That first winter was the hardest — dark by four in the afternoon, and every errand felt like homework. It also stuck. By spring I'd stopped counting the days until I'd go home.
Somewhere in that first summer, this stopped being a trip and started being a life. Estonia became a base instead of a stop.
The new job meant fewer visa renewals and more routine — and, for the first time, colleagues instead of just fellow travelers.
Four winters in, the flat finally feels like mine rather than a place I'm passing through.