I loved my visit and enjoy every moment spent with my family. I got all the attention and famous Eastern European hospitality. I was invited to lunches, dinners, drinks and parties. I thought of coming back and staying in that beautiful, tiny country where life was so simple, for a long time. I could start a business. I could fix my house there and live away from hustle and bustle that is often throwing me off tracks. I could work less and spend more time socializing and learning about the people. All sounded so inviting. I waited and waited to hear a single word – “stay”. I even fell in love with that imaginary man from the old country who I should have married a long time ago. Then I remembered all those years left behind, the years of building my dreams. My places that I frequently visited and my friends were waiting there to hear my stories. I traveled free, did what I wanted to do, and loved who I chose to love. I was my own master. Suddenly I realized that I did not want to hear the magic word that I was hoping to hear. I could not wait to touch the soil of well-known land again, the land that I called home.