Small things

When I was in India this spring I spent a week on Havelock, one of the Andaman Islands. We were a group of different individuals that all stayed in the same hostel. There were the three israeli best friends traveling India together for the second time with their new best friend (a young swiss guy). There was Boris, the crazy french chef with dreadlocks down to his hips, there were the finnish skateboardrampdesigner Ilari and his english friend. There was the older dutch woman who had sold everything and now traveled the whole world. There were Naama and Maor, the israeli newly weds that spent their honeymoon on shitty hostels in India (amazing!!!). We used to spend the days beach hunting or swimming. Boris cooked us pasta for dinner and Naama and I would sit up talking all night.

The whole point of this short story is that when I said goodbye to Naama she wrote her name in my journal, and accidently spelled it wrong. I've been trying to find her on facebook or online, without result. A few days ago I gave it one last shot and then, seven months later, I found her little profile. Talking to her and Maor and them telling me to come to Israel and stay with them for a while just breaks my heart. Because sometimes that's what it is all about. Hanging out with people for a super short time and then ending up with friends all over the world for the rest of your life. 

I know that I have a home in Israel. Probably several in Australia and a bunch in America or Canada. It wouldn't be hard to find a couch in the UK, Switzerland, New Zeeland, Germany or India. And I am so grateful for that. You can all come and stay in my bedroom in Mariefred too. Whenever you want.

Maor and Naama