This morning I realised that I've been back in the UK for longer than the total amount of time I lived outside it.

And yet, I still feel far less at home here than I did in Kuala Lumpur. I feel like Beijing took up years and years of my life when it was, in fact, only 18 months.

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I was a child then. Everything was interesting, strangers were friendly and days were long.

I suppose it is in part that I have lived here so long but seldom remained in one place for any length of time. I don't have roots anywhere.

I feel affection for it here. But it doesn't feel novel or exciting or worthy of comment. One tends to remember the one's adventures disproportionately.