The longer you live abroad the harder it is to imagine your life at home. That is until one day it isn't so hard.

It started for me this past summer. I went home for my brother's wedding and I experience my first twinge of <em>what if</em>. What if I lived closer to home? What if I missed out on this? What if something happened to my parents? What if, what if, what if.

Then I returned to Sofia in August and the what-ifs went away. I was back in my Mladost apartment. I was in my classroom teaching once again. I had a routine. I was surrounded by my friend in a life had created for myself and I went on dates with my boyfriend. I was back in Sofia.

This was year five and I'd found my stride.

My Bulgarian was better than ever. I knew the city well enough to navigate the city center map-less. I had broad spectrum of friends.

The thing is, given the hiring schedule of international schools after Thanksgiving, I was asked what my plans were for the next year. I was offered a contract for the 2013-14 school year but I was asked to decide before Christmas. I promptly broke my hand and so I asked for an extension which I was given.

In January it became clear to me that this was my last school year in Sofia. I decided not to sign a new contract with the school and then I broke up with boyfriend.

That's too much breaking up all at the same time for anyone --a job, a city,a country and a boyfriend all in one fell swoop--and as a result I spent a lot of January crying.

I cried myself to sleep. I cried at my desk. I teared up on my way to the bus stop. I cried over skype.

I cried and cried and cried. Then I cried some more.

The good news is that I spent a lot less of February crying. Still when I told my students that this is my last year I teared up and as I've told friends and colleagues I've definitely cried and I've made some of them cry. That's the worst. I cried enough for everyone in the month of January. So to make other people cry seemed incrediably cruel.

In someways I've surprised myself. Before December and my broken hand, if you'd asked me if I'd be in Sofia and teaching at ACS for the next school year I'd have said that I was 95% sure that I would be.

And yet, here I am. This is it. This is my last year in Sofia and in Bulgaria. Actually if you're counting these are my last four and a half months in Sofia.

I'll teach through the end June and travel in Bulgaria with my dAd and little sister in July. In August I'll meet a friend for what we've fondly named our Baltic Adventure and in September I'll be back in the States.

I've started thinking about these last few months as my long good-bye. My long good-bye as I do things for a last time, as I sneak in as much Sofia time as possible, and as I grieve the imminent loss of banitsa, sour-tart yet rich and creamy Bulgarian yogurt, sirene cheese on my french friends and in my shopska salads.

Don't worry. I'll still be writing here in the upcoming months. It's not good bye yet.