Home is where your heart is, whether you like it or not.

This summer I was lucky enough to spend five weeks back in my home state of Minnesota. It was the first time I had returned since I moved to Amsterdam more than a year ago, and I definitely made the most of it. I spent quality time with my family, many days catching up with friends, and every free minute relaxing on one of the many gorgeous lakes Minnesota is known for. It was great to be back.

Before I left Amsterdam, I was incredibly excited for my return, but also a bit worried. The last time I experienced a big homecoming was after spending 18 months away. During that time I had lived and taught in South Korea, volunteered in Thailand, and traveled extensively throughout Southeast Asia and Europe. I remember how excited I had been to return to the place that had been so comfortable for me for most of my life, and how shocked I was with the reverse culture shock that greeted me. I felt like a foreigner in my own country and, well, I didn't like it.

So this time, I mentally prepared. I anticipated a similar feeling and was ready for it to knock me off my feet. I'm not sure if it was my preparation that worked or the fact that I psyched myself out more than necessary, but that feeling I anxiously awaited never came. On the contrary, it felt great to be back in Minnesota. I was surprised by how natural everything felt and I was elated to surround myself with the people who have played such important roles in my life for as long as I can remember.

Though something did feel different. Each time I would see someone for the first time, they'd ask me how it was to be home. "It's great!" I'd say, but I felt a bit like I was lying. While it was great to be back, it didn't necessarily feel like I was home. Sure Minnesota is a comfortable place for me to be, and I certainly do feel at home in my parents' house, but it's not necessarily my home anymore. No, I thought, my home is my apartment in Amsterdam - that cozy little flat in which I live with my husband and our cute little feline. And as much as I loved every minute of my Minnesotan summer, I often found myself feeling homesick for my life in Amsterdam.

The five weeks passed, simultaneously slowly and quickly as time seems to do, and before I knew it I was on my way back to Amsterdam. I was sad to leave Minnesota, excited to return to Amsterdam, content with all the memories I had made, and completely unprepared for what was to come.

Almost immediately after I returned, I was completely, totally, unbelievably overcome with homesickness (I realize that this sentence is redundant, but that's the only way I can describe just how I felt). What's worse, I was utterly confused as to how I could be so completely, totally, unbelievably overcome with homesickness for a place that didn't even really feel like my home just a few weeks ago. Yes, part of me was glad to be back with my husband and our cute little feline, but I was also beside myself with loneliness for those I had left behind. I was consumed by feelings of sadness, and there was just no consoling me or working through my feelings logically. I spent about two days laying on the couch, trying to distract myself from myself, and suffering from what I can only describe as heartbreak.

And that's when it clicked. Through my jet-lagged fog and tear-bleary eyes, a time old saying popped into my head.

"Home is where your heart is."

Never had words spoken so truly or hurt so deeply. Home is most definitely where your heart is, and in my case (and the case of many expatriates, I'm sure), my heart was split right down the middle between two. I realized then that Minnesota most certainly is, and always will be, my home. Though I may not live there, my heart is there with my dear family and my irreplaceable friends, and that is enough to make it my home. But Amsterdam is also my home, as my heart is present here in this city and in the beautiful life I'm creating with my husband.

So what does that mean for a girl with a heart split down the middle? Well, I can't really say. I usually like to end my posts with a little lesson that I've learned from my experience, but this one isn't so clear yet. I know that I'm lucky to have such a full heart, but when your heart is torn, it's harder to feel the luckiness. I'm sure with time I'll be able to balance the two homes with more grace, but until then, I'm going to have to keep juggling.

One tiny, seemingly insignificant, life-changing decision.

It's incredible to look back at your life and trace the steps it took to get you to a specific moment. Most often there is a chain of events that led you in a certain direction; a multitude of intertwined decisions that, when all working together, brought you to where you are today. But every once in a while, you can pinpoint one tiny, seemingly insignificant thing you did that made a huge difference. For me, that tiny, seemingly insignificant thing was bringing earplugs to a handsome, sleepy traveler as he relaxed in a hammock.

Let me back up a bit.

This is me at Erawan Falls, three years ago today.

After teaching in South Korea for a year, I decided to take the long way home by spending nearly six months winding my way through Southeast Asia and Europe. My first stop was Thailand, and by March 5, 2011, I had been in the country for about six weeks. The first two weeks were spent traveling with my parents. We visited temples and got daily massages in Bangkok, zip-lined in the jungle and visited the night market in Chiang Mai, and soaked up the sun and relaxed on the beaches of Phuket. The next four weeks were spent volunteering at the Gibbon Rehabilitation Project (GRP) in the tiny village of Bang Rong in Phuket. Here, I woke up early to feed small apes and clean their cages, learned and taught others about wildlife conservation, and camped in the wilderness with minimal supplies. The experiences I had in Thailand were exciting to say the least, and transformative if we're being completely honest. Yet little did I know that the most life-changing moment of all was yet to come.

Exactly three years ago today, I was traveling with a girl I barely knew. She was the childhood friend of a mutual friend who was supposed to be traveling with us, but who was stuck in Korea because of a broken leg. This situation left me in charge of planning the rest of our Thailand trip, and because I had been to a handful of Thailand's must-see places with my parents, I decided we should go to Kanchanaburi, a destination a little more off the beaten track, and recommended to me by one of the Thai employees at the GRP.

We stayed in Kanchaburi for only two nights, signing up for an excursion to visit Erawan Falls and the bridge over the River Kwai on our only full day. There were a handful of other travelers on this excursion, and throughout the day we mingled with them as we walked along and swam in the waterfalls, enjoyed a lunch of Thai noodles, and visited the Burma Railway, learning about the 100,000 Asian civilian workers and prisoners of war that died during its construction. At the end of the excursion, a few of us decided to take the train the whole way back to the city. A handsome French/Dutch traveler and I were two of those people, so we, along with an Italian couple and a Japanese girl, talked away the afternoon as we admired Thailand's lush scenery from the train's hard, wooden benches and reveled in the warm breeze floating through the open windows.

This is the husband sitting on the Burma Railway, three years ago today.

The handsome traveler and I were staying at the same guesthouse, so our conversation continued as we walked back from the train station. When we arrived, we were invited to a dinner planned by some of the other travelers on the excursion. We both accepted the invitation, and so our conversation continued into the evening, through dinner, down the street to a bar, and finishing with a walk back to the guesthouse.

As the night came to an end we said our goodbyes, wishing each other good luck for our travels. We were both leaving Kanchanaburi the next day to head to Thailand's southern islands. I returned to my room, feeling very content after a day full of exploration and good conversation. But then, just as I was about to put in the earplugs that I rely on for a good night's sleep, I remembered that the handsome traveler had complained about being kept up the night before by his noisy neighbors. Looking out the window, I saw him relaxing in a hammock, and decided to go out and give him a pair of earplugs to ensure that he would get a good night's sleep as well.

And that was it. That was it! That tiny, seemingly insignificant decision I made to bring earplugs to a handsome, sleepy traveler ended up being the most important, life-changing moment of my life. For as I approached the hammock, the handsome traveler reached out his hand, placed it on the back of my head, and kissed me. And from that kiss stemmed emails, a few days on the Thai island of Ko Tao, a week in Bali, a weekend in France, two years of trips to Minnesota and Amsterdam, emails and video calls, a wedding, and now a life together. I never could've imagined that this tiny decision would be the best one I ever made ... but it was!

Now as I mentioned before, there is often a chain of events that create your life's path, and this is certainly true for this story as well. My dad, for example, likes to take credit for getting me to Asia in the first place. You see, he was the one who showed me the link to a job opportunity and encouraged me to act on it. Also, had it not been for my parents' trip to Thailand, I probably wouldn't have ended up in Kanchanaburi at all. In fact, had I not volunteered at the GRP and acted on the recommendation from an employee there, I wouldn't have gone to Kanchanaburi either. And then, of course, there is my friend who broke her leg. Had she not injured herself on a pre-school sledding field trip (true story), thus leaving me in charge of our itinerary and also encouraging me to go to Bali for a week while she recovered on a beach in Cambodia, well, who knows how things would've played out.

But, in the end, regardless of how I got there in the first place, it all comes down to the earplugs. For had I not decided to give them to the handsome, sleepy traveler as he relaxed in the hammock, I wouldn't be living in Amsterdam today, celebrating my three happiest years with the love of my life.

London Revisited

Eight years and one month ago, I arrived in London to start my first European adventure. This past weekend I returned with my husband, excited to show him around the city I once called home. It is rare that I get to play tour guide in a European city, but I was more than ready to assume the role. 

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One of the first things we did (after drinking a pint in a pub of course) was to go for a ride on the London Eye, taking in magnificent views of the city and getting a lay of the land.

Then I made my man take a picture in a red telephone booth. He wasn't so excited about this part, but I managed to get a pretty good shot regardless.

We visited North Row, the street where my dorm was located, and peeked inside the Marlborough Head pub, the place where I enjoyed fish and chips with a pint on my first night all those years ago.

I glanced at the place where my former dorm once stood, where a Zara stands now, and gave thanks that the Zara wasn't there before, or I likely would have spent much more during that semester abroad than I did.

We walked through St. James Park, from the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace, enjoying the nature and intermittent sunshine.

And gazed in awe at St. Paul's Cathedral.

We watched two plays in the West End, including Agatha Christie's Mousetrap, the longest-running show in history, and Once, the stage adaptation of one of my favorite films.

We strolled through the the colorful streets of Notting Hill,

admired the sometimes delicious, always amusing offerings of the Portobello Road Market,

and spent time in Holland Park where this peacock put on a display.

We even stopped for a little kiss outside the park's walls.

All in all, we had a splendid trip. Though I must say some of the fun of this trip was returning home. No, not the part where they charged me and extra £45 to check my luggage, the part when we arrived in Amsterdam and, for the first time, I really did feel like I was home.