Aching for England

The more time that passes, the more I’ve come to find, that I seem to have left my heart in England.

Is it possible or even normal to be so torn between two countries? My home is here; my family is here; my old friends are here; my church is here; my childhood is here; my life is here. I love America. Absolutely privileged to call this country my home.

But lately I have been unable to stop missing England. The littlest things spark an aching deep inside of me for the life I once lived there: hearing the accent on TV, reading British novels, seeing people here who look like old friends from there, using the leftover tea I brought back with me, perusing old pictures.

I miss their culture and their attitudes about certain things. I miss my friends and especially my best friend Adelina. I miss my church over there and what God was doing through it. I miss the city of Sheffield. I miss being able to travel so easily. I miss the feel and lifestyle of Europe. I miss the British language and the words and phrases they use. I miss taking trains and buses everywhere. I miss being offered tea and biscuits at every event or house I entered into. Simply put, I miss England. (Excluding weather.)

At this rate I don’t think I’ll ever be completely contented. I’m torn between two countries, and for this issue I’m not entirely sure of the available antidotes. I love my home and I don’t want to move to England, but I ache for it. Is that even normal?

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