A sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past

There’s something about being home sick that brings upon me a profound sense of nostalgia. I lie on the couch, listless, thinking about all the wonderful things that have happened or that I have loved and miss. I’ve always been a bit sentimental.

I’ve had la grippe for around two weeks now, hopefully I’m finally starting to improve and can go back to work tomorrow with a fresh sense of healthiness and vigour.

In the meantime, I’ve been dwelling on the things I miss back home in Australia and even the things I miss back in Germany. I was even starting to think about the things I would miss here whenever we do leave.

I miss the beach and eucalyptus trees in Melbourne. I miss my dog and my family and friends. I miss going to the pub and having a pint after work on Fridays, seeing bands on hot summer evenings and riding home buzzing after a great gig. I miss summer festivals and the winter days when the Melbourne architecture blends into the grey skies.

I miss German bread and the clean pavements of Köln, I miss the view of the Dom from the bridges and the forest circuit we used to ride along on the weekends. I miss the flatness of the terrain and the friends we made there. I miss taking the train to Amsterdam on Friday and coming home on Sunday night (but I don’t miss the stag/hen parties we shared the train with).

I’m going to miss French butter and cheese, the winter sunshine and the rocky mediterranean landscape. I love the little European birds hopping around so delicately and sweetly through the trees.

Somehow it makes me feel better to catalogue these things that I miss (or will miss) because it reminds me that I’ve had the chance to experience so much