Six months

Six months. I can't believe it. It's been six months today since I moved out of my Swansea home and back to Norway. And just over three months since I left Norway. Where's the time gone?

The view from my old room in halls

Abertawe (the Welsh name for Swansea), the pretty-shity city located in south Wales (UK). My home for three years. Three amazing years I might add. The memories I made here are some of those closest to my heart. When I moved to Wales in 2010 I was determined to integrate myself into the local culture. And so it began.

I remember arriving in Swansea, hardly understanding a single word of the local accent. "A'right love? Where to you going like?"  The rolling of the R's and pronouncing practically all O's like two deep OO's.
I've experienced a lot in those three years. Fun, love and happiness, but also pain and heartache. It's that roller coaster of a life that makes you into you. Kick starting the whole thing was Freshers, two weeks of partying and enjoying life. I remember going to my first pub shortly after arriving together with fellow students and student union staff. My housemates, my extended family. We lived together for three years and became really close. The amount of crazy things we did is insane. Be it sliding down the staircase on mattresses and filling an entire room with balloons to great nights out and sunny BBQs on the beach.

Running on the beach, feeling the wind (and rain) in my face. Random houseparties in our backgarden. Or climbing the gates into halls after a late night out. All those small things. They were my life.

I still support Wales wholeheartedly in rugby and do sing along to the national anthem, at least the parts I know...

From my "Welsh-family"'s Christening.

Feeling homesick is something that can happen to most people. It might seem weird to you guys, but I feel homesick to Norway AND to Wales. They say that people who really immerse themselves into a new culture, are the ones with the biggest culture shock when leaving. And it's funny, because almost everyone here in New Zealand thinks I'm Welsh because of my accent, which always is a nice icebreaker when I say I'm actually Norwegian. So tonight I'm going to look at old photos and think of the good times.

Many people are like that, feeling like they belong two places. And there's nothing wrong with that. Instead of fuzzing about it all, I suggest you simply go with the flow. One day you might be American, one day you might be Spanish. It can all change. I miss it a lot and can't wait to go back to Europe in August, but for now I'm travelling.

So go out there, travel and you'll find loads of extra homes.