Frustration. That's what it is. He feels trapped here. Like everything around is engulfing him, closing in and squeezing out all the air leaving him fighting for breath, trying to stay alive.

Living two lives: Israel and England, both differing immensely. Israel is the place he can really be himself. It feels more like a home than England does. England on the other hand is the place where his inner self shrivels up into a tight little ball... Hibernating... Waiting until the next time it is able to flourish. It always happens, this shrinking of the spirit, after a few weeks in England. He always grows distant. Alone, even with people around. He feels constricted here with imaginary chains tying him down. He doesn't talk much and could probably go for days without uttering a single word if he wanted.

He knows where he wants, needs, to be but things are more complicated for him now than just booking a place on the next flight to Israel.

Frustration. Solid. Impregnable. He hates this waiting game.
Prison. That's what it feels like. Cut off from everything. He knows he isn't making the best use of his time. As every day passes, not varying in it's blandness, he considers them all wasted. He is just watching them float by and not taking a solid grip on any of them.

More frustration. The old philosophy of living life for today and not tomorrow ringing more loudly than ever in his ears. That is exactly how it should be. Who knows when death will catch up with you. How many regrets will there be? Why not be a little less cautious. Take a chance. Life really is too short. He can't hold to that philosophy whilst he is in England. It offers nothing. He can feel his energy being trapped by a mysterious source and draining away.

England. Glorious England. Not so for him. Why does she deal him such a bad hand? He'd never had much luck here. Something, somewhere, has got a grudge against him. Happiness evading him at every turn.

Fate is conspiring to hold him back.