When I first returned to live in the UK after almost a decade spent as an expat in the Middle East, everything felt familiar, yet strange.
England wasn’t my home as it used to be. My home was 4,700 miles away in Dubai.
My reality was the tall, shiny buildings on Sheikh Zayed Road, the large suburban villas, palm trees and the sight of distant sand dunes. My norm was the smell of Oud in the air, the sound of the mosque’s call to prayer and the dry, sometimes overwhelming heat of the Arabian Gulf on my skin.
In the small village we moved to in Berkshire, the brick buildings looked tiny, the grass and trees appeared so green and smelt so earthy. The clouds were fluffy and low in the sky and the air, breezy and crisp on my skin. I felt detached, like an alien or as if I was in a dream.
