Iused to think movement was freedom. For almost 2 years I got to hop from one country to another. Treating it as my base ~ or my own sense of home.
But no one warned me that every border crossing would peel a piece of me away. That loving a place means mourning it later. That you can be surrounded by beauty and still ache when it's time to let go.
01The Weight of Leaving
A laugh. A routine. A version of me I already miss.
Every city I leave takes something with it. Not the obvious things ~ not the suitcase items. The invisible ones. The way a barista knew my order. The shortcut I found through a park. The feeling of belonging to a rhythm that wasn't mine but started to feel like it.
You don't realise you're building a home until you have to leave it.
Every place takes a piece of you. What did you leave behind?
Tirana, Albania
I left behind: The rooftop sunsets and 100-lek espressos
Belgrade, Serbia
I left behind: The Skadarlija nights and rakija with strangers
Sarajevo, Bosnia
I left behind: The heavy history and warm ćevapi
02Grieving Quietly
So I'm learning to grieve quietly. To stay soft without breaking.
There's no manual for this. Nobody teaches you how to mourn a place that still exists. It's not gone ~ you are. And that's the part that aches.
The grief isn't dramatic. It's the small things. A song that played in a Tirana cafe. The smell of burek from a Sarajevo bakery at 7am. The way Belgrade felt alive at midnight.
“I still exist. Even here. Even now. Even if I'm not rooted.”
03The Soul Classes
So I find little soul classes. Painting. Pottery. Balkan dancing. Things that remind me I'm still here. Still becoming.
They're not hobbies. They're anchors. Little rituals that say: you are more than the place you're in. You carry every version of yourself forward.
What are your soul anchors?
When you're unrooted, what keeps you tethered? Pick the things that remind you that you still exist.
Stay soft.
The places you mourn are proof that you loved fully. That you were brave enough to arrive, brave enough to leave, and honest enough to feel the weight of both.
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