As a person who is mixed race - with an Asian parent who is adopted and knows nothing about their origins; an African one who is in touch with their origins but who didn’t re-emerge into my life till adulthood; and an Eastern European step-parent who I was introduced to in early childhood - my personal cultural identity is somewhat disjointed.

As a person who hasn’t lived in one place for more than a few years - born in Amsterdam to migrant parents; early childhood years between Romania and various towns in Southern England; and adult years in the North of England and London - my sense of home being a place is even more complex. So complex, that I can’t say it really exists.

I’ve never felt a strong sense of belonging anywhere, and I’ve never found that to be a bad thing. But others insist that I must have a formative cultural tie to somewhere.

It’s now a common understanding that ‘where are you from?’ is a difficult question for third culture kids. But when my stock answer of ‘I’ve moved around a lot’ and placid smile that aims to end the conversation don’t appease, it’s the follow-up questions that fill me with unease. These questions come in the form of ‘but where did you grow up’, or ‘where were you born’, or ‘where do you call home?’. One time, in order to solve the conundrum forming in their head, somebody asked me where I had lived the longest, and was clearly dissatisfied when I answered ‘Leeds’, with a distinctively Southern English accent. Many times, people have asked if my parents were in the army. They weren’t.

So, those are my options. Be an army kid, or choose a place!

From this life of clearly befuddling, incomprehensible, and disturbing unrest, I simply consider myself a ‘global citizen’. Not out of a pretentious ethical position (although that too), but more out of necessity of having to belong somewhere. If my identity must be tied to a place, then that place is a world with no social borders.

This makes sense to me. Culturally and socially, I love my country in many ways, and I am of course emotionally drawn to certain countries over others. Yet, I’ve never fully understood the emotional pride others feel from patriotism, simply because of the contingent circumstances leading them to have legal status in that country. And ethnically, I love being a black woman and revel in the culture. Yet, I recognise it is illogical to physically place me in my mother’s tribe, or in the quarter of my bloodstream that ‘belongs’ to the Trinidadian coast.

My circumstances have led me to have an openness, empathy and understanding of people from many backgrounds. I walk through life with the confidence that I can critique but enjoy many cultures, free from the polite rigidity I see others using when they learn of different ways of living. Maybe a part of me belongs to this culture, too.

In developing this sense identity, I have been met with a critical juncture. During my Masters degree, I was informed that amplifying local and indigenous identity was in - and therefore cosmopolitanism was out. As a scholar, I understood, but as someone who needed something to justify my global identity, (and in hindsight, my potential entitlement to the world), I felt dismayed. Somehow, removing place from identity didn’t feel right, even for me.

So, in the spirit of trying to identify with a place more localised than ‘Earth’, I’ve arrived here. I haven’t come to a restful conclusion on my identity, and I don’t think I really need one. But if I had to answer, I’d say that although there is not much drawing me to Bognor’s beaches nowadays (a small seaside town I lived in for a couple of years as a child), there is one thing. It’s the memories I have of being in my grandma's flat, sitting at the kitchen table which faced the bandstand; the sound of the windchime that constantly sang while the windows were open; and the permanent feature of the salty sea air.