Home is where the heart lies

Someone once told me that there’s an element of nostalgia involved in packing. As you neatly fold your clothes into the corners of your suitcase, it gives you time to reflect on the moments that you shared with the people you are about to bid farewell to. It’s funny how we take those moments for granted, not realising that they shaped part of the memory book of our lives.

Six years ago I packed my fuxia luggage and left the beautiful island of Cyprus for Manchester, where as Charles Dickens said, each person is a bee in a vast hive.

Six years later, the same suitcase lies in the blue painted room, but the girl packing it isn’t the same. She is almost unrecognisable. A stranger to many in her old surroundings.

Yet despite all the changes, one thing remains the same. My unequivocal love for my family and my home.

Goodbye Cyprus.

Good morning London. You too are an undisputed beauty.

“Oh, London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air;


And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;


And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;


But when it comes to living, there is no place like home.”


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