The Dilemma of Love Abroad and Homesickness

Living abroad as an adult is like riding a rollercoaster, full of twists, turns, and lessons at every drop.

But the real adventure? Finding love in a foreign land, where it’s tangled up with cultural clashes and unexpected compromises.

As we grow up we face choices, and after money, love is one of the biggest.

And love? Well, it doesn’t care about nationalities or borders. You meet someone incredible today and before you know it, you’re thinking, I could build a life with this person.

In the beginning, love is simple, it’s not about where we’re from but where we’re going. However, as time passes and the honeymoon glow fades, the differences surface.

The way we eat, the way we speak, and the stories we carry from our past, are all shaped by homes whose differences are hard to ignore.

It’s beautiful, really, this blending of worlds. But no matter how long I stay abroad, a thought never fully leaves me: One day, I would like to go back home. 

To return to my roots, to a place where I don’t have to switch between languages to be fully understood.

A place where laughter flows easily, where friendships aren’t just calls and planned meetups but part of everyday life. Where family isn’t miles away but right there, woven into the fabric of my daily routine.

And let’s not forget the weather, the kind that brings warmth not just to the skin but to the soul.

I want to be near my parents, to witness their old age instead of just hearing about it over phone calls. My kids to grow up surrounded by their cousins, playing, bonding, and never having to feel alone.

For them to feel at home in their own skin and never question where they belong or deal with unspoken biases before they even understand the world.

I don’t want to worry about growing old in isolation. I want my partner and I to be surrounded by love, by the people who truly know us.

Something about home makes aging feel less daunting, like it’s just another phase of life, not something to be feared.

And then comes the reality of building a life with someone whose roots are planted in a different soil. They have their own home, traditions, and their own sense of belonging, just as I have mine.

My partner is to be my new home. But I don’t belong in their home, just as they don’t belong in mine. I can’t ask them to fully embrace my world forever, just as I can’t disappear into theirs without feeling like a part of me is left behind.

So what now? Do we carve out a home in a foreign land, blending into a place that still feels a little unfamiliar? Do we build something entirely new, somewhere in between?

There’s comfort in the home we’re creating, but there’s also the ache for the home that made me who I am. It’s a strange in-between, a tug-of-war between what was and what is. Complicated, isn’t it?

Having two homes in two different countries is a strange kind of complexity. No matter where you are, part of you is always somewhere else.

And so, the question remains, to stay abroad in love, or to go back home?

Or we hope that by the time love finds us, we’ll have settled into this new place, or maybe, we’ll find love when we finally go back home.

But then again, where is home, really?