I came to U.K as refugee a when I was about 6/7. Thank you my mama.
I’m not from a family with a culture of travelling for leisure - as we all initially left Angola because of the war. Growing up I didn't know many friends who traveled much either. The first time I got on the plane again being a family trip to Genveva. From that day, I had always wanted to travel, but always felt too scared to do so alone. There's also that whole money thing too, I guess.
Eventually, I said "fuck it!" I booked flights to Rotterdam and flights back to London from Berlin. I didn't really know how exactly it would work out - I just knew I would have to do it and figure it out. I gave myself an extra challenge of not paying for accomadation - using Couchsurfing and Tinder to find places to say (except from the little stopover in Geneva with family).
Although a relative short one, I floated around Europe for 12 days, alone. I found some new friends, went on dates, managed to get a photo job, got lost and fell to a short spell of overwhelming loneliness. All in all, it was hard, but one the best thing that I have ever done.
Part 4 was Berlin. I managed to get a host earlier in the day and landed in Berlin around 11pm, and eventually got to their place at 12.15am. Long story short, I thought my host - Ben, pictured in the second photo - was going to kill me - but he turned out to be a fucking awesome guy. There are a few more stories I could tell about Berlin. For me, Berlin is a place where my outlook and perceptions on who I believe I am was reinforced, in the best way.
Enjoy the shots.