Home comforts are never quite that far away if you look hard enough. Photo courtesy of Union Jack's Fish and Chips

AF Reeves - @afreeves23 

Waking this morning in Istanbul, after spending over a month away from Việt Nam, I felt that familiar longing that arrives whenever I'm gone too long. I miss the chaos, the plastic stools, the daily surprise of something new. The food, my god, the food. My mind commits to a month of noodles and broth from the minute I step foot in Nội Bài, and after a dairy laden month of excess, it's fair to say I'll need it.

Then my travelling companion sticks a BBC radio breakfast show on while he goes about his morning routine. It echoes through the apartment, the reassuring voice of a host I recognise but can put neither face nor name to, it's cathartic. It also reminds me that my time in the UK is done for another year. I miss England already, having only left last week. After a month at home, people had stopped asking about Việt Nam and started treating me as they had before I ever left. A sense of belonging that's hard to find even after a decade in Hà Nội.

The irony of lying in Istanbul, where East meets West, and longing for both, was not lost on me. It got me thinking. There seem to be two kinds of 'expat': those running away from something, and those running towards it. For the former, everything here is likely useless, reminders of home being the last thing they want. That's okay. But for those of us who still love where we come from, and left only out of a need for something exciting, it may resonate. Staying in touch with our roots is valuable and frustratingly difficult in equal measure.

Following your football team helps. Whatever the kick off time, it's a priority; I'll sleep early or lose a morning to it, and a good boss should understand. Hopefully. It keeps me tethered to where I'm from, friends and family messaging in real time about the same ninety minutes. Then, most obviously, there's calling home. In an age of FaceTime and voice notes there's no excuse. Even a chat about the weather counts, because the sound of your loved ones' voices is a form of home in itself.

Keep your accent, if you're lucky enough to have one. It's a thread back to where you started, and a reason for a stranger to ask where that is. I'm not suggesting my students should be subjected to the poor enunciation of my northern twang, but my friends can and will be. Don't trade a piece of your identity for the convenience of being more easily understood. The world is becoming homogenous enough as it is.

And food. Việt Nam's cities cater to most diasporas now, and I await the day a Union Jacks chippy opens in Hà Nội (tick tock, Mr Ryan). For now, the international shops stock Yorkshire Tea, Marmite and Walkers, and a decent Sunday roast is never far. I'll be fine.

All I'm really saying is this: you don't have to shed your local identity, or your connection to home, because you moved a few thousand miles. It's still a part of you, something to embrace rather than forget. I'm proud to have two homes, and lucky to miss them both so dearly. Hà Nội, I'll see you soon. VNS