I was born in Lisbon, lived there most of my life and it’s my favourite place in the world. It’s quite a small city, pretty and charming, quirky and of a relaxed personality. And the light… Lisbon has the most beautiful sunshine, it’s the kind of light that makes you a happier person. Home was definitely Lisbon, that’s where my heart was.

But when I came to London for the first time, I fell in love. I was big and buzzy, filled with things to do, and places to see. And the skies might be grey all the time, but how colourful was the crowd under the clouds!… London was a little remix of the world, and a week wasn’t even enough to understand it.

So I came back, for three months. The love-affair only grew stronger. And when I got back, Lisbon seemed too small, too limited, too claustrofobic. And so I packed all my life and moved, not knowing if I would ever return. My heart was definitely in London, that was home now.

Living in London transformed me, opened my eyes and my mind, it was the greatest adventure ever. But eventually, I found out London is like an expensive mistress, who makes you spend all your money and energy just to keep up with her glamorous lifestyle. And Lisbon started conquering me again, slowly. I was older and wiser, ready to value the simple things like the easy living pace, the sun coming through your windows in the morning, having your friends and family close by. I gave in and packed all my life. Again.

But something happened when I was leaving. As the car was crossing the city one last time, on the way to the airport, I felt an overwhelming sadness. My heart was breaking in two, and half of it was being left behind.

Once a Londoner, always a Londoner? I don’t know. But after a few months in Lisbon, I always start to get itchy, and need to come back, even if only for a few days. And it always feels I’m coming home.