The issues my parents faced living in a foreign land never truly dawned on me until I began living abroad alone, and that "dawning" was only a superficial realisation. Growing up, I found my parents uncouth and I was annoyed by the seemingly unending confusion and embarrassment they bestowed upon me: why did they have to speak Vietnamese so loudly in public?

When you're living in a strange place, it's all too easy to focus on what's missing and what's wrong. That's particularly true at this time of year, when the holidays are close and family feels far and the weather turns icy and it's pitch black at 4 p.m. like the place is run by goddam vampires.

Language evolves. I get that. But it was jarring to arrive in London from New York and hear the degree to which so many American expatriates allow the slang of our host country to colonize their speech.

It's late Tuesday night after work and I'm elbow-deep in a bowl of pumpkin batter for my daughter's London preschool class. The children are encouraged to share with the class their Special Cultural Traditions. This week is Thanksgiving.