‘There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.’


For the past few days I have experienced an overwhelming desire to move back to Amsterdam. There is no discernible reason for this. My life in Ireland has not undergone any recent, drastic change. This homesickness is rather foolish. Foolish because the reason I left the place was to begin with was that it didn’t feel like home there anymore. I have settled back into Irish life rather successfully – I have a reasonable job; a lovely apartment; good friends and the inkling of a writing career, that seemed closed off to me in the Netherlands because of language and herb.

This feeling is temporary – it washes over me on random occasions. This time I expect it is because of a pending trip to the city below the sea. Anticipation is meddling with my mental clarity. I have a long weekend planned for Easter, where I plan to have fun and frolics; hi-jinks and jolly japes. Upon my return I will be more resolute in my commitment to life in Ireland.

At least until August 8 2018. This will be the three year anniversary of my glorious return to Ireland. It is possible perhaps, that I will never feel completely at home back here. Fifteen years is quite the length of time to be gone – particularly as those years consumed my twenties and thirties. But I made a commitment to myself to stick it out here for three years. And only then to revisit my decision.

 Roll on Easter. I am feeling very cloggy right now.


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