Holland is still home for me. No matter that each time I’ve lived abroad, Paris or Rabat or where ever has become “home,” in the back of my mind, cookie cutter small-town Holland still draws me back. It’s odd to think that this time will be for the last time.
I’m sitting at JP’s Café right now, and everything looks the same, the people are all perfect looking; the girls with hair-sprayed blond hair and the men in summer shorts, sandals and polo shirts. Where are the jelabas?? It was only a few days ago, and yet my days of seeing jelebas and veils on the streets are long gone.
How can someplace feel so comfortable and yet feel so foreign?
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