March 15th, 2011

Born in the Wrong Country

When we were driving through Sweden to catch the ferry to England the other day, my fiancé and I were discussing what we’d think it’d be like returning to the country we grew up in after living away from it for six months. She was worried that she’d feel at home and not want to leave again. I doubted I’d feel that way, but wasn’t sure.

Boy, was I born in the wrong country. I’ve been here less than 48 hours and I’m already counting the minutes before I can go home again.

This is the hardest thing in the world to describe, but England is… dull. Not boring, but the colour palette seems to be muted. I thought I was imagining things, but after chatting with a friend of mine back in Sweden today, it seems I’m not alone. We share similar theories — perhaps the significantly higher traffic levels make everything near the roads dirty, or the higher pollution levels coupled with higher rainfall covers everything in dirt, but there’s a definite difference.

I miss the clear air. The modern communications infrastructure. Being able to drive somewhere without joining a queue of traffic. The inability for anyone in Sweden to comprehend why on Earth I’d move there without a Swedish girlfriend or family member forcing me. Hell, even the damn traffic lights.

I miss home.

I don’t, however, miss the mosquitoes that’ll be waiting when it gets warmer. Little fuckers.