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On what could have been just any other grey Wednesday afternoon I received the email. Yes, The email. It could have been any old message from any old place, but it wasn’t, it was one I had been waiting weeks - no actually months - for. Looking out of the window from where I was sitting, in a café high up on the mountainside surrounded by majestic pine trees, overlooking the fjord of Oslo, I rest my eyes for a few seconds on a large, somewhat filthy pile of snow on the driveway in front of the house. It had started to rain again. I could see the lump of snow melting softly, gradually giving way to the raw, icy drops of rain. I think about how soft, mild, the winters nowadays feel, and briefly wish they would be more like they had been up until a few seasons ago – bitterly long and cold. I am jolted back to reality as a dog at the next table, who up until now had not made a single sound, let out a poor high-pitched yelp as someone apparently trod on its paw. Returning to my computer I brace myself and click to open the email. Suddenly I am painfully aware of my breathing, it feels as though each breath is actively struggling to stay down. “Dear Isabella, we are pleased to inform you…” My heart literally skips a beat. I got in! I actually got in. It feels like the floor beneath my feet gives in and I draw a sharp inhale to be able to focus. What felt so far away, so unattainable just a few months ago, is all of a sudden going to be my new reality in five short months. I am going to Chile. Leaving everything I know behind – my apartment, my job, my friends. My boyfriend. All for this wonderful, strange, enticing and absolutely nerve wrecking opportunity. This would be my first big solo travel and I simply could not wait. To me, this was a chance of a lifetime. It was hard to understand at the time why it meant so much to me, why I felt like this it was now or never. Years later I will come to realize that I felt trapped in so many aspects of my life in Oslo. Stuck in a city that didn't feel like my own. I feel awfully anxious, yet giddy with excitement. To calm the roaring thoughts in my head, I turn to face the spectacular view of the fjord once again. The sun peers out from under the cloud heavy with rain, just in time for it to set. People gather eagerly around the old majestic bay window to watch. Those of us who live in the area are all too aware of the fact that it will be a short event, so we stay quiet to savour every moment. I overhear someone saying they are disappointed over the uneventfulness of the sunset, and though I understand why, I quietly disagree. There is no great display of incredible colours taking over the sky but just the light glowing darker and darker. Here, in the Northern part of the world, there are not enough air pollutions to induce a dramatic display, instead the sun just sort of quietly slips over the edge of the mountain and disappears. Simple, and ever so beautiful. I let out a barely audible sigh. It is finally happening.