I can hardly believe it.

It's been three years- three incredible years.

I'd never left my tiny village in the middle of English countryside before at eighteen, and then I flew for the first time, by myself, half way across the world.

It's been tough. I knew it would be.

But now is the toughest moment of all- seeing it all come to an end.

I never considered it to be moving out, but when I got on that plane, I left home and created a new life in Asia. An independant one, with various jobs and opportunities, looking after myself for the first time in foreign countries, exploring a whole new world in so many ways it's often been overwhelming.

I can't believe how much I've changed.

I... I don't think I'm prepared to go back to my home town. I'm not ready to leave the little nest I've made in China, with all my worldly belongings tucked neatly on four shelves. I don't think I can live anywhere but a ferret hole by now.

So much has happened to me in the past three years, such a short span of time for so much to happen now that I really deeply look back at it. I've done so many things I know I'll never get the opportunity to do again, and I am so grateful for that, and happy that I took the risks that lead there.

I have fond memories of my home town. But I can't go back there anymore. Every time I visit for longer than two weeks I start to feel depressed and boxed in, like an animal grown too big for its cage. I don't want to go and live there again.

Now that I've finished all my essays and studies I feel at a loss, floating adrift after the storm. I love studying so much. I applied for a masters degree, but it couldn't start soon enough. If I get in. No word until June... I only finished a few days ago but I already feel twitchy for more.

Guess I need to start planning the next stages of my life... and it's not going to be in my homecountry.

Time to write my feelings away.