The thing about being an expat is that no matter how hard you try to make your adopted home your point of reference, life, and often death, refuse to let you forget your roots. One ends up oscillating then, between the joys and demands of the existential now and the constant undertow of that current that ever flows towards one’s hometown.
A fallout is inevitable and one of the many is the passing away of a friend. The distance between you and your hometown is never felt more acutely than when such news breaks. A true moment of regret.
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