Arriving Home

The few last months have been relatively busy as I was preparing to leave my base and return home.

What home means, though? For many it is the place they were born and grew up in. Their old neighbourhood, the school they graduated from, their local dry cleaners. Others would call home the place where they met their partner and fell in love.

For me, home is where the weather is gloomy, the chips are topped with vinegar and the sentences start with ‘sorry’ and end with ‘please’. At least this is what I though home was.

In 2017 things in my life took a different toll. Circumstances brought me to the airport, ready to leave behind the place I grew up and called home for almost 28 years now. I wanted to leave Greece behind and move back to the UK.

In my opinion, I would live the ‘British dream’ as I though it’d be: no judgemental prosperous living, where I could make money and save up to accomplish personal goals. I even got a great job offer from a top car manufacturer. Seemed perfect, right?

And then, Brexit came on the table. What would I do if needed to get a Visa or work permit? What if I get denied the right to remain? What if I have to pack all things up again and run away for one more time?

Home for me means the place where a smile stays on your face for long enough to reach your soul. With too many things to juggle at a time I felt I couldn’t stay in London as the city that I once fell in love with had changed dramatically.

On a Monday night, I denied the job offer and bought a ticket back to Greece.

Today, I pack my suitcase for the last time as I’m moving into my new flat in Athens. I am finally home.


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