The UK will always hold a special place in my heart. It was my stepping stone into the wider world, the place that forced me to grow up and break free from the archaic conditioning I had carried all my life. It was also the first place that exposed me to the harsh realities of racism, immigration, and surviving in a foreign land. Through both the good and the terrible, my time in the UK shaped me in ways I’m still unpacking today.

Back then, I was naive—unsure, overwhelmed, impressionable. I was figuring out relationships, my career, and who I wanted to become. I was just starting to fall in love with travel.

Now, years later, I’m more confident, more grounded, and definitely more experienced. (Though still capable of questionable travel decisions.) That young woman who arrived wide-eyed at Heathrow eight years ago has grown—and hopefully, for the better.

With that said, I’ve always had a longing to return to the UK. My stay there was short, and since leaving, I’ve always wondered, “What if I stayed longer? What if I stood my ground ?”

These questions lingered for years, so returning felt necessary—a way to seek closure, to see if I still belonged in the place where I first learned how to start over.

The UK was not just another country on the map. To me, it was the first version of home I built from scratch. Returning made me wonder whether that home still existed, or whether I had outgrown it long ago.

First Impressions: Familiar Yet Foreign

Stepping off the plane in Heathrow felt like stepping into a memory. The cold air was the same. The accents were comforting. Even the black-and-white taxis felt like old friends.

But then I looked around.

The long immigration lines still existed, but the stern officers had been replaced by futuristic facial-recognition gates. The terminal felt familiar but different—like returning to your childhood home only to realize someone changed the curtains.

I arrived at my hostel with hours to spare before check in, so I went straight to exploring London. Surprisingly, my insider knowledge was still intact. I recognized the general directions of the trains, and I remembered to walk on the opposite side of the road. I thought to myself, “I still got it!”

But my confidence quickly faded when I missed the stops. I’ve forgotten to change trains, and the correct exits. I realized that while many things remain the same, so much more had changed.

That’s when it hit me: Belonging is remembering who you were and realizing you’re not that person anymore.

(Mis)Adventure #1 – Navigating a Life You No Longer Live

One of the first things I did was visit places I never got to see as a resident. When I lived in the UK, Big Ben was covered in scaffolding. Now, it finally stood in its full glory—majestic, gleaming, and surprisingly emotional to see.

The Big Ben, finally unveiled.

Fortunately, time and weather was on my side when I visited. It felt surreal to be seeing the same sights, and yet experiencing it the way I am now.

Back then, I walked along the Thames with someone.
Now, I walked alone—but peaceful, content, and secure in myself.

Back then, I chased validation. Now, I just enjoyed the view.

Next. I reached out to old friends and coworkers. I used to live and work in a town called Eastbourne, an hour and a half south of London. It’s a sunny little place, quiet and relatively peaceful. I wanted to see old friends and reconnect. They occupy a special place in my heart, after all.

However, they weren’t available– and understandably so. They lead busy lives, and my arrival was smack in the middle of a work week. Sadly, none of my Eastbourne friends and acquaintances were able to meet me for lunch. I’ll admit, I felt sad and disappointed. But I also understand. Like I said, they were busy.

Still, I went.

I ate at the old restaurant where an ex once took me on dates. I wandered the pier I used to haunt on my days off. I visited the mall that used to be half-dead but was now thriving.

The old charm of Eastbourne, the way I remember it, was still there, but I felt out of place while I walked along its rocky shore. It felt familiar and yet different. And I realized that it wasn’t just Eastbourne that changed. It was me.

That morning, as I strolled down familiar paths and watched the waves and the people around me, I realized that I can return to a place, but not the version of myself who lived there.

(Mis)Adventure #2 – Old Friends, New Me

As mentioned earlier, most old friends were busy. But I did get to meet one dear friend—Pao—and our reunion was the emotional highlight of my England trip.

The last time I saw her was seven years ago, and yet our conversation felt seamless. She was now married with a little girl. We were both nurses, now working in different corners of the healthcare world. She lost weight, I gained some (balance in the universe, I suppose).

But as we talked, I realized something: Everyone I once knew in the UK has moved on to the next chapters of their lives.

And here I was—collecting languages, climbing mountains, riding horses in South America, and writing about my mistakes on the internet.

I’m happy for them, but I also feel slightly out of sync. Because while they worry about building a new life with their partners and children, or achieving new accolades at work or getting new degrees, here I am: collecting languages, climbing mountains, riding horses in South America, and writing about my mistakes on the internet.

It made me wonder if I had “fallen behind”. Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t… I don’t know. One thing is for sure: my path is different.

Train ride back to the hotel, introspecting on what belonging means.

As I rode the train back to my hotel, I realized that there’s no limit to how many times you can reinvent yourself. Starting over is not a one-time event. It’s an ongoing practice.

(Mis)Adventure #3: Wicked, the West End, and the Life I Forgot I Loved

One thing I knew I had to do in London was watch Wicked at the West End.

The moment the orchestra swelled and the curtain lifted, something inside me stirred—something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I used to love watching plays, musicals, concerts… anything that fed the creative parts of me.

But life in Houston hasn’t given me much space for that.

Between car payments, insurance, long shifts, and the daily grind, I somehow forgot what it felt like to sit in a theater and let art move me. I forgot what it meant to be inspired.

And somewhere between “Defying Gravity” and the final bow, I realized: I miss this version of myself—the one who enjoyed stories, who supported the arts, who wrote passionately and fearlessly.

It made me want to write again. To be creative again. To give myself permission to love art the way I used to.

Because life was simpler back then. Not easier in an emotional sense, but simpler: no car, no insurance drama, no constant adulting. Just buses, Oyster cards, and the occasional Primark splurges.

Watching Wicked reminded me that even if I can’t bring that old life back, I can bring pieces of that old me forward.

(Mis)Adventure #4 – The Tourist Who Used to Be a Local

It’s a special kind of humbling to get lost in a city you once knew intimately.

I walked into old neighborhoods, half expecting nostalgia to punch me in the face. But instead, I felt… neutral. Not sad, not happy, just aware that things had changed.

I was no longer a local, but I wasn’t a full tourist either. Instead, I was something in between: a visitor with a history.

And maybe that’s its own kind of belonging.

Scotland: Where Belonging Felt Quiet Again

If London made me reflect, Scotland made me breathe.

The moment I arrived, the energy shifted. Edinburgh felt peaceful—green, lush, moody, dramatic, ancient. A place that welcomes you without demanding anything in return.

There were moments in Scotland where I genuinely wondered: What would it be like to live here?

(Mis)Adventure #5 : Rosslyn Chapel, Royal Hearts, and My Knees Betraying Me

I joined a small tour group visiting Rosslyn Chapel—yes, the chapel from The Da Vinci Code. In real life, it’s even more beautiful: intricate stonework, mysterious carvings, and an atmosphere so serene it almost feels sacred.

Next stop: the site where Robert the Bruce’s heart was buried. A little strange, a little poetic, very Scottish.

Then came Hadrian’s Wall.

A “short hike,” they said.
“Easy walk,” they said.

My lungs: You sure about that?

I was breathless—again—but the sweeping countryside made every huff worth it. Endless fields. Rolling hills. Sheep living their best lives.

Unlike London, Scotland didn’t remind me of who I used to be. It showed me who I could become.

What the UK Taught Me About Belonging

Returning to the UK taught me that belonging is not a place—it’s a feeling you carry within you.

England reminded me of the girl I once was.

Scotland reminded me of the woman I’m becoming.

I didn’t find the closure I expected, but I found something else. I found peace with the past, hope for the future, and gratitude for every version of myself who helped me get here.

_{If you want to read more about how this trip made me reflect on identity and belonging, I wrote a companion essay here.}