Who?
Jess
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
Her: "You have a super positive attitude and radiance. It is uplifting to be around you."
Me: "Thanks a lot! I appreciate that. I admire your pofessionality! You are all chatty, you make jokes, you drink your coffee- but as soon as the camera is rolling you are one hundred percent focused, on the spot. Your level of concentration is stunning."
Her: "Thank you! Thanks. Okay, my turn. Your freckles are super sweet! They look really cute."
Me: "Oh, thanks! That's great to hear, for as a kid I really did not like them at all. Now I do but still, it's nice to hear that from someone. Okay, my turn: I love the way you move. Your gait is real and authentic and at the same time you look like a dancer when you walk down the street."
Her: "That's a special one. Thank you. Thanks! That I have not heard before. Thanks again. Really. Okay. I'm next. I think you are a good friend. After we met Karen, your friend earlier I am sure you are very true and caring with the ones you love."
Me: "Thanks... I hope I am. I try to be. Yeah. Thanks. Alright: You have a great humor. Sharp, spontaneous, light- I like hanging with you for all the laughs we share."
Her: "Haha, thanks! I love that you are doing this project, making other people happy, it is amazing to see that there is still someone who does selfless things!" 
Me: "Thank you. I have to say though, it is not entirely selfless. I am doing it because it makes me happy, more than anything else... Anyways, here you go: Your speaking Spanish is music to my ears. Sooo beautiful!"
Her: "Oh, thanks! That's cool. I love the way you laugh. You have a super open smile."
Me: "Thanks! Your energy level is insane! You overflow with activity, so much in fact that just talking to you I am already more energetic than usually. If I were you I would probably be exhausted after just an hour of being awake but you just go on and on."
How did I feel?
Towards the end of a fun day together Jess and I were asked to pay each other five compliments. At Berlin Hauptbahnhof we stood facing one another, and took turns in sharing our appreciation. I loved the task. It was a new practice: I have given more than one compliment at a time before-- but never five, and neither have I received five in return instantly. As our ping-pong of kudos went on I sensed a process. While her first compliment caused a slight smile and merely stroked my outside her second one already crept its way under my skin. By the time she paid me her fifth I had become all bubbly and warm inside, ready to air-kiss everyone from the Japanese tour group next to us. 
I will definitely do this again!

Who?
Amanjit
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"Hey, I am doing a project in which I compliment a person a day. Today you are my candidate. I just saw you pass by and I could not take my eyes off of you. You are so insanely pretty!"
How did she react?
She nodded, and said, "Thank you!"  For a moment she hesitated then she asked, "So in that project of yours- do I have to say something in return?"
I laughed, "You already have! And no, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to." 
"Ah, alright. So is this serious? Like honest? Hearing that its part of a project makes me wonder..."
"Yeah, honesty is my only rule. Whatever I say I am not allowed to lie or consciously use the compliment as a means to an end other than expressing what I feel about someone else. So yes, it is totally honest, otherwise I would not have said it." 
"I understand! That sounds really cool! Thanks then! I think it would have been easier for me to receive the compliment if I had not known about your project. For a second there knowing that raised doubts. 
How did I feel?
I loved Amanjit's bluntness! The openness and clarity with which she gave me feedback for the project were stunning, especially since our conversation went down in front of a video camera. 
Though I still enjoyed her lovely looks I was actually more impressed by her critical and smart mindset while we talked with one another. This is something I dig about complimenting strangers: You spot one thing you like about them. You approach them and tell them. As you chat you can almost be certain to discover treasures in them you were unable to detect from far away. Stories, attitude, feelings- whatever piece of inner beauty compliment cadidates share with me, it is always a surprise gift. I receive for praising another part of them. It's a win-win (win win win).
Anything else?
I have contemplated on the argument in Amanjit's critique of my compliment strategy before. Find my thoughts here.

Who?
Gilles
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I just caught a glimpse at your expression. Your open, friendly look struck me right away. It was so beautiful to see!"
How did he react?
He nodded, said, "Merci!", and added some French words I did not understand. Apparently they meant, "this makes me feel warm all over!". 
How did I feel?
Have you ever looked into a stranger's eyes and felt you saw their soul? I did with Gilles.
It is a big claim. I know. Nonetheless, for a moment, I was overwhelmed with the friendliness and wisdom I detected in his glance. I felt as though he was a soft, open, polite guy. My impression was so intense I needed to share it with him: I approached him. Greeting him in English I learned he was French and only spoke a little bit of English. My one-year-of-high-school-French did not help and neither did Gilles' head shaking to my question, "German?". i ended up complimenting him in English, unsure whether he understood. His modest nod and "Merci...?" left me wondering still. Had he gotten what I had said? Finally, once my friend translated his words to me, I realized he had received the message after all. When I looked back at him I spotted a slight sparkle in his growing smile. No doubt, he had comprehended my message. 

Who?
Nir and Shay 
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You guys are awesome! Listening to your music is so much fun!"
How did they react?
They nodded, "Thanks!" 
How did I feel?
Jazz. Jazz, jazz, jazz. The greatest genre of all times. The hot shit. The real deal. No doubt: Jazz rocks. Or grooves for that matter. Ever wondered what jazz really means? What it is at its core? Here is my definition:
Jazz means fun. Your instrument becomes your playground. And you: An explorer. Every tune you play is a new adventure whose calling reaches out to you from unknown realms.
Jazz means freedom of expression. You put it all out there. Your sounds can be softer than your mom's lullaby when you were little or more brutal than a chain reaction collision on the highway. Or everything in between.
Jazz means intellectuality. Its structures and forms are as logical and profound as Wittgenstein's works. 
Jazz means listening. Real listening. I recently read a quote, "Are you listening to understand or listening to reply?". Listening to understand, everyone in the band listening to understand, that is jazz. 
Jazz means spontaneity. Spontaneity is the opposite of you? Not when it comes to jazz! You may flip each time the subway is a minute late, your friends may have to ask you a month ahead for a beer at a bar, your siblings may call you anal; Playing jazz you metamorphose the second you hear the drummer count in. You allow every impulse. You follow ideas that pop up in your head. Sounds leave your body by themselves. You give in. You let go. You flow.
Jazz means presence. Yoga, meditation, tai chi: Jazz includes them all. This music is ultimate awareness in the moment. 
And: jazz means love. Sometimes sex even. Playing together can be more intimate, unifying and exciting than any conversation or one night stand. While music is known to be a gateway to the soul, jazz is a full on emotional striptease. Because there is improvisation jazz reveals where you are at with no notes or interpretations to hide behind. You get naked. Sounds scary? It is not. Most of the time at least: Whatever you expose there is always chords, rhythms and band members to hold you tight.

Why am I saying all that? Because jazz! 
And: Because I met Nir and Shay yesterday. The two of them were personified jazz. Here is what happened: 
My friend Gur and I stopped our stroll down the Landwehrkanal when we saw them. Busking by the riverside they played standards and some free jazz. I admired their balls for doing the latter. Free jazz is not known to be a crowd favorite. It is too weird, too crazy and too atonal for many listeners I know. Berlin proved me wrong that afternoon: As I watched the audience's faces I realized those people dug free jazz! In their eyes I detected appreciation for Nir and Shay's togetherness, how they listened, breathed, and enjoyed themselves. For the way they let go, invented structures, burst into loudness and played quietly. In short: For their jazz. You know what I mean. 
When Nir and Shay took a break Gur started talking to them. He had figured they were from Israel, just like Gur himself. We all introduced ourselves, Gur told them he was a guitar player, I told them I was a singer. They asked me to sing with them. I was stoked. (In fact I had been secretly wondering whether I could join them: Listening to their music had made me want to play myself pretty bad. However I didn't want to walk in on their twosome.). They asked me whether I knew "On The Sunny Side Of The Street". I said, "Hell yeah!", remembering the countless hours I had spent once upon a time, transcribing and memorizing Sonny Stitt's solo on the Sonny Side Up record to this tune. Back then I had immersed in every note and every chord. What I did not think about: That this had been five years ago. Five long years without ever singing that song again. All I thought in this moment was, "I love this song!", and, "Let's do it!". We agreed on a key and Shay got started on his base. I closed my eyes. Suddenly the situation shifted. My heart started beating faster. I felt nervousness rush through me. I was standing in front of all these people. They expected me to sing. A song whose lyrics, as I now realized, I was not sure I remembered. Not to mention the chords. I clenched my fists. Tried to catch my breath. And -- missed my entry. Nir played the line for me. I jumped in and made it through the first verse. "Grab your coat and take your hat. Leave your worries on the doorsteps, just direct your feet, to the sunny side of the street." Then it left me. Unable to remember the words I opened my eyes. Looking for a way out I decided to improvise the lyrics. "I've forgotten about the words, but that ain't no problem for me, I'll just sing and sing, on the sunny side of the street." Suddenly Nir and Shay switched to the b-part. I stopped and thought, "Right, there was a b-part." I didn't remember the chord progression there, neither the words. Searching for help I looked at Gur. His lips formed the words. I caught one or two but they were not enough. The form finished without me. Eventually I just stood there, snipping my fingers for what felt like hours, waiting for Nir and Shay to finish their solos, so I would get a second shot at singing the chorus. The chorus came. I missed it. And no, I did not magically remember the lyrics once I found my way on board throughout the last form. I stayed lost. 
After the last chord I looked down and said, "Guys, I am so so sorry. I was sure I knew the song. This is embarrassing." "No worries", Nir said. I shook my head, "No, seriously. Please can I get a second chance? I can't leave like that. This is way too bad." "It's all good! But sure. What should we play?" We agreed on a free tune. Nir and Shay looked at each other, "Let's all start together!". I nodded.  We inhaled and started. It was like someone had hit a switch. I gave in. Now there was no form and no lyrics to be remembered. All I had to do was listen. And I did: I followed Nir's line, then liberated my notes from it. Joined him again, went off again. From time to time I floated on top of Shay's beat, then I went against it. I felt like we were moving through worlds we created ourselves. Each time our rhythm and tones changed we opened the door to a new realm. We didn't just walk through those realities, we danced. Sometimes we held each other tight in rhythms and swayed cheek to cheek in tones, sometimes each of us spun by ourselves. But even when there was a mile between us all we were still connected through an invisible string: Through jazz.

Hours later, after I had said goodbye, I realized Shay and Nir had just taught me an additional definition of jazz:
Jazz means no judgement. Sure, where there is a (musical) form there is structure, and where there is structure there are rules. Rules bring judgement. But jazz does not. Before I had even sung the first note of On The Sunny Side Of The Street I had already been absorbed in judging myself and battling my fear of being judged by the audience. This way I had not found jazz. Not for one note. I had merely been clinging to a downward spiral of panic. But once the song was over Nir and Shay were there to assist and teach me. They did so by smiling and nodding, just like they had been doing before. No judging. Instead they said, it's okay. They saw I could not dial myself into jazz through the standard and offered me a different window: Free jazz. 
And it worked. As soon as I felt there was no structure and no secret rules I broke free. The moment I stopped rushing through my mind, looking for the correct Sunny Side Of The Street I found it. Not the lyrics but the sunny side: I left the shade behind and danced my way through a lovely afternoon, the sun shining bright. I immersed in it: In jazz. Jazz, jazz, jazz. The greatest genre of all times. The hot shit. The real deal. 
Thank you, Shay and Nir.

Anything else?
By the way: Talking about The Sunny Side Of The Street- This is what I faced while singing. 

Even more?
By the way: Talking about Israelis: You might have noticed I have been absent here. Although I hardly ever stop the complimenting I had to take a break from writing due to an illness. However I am psyched to feed this blog more regularly again as I am almost back on track and about to get on a plane to Tel Aviv tomorrow! Can't wait to report compliment experiences from Israel and Istanbul! 

Who?
Ana
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"Quiero tu... erm... No sé la palabra... erm... como se dice..?" I pointed at her skirt.
"Mi falda?"
"Si! Tu falda! Gracias! Pienso que es muchisimo... erm.. bello.. No, es Italiano...--"
"Hermosa?" 
"Si! Es muy hermosa!"
How did she react?
She nodded, "Vale! Gracias!" 
How did I feel?
Aprendo Español a la universidad desde el octubre pasado. Si hablas Espanol es probable detectar muchisimos errores en esto texto. Pero hoy estoy emocionada sobre mi Español, no importa cuántos errores hago: El encuentro con ana esta tarde ha estado el primera vez en el que utilizé mi Español con una persona que no estudia o enseña a la universidad. Spanish in real life! Aunque no sabía muchisimas palabras cuando hablé con ella Ana comprendía lo que yo quería expresar. Fue increíble! 

I am going to switch back to English now. Enough racking my brains over Spanish words for one day. When I saw Ana I fell for her skirt. It looked just like that very moment: Sunny, colorful, smelling of flowers and spring. I approached her and asked whether she spoke English or German. She shook her head slowly. So-so. "Spanish?", She asked me. Now it was on me to shake my head. But I gave myself a push. The compliment was team-work with her helping me to find the words. But eventually we made it past all language barriers. 
I asked her where she was from (in Spanish.), she told me (in Spanish, and I understood!), from Madrid, and that she was only visiting Berlin for one day. Then she asked me for directions to her destination. I told her the way (in Spanish!!). Afterwards I was delighted to have seen such a beautiful skirt, talked to a nice girl and experienced that my Spanish was at least good enough to make a three minute conversation. Total delectation! Gracias, Ana!

Who?
Gino
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"I dig the way you enjoy books!"
How did he react?
He laughed, "Yeah man, reading is awesome!" 
How did I feel?
Passionate people please me. The fire in their eyes, the tide in their nods, the dance in their gestures- Sharing their company brings me to life. The best part: Everyone is "those people" sometimes. Everybody digs something. Think about it. Do you know somebody who loves nothing at all? I don't. Some people’s enthusiastic expression may be more subtle than others but I am certain there is excitement in every person. The objects differ. Music, science, film, dance or something exotic such as beetle fights (that’s right. Beetle fights are a thing. There is a whole community around domesticating and training beetles and organizing beetle fights.) How many things to be stoked about there are exactly? My guess: Probably as many as there are people on this planet. Fascination is in the heart of the beholder. 
Whenever I meet someone new I love finding out what they are into. Listening to particular characteristics they dig about their passion is my favorite thing. While they picture moments that make them feel like "This rocks. This is what I want to be doing." I watch the sun rise in their expression. Their sharing those moments are gifts: Not only do I learn about whatever it is they love first hand but I also enjoy their happiness as they immerse in their passion. Praising what they are into they turn from strangers into lovers. As they celebrate their beloved matter or activity in words they fill the space around them with warmth.
There is only one thing I like better than experiencing that magic with a stranger: Having a friend surprise me with it. I like to think I know some things about the people I hang out with, especially when it comes to what interests them. Like Gino: He may not be a good friend- I have only seen him a handful times- but I know he is an open hearted person who loves playing guitar, skating, drinking, visiting Berlin and spontaneity. It took me about five minutes to figure that list out when we first met a year ago in San Francisco. That night I was busking in the Mission, Gino passed me on his skateboard. He heard me, stopped and talked to me. We quickly bonded over our love for music- and Berlin: When I told him I am from there his eyes grew wide and he said, “I spent my best summer there.”. We talked for a while. I enjoyed his company and decided to invite Gino to my goodbye dinner a few nights later. I had no phone so I wrote my address and the dinner’s date on the back of a postcard. He promised to be there. And he came: On the night of my dinner we spent some fun hours jamming and eating and Gino returned the next night, this time with a bunch of friends, for a party at my house. Together we burned Christmas trees, drank beer and sang at the bonfire. It was beautiful. 

Now, more than a year later, Gino has returned to Berlin. Last night we met at a bar. I was prepared to reminisce about San Francisco, enjoy a fair taste of German beer and share our latest music discoveries. I was all wrong. Sure, we did talk about San Francisco; For about two minutes. No longer. Twenty sentences into the night we were absorbed in a different conversation. It was neither about music nor beer, nor anything else I associated with Gino so far. No skating, no traveling, no eating. Before we even entered the bar I found myself hanging on his every word while he: Sang Charles Bukowski’s song. Gino liked literature! Actually, that is not true. He did not just like it. He was over the moon with it. His eyebrows greeted the crown of his head as he told me about what Bukowski's poetry made him feel like. "The guy is so real! He just captures life the way it actually is. Oftentimes in a dark way, but you know how that sometimes helps when you're really down? When you find someone who makes you feel like you're not alone because he is going through the same? That's Bukowski. He is the lost dude you meet at night in the bar who looks at you with the clarity of an alcoholic and knows exactly where you are. And his humor, his humor! I recall reading the poems on BART, laughing out loud, and then two minutes later, while reading the next one, being on the verge of crying again. What a man." 
Time flew with Gino sharing his love for literature. He told me about how he had not liked to read in High School and spent days with it now. How he saw countless meanings in Dostoyevsky's work. Teasing every book he mentioned as if the author himself had asked him to recruit readers he came up with thrilling summaries and funny character descriptions. Two hours after the Bukowski kick off I held a scrap of paper in my hand. It contained six books, two authors and one film. Each of those names triggered Gino's ardent praise for them in my memory. 

Gino's passion was one I could relate to. Growing up without television I learned how to read before entering school. For years children's books were my number one entertainment. I read the Harry Potter series eight times. Once I had finished the most recent one I just went back to the beginning. As I grew older I lost my glutton for books spirit but I held on to my fascination for words. And I still love literature: Even though I don't read four books -- or even one -- per week anymore I appreciate someone else's writing endlessly. To me immersing in a written world means letting an author tickle my imagination. His voice takes me on a trip to my innermost images as I color his words and his story with my perspective. That same perspective can be turned around by a single book, too: If I open myself up to it, a novel will change me. As the sentences wander into my heart they reconstruct my worldview. 
Aside from the glow and depth in Gino's literature devotion I loved the fact that he is into poetry, too. Rarely do I meet people who sigh, "I love poetry!" the way he did. If you ask me books are like relationships. They require commitment. You enter a process with them. Poems on the other hand can be momentary, like the a stranger's glance you catch on the subway: That one look that makes you feel like you see their soul. That gives you the chills. It moves you in your innermost self, reminds you of a past lover, a friend's death or the smell of the first rose in spring. Just like the look on the subway the right poem in the right moment leaves you breathless.
Moreover I see a larger variety of meaning in poems. I can read the same poem a hundred times and I will read a hundred different texts. Because its meaning is less pegged into a tight structure like a novel and more up to my reading. Its brevity makes it more open. At the same time it is not completely up to the reader I feel: The author has implemented a certain quality in it. Sadness, yearning, anger, or an emotion that transcends one notion; whatever it is, this one stays the same each time I read the poem. It enters my heart like a water trickling into the sand. There is nothing I can do. However particular sentences mean different things as time passes and I look at the piece again. Poems continually change and remain the same. Long story short: I am fascinated by poetry and I love it. Like Gino. Yesterday, when my beer was about finished, I folded my recommendations-list and put it in my wallet. There was a moment of silence. I contemplated on my favorite poetry moments. Suddenly I realized I had not mentioned my favorite poem of all times to Gino. I recited it for him, my eyes closed: 

When I opened my eyes again I caught a glimpse at Gino's expression. It was bliss. Movement. Immersion. Openness. A bit of all those, yet more. I am not even sure there is a word for this. But the look on Gino's face told me he was right there, in that nameless spot. The unique place in which poetry happens. 

Anything else?

Gino's recommendations for me: 

• Charles Bukowski. Ham On Rye. 
  
• Charles Bukowski. Love Is A Dog From Hell. 
  
• Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Notes From Underground (Gino says this was one of Bukowski's favorite books. Plus it reminds him -Gino- of another book he really likes: The Fall by Camus).
  
• Cormac McCarthy. The Blood Meridian.
• Louis-Ferdinand Céline. Journey To The End Of The Night (Another author Gino discovered through reading Bukowski) 
• Jack Kerouac. On The Road. 
• Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? 

My recommendations for Gino: 

• Italo Calvino. If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler (Because this is my current reading. I have been busy with it for a while and probably will be for another one, two years. I can't continue following the story for more than five minutes at a time. Calvino is such a genius writer he makes me stop reading every three pages. I drop the book, jump to my computer and brainstorm about what story to write. When I read If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler it makes me want to write a novel more than anything else in the world). 
  
• Rainer Maria Rilke. Letters To A Young Poet (Because.)
  
• Erich Fromm. The Art Of Loving (This book blew my mind several times a few years ago).
  
• Wittgenstein. Tractatus Logicus Philiosophicus and Philosophical Investigations (These books blew my mind last year).
  
• The Brothers Grimm. Fairytales. (A good reading for an American traveling Europe)
  
• Hafiz. Every Poem Of His. (Because he is the best poet I know)

Even more? 
Yesterday Gino sent me two of his favorite Bukowski poems. One of them is called Bluebird. I received his message after teaching Yoga. The poem blew my mind. Once I had finished reading the last stance I went straight back into the studio, jammed with the harmonium for an hour, repeating the few stances I remembered (or thought I remembered). I can't wait to play the whole poem together with Gino.

I do not own this picture. I stole it from Martin's band's facebook page.

Who?
Martin
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"Your way of getting ideas instantly is incredible! I have never met someone who fully understands the essence of a brainstorm as quickly as you do."
How did he react?
He has not yet: This compliment is a written one.
How did I feel?
Some people have outstanding talents. I once saw a guy who could squeeze his upper body through a tennis racquet's head. A friend of mine knows which part of your body you are focusing on without touching or watching you: He asks you to feel into a particular part of your body, then guesses which one it is. He is right 95 % of the time. Another person I know differentiates 50 kinds of apples. Cover her eyes and she will still know which one she is tasting.  
Martin is one of those people, too. His talent (or the one of his I have seen live) is less sensational but just as incredible as the others: He picks up the essence of creative ideas immediately. 
I met Martin on my way home tonight. Walking down Pannierstraße I saw him and his friend smoking. What started as hitting them up for a cigarette turned into hanging out with them for a good two hours straight. A balmy Neukölln evening, three people on a bench, a cold beer each: Perfect night. Our conversation went from desgin fairs to US history, the best friends-episodes and book recommendations. Along those lines I told them about a story I came up with a few days ago. The story is semi-autobiographical but I did not mention that. I just pitched the idea. Martin listened to my summary. When I was done he nodded. Once he opened his mouth he blew me away: Basically he outlined the main character in three sentences and gave me feedback. In theory that has happened many times. But actually, when summarizing the character, Martin described a part of me --since I am who the story is about-- as precisely and eloquently as no one has ever before. From listening to the basic structure of my story he completely understood the protagonist- and expressed her: His choice of words was closer to my personal experience of every day life than anyone's, including my own. It was like he approached me and said, "Let me tell you how you feel." To me that was a miracle.
On top of that he had understood the concept of the story to an extent that allowed him to critize it from a point of complete immersion. He was one hundred percent in the story, again: After only a few sentences from me, and at the same time so analytical that his words wrapped up parts of my idea I had not even noticed. Martin was the perfect feedbacker. His statements mirrored his quick wit, his empathy, creativity, analytical skills and enthusiasm. He shone a second time, five minutes later, when we talked about this (the compliment) project and he shared his mind again. Same story: His comments came clearly and accurately, positive ones as negative ones. Providing a fresh view on what I am doing here he nailed it. 
I share my ideas a lot, it helps them grow and me let go. Usually any feedback is great, sometimes even none at all: It can be sufficient to share my mind while the other person remains silent. Putting my ideas out there already changes my perspective on them. However Martin was miles away from remaining silent. With him it was not just confronting someone with my idea. He saw an x-ray of my concept and managed to print its picture for me to see. Thank you, Martin, for your precise, sensitive and smart words. If you ever start a business in which you give people feedback on their ideas I will be your number one customer. Your words turned my world around.

Who?
Mischu and Staki 
Where?
Berlin, Germany
What?
"You guys look super cute together!"
How did they react?
Mischu quickly hid in his mom's armpit. Staki laughed and said, "Now he is turning read. Just like I always do! He got that from his momma."
How did I feel?
I spotted Mischu and Staki on my way home from the store. Mischu, carried by Staki, wore a happy expression on his face. When I waved at him in passing he glanced at my hand as though I was holding Santa, Bugs Bunny and a massive bag of chocolate in it. His eyes said: Full on fascination. Staki and I smiled at each other. Chatting with them went down smoothly. We talked about the neighborhood (Staki and I are both Neukölln returnees after two years in wealthier places: She went to Frohnau, Berlin, I to Bonn. She told me she found the difference between here and there so stunning she is writing a book about her time away.) and the Fusion festival (she was wearing a ribbon from there and we agreed to see each other there). From there our conversation took a turn: We talked about relationships and ended up reflecting on how letting go of things and unions that no longer serve you is healthy. It is funny how sometimes it takes two minutes until two strangers immerse in the deep topics. While his mom and I talked Mischu slowly left his hideaway. By the time we said goodbye his and my hand were playing high five games. I waved at him one last time, then left feeling grateful to have met a sweet, easy and smart couple. 

Who?
Andreas
Where?
Hanover, Germany
What?
"You radiate with calm and confidence."
How did he react?
His eyes got wet. "I have heard this once before. Actually this very statement makes me cling to life."
How did I feel?
I spotted Andreas on a cloudy afternoon in Hanover. He was leaning against a wall at a pedestrian zone. In his hand he held a paper cup. He was begging for money. 
A camera team behind me I approached him. "Hey there!" 
He gave the camera a skeptical look. "Hey...?"
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
"You kinda already are..."
I grinned. "You're right. So I have this project-..."
He seemed like he was on the verge of shaking his head and asking us to leave but he said,"Erm, so..?"
"I compliment a person a day for one year. Today you're my candidate."
"Oh." His face lit up slightly. However I think he still was not convinced he was a fan of what was happening. 
"Here's what I thought when I saw you: You radiate with calm and confidence. The vibe you spread feels clear and super pleasant. Though I don't know you at all it seems to me like you are the kind of person who knows how to man up."
Within a second his expression changed from doubting to thunderstruck. He stared at me. A moment passed, then he opened his arms. We hugged. When we looked into each other's eyes again I saw there were tears in his. He told me, "I have heard this once before. Years ago my doctor told me that same thing. You know I am chronically sick. To be honest it is his statement which keeps me going at times. Over time many of my friends have gone, like, not come back. For good. Killed themselves, you know. But I have not. I stick around. Because whenever I am down I think of these words and they lift me up again." 
I didn't know what to say. Now I was the one to be thunderstruck and stare at him. Finally I swallowed and just hugged him again. 

We had the nicest chat afterwards, he told me about where he was from (way up in Northern Germany) and engaged with the camera team, too. A smile covered his face now. It stayed for the entire rest of our encounter.
Before the cameraman stopped videotaping Andreas approached him and said, "So if this is going to be aired here is one thing I want to, no, have to add. May I?" The cameraman, slightly surprised, nodded. Andreas cleared his throat, then looked right into the lens. "AIright." He straightened his back. "Here we go: I love my girlfriend. Honey, this goes out to you, I love you with all my heart and you are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I love you so, so much." Then he nodded. He seemed content.
We stuck around a bit longer. Told tales, laughed, listened. The journalist from the team gave Andreas some money. I did not want to leave. But I had to be somewhere so eventually we said goodbye, hugged one more time, then the team and I walked off. Clouds were still covering the sky but I did not notice them anymore. I was walking on the brightest sunshine ever.