If you've been paying any attention to the news at all this week you will have seen that an earthquake of staggering magnitude pulverised a large part of Haiti.  The news coverage is shocking, the devastation immense.  Unfortunately, such tragic news stories are all too common place in our world.  From famine to war we are used to pictures of suffering entering our homes via the box in our living room.

I think we can all be forgiven if on occasion we feel slightly immune to what is happening.  Its too far away, its too great a tragedy to comprehend, it doesn't touch us personally.

I confess when I first saw the pictures, I was utterly guilty of skipping past them with a quick "Poor Haiti, hurricanes last year, earthquakes this year, they can't catch a break".  I'm certain I wasn't the only one. 

It probably would have remained just that for me, another tragedy somewhere in the world, but then my phone rang on Tuesday night.

By the cruelest of cruel twists of fate a friend from the past, who should have left the island the day before, was found in the wreckage of his building on Tuesday morning.  Nearly half way around the world his wife will be explaining to their baby that his father isn't coming home this week and in fact won't be coming home again.

Yesterday, after our little group of friends connected themselves again by phone, by e-mail, by thought across the globe, I pulled down my photo album.  There in the pages they were, my friends smiling up at the camera from a huge group hug around a dinner table.  Blissfully in love, several months from marriage, years from their baby being born and the tragedy lurking in the distance.  They were the fairy tale love story.  I know this, because I helped introduce them.  I was there when they bounced starry eyed from their first date absolutely convinced in love at first sight because it had now happened to them. 

As with many expat friendships, time and distance stretched between us with only sporadic news coming from mutual friends.  Nevertheless I am devastated for them.  That life could be so unutterably cruel.  I am shocked to my core that now two people are gone from my photo album, less than eight years after it was compiled and way, way before their time.

If you have any spare change this month, please consider donating it to one of the relief appeals for Haiti.  I will be doing so for a little boy whose memories of his father will now only be the memories of other people, in the hope that another family may be saved from such heartache.

In the Netherlands you can donate through Giro555.

I have been having an especially expat-ish week this week.  There have been some great posts out there on my favourite blogs about the ups and downs of being an expat and I had an e-mail exchange with someone who is about to move to Amsterdam which reminded me of the whole joy of moving to a new country.  Expatify also asked me to participate in their spotlight series which was nice and answering the questions had me thinking about what it means to me to be an expat.

When my Mum arrived yesterday she brought with her a photo album filled with photos of my time in Paris.  Two very kind friends had spent hours compiling a memory book crammed with pictures of my favourite people and vignettes of my life there.

I left Paris under a cloud.  I was broken and lost.  Despite having an amazing group of friends life had got the better of me and I needed to put myself back together again.  I returned frequently to visit for weekends and caught up with as many people as I could, sometimes it felt as though I had hardly left.

The expats I have met bond quickly.  When you are far from home you look to your friends to form your family.  They share the incredible experiences with you and they hold you up when it all gets too much.  People are still people though, and not all friendships are built to last.

A crack appeared amongst my friends.  A perceived slight had spun out of control, tempers had frayed and patience had been exhausted.  I watched from a distance.  When I next visited one of my friends was missing from our get togethers.  Part of me was relieved.  When you are caught up in the narcissistic business of fixing yourself you don't have time for those who need to fix themselves.  You can't help them, you have nothing more to give. 

So the crack got wider and yet easier to ignore.  The ranks closed and the space filled.

It was 4:10pm on a Thursday.  I was sitting at my desk when the call came.  I should have known what was coming "...in hospital...we don't think she's going to make it..." and I started freefalling.

Less than two hours later she was gone.

She went as her parents flew through the sky, half way around the world only to find they were too late.  She went before we could say goodbye, before we could say "what a stupid disagreement, can't we get past this", before we could say sorry.

I walked my fingers today over the photos which she had so carefully selected and placed in a book for me, remembering names and forgotten places until there she was, head thrown back with laughter, eyes sparkling arms slung carelessly over the shoulders of her friends.

I started to pull the photos from the book, scanning each one as I went into e-mails to our friends with a note promising to do better at staying in touch even though we are now spread over six countries and three continents.

Some of the connections you make are transient, connections just for that moment in your life.  Others will last you a lifetime.  I no longer take either for granted.

I fly home from the UK tonight.  When I get back to Number 75 my Mum will be waiting for me.  Its her first trip to see me since we bought Number 75.

Buying Number 75 is the most grown up thing I think I have ever done, so why am I skittering about worrying like a small child about whether she will like it or not?

It seems no matter how old I get I am always my Mother's little girl.

Do you tweet?

I didn't really get the concept (and I'm sure I still don't) nevertheless, I entered the world of twitter some time ago and I am plodding on through.

I initially followed contacts from blogs I liked but increasingly I am branching (heh!) out and I have started to follow a couple of twitter feeds in Dutch. My Dutch is not good by anyone's standards but I am most confident reading so 140 characters is perfect for me. Often I will follow the links and start reading full articles in Dutch which is even better.

I'm not sure if helping people learn another language was one of the goals twitter set themselves when they set out to conquer the social media field but its certainly helping me.

If you want to follow me on twitter, there is a link in the right hand column which will take you to my feed.

If you are already on twitter, leave me a comment and let me know.

Do you tweet? If so what is the biggest advantage of twitter for you?

Note: As I was writing this Maryam of My Marrakesh tweeted a link to 20 Interesting Expats to Follow on Twitter. What do you think? Are there others you would add?

* to twitter, tweet or peep in Dutch.

It's a mess over here. We are up to our eyeballs in packing boxes and piles of stuff.

I am being absolute in my resolve not to take any rubbish or clutter with us to Number 75. Which just seems to make it all take twice as long.

To steel my resolve I am muttering "Do I need it, do I use it, do I love it?" at everything. Even the cat is looking worried.

What are your packing tips? How do you cut the clutter?