Prefaces are always written in the end, perhaps because only in the end one knows how to start, or should have started. These a-chronic and a-synchronic starting words are meant to charm the reader into an investigating journey that has already ended; it is an act of seduction where promises are made for future and innovative questions, although answers will never come. The ecstasy of philosophy is its mad play with the new, which is always old, with the unwanted answers and forever delayed comforts. And perhaps it was this permanent postponement of ease to find an answer to the tragedy of refuge and statelessness in our time that has clogged my will to finish this dissertation. Each day the roads of those who leave their homes in order to live get more and more congested. So, who am I to make a sincere remark on the matter.