Break-up gifts generally follow two streams of logic. They’re either a flaming butcher knife punching through your crumpled heart (worst case: under the flag of becoming “friends”) OR the act of breaking up is the one, divine gift you were secretly waiting for and to which no accompanying trinket will ever compare. Here is a representative sample of the most break-uppy break-up gifts the folks in our Berlin office have been broken up with.

THE ZEN BOOK

I shared an “acquaintance-period” of five weeks with the guy who gave this to me. It started when I first thought he was disgusting. But after some myspace-investigation it turned out that we had “so much in common.” The worst thing about him was that he acted like an omniscient big brother and patronized me with his carreer, life, and sex advice. When he suddenly ended things I wanted to reverse his precocious nose into his head. One week after the “break-up” I found a birthday present in my mailbox with a card reading, “Not always so.” The book was a printed sequel of his fungous advices. I reasoned to myself that he wanted to show me how “balanced” and relaxed he was and how much more advanced in his personal development he was. But the easier and far more realistic explanation revealed itself after another myspace research session: It’s the favorite book of his better-looking best friend. Thank you myspace.

THE TEST CUP

This one was doomed from the get-go. The guy was ten years older than me and my best friend’s ex (who still wanted to marry him). Plus he had a small dick. He assured me we were soulmates and smelled like a God, but then he left me for an ape scientist who was four feet short. When I visited him the last time, one day before chrismas, his room-mate was occupied painting inscriptions on cups for her friends. I complimented her on the achievement and she gave me one of her creations—the “test cup” on which she had practiced the inscriptions a few times before trying them out on the real cups. After I ran into his roommate, me and my soulmate watched a movie. When the movie hit is most thrilling moment his new girlfriend called. They talked for ages. I got bored and kissed him. He did not seem to have anything against it but CONTINUED chatting with his girlfriend WHILE we kissed. I left and was beyond happy about not wasting my time with such a bastard anymore. I forgot the cup, but he brought it to my house a few days later. For unknown reasons I still hold on to it: I guess its a reminder of the wickedness of man in special and the mankind in general.

THE MASSAGE RING

Do you know what a massage ring is? It’s a little metal spring dealie you can roll up and down your finger to massage your digit. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR OTHER IDEAS. I got it from a guy I went out with for three weeks in college during winter break. I asked him if we were fiancees now and he liked the idea, but he also liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers and orange juice with pulp. I would have forgotten about him long ago if it weren’t for the ring. Sometimes I find it in the pockets of my winter coat and catch myself rolling it up and down in the train while other passengers stare at me and probably have thoughts I am not the least interested in.

THE LITTLE HYPOCHONDRIAC’S BOOK

The woman who gave this book to me was more than nuts. I am not saying that because she tore my heart into pieces and ruined my life for absolutely no reason, but because of how she justified it: “I have to find myself”. The book was the final, humiliating straw. I can’t remember complaining about anything. Ever. That gift is so bizarre and evil because it shows she must have been living in a completely different world all these years. I never found out what she was trying to say because she left for India to find god and her mind immediately after we broke up. I hope she did.

THIS POEM

This is the classic among gifts no one ever asked for. The guy was my first big love and it was meant to last forever, but somehow it didn’t. He freaked out, wrote letters, waited outside my house, sent gifts, recorded Breton’s “Nadja” for me – probably half of my books and a third of my CD collection comes from that time, the most essential being a graphic novel I’d wanted for ages but couldn’t afford. One night he knocked on my window and gave it to me. I was overwhelmed with excitement until I saw he’d scrawled a poem over the first pages. I thought about ripping it out in front of him but I was too lazy for that, so it’s still in there. Here you go:

EXPANSION:

OF THE CLANKING SEEDS IN THE GLASS

THE COMPREHENSION

TO LEAVES

LIVING LEAVES, WHITE

THE WORLD OUSIDE, BUT

WHATEVER

HAIR, SKIN, INCLUDED

THERE IS DEATH.

HE IS HERE, NOT THERE.

FLOWERS GROW

IN MY MOUTH, LIVING

FLOWERS, WHITE, SOFT

DARK SEEDS CLANKING,

SKYLINES OVER THE APOPHYSIS

ROTATION: WHITE EYE.

YOU LIVE.

I LIVE.

THE WATER INSIDE THE GLASS.

THERE ARE BRIGHT PETALS

IN MY BED.

SO I AM NOT DYING OUT

OF HUNGER.

COLD OUTSIDE, BUT

WHATEVER

EXPANDING SUNS,

CLANKING,

IN THE INCLUDING

MILKY FIELD GLASSES

CLARITY

I AM AROUND YOU

A SIGNED PRINT OF HIS DICK (IN THE FACE OF HIS GIRLFRIEND)

I have absolutely no clue why he sent this to me. Since that day I blackmail him from time to time, threatening him to put it up on myspace and tag both of them on it.

THE BREAK UP CLUB