Something strange happens every time I step into IKEA in Sofia. It's a feeling that's both familiar and foreign at the same time. I've lived most of my life in Sweden, but now I've moved to Bulgaria – driven by a longing for something new, a desire to start over. And when I step into that building with its iconic blue and yellow letters, it feels like I’m entering a parallel universe. A Swedish universe – my universe – mirrored in another reality.
Every time I enter, it's like coming home. Everything is there: the Billy bookcase, the Malm drawers, the scent of particle board and cinnamon buns, those little tealights in packs of 100 that you don’t really need but always buy. It’s as if someone took a piece of Sweden and placed it right in the middle of Sofia. Languages, cultures, and people mix here – but the design is Swedish. Linear, practical, bright, modern.
I push my cart through the aisles and pretend I’m in Kungens Kurva or Bäckebol. But then it happens again. I approach a sign I’ve seen hundreds of times in my life, and the text... it’s not in Swedish. It’s in Bulgarian. And suddenly the illusion breaks. This isn’t Sweden. This is Sofia. This is IKEA – but not my IKEA.
A PLACE WHERE MY IDENTITY FINDS GROUND
When living abroad, it’s often the small things that mean the most. A Swedish word on a label. A package of crispbread. Or a plate of meatballs with lingonberry jam. IKEA in Sofia is more than just a furniture store for me – it’s an anchor for my identity. A safe space where I feel less foreign, less alone, less “new.”
Here, I can be myself without explanation. No one looks twice if I linger a bit too long by the hot dog stand deciding whether to get another one. No one bats an eye if I search for a specific lampshade I know from my childhood home. Everything is there. And even if the staff doesn’t understand my language, they understand my body language, my smile, my gratitude.
It’s almost comical how much joy a store can bring. But it’s more than consumption – it’s about recognition. About belonging. IKEA has always had the vision of creating a better everyday life for the many people. For me, as a Swede abroad, that’s exactly what it does.
SWEDISH FOOD – A PIECE OF THE SOUL
There is, however, something I miss. Or rather – long for. More Swedish food products! Sure, the meatballs are there, along with the mashed potatoes and brown sauce. But what if there were also falukorv? Real Västerbotten cheese? A jar of pickled herring like we always had for midsummer?
In Sweden, these items were just a few steps away – now, they’re a flight away. It does something to you, especially around holidays. When I try to celebrate Midsummer in Sofia, I do my best to recreate the feeling, but it’s difficult without the right ingredients. IKEA does its best, but the selection is limited. I understand why – supply and demand – but I still hope every time I walk in that I’ll find something new.
DREAM OR NIGHTMARE?
And then there’s that strange feeling – that “dream within a dream” when everything seems familiar, but something is off. I’ve described it to friends as a Swedish version of a nightmare. You walk among the furniture, everything is exactly as it is at home – but the signs are in a language you don’t understand. You see someone who looks like they’re named Johan, but when you ask him something, he replies in Bulgarian.
It’s not unpleasant, but it’s confusing. Like having jetlag inside your own mind. I’m home – but not. I understand everything – and yet nothing. It’s as if IKEA is a limbo between two worlds: the one I left, and the one I now live in.
THANK YOU IKEA – FOR COMING WITH ME
I’m thankful that IKEA exists in Sofia. It makes life here easier. It gives a sense of normality when everything else feels new. It’s a place I can go to when homesickness hits. I can sit in the restaurant, order my meatballs, and just breathe. Maybe I open my phone and call someone back in Sweden. Or I just sit there and look out over the parking lot and think that things will probably be okay.
Because that’s what IKEA gives me: a sense that everything can be sorted out. That I’m still me – no matter where I live.
BEING SWEDISH OUTSIDE OF SWEDEN
Many don’t understand how important it is to feel at home when you live abroad. I’m not just a tourist here – I live here. I buy my groceries here, I pay my bills here, I live my life here. But sometimes, I need a break from the unfamiliar, and IKEA is that break.
It’s where I get to be Swedish without explanation. Where I can talk about Midsummer without needing to translate. Where I can laugh at names like "Knopparp", "Flärdfull", or "Fjällbo" and know exactly what they mean.
MORE THAN FURNITURE
IKEA is more than just furniture and meatballs. It’s part of our culture. A bridge between nations. A place where we all, no matter where we come from, can meet around something shared: the desire to build a home.
For me, having left my homeland, IKEA is a reminder of who I am – and a guide toward the life I’m building here. Buying a table isn’t just buying a table – it’s recreating the comfort I left behind.
And even if the signs are sometimes incomprehensible, and the voices around me speak a language I don’t understand, the feeling is clear: this is where I belong. This is where I can be myself.
So thank you, IKEA in Sofia. Thank you for being where I am, and for helping me feel at home – even when home is far away.
By Chris...
Add comment
Comments