I was a few months shy of 25 when I moved to Holland. Yet in the first few years, I would always be carded if I buy alcohol or cigarette. I don’t remember exactly when they stopped asking for my I.D. but last week at work, I jokingly asked a colleague if I still looked 27 and he looked at me confused and sternly said ‘no”, as if my question was the most bizarre he heard that day.
Eleven years of living in the Netherlands and I barely noticed how time changed. I recently turned 36 and since my immigration, the years have been grinding steadily, albeit boringly consistent. I fell in-love, I migrated, I worked, I amused myself with wine, travel and marathons in between, I bought a house, I started a family and since then life had been about motherhood and working to pay the mortgage, debts and house renovations.
(Don’t worry! This is not a quit-my-job-to-travel-the-world kind of post)