Everybody seems to be writing their memoirs these days. Heck, even people who don’t really have anything important to report about themselves re-invent and embellish their lives to make a living with a book about it. I wouldn’t even have to do that. I would just start writing and I bet I wouldn’t have to add and invent a thing – my book would fly off the shelves. My book would be the whole truth, so much truth that it would probably ruin the lives of a couple of people if I would use their real names. Maybe even my own.
I’d start writing about how I moved around the world and the people I met. I’d write about the guys and the girls, and the way I see this world and how I grew and learned and how I am all different from how I was then, and my experiences, and I would write about how I always wanted to write about what I learned, and how I think what I learned changed my life. And then every day of my life I would add a couple of pages about the new stuff that happens right then and there, and the book would never end, and I bet people would still want to read it and I would have to put a column in some newspaper, and they’d say, ‘Hey, for a German girl, she sure knows her English!’
One reason why I never started this book and why I probably never will is that I don’t really know in which language I should write it.