image: westminster, moldy, under a glaring and entirely fake sun

It’s always complicated, your homeland, your home town, your home village, they contain everything you were bought up with, everything you loved and hated in childhood, everything that shaped you, for good or bad, all those feelings they created contradicting and complementing each other. Your culture, your upbringing, how they made you, it’s all part of the human condition, complicated, dangerous, enriching.

I don’t deny what I am (that would be nuts*), nor do I let it control me.

* It’s not nuts to nod to my hostland’s history.