Missing my English family I left the UK more than one year ago, after almost one here living with an English family. Am I still thinking about them? Yes, I am. I can describe myself as a nostalgic and romantic person with the inclination to be a bit dramatic. When I first set foot in that Country I thought I was going to die soon. I had never done something alone, I didn’t (I still don’t) like the crowd and here we are, at the airport waiting a man who is coming to bring me who knows where. Me: the most insecure person I have never known in my life. But I did it. I survived. I remember the first thing I said to my children “I am so sorry for my English” and I could just smile, because I couldn’t understand what it was going on in that car (above all, why are you driving like a crazy? Keep the right, please!). H. was singing. N. was smiling at me a bit embarrassed.And G. was just herself. I remember H. coming to my room as soon as they parents left the house for staying “only 15 minutes, please” with me because he didn’t want to go to bed so early so “can we go downstairs and check how much the water takes to turn into a block of ice?”. N. who couldn’t look forward to doing homework as her brother and she felt in love with this boy called Richard, the girl wo asked soup for her birthday. G. who basically started to speak English with me who kept me lived one of my boring day in my life (feeding a horse toy) and gave me the book titled “Brexit”.She made me laugh so hard when she asked her mom to buy her new teeth at the market because she had toothache. The tentative of escapes; the house with the cushions; the bedtime stories (or, as I called, “my English free pronunciation lessons”). The prayers for convincing G. to go to school. And for convincing all of them for brushing their teeth every. single.day. When I came back in July they all grew up. G. could speak properly (unfortunately I still don’t), I didn’t see N. with Richard, because I know she is going to be an independent and beautiful girl and I saw H. funnier and less scrappy. So many things happened in that short period: not every day was a good day with the children and sometimes I got nervous or sad. I lived with them and with the people I met lot of things that made me think I was part of something that had to be like that (except when I ate too many muffins that I thought I was going to die). I keep thinking about that period with a deep nostalgic feeling, but as they say “you had to be that person to become this one".