Sometimes, all it takes is a few hours in a new place to feel:
“I belong here. Someone’s been waiting for me.”
And sometimes — even after a week of comfort, perfect views, and polite smiles — the energy feels off. It presses on you.
And all you want is to go home… Not geographically, but emotionally.

💫 Where I felt like home:

📍 Italy
The air itself understood me.
People looked at you like you were art.
Wine sang to your body like the afterglow of a long touch.
And yes — I flirted with waiters, with my reflection, with shadows on the wall.
In Rome, I breathed like a lover. In Florence — like a muse. In Naples… I took my dress off on the balcony 😉

📍 Portugal
Soft, warm, a little melancholic.
Here, I didn’t want to impress. I wanted to feel.
To sit by the ocean with a glass of port and silence.
And the men… never rushed.
I like being felt slowly.

📍 Georgia
They fed me like a goddess.
They looked at me like a woman — not a “tourist.”
There, I could be loud, emotional, raw — and no one tried to tame me, fix me, or shrink me.
I was funny. Fiery. Fully alive.

🙃 And where I didn’t feel at home:

📍 Germany
Everything was perfect. Polite. Efficient.
But I craved more soul.
Less rules — more glances.
I felt beautiful, yes… but cold.
Like a painting in a museum.
Maybe that city was just waiting for a different version of me.

📍 Switzerland
Breathtaking. Peaceful. But… too sterile.
Like I was staying in a luxury hotel where you’re not supposed to laugh too loud or ask for seconds 😅
I was elegant. Composed. But not… me.
And I love places where I can let my hair down, wear a dress without underwear — and walk the streets like I own the magic.

💋 I like feeling like a woman — in the space, in the language, in the air.
I don’t chase “comfort.”
I crave resonance.

Because home isn’t just walls.
It’s when someone looks at you — and you don’t want to run.
It’s when a city wraps its arms around you without asking questions.
It’s when your hips walk down the street like it was built just for them.