Coming back home here in the UK after some time spent in my Italian “home” always throws me into a turmoil. It makes me wonder why I bother to come back here when I feel so happy there. But there is not my real home anymore as I live here. But my heart is not here, is it? My heart is where the people I love are. But the people I love are both here and there. So where is actually home? Here and there, everywhere. Or maybe nowhere? It's not a philosophical question, it’s just the way I feel: torn. Since I left Italy to live abroad. Half of my life away from home. Half of my life at home. It will get better. It always does. Eventually.
