On the transit bus to Arlanda Airport, the lady in the seat behind me asked if I was on my way home. For the first time, I didn’t have an answer to that question.
At this very moment, I exist in a transit world—both literally and emotionally. It’s a strange feeling, one I’ve never experienced before and one that can’t quite be put into words. Maybe it’s because it holds a mix of every emotion on the spectrum?
Gate F58.
One last Swedish kanelbulle.
Hej då, Sverige.
Kia ora, New Zealand.
Hello, new life.
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