And, finally, we arrive.
It’s probably not possible to pinpoint exactly where or when this journey began, as it hasn’t ended, or really, even properly began. As I type in our new apartment in The Hague, listening to the echoes my fingers make in this room devoid of furniture, everything seems to have inexorably, if fitfully, led us here from as far back as I can see. I think my own naïveté was the seed that finally led me away from the sararīman lifestyle, but there aren’t really true ends or beginnings, I don’t think. Life seems to start in medias res.
