Home or heart, I know not

Home is where the heart is.

In which case, I wonder where indeed my heart lies.

Is it amidst the loving arms of my dearest family or somewhere else?

I suppose this is a question most people will try and analyze at some point in their life, however moving away to Latvia has made me more and more introspective.
While here among the softly decaying autumn leaves, I yearn for home with a such a passion I scare myself sometimes. I dream of suburbia while surrounded by old decadence and nouveau rich chic. Am I the only one who misses the crowded trains of the London Underground, the forever late Harrovian buses, the constant rain, the polluted air of paradise?
I hope not...
but if indeed I was ...Then what of it?

Having said all that, when I am back home surrounded by the known and the familiar, I often feel incomplete, as if Riga had grown so close to my heart that I missed her understated charms while basking in the weak British Summer sun.

Will I ever belong fully somewhere?

Perhaps it is really about finding a person to whom one belongs and not at all about places...
Someone who shall move me so deeply that I shall follow him to Timbuktu at the drop of a hat??

or am I simply being to fanciful?