Art has to be a kind of confession. I don’t mean a true confession in the sense of that dreary magazine. The effort it seems to me, is: if you can examine and face your life, you can discover the terms with which you are connected to other lives, and they can discover them, too — the terms with which they are connected to other people.–James Baldwin
People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.–Ralph Waldo Emerson
It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a diary. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one’s own identity.–Beatrice Webb
I am C., I am in my thirties. Born in Germany and growing up in a picturesque medieval town filled with nice people I always wanted to leave. I did. First to a university not far away (Mainz), then to Belgium (Gent) as an exchange student, then to Sweden (Gävle) and finally the UK. I adore Liverpool.
Along the way I completed two degrees (one a BA the other a BsC) and work on my third one, all covering widely different fields. I am curious about this world, the people within it and all the creatures and plants among it. Along my way I struggled with my mental health and recovered. Along this way I have done so many things that I only manage to keep my CV to two pages by omitting a good number.
I don’t know what I do here on this page. I guess it’s a diary of sorts, for myself, but also a way to keep some of those people I met along the way in the loop about project C.
