| There’s something incredible about being an exile. In our wide-open world, when intercontinental travel and multicultural dialogue are no longer the privilege of the wealthy and the adventurous few, being an out, as opposed to an in-sider, can be a thing of incredible value. Of course, for most of those forced to flee their homes by persecution, discrimination or mere economic necessity, the reality of exile is far from romantic. But speaking for myself alone, having arrived in the UK from Communist Poland as a child of political refugees in 1985, I look at those both born and settled in the same land all their lives and pity them. Like all forms of pity, it is an ignorant, small-minded thing, but that’s how I feel. I’m proud to be a compound soul. Not a product of one source, one culture. The stuff I am made of is alloy, stronger than any single substance, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like had I and my immediate family not made our escape those twenty-odd years ago. And although the experience of exile is always painful, even when your new home is a kingdom of relative security and tolerance, mine is a tale I take pleasure in reliving, because it is full of wild colour and amazing fortune, all down to the fact that I have been afforded two countries to call home. Yet, while talking about my past is an opportunity to express many things, to explore complex feelings, it also allows me to explain why, having spent most of my life in the UK, I am leaving. Why, although I understand full well that there is no such thing as going back for anyone, not in time or space, I am still slowly but surely making my way back East. for more, please visit www.penguin.co.uk ... |
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