Before my first time going abroad one of the things I was thinking about was: Will life be any different when I will return home. Where would my friends be in life? What would they do be doing? Would we still be as close as we were? I imagined a world of change. After all time doesn’t stand still while I am not home.
When I came back home for the first time, I realized nothing had changed while I was gone. I had changed but home hadn’t. My friends had the same jobs, were still going to the same places, and were mostly doing the same things. Moreover, my homeown itself just felt the same. It had the same pulse as it had had before.
But since I had changed I started to get the feeling that I didn’t fit in by 100% anymore. Moreover my friends hadn’t changed, but they weren’t used to having me around anymore. Which doesn’t mean we weren’t friends anymore, but we somehow had to get used to being as close again as we used to be. Basically I had to get used to being back home again, even though one would imagine that after living in the same place for more than two decades, this should be an easy one.
Home felt small and unrelatable — I had this fire in me that I couldn’t express to anyone, and it frustrated me. It yearned to try new things, go new places, and meet new people. I was bored by everything I knew and I somehow had less fun doing the things I used to do back home. I was bored by speaking my own language, I was bored by my favorit lunch places and bars. I was bored having the same conversations with the same people. I wanted to experience more new things, I wanted to be a stranger again in a new country.
I was restless. I felt stale. I started to plan my next advernture abroad.
Have you ever lived abroad?