first published as lost and found column#17 on April 9, 2005 The last day home after a vacation is always the most hopeless day of the year for me. Nine years living away from home, and I’m an expert in transience. Still my heart isn’t used to it. The day before my departure, my heartbeat races twice as fast, I snap at everyone in the house, and I am lost, wandering inside my head like a wild tiger in a cage far away from the jungle. I lock myself in my room, or go out in the garden, so no one can find me. Already my mind is moving away, bracing itself for detachment in the next 24 hours. In a fit of panic after Christmas, I told my father flatly: “I need to go shopping.” We drove out of the house in silence. But as the mall came into view, I decided I wanted to eat instead, on a restaurant on top of a hill. “Ok” was all he said. Then a few minutes later, “Do you mind if we stop by the cemetery first?” I shook my head. I didn’t actually care where we...