Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, and dear fellow expats, have you ever wondered about the real reasons of our runaways? That beyond the wanderlust, the professional challenges, the bitter and the sweet love stories, we just want to get away from the responsibilities of a "normal" life? The very same normal life we then try to rebuild in our temporary haven, until the burdens of an adult life become too cumbersome, and we set sail again? Aren't we just a bunch of Lost Boys, following some invisible Peter Pan to a Neverland that keeps slipping away?

Dear future hubster, it didn't take long for me to receive the first invitations to somebody's farewell dinner or drinks. A couple of weeks after my arrival, really. Back then, those were courtesy invitations, from people I met once or twice, or bulk ones, sent out to everybody under the sun. Not much later though, I started receiving invitations to farewell parties of people I actually knew. And then, sooner than I expected, started rolling in the ones for people I happen to care about. I know the day will come, not so far from today, when I receive one from somebody I don't want to see leaving. Isn't it ironic (and not in the misinterpreted Alanis Morissette way) that we keep going away, leaving people behind, but feel betrayed when others do the same?

Dear future hubster, it's funny how the same weather makes me listen to the same kind of music. And how the same kind of music always makes me think of the same people.

Dear future hubster, it was so obvious and expected, that I forgot to mention when it first happened, but my princess attitude couldn't be kept hidden from my flatmates for long. Only they call me khaleesi.

Dear future hubster, if you thought that distance makes people different, you were wrong. Parking spot entitlements (or lack thereof) brings out the exact same petty fights, regardless of location.