The City That Became Home
There were moments where I felt like I was standing outside looking in, trying to understand the city, its people and where I fit into it.
In this blog, Nayonika reflects on her journey from India to London and how finding her place in a new city changed her understanding of home.
I still remember the day when I first moved to London.
A busy, cobblestoned footpath beneath my feet. Red brick-walled buildings standing tall around me. A dark grey river flowing quietly through the heart of the city. People who seemed too polite, too reserved, and somehow impossible to read.
Growing up in India, I watched Bollywood movies that romanticised this city. London always felt like this magical place where everything happened. The streets, the cafes, the little corners I had only seen on screen. And now, I was finally here. I was walking through the same places I had watched so fondly for years. I was visiting the cafes and spots from those movies and creating my own memories.
It was exciting but overwhelming at the same time.
I had met a few classmates online before arriving, and that gave me some comfort. But this was the first time I was going to spend a long period away from home without speaking my native language every day. I was stepping into a new country, a new culture, and a completely different version of life.
While I was grateful for the opportunities I had, there were moments where I felt like I was standing outside looking in, trying to understand the city, its people, and where I fit into it.
Slowly, the rose-tinted glasses started wearing off, and the struggles became real.
Making friends in the classroom was difficult. People would talk about things I had no idea about: Eurovision was one of them. Everyone seemed to understand the references and conversations, while I was sitting there trying to catch up. I would smile, laugh, and pretend I understood, but sometimes I felt like I was watching a conversation happening behind a glass wall.
Even food, something that always connected me to home, became complicated. The “Indian” food in London tasted nothing like what I grew up eating. It had the same name, but it did not have the same feeling. It did not feel like home.
Then there were the everyday struggles: TFL strikes became a normal part of life. The cost of living drove me crazy. Every little expense made me think twice.
I hated having to ask my parents for help because I wanted to feel independent. I wanted to prove that I could build a life here on my own.
I also started missing my relatives and friends back home. I missed conversations in my own language, and I missed not having to explain parts of myself.
But whenever they called, I put on a happy face. “I’m doing well.” “I’m settling in."
I became good at hiding how difficult it was. Because sometimes, admitting that you are struggling in a place you dreamed about feels like chagrin.
Eventually, I made a few friends. But as time passed, some friendships changed. We drifted apart because people grow, and sometimes in different directions.
Again, I found myself trying to figure out where I belonged.
Then came my third year of university, and I left London for an exchange year. I spent my autumn semester at Toronto Metropolitan University and my spring semester at the Danish School of Media and Journalism.
Being away from London changed something in me.
I realised how much this city had become part of my identity. I missed the streets. I missed the energy. I missed the randomness of it all. I even missed the things that once frustrated me.
I would complain about London coffee prices while in Canada, only to later realise coffee in Denmark was even more expensive. I would complain about how Canada and Denmark did not have meal deals like London.
Small things that I never thought I would miss became the things I looked forward to.
A year later, when my exchange ended and I returned to London for my final year of university, I expected everything to feel the same.
But the world does not stop when you leave; it moves on.
Suddenly, my university had become “City St George’s” and not just “City”. The cafes I used to sit in had changed. The places I knew looked different. People had changed. And somehow, I felt like an outsider all over again.
It was a strange feeling. I had spent years trying to become part of this city, and when I finally felt like I belonged, I came back and had to find my place again.
At the same time, seeing conversations around immigration and watching a city that had welcomed people like me go through moments of tension made me question where I belonged. I felt lost. I wanted to leave again and go back to somewhere that felt familiar.
But then I realised something: belonging is not about a place staying the same; it is about how you grow with it.
London changed, but I changed too.
Slowly, I started building my life here again. I started connecting more with my professors, made more friends in my final year than I did in my first two years combined and created more memories in this city than I ever thought I would.
The city that once made me feel like an outsider slowly became the place where I felt like belonged.
London changed my definition of home.
Home is not just a structure where you live. It is not just an address or the place where you were born. Home is a feeling. A feeling of safety. A feeling of belonging. A feeling that tells you that you are part of something.
Four years ago, I arrived in London feeling like I was looking in from the outside.
Now, I realise that somewhere along the way, I became part of this city’s story too.
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