Change has been the most constant thing in my life, that and the family of three suitcases I own. At first it was one, large, orange hardshell suitcase. One year and eight trips later, the wheels on my suitcase began squeaking. Maybe I was asking it to do and carry too much. Perhaps a sibling would help. Not only did I get my crotchety old suitcase a sibling—I got two. Now I’m that guy with three bloated, crotchety, old squeaky suitcases that won’t shut up as I move from trains to airports to check-in counters. Under normal circumstances, I should be annoyed. In reality, they remind me of myself: old, full of baggage and always willing to tell anyone who will listen. The squeaking has stopped, lately, because I’ve moved to a new country…again. Looks as though I’ll be here for a while. Yet still, the memories and lessons I’ve learned makes me eager to share. I’ve become the squeaky suitcase.