I miss the little things.
I miss the Parnell’s French Market every Sunday where Hudson and Ale would stuff their faces with maple bacon cronuts.
I miss ravishing through a bag of lime plantain chips with Kiana in the cloud forest.
I miss the green apple juice and salads from Off White and Avocado.
I miss Borough Market, English breakfasts, and tea time.
I miss the convenience of Naked Cake, the milkshakes from Flipping Burger, and the to-die-for hot chocolate from the fancy cafe after ice skating.
I miss salep from the teashop, the Mexican restaurant’s attempt at guacamole, and almond croissants from the French bakery before going to the medical school for bio.
I miss lavender and orange gelato from the witch place and vegan almond from Eduardo’s.
By little things, I guess I subconsciously meant food.
I also miss football, which I’m reminded of by the notifications I still get to this day for the Auckland Domain.
I also miss the fresh air from the Pacuare.
I also miss the walk into the city from Monastraki to Syntagma.
I also miss seeing plaid everywhere while strolling down the streets of Edinburgh.
I also miss taking the pendeltag to Gamla Stan, the Christmas market, and ice skating in the park.
I also miss the easy navigation with the single tramline going through the town.
I even miss the beautiful warm, yet slightly bipolar weather.
I don’t miss the long school days.
I don’t miss the sickness of the jungle.
I don’t miss the packed metros.
I don’t miss the purple room made out for 15 girls.
I don’t miss the darkness or the wind of Nacka.
I don’t miss the giant strawberry landmark.
I don’t miss the American university students or the crowd surrounding the Duomo.
But each of these memories added to the experience and made me appreciate the little things.
I miss the imperfectness.
I will never stop missing my everyday life in my temporary homes.
