Childhood Is A Foreign Country – Expatlog | Expatlog

I went to birthday parties, passed the parcel, ate cubes of pineapple and cheese off cocktail sticks without ever wondering why, and danced unabashedly to ‘The Birdie Song.’ At six I devoured Ladybird books, crawling into small spaces to lose myself in tales of beanstalks and giants, pirates and treasure. Most of the time I was outdoors with just my sister and our imaginations, making mud pies and playing cowboys. At seven I remember my rainy day despair turning to excitement when my mother pulled a cardboard treasure chest of colouring and dot-to-dot books out of nowhere, and how the wet afternoon melted into insignificance outside the warm yellow womb of our farmhouse kitchen.