Looking out the window, I remember vividly how I would secretly swear on mt bike in a morning like this, knowing I would be completely wet when arriving the office. But at the same time, I wondered why my good friend had not wrote to me. On the day we parted, he say that he will write to me about the lousy Dutch weather so that I don't miss them too much..... I guess he must misses me as well, for a cup of coffee I owe him. Knowing his PhD defense is coming up, I felt bad not having the chance to gave him the support he had given me.
At the boarder gate, the officer flipped though my passport pages trying to find my visa and figuring out where I entered the Schengen (European) area and where I had been. He seems very puzzled by all the Schiphol airport stamps on various pages when I meddled and explained that I had been studying here for some years. He was surprised that I speak hardly any Dutch and made fun of the French people by suggesting they must have forgotten to stamp on my passport when I made the transit in Paris in entering the European Union. Rushing through the airport hall, I was only able to take a breath and feel the Dutch land under my feet when I boarded my flight.
The rain continued under the gray gray sky.
Not knowing when I will come back, yet I had to say good-bye. I know deeply, I will always have a soft spot for this raining wet land in my heart....
