Things always end well in American kitsch films.
In these end-of-year films.
Sibylle Berg arrow to the right
Photo:
Joseph Shrub
Sibylle Berg is a writer and playwright.
In 2019 her bestselling novel "GRM. Brainfuck" was published, and in 2020 the discussion volume "Nerds save the world".
Berg has received numerous awards for her literary work, most recently the "Bertolt Brecht Prize" and the "Swiss Grand Prix for Literature".
Together with Matze Hielscher she can be heard every 14 days in the podcast "Wesensfremd".
It's snowing.
There is some kind of stuff with fairy lights in front of the houses.
It's golden inside.
The core family, recently also diverse, wears funny Christmas sweaters.
Animals are pushed into the oven.
A little tension between everyone, you get angry, but never really violently.
Then the giant carts with family members roll into the driveway along the entire street.
Laugh, frolic, dogs, gifts, fuck CO2.
The family members who have arrived are also wearing ugly sweaters, you laugh.
Everyone talks incredibly quickly and always on point.
Then some quarrel.
Slamming the door.
The mother cries, the father goes chopping wood.
Or eviscerate something.
The goose is burning, screams.
Heavy music.
The child wobbles back and forth apathetically.
Then the doorbell rings.
The lonely neighbor, 99 and a little quirky, comes in and says something.
Everybody is laughing.
Ask them in.
Then pizza is delivered.
You eat.
But with love.
The old woman dies.
Sad.
But brings the nuclear family even closer together.
Everyone is crying.
The audience too.
They cry for their lives because it never feels so perfect.
And certainly not now.
End of the year and everything got worse.
The governments are made up of people who have never lived during an epidemic.
You're nonsense.
Some acquaintances go crazy because they cannot cope with realizing their own powerlessness.
The invoices come in, the orders stay away.
And more and more people you know had the virus, or parents or grandparents who died from it, or are bankrupt, or lonely.
How are the lonely ones now when everything is going crazy outside?
No more crazy than at any other time on earth that just slowly emerged from two wars 70 years ago.
Europe bombed, millions murdered, everything believed in disappeared.
It rarely helps to think about that of others in one's own misery.
That doesn't help if there is no light outside, no end to be seen, and it often makes you even more angry when people say: Yes, but think of those who are really bad.
Why should you?
You can see what those do who are better off.
In private jets and in the Seychelles.
And how many billions did Bezos earn from the misery of the world?
The only thing that helps me not to hit the wall, I feel so badly treated by life, is to distract myself.
And to remember that the majority feel the same way.
So insecure and powerless, so perplexed and sad.
And the only thing I can think of to do the crap a little better is call or email the people I know who I know live alone.
Or ringing their doorbell when I'm really bold.
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Love instead of hate
The widower in the house, acquaintances, colleagues who might like to be alone in normal times, or people who cannot see their partners or families because they live abroad.
This is not the time for big changes, political demonstrations and screaming appeals.
We are all tired.
If you still have enough strength, please share it with people who have less courage than you.
It's unbelievably trite this: love instead of hate.
You can also simply say: friendliness instead of online anger.
Or: Sometimes it's comforting to know that you are a small part of billions.
Billions of more or less sad, lonely people.
Icon: The mirror