The story began - as usual - with a death: my aunt. Italy. The apartment dissolved. On a Wednesday morning, the furniture arrived in Berlin by freight forwarder. Notification from customs. A huge red container. A small sticker, the writing is blurred, my name. Furniture for me. For me alone. Beautiful furniture. Antique to very antique. 16th century, 1786, 1820 and so on. Dark woods, lots of inlays, great craftsmanship. But what was I supposed to do with it? My apartment was beautiful. I really liked it, the empty spaces, the tidiness, somehow classy, but still homely. The way modern apartments are today: modern apartments for modern people, clarity, practicality with elegant details, no kitsch, a few extreme color accents. Well, you don't really know where to sit. But is that so important? Customs gave me the furniture without any formalities. And now I had a problem: a container full of the past, full of history. History in wood. The alternative was: a museum full of Louis Quatorze, walk-in with oversized felt slippers or "Schöner Wohnen" loft aesthetics in white lacquer. Both neat, tidy and dust-free. Who drags their childhood dining table behind them? The living room table around which you chased the dog, engraved the row of 6 with a kitchen knife and secretly rubbed the Sunday gravy on?

I was emaciated, had circles under my eyes and no concealer would help. Something had to be done! I had the container unlocked. And there they all were, as if they had been waiting for me. Like relatives - only less reproachful. The little brown one from Poltrona Frau: what a perfect shape, I think, and almost 100 years old. He seems to be inviting me in. I sit down gingerly. God, it's so comfortable! I get my feet on the floor, a rare occurrence for me with Central European designer furniture, no compressed spine, no slipped disc! To the right is a Thonet bench, to the left two matching Thonet armchairs. A genius of a "creative director" who invented this seating furniture. In the mild autumn light that falls into the container, they appear light and stable without being made of aluminum, tubular steel or Flexiform.

Yes, yes, nobody goes to Tuscany anymore, Sri Lanka, Seychelles, Dominican Republic - and there's internet everywhere. I'll still take the Olivetti with me, and if I don't write on it, I'll sit on it. A year has passed and there is life after death, even with furniture. It's a life of wild mixes. The Philippe Starck bathtub on the Berlin tiles, the MacBook on the Victorian folding desk. Upstairs, I struggle with emails, text formatting and layouts. Below, the desk reminds me of another time. Which wasn't necessarily better, but which belongs to me. After all, the modern TGV also runs into the Gare du Lyon. That's Europe, why should it look any different in my apartment? Two months ago, my old mother moved in with me, she brought a little dog, a Bolognese, and some crockery from the Austro-Hungarian era. Should I put the puppy, the mother, the Rosenthal china and all the silver in the container? In the attic of history? The puppy isn't quite house-trained, but so what? We all have a great time. The author, director and actress Adriana Altaras was born in Zagreb and lives in Berlin. In the 2008/09 season, she is staging the world premiere of her play "Der Fall Janke" at the Hans Otto Theater in Potsdam. In the film "The Countess", to be released in spring 2009, she plays alongside Julie Delpy. This text is an excerpt from the book "50 Jahre 50 Produkte - Designgeschichte(n) erzählt von MAGAZIN", which will be published in spring.