A personal reflection by FMT reader Dr Loshi Rajen on what it means to live in, move away from, and return to this country.
Like all things familiar, we sometimes forget to treasure it - until we are far away. Only when we leave do we realise how much we took for granted.
It starts with the little things: the quiet sense of safety, the comfort of knowing exactly what to do.
If my elderly mother needed medical attention back home, there was no panic. I could walk into an emergency department at any hour and know she would be seen, even if it meant waiting for hours. Or I could simply take her to a private hospital.
In a foreign land, every step is laced with uncertainty: How? Why? When? Whenever my mum visits me in the UK, my greatest fear is that she might fall ill.
Even the airport reminds me I'm far from home. When the Heathrow immigration queue stretches for two hours, homesickness hits hardest.
Back home, often there is no such wait. Once, it was the autogates at KLIA that gave me quiet pride each time I returned from my travels. Now, it's the My Border Pass app.
Either way, going home means belonging. Going home means sailing through immigration.
Homesickness creeps in quietly, then grows relentless. It's the ache of being far from your comfort zone.
Food never quite tastes the same, even when cooked by another Malaysian in a London restaurant. Maybe it's the water. Maybe it's the absence of true spice. Back home, even a humble roadside stall meal tastes divine after months away.
It's adjusting to a place where the sun rarely shines bright, where the winds cut sharp, and laundry never dries to that perfect, sun-toasted crispness.
It's longing to speak Malay, Manglish, Tamil - or even just plain English - without straining to catch unfamiliar accents.
It's missing the ease of having a car, where parking was an afterthought. Here, even in your own residential area, parking spaces can be scarce - and that's before factoring in the permits.
Back home, there is only one nationwide energy supplier - Tenaga Nasional. Here, every time you move, you must figure out which supplier covers your new address, set everything up yourself, and brace for the bills to arrive.
Malaysia Airlines no longer plays my favourite automated message on board: "To all returning Malaysians, welcome home." At least, it wasn't played on my last flight from London to KLIA Terminal 1.
But the pilot said it himself. And still, those words give me goosebumps.
Sometimes you need to leave for the full meaning of those words to sink deep into your bones.
Welcome home.
Selamat Hari Merdeka.
This article was written by Dr Loshi Rajen, a psychiatrist who turns to words when feelings grow too big to hold.