On the top of the planet - Day 3

I am the dog from that famous experiment on learned helplessness. I have jumped the divide and I lay on the safe floor of the right side of the cage, still too traumatised to become fully aware of my safety. But the idea progressively bores into my awareness: I am in Leiden, 68th university in the global raking, and among the strict three or so of the very best in the matters I am here to investigate. For another year at least, nothing forces me to leave its safety or to enter the danger zone. Chances are I could stay here for the rest of my life. I try to move my head, stand up on the trembling paws and assume my destiny. 
My brain is no longer like a candy floss. It feels like one of the trees in the Botanical Garden, remarkable for the particular density of its branches. I adopted it as my special symbolic possession. It is a safe tree precisely for the little distance from one branch to another that makes climbing easy and secure.
I wake up from a long and uneasy slumber, and here I am, on the top of the planet, nearly eight months now. I try to clarify my ideas, design the books to write, assume myself as a leading international scholar against the memory of being minor and marginalised. There, on the other side of the divide, in the zone of no return. Who cares what I was there. Whatever that was there, either said or silenced, is completely void for what regards the top of the planet.