I have never found coming home from holidays easy. Even when I was younger I would dread the return to reality, hanging on desperately to the memories of a place which would suddenly seem so far away as soon as the plane would land on the wet, grey tarmac of England. Over the years, I have learned to accept that it is part of the whole experience; that if anything it only makes you more grateful to have experienced these beautiful places away from home, and taught myself not to be sad because it was over, but to smile because it happened.
The past few days and weeks, as I was getting to the end of my year-long trip and pondering this thought, I came across a perfect description of my situation in the book I was reading: “Realising too soon that you have to return, and feeling the bittersweet pull of longing as you begin to pack your things. But looking back years later and knowing that, while the journey may have ended, it will always be within you. And that the place will always be there waiting, if you happen to find yourself missing it too much”. And this comforted me more than I was expecting. So with this in mind – for now – I am slowly trying to find my feet back in the world of reality.