Why oh why...

I was born in Argentina and I lived in Bristol, England, for the past 13 years. 12 days ago we left England to start all over again in Barcelona.

I'm an accidental immigrant in that I've never really actually migrated anywhere. I never feel "an immigrant" not even a ex-pat! I just went to the UK with "the husband" to learn English and the plan was to stay there for a year and happily go back home. That was 1993.

Then... I guess that life happened while we were busy making other things, as the songs goes (Lennon?)

I sort of learnt English (ship shape and Bristol fashioned), we made friends, I started and finished a bachelor degree in languages there, my son was born there, the husband started and completed first a MSc degree and then a PhD, we've found jobs, we bought a house and then Argentina's economy collapsed most espectacularly that usual and it felt as if the carpet had been removed from our feet: it was unthinkable to go back there where no jobs awaited us.

So, we keep on staying in Bristol and make it home, we became part of the community, we even became British and I though that that was it: we managed to make a nice life for ourselves.

Early last year my father-in-law died and that trigger a sort of middle age crisis in the husband and he wanted to go back home and to "life and he knew it". The problem was, where was home? What sort of life did he actually meant? Our life in Argentina was that of the happy-go-lucky middle-class single twenty something and we're not that anymore.
At the same time it was regarded as wise in his area of job (science) to move around and leave the cradle that Bristol was for him.
Then my mum died.
So, he started searching for options and found a job in Barcelona.

I was thrilled and also quite sad. I love Bristol and I loved my job and I had a life there but also Barcelona is such a lovelly place. (Altough, to be honest, I've only ever being there twice in my life: a few days in winter in 1978 and a few days in summer in 1996)

I've left Bristol 12 days ago and it both seems ages and minutes.
Ages because as soon as I was boarding the plane (EasyJet) the first things that seems to go was my English. And it took me AGES and a hard-won Bachelor (Hon) degree to get going in the language and I'm not ready to give it up (yet).
Minutes because I miss my friends, my job, my coleages there (spelling? see what I mean about loosing the language?) as if I just left.

So, I'm here and starting over once more. However, this time I do feel like I'm migrating, maybe is my age showing up?

At this exact minute , recounting the past few years in a nutshell for your benefit I'm feeling like this is it far too big for me and I want to go home... but I don't know where "home" is anymore. So, the only thing to do is: make a home here for me and my family and enjoy the ride.

I'm doing this blog so friends or foes can follow how things are going on and how I'm dealing with this starting all over once more in my forties. Also I'm doing this as a way of keeping my English alive, it took me a big effort to learnt it so I'm not going to let it vanish without a fight.

So here we go!!! Hope you enjoy this enough to keep on reading me!

Comments are very welcome, specially language related ones, please let me know when (no question of "if" here) I'm writing rubish