A Drop of Ink

  It was like stepping out for a hike through the fog, like approaching a large bend in the road, not knowing what comes next, not knowing what awaits me. Leaving the home of my childhood felt like a freefall, a leaving behind of all things familiar. I began to mourn for them before I’d even gone, and when I’d gone there was a vacuum of sorts, the deep inhalation before holding my breath; holding my breath – waiting. Waiting for… what? For the landing? For arrival? In my first few months here, many people asked if I had “arrived” yet, a typical German question. I was holding my breath, so I could only shake my head, no; no, and I don’t even know what that means. It takes time, they would say, nodding their heads knowingly, all experts at the art of arrival. I would nod my head in obligatory agreement and think, Or maybe it just isn’t possible. I have never needed to arrive anywhere, not really. Every time my plane landed or my bus reached its destination, I was j...