Coming home this summer was the first time I experienced serious homesickness as a migrant. I’ve lived happily in the Netherlands for seven years, and coming back home three times a year means it never really feels like we’ve left. It’s a big contrast with my university days, when coming back from Oxford’s stuffy spires and forelock-tugging feudalism brought an upwelling of massive relief. From the moment we leave the ferry at North Shields, it all feels so normal....
|Place of Publication||Newcastle|
|Publication status||Published - 3 Sep 2016|