In exactly one week, I'll be home. The notion of home is arguable, I agree, but still. I can't wait to see my dad's face among people waiting at the airport. My mom will already be in the US. Her being here will take away half of the happiness to be in Morocco (and 99% of the good food I was fantasizing on). Of course, I have a lits of things I HAVE to do, people I HAVE to see but, often, I surrender to only seeing people I WANT to see and doing things I WANT to do.
I'm excited to work although I don't know yet how, why, when and who with.
I have this bittersweet feeling. And I hate it. I wish I was more simple.