{"id":6068,"date":"2025-10-09T07:51:42","date_gmt":"2025-10-09T07:51:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.cardiff.ac.uk\/globetrotters\/?p=6068"},"modified":"2025-10-09T07:51:42","modified_gmt":"2025-10-09T07:51:42","slug":"reverse-homesickness-missing-the-home-you-made-on-your-year-abroad","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.cardiff.ac.uk\/globetrotters\/reverse-homesickness-missing-the-home-you-made-on-your-year-abroad\/","title":{"rendered":"Reverse Homesickness: Missing the home you made on your year abroad"},"content":{"rendered":"

Unpacking my suitcase back in my family home, the rain pattering against the window like an old friend, I expected relief. After a year abroad in Kitakyushu, Japan, I was back in Cardiff, back to the rolling hills, the comforting Welsh lilt, and the routine of long nights in Bru or blowing off steam in The Prince of Wales, I was home. However, slowly but surly, a quiet ache settled in. When I was away I would often refer back to the Cymraeg word ‘hiraeth’<\/em>, a slightly untranslatable word found across the Celtic languages for a deep longing for something lost or distant – a direct reference to a homesickness for the world we lost during colonisation. This is a deep homesickness that has become very personal to the people of Wales, and for a long time was a word I reserved solely for Wales, however this time, it wasn’t. It was for the new home I’d carved out a thousands of miles away. If you’ve returned from study abroad feeling oddly displaced in your own life, you’re not alone. This “reverse homesickness” is a real challenge that we all face at one point or another, and navigating it can be a difficult for your mental health. Let’s unpack it together, drawing from my own journey and discuss how best to combat at it.<\/p>\n

My year abroad started as an escape. Back in Wales, life felt like a grey loop: university classes, part-time jobs, and an unexplained fog of depression that made everything feel heavy. Then came an email about an exchange program at the University of Kitakyushu. Japan had always been a dream, a country I was connected through via the books I read, movies I loved and sports I dedicated years of my life to, Japan was a part of my life that always offered escape. After weeks of doubt, I said yes, but this journey was a whirlwind: a language barrier between friends, a vastly different political landscape. Moving away wasn’t simply a break in the sun, it was a fresh start. A new life, a new routine. Filled with new people experiencing it all for the first time a long with me. The friends I made as I navigated these challenges quickly became family and the memories we made, the connections we built, will be a core part of my life forever. My year abroad changed everything for me. It made me see my whole life and this whole world in a new life. I felt like I found my place out there in KitaQ. I felt like I had found the home I was searching for everyday back in Cymru. Someplace where I belonged. Where I fit.<\/p>\n

But returning? That’s where the reverse hiraeth<\/em> hit. The little changes I’d brought back made everyday life feel like a mismatched puzzle. In Japan, I’d adapted to a rhythm of efficiency: grabbing anything at anytime from a konbini or vending machine, navigating trains with precision, and embracing minimalism in my daily routine. And let’s face it – everything was a lot more affordable! Life was convenient , life was easier, life was calmer. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch weather that be hours of signing forms in a ward office, or finding no halal food anywhere, but it was a comfortable life. Now, in Cardiff, I find myself craving famichiki over KFC, bowing when I say thank you (which is just as embarrassing as it sounds<\/em>) and fighting TFW like they’re my arch nemesis. These habits are souvenirs of growth, but they also highlight how I’ve changed. Friends laugh when I bow slightly in thanks or prefer chopsticks for takeaways, small reminders that I’m not quite the same person who left. Culturally, I’ve brought back some left overs but these little things are just nods at the real changes I went through over there. My experiences, my friends, my life have made me me more patient, more polite. They’ve taught me better control over my emotions and made me a whole bunch more confident. These shifts have changed who I am and how I interact with the world.<\/p>\n

Let’s not forget the people – the heart of any abroad experience. In Kitakyushu, despite language barriers, I built a “found family.” We bonded over arcade games, karaoke, and late-night ramen runs after classes. These friendships, born from shared vulnerability in a new home. Back in Cardiff, I miss them fiercely. Time zones turn chats into sporadic texts, and life moves on-jobs, relationships, new adventures. It’s not just missing fun; it’s grieving the support network that felt like family when I was far from mine. This loss can sting, especially if your abroad circle understood your quirks in ways home friends might not yet grasp.<\/p>\n

The lifestyles and opportunities add another layer. Japan offered a vibrant contrast to Cymru. Days were filled with spontaneity: weekend trips around the country, long study dates in Joyful and a lot of trips to the local okonomiyaki restaurant. Opportunities felt boundless – networking events, cultural festivals, even career inspirations from Japan’s innovation scene. Returning, Cardiff’s familiarity is comforting, but it can feel limiting. The pace of my life is slower, the social scene more dramatic, and I catch myself wondering “what if” about staying longer. This comparison isn’t ingratitude; it’s the natural aftermath of tasting a different way of living.<\/p>\n

All this can take a toll on mental health. Reverse homesickness mimics traditional homesickness; restlessness, low mood, even identity confusion as you straddle two worlds. For me, it echoed the depression that pushed me abroad, manifesting as days where I’d scroll through photos of Kokura, feeling unmoored. But I’ve learned to navigate it, and you can too:<\/p>\n