Immediately, I think of all the things I will miss.
Long therapeutic meals after work in one of the many relatively cheap eats within a 1km radius. Listening to Chinese pop and sipping grass jelly roasted milk tea. Brunches, vanilla milkshakes and poached eggs at quirky cafes. Karaoke outings. Hanging out with friends in the rare times we are all off work, or catching up with my best friend whilst doing random paperwork after hours in the hospital. Church and fellowship, with consistently good teaching from the Bible. Cold days, scarves and coats, and layers. Hair that is relatively tame without being fluffed up by humidity, or scorched by the sun. Exploring pretty country towns and long drives with good songs. The simplicity of living essentially by yourself (even if it’s with housemates), coming and going on your own accord.
Maybe I’m content with daily life minus work, more than I realise. Maybe I should be more appreciative of those things.
I haven’t spent more than two weeks at a time since we moved into the house in the sterile treeless neighbourhood. Would it be okay, will it be difficult, will I be unwelcome. It’s been so many years and I’m not even sure whether this or that or elsewhere is home.