Well my plane is booked and will take me back over the great big Atlantic next week to a little place we all know called Italy. And I suppose expatriates will only know what I'm feeling- a lovely melancholy, a sweet spot stuck right between happiness and sadness, a notch between nostalgia and adventure. People here in Canada kept asking me when I'm going 'home' and now I am, but I'm also leaving 'home' behind. How utterly bizarre. In case you're keeping up with the politics of this all, the ever-elusive work visa is not yet in the picture so I'm back as a tourist in the country where I've already lived. Being an expat, it seems, is full of paradoxes and oxymorons.
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