Home sweet home?

378

As I sip my tea and gaze out into the miserable, wet jungle that has become my garden since we went away, I decide that over a week later, my holiday hangover is most definitely not over. It is, infact, still very much in full swing. That groundhog day feeling of the school and work routine is about to begin again and I am truly not ready! The uniforms hang, ironed and named, in the wardrobes, the bags and pe kits are packed and ready to go and the calendar is full of all those oh so important dates, but I am not ready for the monotony to begin again.

I follow two raindrops as they race down the window pane and I realise, it’s not the routine that’s bothering me, it’s the place. As much as we have settled here and made friends and it’s nice to be near family, it just doesn’t feel permanent. It doesn’t feel like home!Β As soon as we cross that border into Spain from France, that’s when I feel like I am home. When I begin to see the road signs for La Safor, that’s when I feel like I am home. When I spy that huge black “toro” statue that sits on the side of the mountain near Gandia, that’s when I feel like I am home.Β I know that the school and work routine would be that much more bearable if I were living where I want to be living.

The rain begins to hammer against the window harder and I conclude that I do not actually have a holiday hangover, I am homesick!

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