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This is a quote I have come across many times in our years overseas. It has shown up in online retreats, books about Third Culture Kids, essays by expat writers, Instagram stories and Facebook posts. I have felt the sentiment behind these words to some extent during our visits back to the states in 2014, 2017, and 2019; the feeling growing stronger with each successive trip. However, with those journeys, we always had a returning, a coming home to what had become familiar, known and loved. And now after nine years of fighting to make our home here, we are looking ahead to the next time we will fly across worlds, and this time, there will not be a ticket to return us to our hard won home; this place of cultures and languages that are not our own, red dirt and thorns, veldt grass and lemon trees, goats and cows roaming freely and donkeys pulling carts, our neighbors we see during the day and party sounds we hear each night. Instead, sometime in May, we will head back to...