Member-only story
Two homes and a split heart
An epic battle between two nations
There I was, hiding under the bed, having bumped by head a few times to do so, with my three-year-old great-nephew. We were hiding from his mum apparently, but not for any reason. While he chattered away about something, I just stared at him, thinking about my current situation and wishing, that he (as well as others in the UK) lived just 10 minutes away.
At the end of every trip home I’m always happy to return to Croatia, but at the same time I’m upset to be leaving many things behind. I try to cram in as much as possible, often heading to friends’ miles away for a night or two (if we’re lucky). I’ve also invited a few people back too, wanting to show them a traditional ‘British’ time, and the highlights of the place I grew up and lived.
Then as I sit on the plane, I have this feeling of ‘meh’ wash over me, even though I know once I see the sea, feel that warm breeze and pop round my friends, it will almost completely disappear.
I always told my former boss that it wasn’t the job that I disliked, but the place where it took place. Now I find myself telling friends and family the same.
But how can a place be so depressing, or have I just been doing things wrongly?
