I’m in London this week, and being here has swept up a flurry of memories and emotions in me that I didn’t know existed. Most of it stems from this duality I have with calling Malaysia home, whilst having spent the better part of the past decade living abroad, mostly in the UK. So, odd as it is, this trip has at times felt like a homecoming.

I met old friends, popped by restaurants and cafes I used to frequent—Timberyard, Black Axe Mangal, Kanada-Ya; I’m basic like that—and found the fifth floor of Foyle’s to be still as conducive a place as ever to work, (or just lounge with a book). And while I had more steak and chips than any sensible human being should’ve had in one night, and wolfed down scones and English pastries like I haven’t had them in years (because really I haven’t), I still ended up making a trip to Roti King, one of the few Malaysian restaurant in the city.

So maybe I’m like these cempedak popper—crispy and bronzed on the outside, with the appearance of some prosaic, Westernised deep-fried junk. But where you’d expect mozzarella or mince, out surges the floral, funky, fruity flavour of cempedak—the proudly tropical fruit of my homeland. Because really, as much as I’ve been influenced by Western culture and seem to fit right at home in the UK, inside, I’m all Malaysian.