I don’t particularly like new beginnings. I never have. Yet, I keep looking for them. It is like when I start writing on a blank page. I never know how to start: the beginning is the most difficult part. I would always prefer to start from the second paragraph, as I know that words will eventually come to me, because I do want to write. In one way or another, I have always found the “opening words” I was looking for. Not promptly nor easily, but I did. And most of the times I liked them.
No matter how many new beginnings you experienced in your life, each of them will bring along some concern, self-doubt and discouragement, just like it happened with the previous beginning and the one before. So here I am, once again: new country, new context, new language, new job, new house and new people to share it with.
At first everything seems fogged, but soon you realise that the mist thins out much faster than you expected. You start recognising some streets, some buildings, some faces. Everything that in the beginning seemed dipped in darkness starts to emerge and it gets more and more lighted. It becomes part of your ordinariness until at some point it turns into something bright that guides your daily life.