Being an emigrant can be tough at times. One of the hardest things for me is the physical act of leaving. Departure. That moment when you’ve had your coffee at the airport and you have your passport and your ticket and you’re all ready to go through security except you’re not and you give everyone a hug and you move to go and tears come to your eyes and you go back, one more hug, just one more hug, and a shed load more tears, until somehow you make it through security and you harden up a bit, because you know, you have to.
And then you come home – for Oxford is now my home too – and open your excruciatingly heavy suitcase and smile at the little pieces of Portugal you’ve brought with you.