The Estonian girl reminded me, long after I was sure I’d forgotten. Had I chosen that path, I would be there now, in a two-bedroom apartment near the hospital, two cats instead of six, curtains as bought by his mother. Forty hours a week instead of zero; a job I hated, versus home and a novel to write. Luckily, I stumbled upon the dreams I’d had long ago, and made my choice.
Yet, I still wish I could someday teach the orphans English in that former Soviet state.
Perhaps I’ll forego medieval studies and take to the sea.
