I recently had my last German class and we celebrated with an early lunch of homemade food from everyone's home countries. We ate a rice dish from Iran, spring rolls from Vietnam, empanadas from Spain, tzatziki from Greece, corn biscuits from Venezuala, apple cake from Lithuania, fresh Turkish bread and wine from Australia. I'm going to miss the class and the little bit of routine and grounding it gave me during the past 6 months. I'm going to miss my teacher Wolfgang's stories of Berlin in the 1970's and spending my mornings with a group of people who I wouldn't ordinarily get to meet and watching how we all evolved from not even being to speak to each other to getting to know about each others lives and what brought us all to this city. The experience gave me a much better understanding of an immigrant's experience and the stark contrast between people who choose to move and those who are forced (out of economic, political, or personal reasons) to relocate. As much as I fawn over this city and how wonderful it is to be an artist here I know it's not the most welcoming place for many people and I watch as they (and their children and families), as people of color, people who don't speak the language, people with different religious beliefs, fight to build a life and be accepted here.