The Story of Hans

When I first met Hans in 1978, I didn’t immediately grasp the depth of the scars history had etched into his life. He was a man of few words, whose eyes, however, spoke volumes—if one was willing to read them. Today, as the echoes of past mistakes threaten to be drowned out by the currents of right-wing ideology in Germany and Europe, I feel compelled to share his story. It’s not just the tale of a broken man but a warning and a plea to our collective memory.

Hans was born in 1926 in Mülheim an der Ruhr, in the industrial heartland of Germany, into a world still reeling from the scars of the First World War. The political and economic instability of the Weimar Republic shaped his early years, a time of turmoil that eventually laid the groundwork for one of the darkest chapters in human history. At 17, as the world plunged once more into the abyss of war, Hans was conscripted into the Wehrmacht and sent to the Eastern Front. There, in the icy grip of the Russian winter, he experienced the brutality of war in its most raw form.

The injury Hans sustained from a grenade, which tore away a large part of his lung, was just the beginning of a long ordeal. Captured by Soviet forces, Hans was transported to a prisoner of war camp in Siberia, a place synonymous with desolation and harshness. Despite his severe injury and the brutal environment, Hans clung to life with a tenacity that was both remarkable and heartrending. The cold, the hunger, the back-breaking labor—all left marks that never fully healed.

The war eventually ended, but Hans’ battle did not. The journey back to Germany was a slow and torturous process, fraught with bureaucratic hurdles and the physical challenges of his still-healing wounds. Upon his return, the joy of reunion with his family was overshadowed by the realization that he, and the nation itself, would never be the same.

His own father didn’t recognize him, and his death certificate already hung framed in the living room—a symbolic image of what the war had made of him: a man the world had already given up on.

The road to physical recovery was long and fraught with complications. The loss of a huge part of his lung meant that Hans would forever be short of breath, a constant reminder of the war’s impact on his body. Yet, it was the invisible wounds that proved harder to heal.

Hans eventually found work at AEG Kanis in Essen, where he worked as an auditor. Yet, the shadows of the past never left him. Alcohol became his constant companion, an attempt to numb the inner demons that haunted him at night. When AEG Kanis closed and Hans went into early retirement, he lost an important anchor in his life. The years that followed were marked by a slow but steady decline that culminated in his death from cirrhosis of the liver. The memories of the horrors he had witnessed and endured haunted him, leading him to seek solace in alcohol, a refuge that would eventually claim his life.

I accompanied Hans in his final years and witnessed how an incredibly strong man was slowly destroyed by his memories and alcohol. I heard only a few of his war stories, but each one deeply moved me and haunts me to this day. They were windows into a soul too deeply wounded to ever fully heal.

The journey of Hans from the moment of his grievous injury on the Eastern Front to his eventual return home is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit amidst the darkest of times. After the grenade tore away one of his lungs, Hans found himself not just battling for his life on the frozen battlefields but also facing a long and arduous path to recovery that would test his limits in every conceivable way.

I aim not only to tell Hans’ story but also to shine a light on the shadows that, decades later, threaten to spread across Europe once again. The resurgence of right-wing ideology, the increasing polarization of our society, and the allure of simple answers to complex questions are alarming parallels to the conditions that once paved the way for the rise of National Socialism.

We must not allow history to repeat itself. We need to keep the memories of people like Hans alive, not just as a monument to the horrors of war but as a warning against the dangers that arise when hatred and intolerance are allowed to flourish unchecked. I wish we could stand together for a world where the dignity of every individual is respected and where the horrors of the past are not forgotten but used as lessons for the future.

Hans’ story is one among many, but it stands as a testament to the countless fates destroyed by war and hatred. By telling it, we not only remember the suffering that was but also commit ourselves to working for a better, more peaceful future.

Hans was my stepfather.

He entered our lives when I was 5 years old. He was a complex character, yet absolutely reliable and a role model to me in many ways. Today, I realize what an incredible and decent person he was. He was only 66 years old when he passed away. He lived much longer than any doctor had predicted for him, and aside from the alcohol, he truly made the most out of this life. And he inspired a boy whose biological father was mostly absent.

I miss him dearly.

yellow tent under starry night

My 50 Simple Pleasures in Life

Life is a series of moments, some grand and some simple. While the grand moments often steal the spotlight, it’s the simple pleasures that really make my journey worthwhile. As someone who has lived in various corners of the world and experienced life’s many facets, I’ve come to appreciate these small joys most. They are the unsung heroes that add color to my days and warmth to my soul. Here’s a list of 50 simple pleasures – inspired by this – that make my life great.

  1. The first sip of morning coffee when my house is quiet.
  2. A long, hilly hike with breathtaking views.
  3. The sense of accomplishment after finishing a challenging project.
  4. The first cold beer on vacation.
  5. Walking through a snow-covered landscape, feeling the crunch under my boots.
  6. The smell of rain hitting hot asphalt.
  7. Pouring a glass of wine perfectly without spilling a drop.
  8. Hearing an old favorite song on the radio.
  9. The sound of wind rustling through the trees on a quiet day.
  10. A juicy ribeye steak fresh off the grill.
  11. The satisfaction of completing a difficult bikepacking route.
  12. Seeing a mountain range in the distance.
  13. A freshly cleaned E-Bike, ready for the next adventure.
  14. Sitting around a campfire, enjoying the natural surroundings.
  15. Finishing a good book and feeling content.
  16. A deep and meaningful conversation with friends.
  17. A clear night sky filled with stars.
  18. Nailing the perfect mix or master in my music studio.
  19. The earthy smell of freshly cut wood.
  20. A spontaneous bikepacking adventure.
  21. The joy of discovering a new hiking trail.
  22. A moment of genuine, natural gratitude.
  23. The feeling of heavy muscles after a good workout.
  24. Capturing a great photo or video during one of my outdoor activities.
  25. A moment of solitude, far away from crowds and noise.
  26. Strumming my guitar and losing myself in the music.
  27. The thrill of reaching a summit and looking out over the landscape.
  28. Discovering a new track that I can’t stop listening to.
  29. Watching a distant thunderstorm roll in.
  30. The feeling of freedom when I turn off my phone for a day.
  31. Diving into genealogy and connecting with my past.
  32. The rush of wind against my face as I bike downhill.
  33. Taking an unplanned detour and discovering something new.
  34. Watching the sunset and reflecting on the day.
  35. The satisfaction of fixing something that’s broken.
  36. The freedom of an open road and endless possibilities.
  37. Using an old tool that still works perfectly.
  38. Dipping my feet in a cold stream on a hot day.
  39. Writing with a pen that glides effortlessly on paper.
  40. Walking through morning fog when the world seems softer.
  41. The thrill of a fast E-Bike ride.
  42. The excitement of releasing a new music track.
  43. The first snowfall of the season.
  44. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filling my house.
  45. The satisfaction of solving a complex problem at work.
  46. The feeling of sand between my toes.
  47. The adrenaline rush from an extreme outdoor activity.
  48. The peacefulness of a deserted beach.
  49. The joy of cooking a new recipe to perfection.
  50. The comfort of my favorite old sweatshirt.

While the list is personal, I believe that the essence of these joys is universal. They remind us to pause, to breathe, and to savor the small moments that often go unnoticed. In a world that’s increasingly complex and demanding, these simple pleasures are my sanctuary, my moments of zen.

I hope you find your own simple pleasures that make your journey just as rewarding.

sunken ship

Who Gets to Stay Afloat?

Alright, let’s get this straight. We’ve got five business dudes who thought it would be a hoot to drop $250,000 each to get up close and personal with the Titanic wreck. You heard that right. A quarter of a million bucks to see a sunken ship. Now, they’re lost at sea and the world is on the edge of its seat, biting its nails, waiting for news. And don’t get me wrong, I feel for them. I really do. And for their loved ones waiting in agony for any shred of news. It’s a fsitucked up and rather sad situation, no doubt about it.

Meanwhile, hundreds of refugees are drowning in the Mediterranean and it’s like everyone collectively decided to play a giant game of ‘see no evil, hear no evil’. Why? Because they aren’t rich? Because their journey wasn’t some luxury adventure, but a desperate escape from war and poverty?

Here’s the thing. Both these groups of people are (one even literally) in deep shit. But for entirely different reasons. The adventurers are in trouble because they chose to be, because they wanted a thrill, a story to tell. The refugees? They’re in trouble because they had no other choice. Because staying where they were was even more dangerous than the perilous journey they embarked on.

And yet, we’re more invested in the fate of five rich guys who willingly put themselves in danger than in the lives of thousands of people who had no other choice.

So, what can we do? We can start by shifting our attention and compassion to those who need it most. And that’s not the rich adventurers in their luxury submarine, but the thousands of refugees who risk their lives every day in search of a better life.

But hey, who am I kidding? That’s not nearly as exciting as following the saga of five rich guys in a submarine, right?

Before we go any further, let’s clear up one thing. This isn’t about playing the ‘whataboutism’ card. You know, that tactic where you deflect criticism by pointing out flaws in your opponent’s argument? That’s not what I’m doing here.

I’m not saying, “Hey, forget about the rich guys in the submarine, what about the refugees?” No, I’m saying, “Hey, why is there such a disparity in our reactions to these two situations?”

This isn’t about comparing apples and oranges. It’s about examining our collective response to human suffering and questioning why we seem to value some lives more than others.

It’s about recognizing that our empathy shouldn’t be a luxury item, doled out only to those who can afford to embark on daring adventures. It should be a basic human response, extended to all those in need, regardless of their circumstances.

So, no, this isn’t whataboutism. It’s a call to check our biases, broaden our perspectives, and remember that no life is worth more than any other (I’d make very few exceptions, though). But then again, that’s not as catchy as following the saga of five rich guys in a submarine, is it?

Update 23 June 2023

Here we are again. The five thrill-seekers who paid a fortune to visit the Titanic wreck met a tragic end. The world mourns ‘true explorers’ lost to a catastrophic implosion.

When a submersible implodes, it’s a brutal end. The pressure at those depths crushes the vessel into fragments in an instant. The people inside meet the same fate, subjected to the same crushing pressure.

At 3300 meters below the surface, the pressure is approximately 330 times greater than at sea level. This is equivalent to having about 3300 kilograms (or about 3.3 tons) pressing down on each square centimeter of a body or object.

In the first millisecond of an implosion, the hull of the submersible would fail, and water would rush in at an incredibly high speed. The interior of the submersible would go from a habitable environment to a high-pressure water jet in an instant.

By the end of the first second, the body would be subjected to the full pressure of the deep sea. The extreme pressure could cause the body to compress and deform, leading to catastrophic injuries.

That’s a real tragedy that has happened there, but it was a very sudden death that none of them noticed happening. It was a quicker death than being shot in the head with a bullet.

Meanwhile, the refugees’ desperate struggle for survival continues, largely unnoticed. They didn’t choose their danger. They’re not seeking thrills, they’re seeking safety.

Let’s remember: every human life should matter equally. The adventurers, the refugees, all of them. Empathy shouldn’t be a luxury item. It’s a basic human response, and it’s high time we extended it to everyone in need.