Morning tiptoed in, spilling liquid gold across my bedsheets. Still cocooned in my nest of blankets, I swam through the digital tide of morning emails like a drowsy fisherman checking his nets. The growl of my stomach finally lured me to the kitchen, where I conducted a symphony of sizzling sausages – their buttery melodies popping and crackling in the pan, filling the air with a chorus of breakfast promises.
After breakfast, I took a leisurely stroll through the neighbourhood. Though winter still held the calendar in its grasp, the day had softened unexpectedly—balmy and bright, as if spring had sent a scout ahead. Sunlight glanced off the cobblestones, painting the old buildings in honeyed gold, and I found myself drawn toward the nearby public gardens.
The gardens were nearly empty, save for a few lone figures scattered like chess pieces across the paths. An elderly man in a practical anorak shuffled along, pausing now and then to examine the bare branches of the lime trees with the scrutiny of a botanist. A young mother, her pram parked beside a bench, sipped coffee from a thermal cup, her face tilted toward the sun like a flower. Nearby, a businessman in a dark wool coat tapped briskly at his phone, the rhythmic clicking of his polished shoes underscoring the quiet.
I settled onto a bench, letting the silence settle around me. It wasn’t the heavy, expectant hush of a Russian winter forest, nor the drowsy lull of an English village green. This was a different quiet—clean and deliberate, like the pause between movements in a symphony. Somewhere in the distance the murmur of conversation drifted over from a café terrace, where two silver-haired ladies shared a slice of Apfelkuchen, their laughter as crisp as the air.
Later, I ended up singing a few songs – you know, even if you don't, how much I love belting out a tune! But honestly, some of my German neighbours just don’t get my lyrics. They’ll give me this look like I’ve said something outrageous, when to me it’s just normal stuff. Funny thing is, this never happened back in Russia or even when I lived in Britain – it’s totally a Germany-specific thing. There are certain phrases or references everyone uses elsewhere that just land wrong here, and Germans get genuinely confused why you’d even say them. Like, mate, it’s just a song!
After subjecting the neighborhood to my one-cat orchestra, I waltzed into my History retake armed with my usual preparation - the sweet embrace of delusion and whatever random facts stuck to my brain like microwave popcorn kernels. And would you believe it? The universe, in its infinite comedy, decided one single mark was all that stood between me and victory. One. Like some cosmic punchline.
I did pass my other two subjects with flying colours: full marks in Social Sciences and a good result in English, Part Two. The course structure here is quite intense – six modules of English, three History exam periods, two Social Science assessments, plus a range of specialised subjects. The university workload is significantly heavier than what we had in Russian schools, which were comparatively straightforward.
Interestingly, the German school system appears even more challenging – and not just because of my low German language proficiency. Russian school exams are relatively easy to pass, while German school assessments seem comparable in difficulty to Russian university exams.
