The Breaking and Making of Myself in Berlin

By Felicity Edwards




“You’re asking me to lower the rent?” the main tenant of the apartment questioned me condescendingly.


I sat there, palms sweating, fidgeting nervously. Twelve hours of working non-stop hung heavily on my body and I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes.

I responded, “Not by much. It’s just that the washing machine doesn’t work, neither does the internet. My door doesn’t lock and there are mice. So, it’s not really up to par as advertised for the price.”