After 8 months in Timor, I finally boarded a plane back to Portugal. And truthfully, I missed everything - the beaches, the food, the music, the familiar voices, the feeling of home.
But somewhere along the way, Timor became home too.
For 8 months, my group and I built more than a routine there - we built a community, a family, a place that felt like ours. Together we fought for land, conquered new ground, lost things, rebuilt them, laughed until sunrise, and started over more times than I can count. Through every victory and every setback, we stayed together. And somehow, in the middle of it all, we were happy.
Nothing lasts forever, and deep down I always knew the day would come when I’d have to leave. Still, saying goodbye to Timor felt like leaving behind a version of myself that only existed there.
I’m grateful to every person I met during my time in Timor and across Southeast Asia - for the friendships, the chaos, the late-night conversations, the unforgettable memories, and for standing beside me even on the hardest days. No matter how far from home we were, we always found strength in each other.
Timor was immense. Bigger than any of us expected. And I know it will stay with me forever.
Someone once said we were “the greatest army War Era has ever seen.” Maybe that’s true. Maybe, weeks from now, the new ones will still hear stories about the Portuguese who were exiled in Timor for 8 months and somehow managed to conquer the world together. Legends grow from moments like these.
But now, a new chapter begins.
My mission is no longer in Timor. My mission is here - to help Portugal, to build something meaningful with this new family life has given me, and to leave my mark on the history waiting to be written.
Because no matter how far we travel, no matter how many places we call home along the way, a part of us will always find its way back to where the story first began.
And mine begins again now.