Something strange happens when people uproot themselves and move away from everything familiar. It creates an innate vulnerability in us. We become vulnerable to cultural differences, struggles of adapting to a new environment filled with new surroundings, faces, smells, language, schedules, foods, forms of transports, norms. Nothing is the same, yet everything is familiar. We end up taking comfort in the tiniest of things - like some good cheese, having a friend or family member email you, finding a goat in a park that makes you smile, or exploring an antique shop. This vulnerability sometimes brings on the worst of days. Something that would ordinarily be manageable can ruin a day - like that it’s uncomfortably windy, or a bus schedule is wrong, or we get horribly lost. Sometimes the vulnerability makes me fall apart over
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