Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, If going to Kigali for the weekend feels like going to Brussels used to, because it takes about the same amount of time and sometimes I'm as eager to get into the taxi and sleep as I was looking forward to that train ride, and I'm never sure which language to use and always wonder whether they will get offended if I pick the wrong one, and I always hopelessly get lost, but appreciate the shopping opportunities and the different vibe the city gives off, then what does it mean? That I'm trying to relate everything I experience to something I used to know, to delusion myself to a comfort zone that doesn't really exist? Or does it mean that no matter how far I go, I will always look for the same things, and look at them the same way? That no matter the scenery, I will always be me?

Dear future hubster, although I'm old-fashioned enough to still frown at the idea of selfies, I'm also vain enough to appreciate good pictures taken of me. Taken, as in by somebody else.  And somewhat related to that, I will always be a tiny bit jealous of great pictures taken of you. Taken, as in by somebody else than me. Because somebody else had the chance to be there in that moment, in the sunrise, under the rainbow, in the snowfall. With you.

Dear future hubster, I'm sure some wise person said it before, but still: being brave does not mean not being afraid of anything. That's rather just being stupid.  Being afraid (nervous, worried, scared sh*tless) about something (because the unknown is so terrifying, because you have considered all things that can go wrong, because you're so unsure of yourself and what you're capable of), but taking a deep breath and doing it anyway; now that's a lot closer to what I understand as brave. (Occasionally it can also qualify as being stupid though.)

Dear future hubster, my mokka makes coffee for two. Which comes very handy in this current life of living with people, and makes me the unrivaled coffee queen of any food-related event I host (and frankly, all events I host are food-related). But sometimes I picture mornings when I wake up in a life and flat of only you and me and the baby goat on the balcony, and then I get anxious about my mokka. Waste of coffee is not something I can accept.  So if you are not a coffee drinker (I heard those creatures exist), please make a point by walking into my life with a mokka for one.

Dear future hubster, the self-conscious part of me sometimes spins out of control and makes me wonder for days: He said "Since you're the most senior around". Did he just call me old???