I moved to Berlin with two suitcases and zero German.
The plan, generously, was: arrive in February, find an apartment, get my Anmeldung, learn enough German to read a menu, make one friend, figure out the rest as I went. The reality was: arrive in February (correct), spend six weeks in temporary sublets, fail my Anmeldung appointment twice because I didn't bring the right paperwork, and realize that "make one friend" is not a thing you can put on a checklist.
My landlord turned out to be a saint. Frau M. was 71, lived two floors below me, and brought me a Christmas plate of cookies in March because she "knew expats forget which holidays are which." She also walked me through, in slow English, what every line of my electricity bill meant.
The grocery store cashier still terrifies me. Eight months in. They scan fast and they want their answer fast and I never have it.
Things I wish I'd known before:
- The loneliness gets worse before it gets better. Around month four. There's no shortcut. - The version of you who used to be funny in your native language is, for a while, gone. You're a quieter person here. That's okay. - Make friends with one local. Not three. One. The depth matters more than the count.
I miss home. I'm also not coming back yet.