Next to my computer the coffee cup stands stained due to repeated use during the day and it is the second time I reheat this particular batch in the microwave. In the fridge rests the remains of the cake from yesterday’s celebration, saved for when dad comes back home. Like most of us, the kitchen clock ticks steady on, its ticking limited only by the power in its batteries.

It is my birthday and I feel very privileged and truly grateful. Not because it is my birthday. Like holidays of all kinds they are forced upon you by external variables such as dates and numbers and mean nothing in themselves. Instead, I am privileged to know that, despite shortcomings, my life is truly wonderful. And I am grateful. Grateful for the people who love me and bear with me when I am less than what I wish, which is often.

Today I am 33 years old. I am homeless and unemployed and I am doing my best to be excited about not knowing where I am heading. Three months ago I left my apartment in Italy. I packed my things into neat boxes and bags, and simply left them stored. Then I travelled for two months in India and Nepal hopefully thinking that something will come my way. It both did and didn’t. I guess that answers don’t come unless you know what question you asked. Having cut my holiday short to return to Sweden gives me the pleasure of spending my birthday with my family.

In a few days I am heading to Dublin for a job interview. I’m not sure if it’s what I want, but then again I never quite know what I want. But my funds are running alarmingly low and I guess knowing what you need is a much easier equation. As usual, I will do my best and let life decide.