Kuala Lumpur

Stepping out of the airport building, the hot thick air hit me. It always does, without fail, wherever you have come from. I find it at once both stifling and comforting.

All week I enjoyed being back, pottering about and spending time with the friends I have missed. On Sunday evening I stood at the edge of the night-market, watching. And the sensation that had been nudging at me all week became clear, a reality: this is no longer my home. What made me see this was the other matsallehs, the expats. How they, despite being as foreign as me, belong here. There was a purpose and certainty in the mundaneness of their evening that I will never have again.