He placed an unreasonably priced sandwich on a table and sat down. The woman he was with smirked at it and cut it in two, sharing other half with the man.

He was looking in the window at a plane being taxied right in front of the gate lobby they occupied. Winter weather outside was dry and cold as grey paste of skyline silently dragged by without any glimpse of sunlight through the clouds.

The man tore half of the sandwich with his teeth and started to chew on it. The taste wasn't completely awful, but it was one of the most bland meals he ever had in his life. He looked into woman's eyes, as if asking her opinion on their meal.

"Yeah, it's shit", - she replied to his silent question, - "You'd think for about 5 euro you'll get something edible."

"Well, you know how airport food is." - he said, chewing on the other half of the sandwich, and then continued, - "you haven't had your breakfast, you're hungry and cranky, obviously you'll pay any price for semblance of a meal before a flight."

He sat quiet for a minute.

"I would have rather paid half of the for the food they have on the plane though."

The man stared at an empty plate, as if trying to remember what was on it a minute ago.

"Did you learn your lesson then?", the woman asked.

"What, about airport food?"

"No, I mean about returning back here. Was is worth it?"

"Here?", he fell silent for a bit.

"Yeah, I guess. I didn't think it through, but I learned my lesson, to be honest. Next time I want to return here could you hit me on the head with something heavy, dear?"

She giggled and swiped remains of sandwich crumbs onto the chipped plate.

The man impatiently shuffled in his chair. Their gate started letting passengers thorough the gate to let them settle on the frosty bus seats that was supposed to take them up to the plane. He considered staying in the warmth but decided against it, thinking how he wanted this to be over soon. This Soviet era decorated cafe wasn't any more welcoming than chilly wind outside.

They walked through the gate and stood there in a bus waiting for every passenger to finish checking in. The woman was talking to someone on the phone, while man looked out the window deep in his thoughts.

Moving was always a considerable pain. Last evening they fought at least twice arguing over what to take and what to leave behind. The man only packed couple of shirts and stuffed socks and underwear anywhere they would fit in a backpack already housing his laptop.

If she'd ever ask his opinion on what's the best way to pack, he'd reply:

"You pack all the necessities in a carry-on bag and then dump all the stuff you can afford to lose in the luggage."

"Of course, this is the easiest part of moving abroad", he added.

The man would then proceed to ramble about how you start with searching for a job, sent tens of applications, fill out the forms, have phone calls with recruiters and technical interviewers. Spend hours preparing for interviews, thinking if that's going to be the place you want to work at and if they're going to ask you to write bubble sort on a whiteboard over a phone.

But finding a job is the only beginning of the journey. You sign and translate every kind of document that comes into your hands, make arrangements to have your visa issued, have sleepless nights riding a train in a stuffy compartment to visit consulates and immigration offices. After waiting what feels eternity of excruciating uncertainty about the outcome you finally get it - your own visa. It says something like "you're free to work in our country or whatever".

You then book your flights, temporary accommodations and finish your business in the current country. You're so desperate at this point that when you sell your possessions you let anything go for 50 to 10 percent of original price, just to get rid of it. You gift remains of your furniture to the nice landlady that was most accommodating to you when you only moved to the country and not even had a plate for your dinner of takeaway food. Maybe she will leave this wardrobe for a new tenant to use. You feel happy for them to get such amazing apartment after you're gone.

Finally, you feel like this is over. You and your partner have packed everything, returned keys to your landlord and are ready to go. You board the plane, bid the country farewell and many hours later feel chassis slam against the landing stripe.

But when you get out into the fresh air and start walking down the cold jetway aisle a sudden thought hits you.

You're finally there.

You feel like this is going to be the Home you always wanted.

# Immigration

New Home

Auckland arrival