It's been six years since I sat at this very same internet café and had my future pop up on the screen before me. I had to rush back home and call that man with the strange name: “Hallo, Mr Kirkeby? (erroneously pronouncing it Κίρκεμπαϊ) I am calling about that volunteer position. Is it still available?” How could it not be? The position had just been announced and I was probably the first to see it. After one month of daily unsuccessful search...one very insignificant morning...at last my ticket out of here! I could not believe it! Months later, Mr Kirkeby (correctly pronounced Κίεκεμπι – the r silent, the last i with pursed lips) would tell me that when I had called he was at the airport in Rome and he was shocked that someone had already found out about the position and was interested. Was that karma or what! I remember when I got the email of acceptance, two weeks after that call, I started jumping up and down…literally. I was finally free. I was out of here. The there, however, was still a mystery to me; Copenhagen was just a name of a city somewhere in the North; its exact location of no prior significance to me. It’s funny. Now, Copenhagen is another word for ‘home’ and I find that I have to visit it at least once a year in order to refuel and be able to survive one more year in a city that I do not particularly like. It’s a strange thing with cities; you can fall in love with them like you do with people. It’s just unfortunate when you are in love with a city other than your own because, well, like with all long-distance relationships, the absence of the beloved is…excruciating!
