“Where are you from?” Mrs. Marcolini asked. My eight-year-old self paused, unsure of how to answer. I was born in India, but I had a Canadian passport. What should I tell my Year 4 teacher? After a moment of contemplation, I answered, “India.” She looked confused. “But it says here you’re Canadian.”

This has been the story of my life—a question I’ve been asked countless times over the years, but one I never felt I could answer definitively. What is home to me?

My parents did their master’s degrees in Canada before moving back to India, where I was born in Chennai. Tamil was my first language, yet on paper, I am Canadian. Every time someone asks where I’m from, I’m faced with a moment of indecision. Do I say I’m Canadian, despite never having set foot in Canada? When I go to India, customs officers ask the purpose of my visit—I’m literally just visiting my family, yet it feels like I’m an outsider.

My brother was born two years after me, and our family’s global adventure began. We moved to the UK when I was three, where I started school in London. After three years, we moved again, this time to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where we stayed for seven years. Next came Bahrain, which became our home for the next eight years. Finally, I moved to Houston for college. Along the way, I attended British schools for continuity, yet here I am in the United States for higher education.

Over the years, I’ve never had just one accent. Just as I adapted to each new country, my speech evolved too. In London, I had a strong British accent by age four. Living in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, surrounded by an international mix of cultures, my accent became a blend of influences. Today, it’s a mosaic—sometimes British, sometimes American, occasionally Indian, and even Australian at times. My multi-national accent mirrors who I am—a person shaped by a lifetime of global experiences.

But what is home, then? Home as a physical place has constantly shifted. For now, it’s Bahrain, where my family currently lives and where I spent my most formative years. It’s the place where I made my closest friends, learned about myself, and experienced my teen years. But does that make Bahrain my true home?

At some point, I became confused about my identity. I can switch accents and identities like flipping a switch. Who am I, really? My parents, keen on maintaining our Indian heritage, insisted we only speak Tamil at home when I was younger. They didn’t want me to lose my cultural roots, something I’m now eternally grateful for. But they rarely heard me speak English. I remember being at a parent-teacher conference when I was around ten years old. I answered my teacher in my typical British accent, and my parents burst out laughing. To them, hearing their daughter speak in an accent that felt foreign was hilarious. From then on, I made it my mission to only speak in an “Indian” accent to them at home. As I got older, this shifted, and now I mix English and Tamil when speaking with my family. Interestingly, when I speak in English at home, I use an Indian accent. But when I speak with others, I revert to my more international accent. Sometimes, it feels like my brain believes I’m speaking different languages when all I’m doing is switching accents.

I don’t even know what ‘normal’ is to me anymore. Having lived in so many places, each with distinct cultures, languages, and accents, ‘normal’ has become fluid. It’s part of why the question, “Where are you from?” feels so impossible to answer.

On paper, I’m a Canadian citizen, but I’ve lived only in India, the UK, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and now the United States. I’m Indian by birth, British by residency, Saudi by experience, and Bahraini by upbringing. I’m a mosaic of all the places I’ve lived and all the cultures I’ve encountered. My way of seeing the world is a tapestry, woven from the threads of each unique place I’ve called ‘home.’

In a way, this constant shifting has been a gift. Moving frequently has made me adaptable and open to new experiences. I’ve learned how to fit in anywhere without losing my sense of self. But at the same time, it’s left me with the question of where I truly belong. In each country, I’ve carried a piece of the last one with me—never entirely fitting in but also never entirely an outsider. This has made me resilient, curious, and flexible.

So, what is home to me? Home isn’t a place; it’s a feeling. It’s the smell of my mom’s cooking, a blend of Tamil spices, no matter where we live. It’s the sound of my family switching between English and Tamil in conversation. It’s the familiar warmth of being with people who understand me in ways that transcend geography. As cliché as it sounds, home is where my heart is—and my heart is in the shared experiences, stories, and connections I’ve built across borders and continents.

Moving around the world has taught me that home isn’t a static concept. Home can evolve as we evolve. And while I may never have one definitive answer to “Where are you from?” I know that my experiences have made me who I am. My identity, much like my accent, has changed over time, but at its core, it is rooted in the values my family has instilled in me: respect for different cultures, a passion for learning, and the ability to adapt and grow no matter where life takes me.