The spoken word

The first thing we learn to say as a child is "dadaaaaa", "mamaaa" and then there is a conditioned use of language that is needs- and action-oriented.
And then? 
What happens next?
What happens if you're an introvert?
What happens if there's so much going on in your soul like a never-ending cassette in a continuous loop that permanently produces "tape salad"?

"Be quicker, please don't be so excessive, are you done now?
Why are you overthinking all the time?"

I heard this and similar phrases all my life and it feels like a never-ending coil of sound. No matter what way of communication I choose it seemed to be cryptic. „Fuck you!" Then I'd rather choose the dialogue with my alphabet soup instead of you!

The cryptic-looking letters from my instant soup find their liberation and escape from my soup plate. And like the breadcrumbs in "Hansel and Gretel", they show me the way to the stage, to the theatre. For years I have been reproducing the language style of various characters: sometimes gentle, sometimes cheeky, sometimes ironic, sometimes vulgar. All of this has its place. But how do I follow my own thoughts?
I still hide behind characters I have played all these years, I even adapt their physical appearance. At some point, I produce so much cassette "tape salad" that I don't even know who I am anymore.

I want to write ✍️ again.
To find myself.
Circumstances of my live.
I wanna process that I haven't worked for years, because I led my life to the theatre and I lived the lives of the characters  more than my own.

I write films: wow....I cry, laugh, scream, resign, fight, I am my own enemy, a lover, a soldier, a friend and most of the time this production process is good because I finally find peace and tranquility within myself.

Everything is fine. I still see myself as a little girl with my ashtray thick glasses and the glued-on eye patch, sitting on the bench during sports class and no one would choose me for their team.

I don't tour in the US, my agency is disappointed.

"Steffi, what's wrong?
For me it's enough that my film is shown there. I've had enough!"

Oh, if the alphabet soup could tell me what to do. There is no answer.

I prefer to stay behind the camera, support others, but actually I'm looking for protection and peace.

My mental state is getting worse and worse. For me it's not enough to be noticed for my physical looks. If I could only be a child again, it would be enough for me to say "Mamaa! Dadaaa!" but maybe not!!!!

"Please write, write, do something," my friends keep telling me!!!

I follow their advice and think of the letters from my instant alphabet soup from my childhood that want to be freed again and want to fight with me like brave knights.

There's a slam in Neukölln, every Thursday, open stage. Oh my god! I'm dying." Come on go there and just do it", my friends still keep motivating me.

I went there. I had to wait in line to put myself on the list. I'm scared, I remember the gym lessons from my school days, the little girl with the ashtray thick glasses who just wanted to be "Little Miss Sunshine". I breathe. My friends are coming soon. The dear bartenders and hosts notice my struggle and smile at me. "Everything is fine, I'm not 8 years old anymore and I'm not in the gym class. Everything is fine", I keep saying to myself in silence.

Lovely faces from all over the world come together with respect, appreciation and love. I hug my friends, strangers who don't feel like strangers.

I laugh, cry and dance later alone to "Bloc Party" with my dog in my arms at home.

My best friend calls me from Aachen. "How was it?"I tell everything, roll over, produce an endless number of alphabet soups which will last for the next decades. I'm happy again.

Nice, he says. "I'm here on stage in Aachen and you've found a place where you can laugh, cry, dance even without me. I'm so proud of you. Hey I'll be back soon and until then take it as a gift, this is a save space for you until I'am back again. It"s a gift."

For Jo, Pierre, Thérèse, Ina, Daniel, Kai ❤️❤️