They Have a Target Here. No, Not the Store; It is me.

I write to you, not-so-slightly overwhelmed and equally confused by the series of events unfolding these last four months. Wow, four months. May I remind you about Demietri? The Russian, who adamantly followed me before and after I wouldn't give him my number. May I remind you about my wallet? It was stolen from me. May I remind you about the man who sang, "you should go home..." as well as the other man who flicked me off for no reason after a pleasant Sunday of church? Now, I need someone to remind me why I'm here still. Why these things "just keep happening" to me. Meanwhile, I'll remind myself that suffering produces perseverance, then character, then hope.

Sunday night marks another painful memory. This is one of those tales that really requires you to know the setting, and by the time I explain it, the story will have lost its power and you might not see why I've taken you through it. Here I go, anyway. As I got off one U-Bahn to wait for another arriving in five minutes or so, I was doing nothing but standing and breathing. On the platform across from me, for the trains heading the opposite direction, there was a man walking intently. He looked at me from his side (which you must know, our sides cannot be reached unless by use of the overpass), and he flicked me off with the thrust of his hand. Sure, at first I thought he did this to me, then told myself to stop thinking that way; but looking around me, I didn't see anybody else. I was appalled. Though facing left, my eyes followed him because I couldn't believe what had just happened. As he walked farther out of the picture, he made eye contact again, and again he deliberately and viciously flicked me off. Shocking. But then the worse part came. The part where this man did a one-eighty, and began walking up the moving escalator--to the overpass. Because this passage is a platform high above my level, I lost sight of this man.

My stomach dropped and I got that bad feeling that can't be described in any other way than a bad feeling. I prayed for physical protection. My train finally was arriving, and as it stopped and people began to exit, out of nowhere, the man dashed into my peripheral and proceeded to come right up to my face, saying, "Bitte ich durch fichen, bitte ich durch fichen!" I can't remember if this is what he said. It was loud, and it was a blur to me, and it was terrifying because he sought me out after I had done nothing. I am unsure at this point if he was saying "F-you" or if he was saying "I want to f-you." Regardless, I know it couldn't have been anything pleasant.

I said, "Bitte?" and just looked at him, then pushed my way onto the train. I quickly turned to see if he had followed me onto the car, but saw no one. And that was when I began to cry. I cried the whole way home until I got to my room, and I was incredibly shaky. I am tired of being treated this way. I am emotionally exhausted from having to ask myself, "what happened this time?" and wondering why these types of things aren't happening to anyone else I know here. Two days later, when having a conversation with an authortative figure, I was thoroughly offended when I was told, "Well, you're an attractive girl and these things happen to you. On the bright side, you'll have an easier time getting jobs, so it sort of balances out." No. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. There is no scale that will ever balance the dehumanizing of another. No one will convince me there is justification in choosing less than moral actions. You will never win that battle with me.

I thought these things were going to cease. I fear they have not, because this morning yet another odd thing happened to write home about. The winds were quite strong today, and as Rachel and I perused the streets with errands to accompish, we happened to be passing by a Greek restaurant at exactly the same time a gust blew down two easels with the day's specials. "You get that one, I'll get this one," I told her. So we picked them up, and just as we were about to leave, a man came out and started telling us thank you, and to come inside for something that I just couldn't make out the word. Native, Southern Germans can be hard enough to understand, but this was a Greek speaker. I didn't understand what he was saying, but I knew he wanted to thank us for our "good deed". We went inside, and another younger man presented us with a shot of licorice schnapps. They told us how to say "Prost!" in Greek, and Rachel and I looked at each other like, "is this really happening?" we shrugged our shoulders, and accepted their cultural offer of thanks. They asked if we were sisters, and I told them yes, sisters in Christ.

We left, and then just a second later, the younger man came out and started asking about coffee. I couldn't understand at first if he meant to come back in and have coffee, or what. I should have known, though. He wanted to have coffee with us later, and said he was going to give us his number. I said, no, that's okay, and if we wanted to then we'd come back to the restaurant at a later time (translation for guys: No. I don't want coffee now. I don't want it later, either. Actually, I'm never coming back, and I never want to see you again.) At this point in time, the man put had put his hand on my collarbone, and before I knew it, he was kissing my cheek goodbye.

Immediately I turned to leave, and jaw dropped, I turned to Rachel in utter disbelief of what had just happened. Who could have ever known what one gust of wind could result in? Certainly not schnapps at noon. Certainly not a conversation with Greeks. And most certainly, not an unwelcomed kiss from a strange and scruffy man.

I am unimpressed with the 'tact" of men. I am tired of being accused of doing wrong in any of the above=mentioned situations. And most of all, I am looking forward to the day coming where I never have to deal with this again.