Everything different

Tuesdays 5 p.m. – the different theatre (from 10 February)
Wednesdays 6 p.m. – the different parliament (from now on)
Thursdays 5 p.m. – the different theatre (from 3 February)

Mehrgenerationenhaus Mikado
Franz-Mehring-Straße 20
15230 Frankfurt (Oder)

Veranstalter: Slubfurt e.V., www.slubfurt.net
Kontakt: Michael Kurzwelly, t: 0049 171 2668747, arttrans@arttrans.de

On the morning when everything changed, nothing happened. No bang, no farewell, no divine sign. The coffee tasted the same as always, the clock was ticking, the sky acted as if it had nothing to do with it. And yet something stood out in the room, invisible and conspicuous at the same time, like a misplaced picture in the museum of habits.

Everything different rarely begins with courage. It begins with a quiet crack. With the realisation that what is familiar has become foreign. The voice in your head still speaks the same language, but its meaning has shifted. Words like safe, later and must lose their weight, as if they were made of paper.

The road still leads straight ahead, but your feet hesitate. Not out of fear, but out of curiosity. What if there is no abyss on the left, but a garden? What if the end is not waiting on the right, but a beginning without a name? Everything different does not mean that everything will be better. It just means that the direction is negotiable.

We have learned to love order. Lines, plans, clean edges. Everything different, on the other hand, is a stain that cannot be washed out. It spreads in conversations that suddenly become honest. In mirrors that no longer accept excuses. In nights that refuse to sleep because they still have something to clarify.

Sometimes everything feels different, like betrayal. Of expectations, of versions of ourselves that took so much effort to create. But perhaps it is just loyalty to something deeper that has been waiting a long time. A silent agreement with one’s own becoming.

Everything different smells like rain on hot asphalt. Like moving boxes and open windows. It sounds like a wrong note that turns out to be a new melody. It stumbles, doubts, laughs at the wrong time. It is uncomfortable because it offers no chair, only movement.

In the end – if there is such a thing – there is no finished picture. Only a state. An open space where mistakes are allowed and questions can remain. Everything different is not a goal. It is a promise without a guarantee, a step without a handrail.

And perhaps that is precisely the point: not knowing what is coming and going anyway. Not because you are sure, but because standing still suddenly feels like the greater danger. Everything different is then no longer a break, but a quiet, determined acceptance of life that does not ask whether we are ready.