Delivering Donations at Hauptbahnhof; and a Brief Overview of Work

Today I went on another trip to Berlin's main train station after work.

The white pavilion tent that the City of Berlin set up as a welcoming space in the square in front of the station's towering glass façade is beginning to fill with refugees, who were streaming in single file from the station, pulling their rolling suitcases behind them. They rarely have much luggage.

I saw a Ukrainian mother standing with two or three children (no older than twelve) at a glass vitrine-protected architectural model that was stranded partway along a long hallway. It showed the train station in miniature. She was pointing out parts of the building here and there, as if they were a family on a peaceful weekend outing and they had all the time in the world. It was rather touching, a quiet and intimate moment in the turbulent Hauptbahnhof. It was also depressing as hell if one begins to think of where the children's father is (probably voluntarily or semi-voluntarily trapped in his country, conscripted to fight to defend it).

In general the train station situation struck me as more chaotic today.

It felt as if there were three times as many people as on Monday, confirming the idea that the number of refugees is intensifying. Not that many police to keep people safe. Less coordination amongst the volunteers. (Also: One of them, not in an official fluorescent vest, looked pleased to see that I was bringing donations in the food hall. Then for reasons best known to himself passed me his card so that I could call him some time. ... I was seriously annoyed that someone would try to pick up ladies in the context of a humanitarian crisis. But de gustibus non est disputandum. The card landed in the nearest recycling bin after I left the hall.)

Refugees were being pulled essentially in three directions:

First direction: An open area inside the vast station core. This is where the tinned food, volunteer coordination tables, LGBTQIA counseling, the children's play area, and now a silence room are located. A volunteer was roaming around with a plastic bin at her belly, offering wrapped sandwiches to people.

A densely packed queue of refugees runs from this area to the rooms where Ukrainians can buy connecting train tickets, to friends and family in other parts of German or Berlin. Escalators and glass elevators run up and down, and far below rest the tracks of long-distance trains e.g. in the red of the Deutsche Bahn regional train network.

Second direction: A large hall, connected to the open area. It was ringed with tables where refugees can pick up toiletries, fresh fruit, packaged drinks, coffee or tea from tall metal dispensers, etc.  DONATIONS and an arrow were spelled out on the floor in tape.

A volunteer in an orange safety vest was grandly shaking out mandarin oranges out of their net into a plastic bin with apples and other mandarin oranges, not really aware or caring that he was bruising them.

But as the snacks were being picked up like hot cakes by refugees, and the 0.5 L drink bottles I'd brought on behalf of my work colleagues were sorely needed, it's likely the fruit was eaten before the bruises could fully form anyway.

Third direction: The white pavilion outside the building.

Today two ambulances were parked between the tent and the train station. While wounded Ukrainians have been known to arrive in Berlin, luckily it didn't appear as if medical attention were needed for anyone while I was there.

I think this pavilion is where refugees are intended to be able to sit down, rest sheltered from the frosty winter wind, and receive advice e.g. about paperwork and medical treatment and job prospects.

At any rate I was able to drop off the donations and then cycle homeward again.

***

As for work, I don't want to be insensitive by writing dramatically about it right underneath a post about refugees.

But by my own standards and my own life experience, every morning is a little like stepping into the ocean water off Maine and hoping that the shark from Jaws won't attack.

It's depressing, but I have put together a work survival routine to cope with the stresses of my interactions with top management colleagues.

I eat more vegetables and whole grains, and I make sure to stay hydrated. I observe my lunch breaks and make sure not to work too much overtime. I make sure to tend the plants, because that is therapeutic; take sun baths; and pour out my woes on the piano. On Wednesdays I pour out my concerns to my voice coach/psychologist; she has also helped me think through what else I could do if I'm fired from/quit my job after I asked her about it this week.

I try to help colleagues wherever I can. If being depressed and otherwise unhappy in my life has been good for anything, it has been to feel comfortable knowing where one can make things better vs. what would make things worse for other people who are struggling. Even if I don't seem to have power over my own life, I still feel confident about the power not to make other lives worse.

And I mentally repeat two tips I once read about how to withstand torture before I go to sleep, so that I can brace for the next day at work.

Less dramatically, I repeat to myself this phrase from time to time as comfort: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

All of that, and even more importantly the kindness and distractions of friends and family, are helping me cope with the past months at work better than I'd have expected.

But right now I feel like I'll never ask the HR team or the managing director for help ever again; I doubt they can connect the dots from the crisis in our company to its source without assistance, and I have too many inhibitions against tattle-telling to lay out the gory details.