I had drafted this a while ago and debated whether to post it or not. It feels too private. But as my tag line is “an honest look at life on the road”, I don’t want to leave out significant developments in my journey. This is the story about why I’m leaving KL after a year of calling it home.
When you’re living in a city you’re not from, the #1 question you get is: “What are you doing here?”
Sometimes I don’t feel like explaining, so I’ll say I’m working here (that’s what they all assume anyway since I live in a local part of town). Sometimes I feel like a chat and I’ll tell the truth: I came as a tourist and met a local boy. Sometimes, it’s just some variation of “I just like it here”.
But more and more, I’m not so sure anymore.
I have a, shall I say… complicated relationship with Kuala Lumpur. For most of the past year, it has been home and I’ve been happy there. But lately, more and more, I can’t quite shake this naggy feeling that I no longer belong here.
I fell in love with KL because of a boy. Yes I love it as a city. The food is amazing, the living is comfortable, the shopping is great (seriously, my travel wardrobe has quadrupled), the people are nice, there’s no language barrier, and the city has endless surprises. But I mainly loved it because he lived here.