German Pappilon

I am filling 21 balloons with paint of the colours: black-red-yellow.
I tie every balloon with a 10 meter long white string to a strand of my hair. Then I walk slowly through the park, the burden pulling on my hair. On the way, some of the balloons burst. They leave a stain of the respective colour on the ground. While walking, the strings get tangled. When I reach my destiny, an arch in the park of the Gardini, I stand still, facing the balloons. Members of the audience try to throw the balloons towards me. Finally, I throw the remaining bunch of the balloons in the air, they fall and burst on my body.

My identification with the German nationality has always been a problem for me. Abroad, I was always embarrassed to say that I am German. I do not identify myself with this country, I don’t appreciate the weather, the way the people behave and the German history. I do not feel at home there. Abroad, it is not difficult for somebody to identify me as a German, because of my mother tongue and my blond hair.
The fragility of my bonding leaves painful stains on my life’s journey. While trying to rid myself of this, I am inflicting pain on myself and become tainted.