there comes a point, inevitably, whenever you move to a new place, when everything changes.

when you previously thought you could only just stand to stay for three, four months… and all of a sudden you think you might be able to live there for a year. or two.

when you don’t dread nights alone at home because you’re there by choice.

when the people at the local cafe and the delivery guy recognize you.

when your new friends become your family and you have the best time at midnight diner runs, no alcohol needed.

when you’ve tried all the food stalls on the way to the subway station.

when you meet up with someone all ready to go out, and then decide the best course of action is staying in with delivery, ice cream, and a how i met your mother marathon.

when you think that maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to leave that emotional baggage/aching heart/drama otherwise back at home, 7000 miles away.

when you realize that meeting new people is actually fun, and not the awkward, cheerless chore you thought it would be when you were at home.

it’s the turning point at which a foreign land becomes home. and the weird thing is, you’ve experienced it enough times to know to expect it. and yet, nothing ever prepares you for it. it just hits you all of a sudden while you’re walking home way too late at night, that you’re so used to the sequence of these steps now that you don’t even have to think about them.  and it doesn’t mean that it’s all wonderful and great and comfortable now, but it’s just life as usual, a little less crazy than you originally thought it to be.