurts." There was a moment of silence. Then I said, "Thank you for being honest, I really appreciate that. I was totally sure you were going to give me some jive about how God turns all this into a lot of fun and you love it but you didn't tell me that. I think your being real is awesome." "Sure", Harrison said, "And you know what? On the plus side, every now and then, we get to have an awesome conversation like this one." We all grinned. I asked them about their lives back home. They told me they had both been in college in Colorado, Harrison was passionate about wrestling and Mitchell had studied engineering. They had taken a break to come here but were going to go back to college once their mission was over. I heard stories about wrestling coaches, scholarships, transferring to other schools. About drinking, driving and cops. And about wondering what to live for and returning to church. To me they sounded like to normal kids experiencing the years after high school. Their Church was present in every other sentence, yes, but I didn't mind. I saw two guys trying to figure life out. Losing their way and looking for stable paths to walk on. Both of them mentioned an emptiness inside that had ultimately inspired them to go to church again. I wondered: Don't we all try to fill that emptiness? They asked me what it is that drives me. I gave them my answer, "I don't know. I like to not be sure and let things flow. To learn from others and myself and let myself come to different conclusions every day. But there is one thing I have been coming back to again and again: Love. Like, unconditional and maybe even universal love." I spoke carefully at first because I was not sure about how they would react. Looking into their eyes I found openness. They were interested. I continued, "It is the strongest drive I have ever felt. If I let it overwhelm me I lose control and at the same time I feel more powerful then ever. It allows me to give without expecting something return. Not just because I appreciate the thought of that on an intellectual or moralistic level, but because it then feels like the most natural thing to do. I like to assume this love is my drive. I lose it every once in a while, for there is fears and what not covering it and they grab hold of me every now and then. But when I  find it again I am absolutely certain: This what I am here for. This is who I am when I am my best self. I am love." We talked about making the world a better place. Again they listened to my ideas. They did not say much except for a "This is awesome" here and there. Between two sentences we reached my destination. They had been walking with me for half an hour, our conversation flowing. We had not been two Mormons actively trying to persuade a stranger. Neither were we one Yoga girl attempting at challenging two guys. We were three people listening to each other. Taking in stranger's perspectives and appreciating the reality we saw in them, each of us for ourselves. We let each other be. When I gave them a hug it was heartfelt. I don't see myself converting to the LDS Church for I am comfortable living in the midst of my childhood-Christianity-Buddhism-free-thinker-Yoga-mysticism-new-age-whatever-you-want-to-call-it. But I am not afraid of Mormons anymore, neither do I pity them. On top of that I am very grateful to have met two honest boys who had the guts to move to a foreign country for two years, challenging themselves to walk up to strangers every day. Thank you, Mitchell and Harrison.
Anything else?
During our walk and talk I failed to mention one thing: Look at those names! Mitchell and Harrison. Two of the greatest musicians this planet has ever seen. Could there be a better team? Maybe you guys should record a song together. 
Even more?
In this post I wrote about Mormons. I started the piece with my experience with a Jehova's witness. Obviously those two are different as are other churches and religious communities. I am not bracketing them all together. Not today at least; When I was younger they were "the sects". I didn't know differentiate between them. Today I still lack a lot of knowledge about churches but I am aware they are not all the same. And I was not trying to say that in this piece.

Hey there!
I just returned from my trip to several German cities. Beautiful encounters happened all along the way. I collected 8 stories in five towns and I'm going to share them within the next few days. There were a young Maude, a punk, two Mormons and more. Can't wait to add them to my compliment diary!
Thanks for checking this page, I hope to see you back here soon,
best,
Rosa

Who?
Tim 
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are an insane dancer!"
How did he react?
He laughed and said, "No, no, I am just warming up!"
How did I feel?
This is another busking story. Funnily enough it happened the same day that I read my friend Mark's piece on busking. In his stunning text he says,

(...) there are the people who actually engage. They’re in the minority, but boy do we appreciate them. Children stare wide-eyed, couples dance, singles sit and watch quietly for 20 minutes and then walk away. There are the sincere thank-yous and the silent drops of 10, 20 and even 50 dollar bills into our tip box.

Reading this reminded me of all the encounters that this minority had sparked for me in the past. They are the reason I busk. I have had Jimmy tip me bread every night for weeks, Samson draw me and Andre share his lunch with me. Those pavement miracles don't just make me fall in love with the city I am in. They restore my belief in humanity. I know the kids and their shy waving, the couples and their moved hand holding to my music. But Mark had mentioned one thing that had never happened to me: Someone dancing to my music. I figured it was probably harder to dance to a solo violin baroque tune then to Mark's beats. Yet I wondered what it might feel like.
An hour later I was playing Bach at a Neukölln street corner, my violin case in front of me. A passer by surprised me with his chocolate donation and a homeless' "Good luck for tonight! Crossing fingers you'll get a lot of tips!" made me smile. There it was, the beloved minority. The biggest stunner of the night was Tim. It all started with him staying for a while. Between two movements I looked up and said, "Thanks for listening! I really appreciate it." Tim tipped me and answered, "You are welcome! But to be honest I am just waiting for a friend... It's funny though. Somehow I always end up talking to street musicians. They fascinate me. There is something about them-... Anyways. Can I sit with you for a minute?" "Sure!", I said. I asked him for his name. "Tim", he answered, "I am a dancer. Maybe I could dance..." My voice pitched three octaves higher as I said, "Oh my god, please do! Please! That would be amazing!" I laughed and added, "No pressure though." TIm moved his head from left to right. He said, "The thing is I don't know the friend I am meeting very well. He might be weirded out by my dancing on the street." He grinned, "In that case you'll have to buy me dinner instead." "Well, I have got some chocolate we can share..." We smiled at each other. I started playing. Two minutes into the movement Tim got up. His movements were small at first. Waves starting in the tips of his fingers, rolling through his shoulders and neck. Bar by bar they grew bigger until his whole body was flowing. His legs made his jeans look like leggings when they spread into a standing split. His chucks played along as he rolled over his toes. He turned into like a water lily, a leopard, a fragile girl, and a storm all a the same time. Every cell of his conjured along. I was torn between trying my best to accompany him well and being thunderstruck because he was so crazily good! As soon as I let the fascination overwhelm me and stared at him I lost the score and made mistakes. Eventually I stuck with the music. That took my pleasure to a whole new level: Though I did not see him I felt his presence and expression around me like I have not felt anyone's ever before. I could tell when he was completely immersing in the music. Those moments pulled me out of my body. I was everywhere, sensing his moves alongside of the rhythm. I became the paste, the shapes and the harmonies. Together they created new waves, structures and colors in me. I was sober but this was a full on trip. After I had finished the last chord i cried, "You are an insane dancer!" He laughed, said "that's just me warming up!", then waved at someone standing nearby. His friend had arrived. The man looked just as impressed as I felt. There was no doubt the two of them were still on for dinner. Before Tim and I said goodbye he suggested we should do a performance together one day. My answer came instantly, "I am jonesing for it." 

Who?
Andre
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I love your attitude."
How did he react?
He smiled and said, "Thank you very much!"
How did I feel?
I met Andre trying to stop him from stealing a bike. Sawing the lock in bright daylight he raised his eyes when I cried, "Dude, what are you doing?" He put his hands up and shook his hand. "No, this is not what it looks like, I swear! I would never do that! Look here", he got his key chain out. A broken bike key stuck out like a tooth gap in a preschooler's smile. For a second I wondered if he was a professional thief and the key his back up for moments like this. Then I decided to trust him. 
I had been watching him break the lock from across the street where I had been busking. Now I went back to my violin case and played on. Ten minutes later he sat down next to me, laying the bike down behind him. It was free now. Andre stayed and listened to my music. He shared his pizza with me. His company turned my day around: Busking had been going horrible until he joined me on the pavement. Hardly anyone had stopped, listened or tipped. I was sick and tired but I needed the money. When Andre held out a soda to me and said, "For you!", I decided to take a break. "You make people smile with your music.", Andre beamed at me. "Yeah...?", I answered. Then I realized I had been so attached to my score I probably did not notice the smiles, all I saw was the pairs of feet running past me. I thanked Andre for pointing that out to me and told him I have been annoyed with Berlin's lack of smiles lately. I got started on how the whole dictatorship of coolness in this city has been getting to me. Detached glances, trend beverages and the uniformity of unique clothing; I feel lost looking for life between the masses of young people whose deep split between standing out and fitting in is making them grit their teeth. Openness, serenity and truthfulness are hard to find on Berlin streets. That is my perception. After my monologue Andre smiled at me and said, "Yeah, I hear you. I, too, miss people who are down to create a community. I believe life is about sharing. But in my opinion this is more of a global problem. Berlin in particular- I am not sure about that. In fact I have met so many beautiful souls here! This place has a special feel to it and I love that." When talking Andre's voice was soft and his face relaxed. Every word of his came with a small piece of his heart. He sparkled. I learned that he is from Brazil and moved here six weeks ago to live with his boyfriend. We reflected on the crazy everyone carries and on how healthy it is to wear that on the surface. Andre told me he operates on vibes. Depending on the feel someone has Andre will approach him or keep his distance. He trusts his gut. Taking another bite of the pizza I nodded. I loved our conversation, all the bits of truth Andre put forward. I told him that his whole appearance and his attitude were beautiful to me. He smiled and said, "Thanks!". We gazed at each other. Our sodas were empty. I gave him a hug, then we said goodbye. As I closed the scores I had a realization: My being hacked off about Berlin had decreased. Because it was people like Andre who I missed- and I had just found one. The ones who sit down next to a street musician, buy them a drink and exchange pieces of life. The ones who see the beauty even after breaking their bikes lock for half an hour (I am sure it was Andre's bike by now). The ones whose souls dance in their smiles and words. Thank you Andre, for making Berlin a better place by living here. Welcome to Germany. 
Anything else?
Once Andre had switched the flip from "shitty day" to "alive" the whole city played along. On my way to teaching Yoga I crossed the Oberbaum bridge where the sun surprised me: One set, three spots. I grinned and whispered, "Alright, fine, Berlin, I like you, too."

Who?
Nathalie
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are doing an amazing job here! Oh and by the way: You have beautiful eyes."
How did she react?
She laughed and said, "Thanks!" 
How did I feel?
Nathalie works at the city hall. A massive building with grey, strict walls. It is personified heaviness. And Nathalie: Its opposite. When you enter her office she greets you with a soft smile. The make up on her face is perfectly applied and suits her well, her clothes look like a tailor has sewed them for her. Her outfit tells you: She cares. About her appearance, her job, her opposite, that's you. She opens her mouth and reveals her light, clear voice. "How can I help you today?", she asks you. 
Either you respond, "Here's what I need-..." or, in my case, you don't say anything at all. It happened today: My reaction to her question was standing in awe with my jaw sagging. I wondered, "Did she really just ask me how she could help me?" Now you might wonder, where is this coming from? Why didn't she just sit down, handed her forms over and asked her questions? Here is the thing:
I have complained about the Berlin bureaucracy before. I don't know how many office doors I have opened to find an angry pair of eyes stare at me, an annoyed moaning tell me "Don't bother me.", vague gestures suggest for me to get lost. I have had secretaries shout at me for bringing the wrong form and office workers hammer at my hands when filling in the wrong blank. No joke. After years and years of living in Berlin I know the score. For us it's not just don't fuck with Berlin clerks, it is don't interact with them. At all. If you can. It is self protection: You might not make it out alive.
So yes, Nathalie's warm welcome was a miracle to me. And it was not just her. It was her whole office. They bantered with each other, spreading an easy mood. I did not believe my eyes. While Nathalie noted my data down she moved her shoulders to the beats from the radio. Between handing me my passport and printing a form for me she laughed about my jokes. So did her colleagues. They laughed out loud! At the same time Nathalie finished her writing faster than I have anyone seen type words. She raced through programs and blanks and was done with everything in five minutes. Five minutes which I had been prepared to be half an hour of fighting for my life. Instead I got the greatest surprise in weeks: A room full of sunshine and smiles. Thank you, Nathalie! You rock!

Who?
Nico and Mark
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are insanely creative, amazing storytellers and great collaborate with."
How did they react?
This is a written one, but I have told them parts of it. Their reaction was a happy smile and a "thank you!" at all times.
How did I feel?
1. “You are insanely creative.”
Do you remember the last brainwave you learned about? No, not the "Let's get wasted and jump off the Oberbaum bridge"- kind of idea. Neither the "I think I should go and become a popstar at 86" one (though both these can be amazing, depending on who puts them forward in which context). I am talking the "I just figured out how the world works!"- moment, the "What if our planet spins around the sun, not the other way around?" flash of insight; Or, in Nico's and Mark's case the "I think I found an idea for a film" statement. A brainstorm. Think back. Got one? Alright. Now here is my question: Did you grasp its greatness straight away? My guess: No. Not because I doubt your intellectual capabilities but because that's what I have been experiencing. Whenever someone trumps with a genius idea I don't see all there is to it on the spot. I start out nodding, maybe I say, "I like it. This could work." I have a feeling. A wild guess, that there is potential. But it is not my idea so I can't immerse in it the way I do when I give birth to a thought myself. I stand and watch. Then slowly, moment by moment, I start to get it. That's one characteristic of someone else's inspiration: Once it has entered your head it haunts you. You see parts of it everywhere. Until you give in and turn that nod from the beginning into a full on dance to the idea's beat. That beat can frame a thousand different rhythms. As time passes you realize all those rhythms there are to the idea, countless layers, meanings and aspects. Great ideas are simple enough to contain crazy complexity: They frame breaks, riffs and licks, all of which rain down on you.
Now you are hooked. You want to enlighten everyone around you. Spark that feeling your ears tickle with after immersing in the beat, “This is genius!”,  and turn the music into everyone’s favorite tune. The reaction you get to your sharing: A lot of vague nods. Just like yours in the beginning…
In four years of knowing Nico and Mark I have gone through that process several times with them. They burst with brainwaves. The beats they have inspired me to dance to fill several albums. The tracks differ. Some of them are creative ideas and results, such as Mark's audio play. Some of them are analyses, like Nico’s outlook on Detroit. Most of them live in countless moments. It is the dinner party at which Nico gives a spontaneous speech on how “Gourmet is the new organic! It’s the next big thing, I’m telling you,” he says, and shares some adventures from his last grocery shopping. You watch his time at the store like a movie as he directs scene after scene in front of your inner eye, making zombie customers, high tech food products and scary employees come to life. It is the day you enter Mark’s apartment for the first time and see all the aliens he has painted on his walls. You stare at them and gasp at the crazy details and the devotion he has put into crafting them. It is Nico’s and Mark’s conversation on a regular Thursday afternoon in which they come up with a thousand new interpretations to films, graphic novels and series. “Man, have you ever noticed that one guy standing in the background in Taxi Driver, in that scene where-...” And off they go. They season their observations with jokes and finish them off with “What if…?”: What if one created a whole new paradigm out of this one hidden twist they just discovered? What if this detail was a quote from another classic? What if there was a whole back story to that?
It is not just films. Nico and Mark find greatness everywhere. Take a walk in your neighborhood with them and they will point out ten subtleties you never noticed before. The window covered with a decades old poster. The tag on the bottom of your house. The hidden choreography in the car’s movement in front of your building. They celebrate them, then start braiding stories from their finds. Or images. Or beats- or all of those at once.

Dear world, 
the reason I haven't been posting is I am sick. 
Posts are in progress, will publish them as soon as I can!
Thanks for your patience! 
Have a sweet weekend, 
yours,
Rosa

Who?
Arthur
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You are a really nice guy! And you just served me the best drink I have had in six months. Thanks so much!"
How did he react?
He grinned, "thank you!"
How did I feel?
I love vodka. Everyone else swallows their shot in one second and makes a face. My 2 cl last for 30 sips that come with a smile. Sometimes I spend half an hour with that glass by my side. Call me strange, I like the taste of it. Speaking of tastes here are my favorite ones: vanilla and cinnamon. I add them to everything. Chocolate, yoghurt, Indian Curry; They upgrade it all. I have been experimenting with the two of them for years. Before meeting Arthur I was sure I had already figured out all the combinations there are. But tonight Arthur disabused me. He introduced me to the best threesome in food history: Vodka, cinnamon and vanilla. At Geist Im Glas, a bar he works at, he poured a shot of their homemade liquor in a glass for me. I had no idea what to expect, in fact my friend and I had randomly ended up at the place, looking for a nice spot around the corner. When Arthur had asked us for our order I had looked around and discovered a shelf full of bottles behind him. Not just any brands, the labels were handwritten and those bottles reminded me of Snape’s cabinet from Harry Potter, sitting in the dark, waiting to be explored… There were about twenty of them and the first name I saw said “vodka cinnamon vanilla”. I knew I had to go for it. While chatting about Ann Arbor with Arthur (we both have family there) I took the glass from him and tried. A mhhhmh slipped out of my mouth. It was a taste explosion. Still vodka, still hard- yet round and, well, yeah, gentle! (I can’t believe I am writing this. I sound like a sixty year old, rich whisky lover. Good thing David showed me how to appreciate tastes and the art of tasting.) This time around I took an hour to finish the shot. Just because it was such a treasure. It tasted like a woman who has balls and a sharp tongue yet moves aesthetically, has soft skin and wears a light smile for make up. She doesn't put on more for she's a natural beauty.
Before leaving I complimented Arthur. When I told him about the project he laughed and said, "So that makes me your complimentee! Does that word even exist?" I grinned, shrugged and said, "It does now." His reaction to the compliment came with an open smile. After thanking me he said, "I wish I could say I made the drink, too, but I didn't." "Well, you served it in the best way possible." I answered and asked, "So what do you do when you don't pour drinks?" I learned about Arthur's DJ career (18 years with breaks) in NYC and Berlin. He recently founded a label, too, and told me Berlin is treating him well in terms of DJing and gigs. Next week he'll be playing five minutes from Geist Im Glas. If I am in town i'll go for sure- can't wait to dance to some beats of tonight's friendly bartender. Thanks for the good service, your smile and that stunning drink, Arthur!