There’s no place like home: Embracing expat otherness

I have lived in Paris for almost exactly 8 years, and whilst it’s fair to say I’ve long since been pretty damn parisienne, I’m clearly not – nor will I ever be – French. I’m very comfortable in this country; more at home than I’ve ever felt anywhere else; thoroughly assimilated in a culture that made more sense to me than the one I grew up in long before I even moved here. But I don’t have the references of a native française, having neither been raised in France, nor by French parents.

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