Six months is neither a terribly long time, nor a very short one. Today it is the measure of how long I’ve been in Brussels. There is a lot to be said about what it is like to move countries. I’ve done it thrice before, and that should make me somewhat of a seasoned hand, but I can’t think of much that doesn’t sound trite.
A few years ago, Amber and I sat down to make a list of all the dwellings we’ve each lived in. This one, where I love to sit on the living room couch and watch the sunlight dance on the scores of windows opposite, is my twentieth. Bit by bit, what was once an empty apartment found from afar on the internet is beginning to look like home.
