Michael Buble may have a funny name but he just wants to go home.

June 8th. My sister-in-law's birthday, also, my last day at work.

I handed in my resignation last Friday, right before going out to a big dinner with my colleagues to celebrate my engagement.

I didn't tell any of my colleagues, instead I just watched them all have a good time while three of my managers cornered me throughout the night and tried to convince me to stay. It was strange. My colleagues managed to sober up by Monday morning and corner me then after I told them. That was pretty strange too.

"Why" was the big question, so I had to pull out a couple of "excuses" if you'd like to call them that. Engagement. Family. Living alone is lonely (no shit). London's too expensive (give me a huge pay rise). London isn't home (I should go back to Bahrain). The last one got them nodding their heads in approval and they all told me they understand and wished me luck, so whatever my real "excuse" is, I'll let that be my "excuse" for now.

I say it but I have to admit, I feel a little uneasy about going back to Bahrain, whenever it is I do. I mean, I love Bahrain, my family lives there, you can get cocktail juice from practically anywhere, it's fantastic. But I have been away for a long time and I'm definitely a little nervous about moving back, whenever it is I move back. It could be on June the 9th, it could be 3 months from then, at this moment, I don't really know.

A year ago, when my future was uncertain and everything was pretty much a bitch, I was chatting with a friend and she asked me if I liked Bahrain. She asked because at the time, she saw me as a city girl and she thought London suited me perfectly. This could have been because a black cab had just splashed water all over us on the street and I shouted out "W*****!" She said she thought London was a good home for me and luckily I found a job so I made it my home for a while.

"Home is where your heart is, it's where you hang your hat" See, my heart is in Bahrain, but I don't hang my hat there just yet. I don't even wear hats in Bahrain. I've been hanging my hat here for so long that I don't mind it, I'm okay about it. I go about, do my thing, never once think of myself as a stranger but just another face in the crowd. And honestly? In a lot of respects, I've been alright...

But sometimes, sometimes, when it's cold (a lot) and grey (all the time), and when I take my long journey home from work alone (every single night), I think of what it would be like to just get in my car, go to my real home and see my parents hanging out or meet up with my man for dinner and talk about stuff in person and not over the phone... I wonder what it would be like to see my siblings on a daily basis (and not yearly) or go over to an old friend's house by not having to travel for 45 minutes to get there with dead skin cells and mice (even though we live in the same city)... Sometimes I get home and it's that meal for one on that empty dining table that really gets to me and I just feel like crawling into bed and pretending that "coming home" bit was all a bad dream, and that really, everyone's waiting for me in my real home back in Bahrain.

I've made a decision and "going home" it is, along with many other things that I am still sorting out (career, relationship, get-fitter-than-my-dad plan). For a little bit, anyway. Some people have told me to come back and that it's time, others are urging me to stick out and stay abroad, but I think I'm making the right decision somehow. Minus all the panic attacks and "this is all for you!" tantrums, I'm excited about being back home. Home where hugs are frequent and there's no need to vacuum, and the fridge is always filled with chocolate milk. So I'm in, for now, and I'm excited.