I ask if there’s anything that connects us, the new immigrants. ‘We didn’t fit in at home?’ says Megan, in that way that makes statements sound like questions.
I moved into my flat today. I’m living in my apartment in Tel Aviv with my things around me. Most of it remains packed, as if by Christo. It is chaos. My new home is half the size of where I lived in London, where I had twice as much stuff as that flat could… Continue reading The museum of me