Raised in Narnia. Back to London.

The strange life of a third culture kid that never really leaves you.

I didn’t climb into a closet during a game of hide and seek to discover a new wintery world with odd talking creatures. I might as well have. I was born in another land but I don’t remember that of course. None of us do. I’m half of that land and half of another so I automatically stick out without intention in the first. To keep this illustration going, I was dropped off at a house in London, away from the cottages and castles of where I was born. London was what I knew. I did London things. I spoke London English. I had London friends. It was good for me because children need a sense of belonging and connection to where they are. And then, like a right of passage at 13, I was summoned back to my birth place of Narnia.