Posted on 1 min read

I’m sitting in a Doctor’s office in Munster, Germany. I can’t even truly tell what’s wrong with me. I was woken up in the night by a screaming in my ear. I thought it was a siren on the street coming towards me, until the headache kicked in, and then I realized it was within my own head. But it wasn’t the feeling of a scream, my ear was actually screaming, until it reached a nadir where I thought I would go deaf from pain and noise. And then a pop. Pressure released, and fluid started to pool in my ear, and then pour out onto the pillow. I tried to catch it with my hand, and then held it up to the glow of the window to check if it was blood. I couldn’t understand where it was all coming from, where it had been. Mostly asleep, the residual pain the only thing still keeping me awake, I began to question the reality of what I was processing.

And now I sit in a doctor’s office, trying to pinpoint what is wrong with me. And then the realization comes over me that this is pedestrian. Whether I want to or not, I’m making Munster into a home: a family doctor, an apartment, a steady group of friends, a set of bars and restaurants to frequent. What else is there to a home?

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