This person I know moved back to Switzerland and now lives half of his time in his small hometown, while working in our city the other half. I thought it was strange, at first. But recently, I have been having the urge to go back to a familiar place too. I think about going back to my country. I don’t know what is left for me there, but I guess it’s the closest thing to home, despite my changed mannerisms, the 8 years outdated slang and anglo-influenced linguistic constructions.
Sometimes, when I am heading back to my apartment, I think about spending time with my mother, going to Pingo Doce, disappearing in the streets of the capital and feeling the sun on my skin. I imagine working as a programmer in a small unknown company for a small salary, dealing with data visualisation, python notebooks, well established libraries, and devoid of performance or well-posedness concerns. I imagine feeling content, like I can actually do something and know just enough. I imagine feeling unchallenged and not like a loser. I am ashamed to admit it, but I don’t find as revolting as I used to.