Closure at Altenberg
The Fulbright orientation week at Altenberg was an event I had been dreading since first learning of it in April. The orientation, which to others was an exciting beginning to this year’s German Fulbright program, would force me to face someone I wasn’t sure I was ready to see. As I mentioned in a previous post, my application for a Fulbright to Germany was done alongside the application of my boyfriend at the time; we wanted our futures to align beneath German sunsets in the bliss of young love. He is, in fact, the only person to whom I have said “I love you” and I was the first upon whom he had bestowed these same words. Exchanging these words for the first time was a long-awaited assurance for me that I could love and be loved. Consequently, the end of this relationship was painful to accept and I had a difficult time letting go of the only love I had ever known.
The announcement of an orientation week at Altenberg hit me like the stinging blades of a thousand little knives and sent a tidal wave of anxiety pouring through my stunned person. I would have to face him again, for the first time since our breakup, in the cloistered setting of the Altenberg monastery where the orientation was being held. It would be almost exactly two years after we first met during another orientation for our semester abroad in Berlin, and the circumstances seemed torturously similar. I frightfully anticipated feeling trapped and vulnerable and I did not know how I would react upon seeing him again.
In the weeks leading up to this unavoidable event, I convinced myself it would be easiest to ignore him completely. Trying to be friends risked being too painful, so I dropped him an authoritative line, telling him not to speak to me and to instead act like I didn’t exist. I wanted to wall myself off from him, just as the monks of the old monastery walled themselves off from the world outside.
But while the worldly troubles of the monks were kept out by the complex’s heavy iron gates, the object of my troubles was given a name tag, a room key and was welcomed inside. Although I tried to ignore him, I found myself painfully aware of his presence and was overcome by a claustrophobic panic. An anxiety prescription I brought from home calmed me, but the drug cannot make you forget. I managed to bide my time through the information sessions and workshops while counting the moments until I could escape from the prison of my past heartbreak.
To prepare us for our posts as English teaching assistants, one of our chief activities at the orientation was to create a mock lesson. My two project partners and I chose to analyze a short story by Langston Hughes, entitled “Early Autumn.” Its characters, Bill and Mary, have a chance encounter in New York’s Washington Square Park, seeing each other again for the first time since the end of their romance many years before. In their awkward interaction, Bill and Mary exude a feeling of strangeness and melancholy, never having gotten closure after their love’s bitter end. Gazing out the monastery window, I could not help but think of the lack of closure in my own situation. I knew I did not want my story to become like Bill and Mary’s.
Later that evening, we Fulbrighters were enjoying social hour in the rooms and halls of the complex’s gathering spaces. Beer and wine were flowing and, for the first time in days, my head was clear of anxiety and I was quite relaxed. But crossing down a hall and opening a door, I encountered him coming through from the other side. I made brief eye contact and held the door open for him to pass through.
“Thanks,” he offered, and began down the hall.
I hesitated a moment and then, in a burst of bravery, called out, “John.” Merely saying his name gave me a taste of catharsis. He turned and I said to him, nervously, “I think we should talk.”
We found ourselves comfortable seats on opposite arms of a stuffed leather chair nearby and we talked, face-to-face, with an honesty fostered by the late of the evening, the closeness of the cloister and the helpful serum of a little alcohol. We talked about our relationship, how it had developed and why it came to an end. We admitted faults and took responsibility for mistakes. Most importantly, we acknowledged the significant roles we had played for each other at a pivotal moment in both of our lives and marveled at how, in applying for the Fulbright, we had helped each other realize the futures upon which we were both now embarking. With a deep, heartfelt hug, we imparted to one another something only Altenberg could have given us: closure.
The feeling of having closure was, and is, magical. I knew all along it was good the relationship was over–I myself had taken the responsibility of ending it. The lingering feelings, the inability to move past it, came not from a desire to be with him but rather a desire to make things right with him. I couldn’t bear the the distance and tension that existed between myself and someone who had been so important in my life. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again in Washington Square Park, years later, never having resolved the end of a relationship we both wanted to move on from. It turns out that Fulbright orientation at Altenberg was the perfect full-circle way for us to make amends and realize the possibility of remaining in each others’ lives.
In this spirit, we stood up from our warm leather seat of goodwill and forgiveness and joined Lucia and Erin, friends from our semester in Berlin and also new Fulbrighters, and commemorated our shared past with a photo. Looking at this photo now, I realize how important and fulfilling it is to remember and honor those people who have had an impact on our lives. They are a part our stories and if we pretend they don’t exist, we ourselves are left incomplete.
Lucia, John, myself and Erin
der Anfang 
Yes! So happy for you.