When I left Switzerland for Ireland, it was only ever meant to be for a year, two at most. And yet here I am, in my eleventh year.

Now, when I return to Switzerland, I feel a sense of estrangement. Everything seems familiar in a way, and yet it no longer feels like home. I have built a life elsewhere, one I cannot imagine ever leaving behind, nor can I imagine reintegrating into Switzerland again.

Who am I? When this question came up during a time of reflection, I didn’t know.

For the first time since I started talking to a therapist, I didn’t have an answer. I was lost for words. The truth was: I had lost myself. Quietly, subtly, without even noticing it.

Now, two months after being confronted with that question, I’m sitting on a bench overlooking Lake Lucerne in Switzerland, smiling. Because I finally know again.

My cousins and I bonded over stacking hay, pulling weeds, setting up beanstalks, and racing go-karts down the quiet road by our house, back when hardly any cars passed through. Looking back, it almost feels like it never really existed.