keep breathing.

Hello, world. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen a personal post from me. Decades have passed since my writing circulated online, back when I annoyed humanity with my automotive stories in AUTODROM. Over the years, my urge to share with the world has faded, replaced by one primary focus: keep breathing, keep going.

Since last June, exactly one year ago, life has been a whirlwind. Events have unfolded chaotically, with an unsettling momentum, as if life’s game pieces move randomly or disappear altogether. This kind of revolution is one I could do without. Yet amidst all the chaos and grief, small positives peek through, even if I resist seeing them that way.

loneliness.

Grief teaches you quickly that, in the end, you’re alone. My mom passed in 2012. Cancer. Then, last October, after a three-month battle, I had to say goodbye to my dad. That cruel beast, cancer, shows no mercy. As a kid, I was very much a daddy’s boy – a rarity for boys – and the last 11 years together (I’m an only child) brought us even closer. We talked every day about everything. He wasn’t just my dad but also my “best friend“, the one who knew it all.

It’s a heartbreaking story, and people, friends, acquaintances, hear it, feel it, and mourn with me. But then comes the inevitable: life moves on for them while my world remains frozen. This doesn’t diminish their empathy—it’s normal. I even envy them. Yet I’m alone. My parents and grandparents are gone, which means one day all our shared memories will disappear with me.

hold on to it.

“Write these memories down…”, a close friend urged me. “…keep them for your kids, for others!”.

I sat down, pen and paper in hand, ready to immortalize everything. Countless moments, stories, places, smells, emotions, images, and colors swirled in my mind – too vast to capture. How do you even begin? And what’s the value?

It hit me: It’s not the extraordinary moments that linger but the mundane, everyday ones. When I think of my parents and reminisce, it’s not about trips, birthdays, or celebrations. It’s us, in the living room: Dad reading, Mom writing, and me… doing whatever. Nothing special. Dinner conversations about work and life, or watching them hold hands while walking. Moments of harmony, peace and safety.

I realized these “ordinary” memories can’t be written down. My story isn’t over – it’s unfolding as you read this. Now, I’m no longer the child; I’m the parent. My kids will remember their “Pappou” (grandfather in Greek) and the joyful times they had with him – and me. They’ll recall that Dad often had tears in his eyes, missing his own dad. But they’ll also remember the ordinary things: me improvising meals with random kitchen ingredients or laughing with their mom during walks.

superpower.

Writing a story is one thing; preserving it is another. Photography is not just my passion but also my profession. I’m obsessed with the technical side – cameras and gear – which means I can talk shop for hours (to everyone’s dismay) and never leave home without a camera.

Though I often photograph impressive cars, fascinating people, or unique subjects, my favorite subjects are my kids and my wife, Leona. For years, I’ve been compiling special moments into annual albums for us and calendars for my parents and in-laws. In 2023, only my in-laws received one for Christmas.

After my dad’s passing, I documented nearly everything that followed – this time using 35mm film. As we emptied my parents’ home daily, my evenings were spent developing, scanning, and archiving film. It became a soothing ritual amidst the destruction surrounding me.

Since June 2023, my world has felt like constant destruction – beginning with my dad’s illness and ending with dismantling my parents’ home. Developing film became my way to counterbalance that destruction by creating something new. Once this chapter is closed, I’ll revisit those photos and officially move on. But it’s a long road and while my wife sees the light at the tunnel’s end, I can’t even find the tunnel.

the journey.

Over the past year, countless moments tested me. One of the hardest was my trip to Greece in May. To settle inheritance matters, I drove there alone in my parents’ car – exactly as my dad had meticulously cared for it.

With their photo tucked into the passenger door, I drove from Reutlingen through Austria to Italy, boarded a ferry to Greece and crossed the country to Kavala. While the drive itself was easy, the emotional weight was crushing. Just months earlier, my dad and I sat in a Tübingen hospital, planning this trip together. Now, I was alone in his car.

The solitude was overwhelming, even as I documented the journey with my Fujifilm GFX 50R. A detailed account of this trip will appear in Fuji X Passion magazine, and I’m working on a zine combining images and text.

unexpected impact.

Shortly after my trip to Greece, I appeared on my friend Tom Stöven’s “Royal T.S.” podcast, recording from Greece, too. If you listened closely, you might’ve heard a real rooster crowing in the background – pure cliché.

When the episode aired in June 2024, the response surprised me. Messages poured in, with some sharing how my story had touched them. Robin Disselkamp and Hanno Stolberg even wrote pieces inspired by it. Suddenly, I found myself part of a community, realizing my story had impacted others. If I can inspire just one person to hug their parents a little longer, I’m content.

YouTube!

For nearly a decade, I’ve wanted to create YouTube videos. The platform replaced TV for me when I moved out, offering content tailored to my interests.

In April, I finally uploaded my first video. With 250 subscribers, I’m hoping to reach 500 and monetize my channel, dromokratis. While I doubt it’ll make me rich, even a little support would mean a lot.

Creating these videos, regardless of quality, feels like medicine. Amid months of destruction, they represent something new – built without breaking anything old.

workshops.

In May, as I boarded a ferry back to Germany, I received an unexpected call: someone admired my work and asked if I’d offer private photography workshops, especially for portraits. I jumped at the chance, refining a concept during the trip home. The first workshop was a success, and I’m now developing an online portal to share workshop details.

Teaching isn’t just about sharing knowledge but also learning from others. Meeting as business partners and leaving as friends – that’s the goal.

This story, like life, isn’t over yet. Keep breathing.