[Originally posted on my blog Body, Mind, and Creativity, March 15 2021]
I met Robert during my first French language class at Free University Berlin. I was 19 years old. Robert was in his late 20s. He sat next to me, and that’s how we started talking. I found him interesting because his sentences were overly complicated and he chuckled sporadically without reason. Robert was rather tall, but a little clumsy.
Robert’s history as a student was rather unique. He told me that he studied medicine for six years but then dropped out because he could not stomach the sight of blood. After he dropped out, he enrolled in English language and literature. We found out that he took one of my dad’s lectures as well. My dad occasionally taught at Humboldt University at that time. Robert told me that he liked my dad’s style, and I believed him. One time he told me that he also took gender classes – primarily to learn more about women. What a tedious way to do that I thought, but who was I to judge.
It wasn’t until a year later that Robert’s life started to make a profound impact on me. After we first met we stayed in touch, went for a walk in a large city park, and explored some exotic fish in a local aquarium. Robert loved nature. Then I left to study abroad in England. A few weeks in, my parents told me that Robert called them. 3 o’clock in the morning. My dad picked up the phone. Robert told him how fond he was of his lectures. How nice of him! But 3am? And why would he even call my parents? Well, we never really found out. The only thing we learned was that soon after that, Robert found himself in a mental institution. And there he stayed for the next two years.
I did not know the details of Robert’s condition. But I remember asking myself what is it that decides who gets to remain in “regular life”, and who is sent away. My own life was quite a mess at that time. I did not take good care of myself. Back in Berlin, I lived in a rather run-down apartment, and I did not even notice how run down it was. My social life was complicated as well. So where is the limit to this? At what point was Robert – are we – unable to cope with the day-to-day challenges of life?
After I returned to Berlin, I was informed that Robert was transferred to a care home facility. I immediately decided to pay him a visit. I remember my visit like it was yesterday. When I arrived I was greeted by a couple of residents who asked me if I am the new counsellor. It was quite obvious that they did not get many visitors.
Robert shared his apartment with two fellow patients. One of them was a skinhead. Looking a little rough but friendly. How did this guy end up there? Apparently he was involved in a violent protest in which a refugee center was set on fire. Unlike his smarter friends, he did not get away fast enough and was caught. Alcohol made him lose control. But he had a soft side as well. When I visited he was writing a love letter to his girlfriend. He was struggling with language. So he asked me to help him find the right words, and I did.
After meeting this fellow, I asked myself again: why do certain people get “caught”? How do people end up in these places? Maybe not because they are more dangerous, but because they are unable to get their act together, because they don’t know how to navigate the system, or because they have no family or friends to help them.
Robert himself seemed trapped. Not only because he lived with two guys who he had nothing in common with. But he was also trapped in his mind. He was convinced that his calling was to educate these poor fellows to become better human beings. Maybe Robert was in fact the counsellor everyone was asking for – so he thought at least…
After a quick meal at his care home, Robert and I went for a walk. To visit his grandmother who lived in town. It would be the last time I see him. I remember that his sentences got even more twisted and harder to understand. Every time I thought I knew what he was saying the meaning got lost again in the jungle of words. At one point I suggested to Robert to perhaps switch to English, a foreign language to him. Suddenly I was able to understand, because English forced him to be more precise, to choose words more carefully. We finally reached his grandmother’s place where we had a cup of tea. Did she know what was going on with him? Not sure, but they both seemed to be at ease.
It was time for me to say good-bye. I could see in Robert’s eyes that he was very grateful I came to visit. And so was I. Robert was such a sweet person. And it did not matter that I never fully understood him. Life is difficult, and I realized how much it takes to keep organized, to stay positive.
I also realized that the difference between barely managing the challenges of life and becoming unfit to do so can be incredibly small. I will keep that in mind whenever I meet someone who spent some time in a care home or mental institution. He or she might be my less fortunate soulmate.
Thanks Robert for these meaningful encounters. Hang in there, wherever you are.
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