Alone in a Foreign Country Without Language or Friends
A Diary Became My Only Conversation Partner
Author: Alina, 28. Berlin (formerly Yekaterinburg).
When I tell people I live in Berlin, they imagine parties, freedom, and a creative scene. When I tell Germans I live in Berlin, they nod sympathetically: “Berlin is not Germany, it’s another world.”
But no one imagines the truth. And the truth is that during the first six months of my life in Germany, I spoke out loud only to a supermarket cashier (two words: “danke” and “tschüss”) and to my neighbor’s cat who sometimes came onto my balcony.
I moved for work. A great offer, an international company, career growth. A dream job. But the dream was in German, a language I didn’t know, and in a city where I had not a single friend.
Part 1. Language Collapse
At the office everyone spoke English. No problem there. But as soon as I left the office, I turned into a mute child.
In cafés I pointed at the menu. In pharmacies I pointed at pictures of pills. When the washing machine broke, I cried all evening because I couldn’t call a repairman — I simply didn’t know what words to say.
The worst place was the subway. During rush hour people pressed from all sides, foreign speech everywhere, and I felt like an ant in a huge anthill. I exist, but no one sees me. I speak, but no one hears me.
In the evenings I came back to an empty apartment, made tea, sat on the floor by the window and looked at the lights of a foreign city in silence.
Part 2. A Diary Instead of a Friend
I started journaling by accident. I downloaded Reflectly because of a beautiful ad. I thought it would be some psychological trainer, but it turned out to be just a place for words.
So I started talking. Into the diary.
At first I complained. Then I started noticing details. Small things. Small victories.
The diary became my best friend. The most patient one in the world. I could tell it everything: fear, loneliness, homesickness, and small victories.
Part 3. The Point of No Return
After six months something happened that I call the “point of no return”.
I went to German classes. There were Turks, Syrians, Spaniards. We were all equally helpless and funny. And during a break a Turkish girl, Fatima, gave me an apple and said in broken English: “You are sad. Eat. It will be better.”
I cried right there in the classroom. Because someone noticed that I exist.
That evening I wrote in my diary: “Today Fatima gave me an apple. We couldn’t talk properly, but I understood: kindness doesn’t require language. I think I have a friend.”
From that moment everything changed.
Part 4. Reading a Year Later
Now I have lived in Berlin for two years. I have friends, I speak German, and I know where the best coffee in the neighborhood is.
I reread my first diary entries and didn’t recognize that girl. She was scared and lost. I wanted to hug her and say: “Everything will be okay. You will manage. You are stronger than you think.”
The diary became the chronicle of my transformation.
Insight: You Are Not Alone Even When You Are Lonely
Emigration is not about changing a country. It is about meeting yourself.
And if you have a place where you can be honest — you will survive. For me, that place was my diary.
P.S.
Fatima and I are still friends. She taught me how to bake Turkish flatbread, and I taught her to say a Russian slang phrase. Sometimes the most important people come at the most unexpected moment with the simplest gift.