I Think the U8 Knows My Secrets

March 27, 2025 Atelier Manganel

It was one of those mornings that felt like last night never really ended. My coffee was cold before I took a sip, and the U-Bahn platform smelled like a mix of metal, sweat, and someone’s takeout dreams from five hours ago. I stood there half-awake, staring at the yellow blur of the incoming train, and thought: I’ve taken this exact ride so many times I’m starting to think the U8 knows me better than most of my friends.

There’s something about Berlin’s subway that turns you into both the watcher and the watched. Every seat is a stage, every reflection in the window a reminder that you exist—and maybe haven’t slept enough. I’ve had breakups between stops, seen couples reunite like they were in a film no one’s filming, and once witnessed a man build an entire ham sandwich out of his coat pockets. No judgment. It was efficient.

Some days it feels like the city’s tempo is locked to the rhythm of the trains. You wait, you move, you wait again. And in between, you overhear pieces of life: a missed appointment, a fight about toothpaste, someone practicing Turkish verbs under their breath. Berlin is loud like that. Not always with volume—more like presence. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder; it leans in and starts talking before you’re ready.

The U8 is especially good at catching you off guard. Hermannstraße to Wittenau is a stretch of everything—tourists, club kids, pensioners, ghosts from Tempelhofer Feld. And when you’re in the middle of it, headphones half on, staring at the same old ad for a language app that still hasn’t improved your German, it hits you: this chaos is weirdly comforting. Predictably unpredictable. A moving confession booth.

I used to avoid eye contact on the train. Now I catch myself wondering about the guy with the face tattoo who always gets off at Rosenthaler Platz.

What’s his morning like? Does he feel the same static buzz before a train pulls in? Is he also carrying around the weight of last Thursday’s choices in a crumpled tote bag?

Sometimes I think Berlin puts its soul underground. Between the graffiti-tagged windows and leftover club glitter, it’s all there—messy, tired, honest. A mirror, if you’re in the mood to look.