Going Home
I never really liked my birth country, at least not while I lived there. I spent most of my seventeen years there wishing I was somewhere else. Somewhere more exciting, more exotic, where palm trees waved, bathed in balmy breezes and the hot sun. I longed for adventure, for the novelty of a new culture and a new country.
When my family and I emigrated to Spain I fell in love with the steamy hot summers and the warm noisy people. It was what I'd been longing for, I learnt the language and worked with Spanish children. I enjoyed my life there for five and a half years, then I got complacent, bored and felt that I was stuck in a rut. Six months later I found myself on my way to Sweden, and I revelled in the difference of it all, the new culture and the new language. This time the people were refreshingly northern European, yet just as warm as the Spanish. Just as affectionate if tempered with the Scandinavian calmness, their directness that makes them so utterly attractive. That Scandinavian sincerity in bred from the bones, from the Viking adventurers and the harshness of the sea. So I spent nine glorious months amongst those wonderful people and so it began.
The homesickness that enveloped my soul like a case of the flu. I have felt homesick many times but never to this degree. So I returned to my family, whom happened to be living in Belgium and (excuse me, for my own opinions) it is one of the most boring countries I have ever been to. Especially West Flanders, it's filled with large expanses of green, flat fields and little square houses. It's hard to tell which is which, they all look the same. Like children's drawings, square with triangular roofs and lots of windows. That's not to say that I don't sincerely like the Belgians, they are a very sweet and polite. So much so that it seems that they are unable to say anything, positive or negative to your face. Now I have arrived at this juncture and suddenly I desperately want to be surrounded by my own nation, bad or good. I want to return to a little Victorian terrace and settle down.
I've enjoyed my adventurous lifestyle and I won't renounce it completely, the travel bug still lingers in my blood stream but now I feel a need to live in my own space. To travel from that space and let that space shine out with my personality. I suddenly have a craving for gardening and nesting, does this mean I'm getting old? I leave that judgement to you. That's all from me right now, over and out.
When my family and I emigrated to Spain I fell in love with the steamy hot summers and the warm noisy people. It was what I'd been longing for, I learnt the language and worked with Spanish children. I enjoyed my life there for five and a half years, then I got complacent, bored and felt that I was stuck in a rut. Six months later I found myself on my way to Sweden, and I revelled in the difference of it all, the new culture and the new language. This time the people were refreshingly northern European, yet just as warm as the Spanish. Just as affectionate if tempered with the Scandinavian calmness, their directness that makes them so utterly attractive. That Scandinavian sincerity in bred from the bones, from the Viking adventurers and the harshness of the sea. So I spent nine glorious months amongst those wonderful people and so it began.
The homesickness that enveloped my soul like a case of the flu. I have felt homesick many times but never to this degree. So I returned to my family, whom happened to be living in Belgium and (excuse me, for my own opinions) it is one of the most boring countries I have ever been to. Especially West Flanders, it's filled with large expanses of green, flat fields and little square houses. It's hard to tell which is which, they all look the same. Like children's drawings, square with triangular roofs and lots of windows. That's not to say that I don't sincerely like the Belgians, they are a very sweet and polite. So much so that it seems that they are unable to say anything, positive or negative to your face. Now I have arrived at this juncture and suddenly I desperately want to be surrounded by my own nation, bad or good. I want to return to a little Victorian terrace and settle down.
I've enjoyed my adventurous lifestyle and I won't renounce it completely, the travel bug still lingers in my blood stream but now I feel a need to live in my own space. To travel from that space and let that space shine out with my personality. I suddenly have a craving for gardening and nesting, does this mean I'm getting old? I leave that judgement to you. That's all from me right now, over and out.
Comments
I loved your blog and I find you a very good writer!
I decided to leave a comment under this title« going home» because I sympathized with what you said.
I ‘ve never left my country ( Portugal) , to live abroad, but honestly that is something that I’m always thinking of doing it. That’s why I truly admire you .
Travelling is a unique experience , not only because you’re actually leaving your country, and this «per se» is already Great, but also because you are having the opportunity to share experiences, ways of living, culture and so on with different people . And that gives you an enrichly background as well as immunities to deal with others .
However , living abroad and leave my own family behind was not something that my Parents would appreciate . They do not have an adventurous spirit and are very protective. I’m not saying this is bad, but sometimes we need to grow up by our own, and gain «social immunities» .
Of course I would miss my family and friends if i decided to live abroad , but I would never forget my country and I would come back.
We never forget who we are, no matter what Country we decided to live.That’s the reason why I understood and sympathized, when you said you fell the need to going back to your Home-land . Lol
My future-trips are uncertain but I’m sure of one thing , one day no matter when I would do the trip of my dreams and I’m sure I won’t regrett it. ;-)
Lots of kisses Your friend from Portugal Raquel Silva