I'm back....but gone.

What happens in a year? What keeps me from writing? No correlation there...but so many events since my last post, losses (friends, acquaintances, Max, money, stresses), gains (love, passion, a house, appreciations and connections, stresses), an ocean of waves and deep water, tides,  and deep black nights filled with stars, over and over again.
So many stories, so many wrinkles and gray hair, with blue dye to lift me to the clouds.
I fit right in here in Germany with my blue hair, on my second visit.
Such a contrast to my home in the Dominican Republic. I am entranced by the beauty and history and conflicted by the people and culture.
A part of my resistance to Germany , mostly over feelings about the Holocaust , has faded. Yet when I pass a German, in the store, walking in a park, on the street, anywhere, there is an aversion to eye contact, a reluctance to acknowledge another human being. Is this my imagination, when I smile and greet them "Hallo"? Is this the shame a country carries, or is it like being in New York City where no one can see or react? Maybe they are superior and this is their way. But it is palpable and strong.
Especially if they are on a bicycle and ring their bell, and will bump you out of the way.
The sternness and abrupt dismissal  circles around them like smoke, and they do like to smoke cigarettes, has a temperature and it is cold. Not seeing my  country of birth, sexual orientation, religion, political views, or total inability to speak or understand the German language there is a choice made to ignore me with downcast eyes and a grimace.
And these must be good people, despite the cigarettes. They are walking dogs, growing beautiful flowers and gardens, outside at any given moment for some sport, and polishing off beer to beat the band. Why do they have such a dour presence?
It seems to be a place with no warmth, no feeling. The buildings they live in, the history that surrounds them is taken for granted, and all relics of the past that can be replaced or refurbished are. There are no cool old Mercedes buggies scooting through traffic lights. Everyone drives a new car. The edifices may remain but all new replace the insides. Do I dig too deep to think there is an effort afoot to erase the past? My paranoia  and self absorption precede me.