Reflections Upon Returning Home

I didn’t feel homesick once while I was abroad.

Looking back, I realize how rare and lucky that is. From the moment I arrived in Siena, Italy, something just clicked. The city’s pace, the rhythm of the days, the compact beauty of the winding, medieval streets—it truly felt like a perfect match, and it immediately felt like home. And the people in my program? They quickly became something like family. I didn’t ache for home because I felt so rooted in where I was.

But everything shifted after May 10, when my study-abroad program ended. My two roommates and I had planned one last hurrah: ten extra days traveling through Portugal and Spain. We jumped from Porto to Mallorca to Barcelona. But while we were in motion, our other friends from the program started heading home. I watched their updates roll in: photos with pets, welcome-home signs at the airport, videos of friends and family. 

That’s when it hit me. Homesickness.

We were no longer settled in Siena—we were constantly on the move, living out of backpacks, crashing in hostel bunks with strangers. I was tired. I missed my family. I missed my dog. I missed having my own bed. For the first time in months, I started longing for home. Not just thinking about it, but actively yearning for it. I started building home up in my head like it was some kind of perfect movie ending.

And then—I got there.

And it was wonderful. I was so happy to see my family, to catch up with friends, to fall asleep in my own bed. But there was also something I didn’t expect: it felt a little anticlimactic. I had romanticized my return so much that reality couldn’t quite measure up. Life at home was quieter. Slower. And soon, within hours, I found myself missing abroad.

I missed the fast pace of traveling. I missed the thrill of hopping on a train or a plane each weekend. I missed the challenge of navigating a new language, the excitement of new foods and unfamiliar cities. 

What I’ve come to realize is this: we’re always romanticizing the place we’re not in. When we’re abroad, we long for home. When we’re home, we crave abroad. It’s human nature—we idealize what we can’t have in the moment, and in doing so, we forget the reality of the thing itself.

But there’s a quiet comfort in that too. Because it means home doesn’t have to be one fixed place. Home is something we carry along with us. It’s the people we connect with, the routines we build, the memories we make. If I’ve learned anything from this strange, beautiful, full-circle journey, it’s this: you can miss both places at once. You can feel homesick and still feel lucky. And you can make room for both the nostalgia of what was and the gratitude for what is.