#2 GOODBYE CAPITALISM

Summer 2022. So here it is, the end of an era. Or at least the decision to end it. Putting everything necessary on track takes months. But somehow, it's not the exhausting, energy-draining kind of process one might expect. It's more like a relaxed taking care of the affairs one by one. And when you look at it closely, it's actually not that much:

A few visits to the registration office, to my employer and the landlord, a few emails and clicks on the internet... and just like that, I have no job and no registered residence in my home country anymore. The phone contract is to be terminated on the departure date, and I pass on many of my belongings and clothes to friends.

Apart from handing in the resignation letter to my employer and the last day in the empty apartment, everything else, contrary to my expectations, feels rather unspectacular. Yet, the impact is significant: Unbindedness. Freedom. Lightness... A sense of a new beginning.

But of course, I'm not only saying goodbye bureaucraticly and to the material things in my life. In the remaining weeks at home, I do many things with an internal acknowledgment that it's gonna be the last time: One more time at the cinema, just one more day at work. A last time here in that club and there for a dinner, a final house party in my beloved place. One last rave, the last visits to relatives, one more meet up with friends. The last moving box. Walking through the familiar streets one more time. One more night...

But somehow, even here, the expected feelings often don't emerge. What sounds so great — the very last shift at the office — passes like any other day, except for a few brief farewells between or even during customer calls on the headset. My last ever caller is my friend from Australia, who regularly dialed our hotline number hoping to connect with me instead of one of my colleagues. But in the last hour, this endeavor was no longer a gamble because I was alone in the office. By the end of the late shift, the demand for our help is usually so low that one person is more than enough. So, we chat a bit while I peel off yellowed Post-its, throw away outdated notes, and check ten times if my drawers are really all empty. Then it's 7 o'clock: time to go. We hang up, I exhale with a sigh. I pack up, let my gaze sweep over the premises one last time. It's completely quiet on the floor until I let the heavy glass door behind me fall into its frame. I hop down the stairs and out the door, probably with a self-satisfied grin on my face. It wasn't bad here, but it wasn't my ultimate dream job either. I'm glad to be done with it now, not necessarily because of the work — it's about the commitment and the time I sacrificed.

The last day in the side job is less joyful but so bland and standard that, to be honest, I don't remember details anymore. I hang up clothes, cash out customers, maybe I even dressed up the mannequin one last time. Quite sure I try to use my position and send friends some pictures of clothes they might like so they can come and buy them. Second-hand shopping is like searching for gold, and if you already have the sieve in your hand, you might as well use it. Here, I'm more sad than relieved as the nearby church tower signals the end of the workday.

A week later, I'm in the store for the very last time. I am warmly bid farewell by my bosses, and gratitude and appreciation are expressed from both sides. If I come back after my travels and want a job, according to the almost one-head-smaller than me middle-aged lady, I must definitely get in touch. I am moved, happy about the praise and the offer and the warmth. I have the feeling that I will never find such a good job under such familiar conditions again...

But for now, I am free from capitalist obligations. This is the first time in 7 years that I don't have a job. From the perspective of a 23-year-old, this statistic somehow feels wrong. Almost a third of my life, I had it organized around shift schedules, opening hours, customer appointments, the seemingly eternal endurance until the next submitted vacation. Fuck. A heavy realization. But also an achievement that shows me that I can pull through uncomfortable things at times. Not only my ego, but my bank account also thanks me: I feel financially ready for my upcoming journey. I never specifically saved for such a venture or lived particularly frugally, but the sum that had accumulated at the end practically screamed to be used for adventures and dreams. When I thought about the unlikely possibility that I could suddenly be involved in an accident and never be able to spend all that money, I feel almost sick with fear and shame. I don't want to have wasted my time for too long out of comfort or insecurity, not allowing myself something that has been calling me for years. It's time to really experience something meaningful, instead of just working towards accumulating millions that one is too stingy to spend.

My apartment will be the last of the three major constants that I part ways with. Number 1, my job that I had from training through graduation, through various areas of the company including a months-long accident-related hiatus, to the final station in the department that was the most enjoyable for me during the entire time, ended at the beginning of summer. Obligation number 2, the side job at the thrift store, where I almost by fate went from a regular to an employee, ended like the warm season in early October.

In between the focus lies on the season in the theater, spontaneous trips, festivals, and quality time. A completely different story...