Of Pain and Pleasure

Nope, this is not another sequel to 50 Shades of Grey. This is about the bittersweet feeling of calling more than one place "home".

I'm not overly prone to homesickness. Also, every time I walk out the door and see Iceland around me, I do a little happy dance in my head. This is still the case, even though the honeymoon phase is over, as they say.

However, in the beginning of December, homesickness hit me hard. Frankenspouse had already gone south for work and to spend time with friends and family and here I was all by my lonesome for three weeks in the cold cold and dark dark. Without him here, feelings that are always lurking in the dark but never really surface, well, surfaced. I miss home. As in the place where I come from. My mum isn't doing so well and while I'm trying to talk to her as much as I can, I have the feeling that I should be there in person to give actual, physical support. I want to spend time with my sister and see my niece growing up. I want to fall into a bottle of bubbly with my best friend, I want to hang out with my friend, the witch, who seems to understand my twisted insides a lot better than most others or who is simply that much more tolerant. I want to pop over to Luxembourg and see my friend's new baby and reconnect with all the people who touched my life, especially my superwoman Kindle editor colleague, who was the first to actually make it to Iceland to see me, and the rest of my team at Amazon. I want to hang with the in-laws (actually got my first hug by FS' little brother after a mere 9 1/2 years of dating. Historical experience!) and visit my father's grave. But mostly, I want to help my mother and stepfather, who are having a hard time, both individually for different reasons, as well as with each other.

So far, so good, if I want to move back to Germany after my year here is over, what's keeping me? What's keeping me is that this here is the place my heart lives, where my soul is at ease and my mind can let go. Apologies for the soppiness, I don't know how to say it any other way. The minute I left Iceland to go home for Christmas, I couldn't wait to come back, to breathe the fresh air, to see the strange moonscapes, to feel the angry weather on my skin. I prefer the person I am here as compared to the one I used to be. I am less stressed, less perfectionist and more relaxed. I don't care so much about the little things anymore. Don't get me wrong, I am still me and can still get my knickers in a twist about any old thing, but occurrences are much fewer and further between. I can even accept that I'm not always in control and that things will work themselves out eventually. 

I loved my time back home in Germany, I would have liked to stay longer and spend more time with everyone. While I couldn't wait to get one that plane and return to Iceland, I needed more time with my loved ones back home, because they are the one thing Iceland cannot provide. So when I got back to Iceland, I was homesick yet again. And in addition, I had apparently managed to somehow squeeze a supersized portion of Guilt with a capital G into my luggage. I am trying to befriend Guilt, welcome him and accept him as part of my life. On the upside, if I stay in Iceland, I'll never be alone again. On the downside, I'll have to carry this unwieldy fxxxer around with me. Excuse my French.

Unfortunately, my job does not have regular weekends and isn't very flexible about taking time off. It's like being back at the embassy, where I was supposed to take all my annual vacation at once. Being over 3000 km away, this doesn't really make it easier to stay connected with friends and family. Ideally I would want to go to Germany for a long weekend at least 2 or 3 times a year as well as to England at least twice. So this doesn't really work for me in the long run. 

As to staying or going home, the jury is still out on that. I would like to stay, as I can not imagine not being in Iceland. Originally, the decision was between FS and myself, but all of a sudden there is three of us. Guilt has reached adulthood and demands the right to vote.

On a happier note, we had our first Þorrablót yesterday (remember this post?) and it was a lot of fun watching FS eat all the sour stuff. Everyone else was at least one generation older than us, but we had a surprisingly fun time singing, eating and drinking with everyone. I scored some points for knowing the words to a popular Icelandic folk song and eating the infamous shark without pulling a face.