I’ve been struggling to engage brain with the fact I am travelling again. It’s been a while, and this trip is the Big One.
It’s been 9 years, 2 months and about 2 days since I left and I spent the first 6 or 7 years desperately trying to return. I tried and/or researched everything – jobs, business, study, moving to countries nearby, writing to politicians, hanging out in British themed pubs hoping someone would marry me…
Okay that last one is not true, only because I had a small child. But I did loiter in expat forums and I dis have someone offer me their brother for immigration purposes.
Anyway, that dream didn’t die despite my family’s fervent hopes that I would get over it. I just had to lock it away for the sake of my sanity. It’s ridiculous living with your heart in one place and your feet in another.
Still, heading back feels more like I’m going to visit an old flame than a holiday. Perhaps that’s why my heart had anaesthetised itself….