Back in England, it is a mixture of the instinctively familiar and the disorientating. Being able to drink and brush my teeth in tap water was quite a shock; not being afraid of the midday sun (and needing a siesta) took me by surprise; London seems remarkably clean and architecturally beautiful.

I am in love with the English October - the air chill and recent rain fresh, the temperature cold enough to encourage interesting clothing (being able to wear layers is a lovely luxury), cold enough to make returning to the warm house delicious.
Part of me acknowledges, this place is my home, more than anywhere else is - I walk among my home neighbourhood and around the west end's Soho with an ease that casually steps over the fourteen month absence. I went cycling on Hampstead Heath, a park I've lived near to and played in since I was born - I rest on some of the benches near the "No Cycling" signs and felt sure what I was seeing, the grey sky and green land, trees turning Autumn orange, was as beautiful as anything I've seen in the world. Maybe even biologically, this is simply weather my body feels at home in. That said, I've already encountered the old frustration of a whole day blanketed in by rain.

But many things disorientate. I've lost my sense of some of the social codes - when on the Tube, the lanky black teenager next to me had spread out his legs, so we sat knee pressing into knee. "Is it alright to touch knees?", I wondered, "Will it indicate to him he needs to shift himself, or is that the normal thing here"? Listening to all the mother tongue around me is strange - suddenly the jolt is when I can't understand something, rather than when I can. A fat faced woman chats into her phone objectionably on the bus near me - it is almost invading to be privy to so much.
I met up with old friends on Friday night. By the exit at Liverpool Street Station, rain poured down, stylishly dressed Londoners looked up at the sky paralysed. Dozens of the them hadn't brought any kind of umbrella etc - I was left puzzled by this strange denial of England's weather. Standing in the pub later that evening, admittedly still jet lagged, but my head spun. I don't know why, but I couldn't cope with the mild crush, the voices all around me, the music (Kylie). I just sat silently and tried to smile at my reunited friends. In a restaurant later, I felt less at sea, but still bewildered and was hardly gregarious. Part of me lambasted myself, "How can you have grown much from travelling if you can't handle a pub and a curry"? But the more mature parts of my pysche shouting this argument down - I just need more time.

Being around the English is what makes me feel the most foreign - my mind watches them and analyses them like I would any new race I had travelled to. I was struck immediately: we seem a very nice people. English people are constantly making little jokes, either to cover their awkwardness or someone else's; always ready to apologise, even over something very little their fault. For my Western mind, this willingness here to apologise and take responsibility (even for tiny things like being asked the time and not having a watch) is a wonderful homecoming, after months among that widespread Asian aversion to acknowledging a mistake or admitting not knowing the answer to a question.
English people, or at least the one's in central London, suddenly seem immensely stylish, or at least, people who think about their image a lot. The clothes here look incredibly varied, the hairstyles and overall look staggeringly individualised. Compared to the men of India or China, English men's clothing is just amazing in its variety - and while the clothing of Indian women is elegant and incredibly coloured, it was generally the same few outfits on everyone (the sari, the "trouser suit" etc). London women seem to be wearing every possible design and permutation of clothing (and lack of clothing) imaginable.

I plan to set out with my notepad and camera, amongst the streets and neighbourhoods of London, and take advantage of my foreigner's eyes to record and ponder this strange home of mine.