Expat from Malta: You CAN Go Home Again

These are the words to some old song from my youth. Maybe you know who sang the song. Please let me know if you do.

Boston was my home for most of my former marriage and adult years before I moved to Malta last October. It was hard going back this time. I saw some old friends, took some old walks-and felt...old. It's funny how some of the best memories are also the most painful ones.

I went with my daughters to their father's home-which used to be my home. Let me tell you; that's tough. He now lives with his nice girlfriend. It was hard to see how great the place looks. He and his girlfriend have really fixed up the condo, doing a lot of things I would have loved to have done to it. (By the way, I already told him this-so this won't be new to him if he reads it).

But my policy with this blog has always been to be honest (without hurting anyone) and without becoming too confessional. So nothing is ever perfect-leaving or going back. Yes, you can go home-but it's a profound experience.

One of the hardest things I had to do this trip was prepare to see my daughter's father. I knew he would be glad to see me... because I'm fat now.

I'm glad no one was witness to what I had to go through in the Holiday Inn where I stayed (for $200 per night-and this was the cheapest place). I had to put on two body squeezers. You may know them as body shapers, but I call them squeezers. They're these spandex undergarments that are supposed to make you look slimmer.

I wear them when I want to look like I didn't gain as much weight as I have in the past years. I'm past the impressing stage in all this; I'm now in the fat-controlling stage.

Anyway, these things-the squeezers-are so tight that they're actually painful to get on. I could really have only worn one, but I decided to wear two. Maybe squeeze in an extra millimeter.

I got on the first pair without too much pain. The problem was with the second pair. It's so hard to pull up that if you stop in the middle-and it snaps back, you can actually sever your thighs.

I had to turn on the AC in the hotel room because I started sweating so much getting them on.

Once they were on, I had a different problem. I had to devise a tactic (which I have for past occasions) of using the bathroom while wearing these. Now, let me tell you this: once you have these squeezers on, you can't take them off for a minor thing as taking a little pee.

There is a provision built into the spandex squeezer that is supposed to enable you to-uh-do your business while wearing it, but if you use it as intended, you could be arrested for indecent Britney-Spears type exposure under extreme circumstances.

So I've had to devise a way of using the bathroom without taking the squeezers off. And I have. I'm not going to go though the details here. Yes, that would be gross and inappropriate, but that's not why I'm not going to do it. The real reason is that if I can sell this method to NASA, I may be able to be financially secure the rest of my life.

So, anyway, I wore my squeezers, I saw my kids' father, he was glad to see me (so maybe the squeezers didn't work), but it was okay. We had a nice time-and that was it.

Tomorrow, I fly back to Malta (wearing only one squeezer) and I think my boyfriend will be glad to see me because...he'll be glad to see me. And I'll be home. I'll miss my girls, but I'll be home...in Malta.

Ilene Springer is author of An-American-in-Malta.com.