Not always geographically. Sometimes emotionally. Sometimes because life made the decision for me.

And sometimes because, quite simply, I decided I wanted something different.

I was born in the UK, but at six months old my parents moved our family to Kenya. Kenya became home. It was where I grew up, where I formed my earliest memories and where my understanding of family, culture and belonging was shaped.

Then, at 16, I was sent back to the UK on my own to go to high school and university (as was the case with a lot of south asian children from East Africa).

At an age when most teenagers are worrying about homework, friendships and what they’re going to wear at the weekend, I was learning how to navigate a new country, a new life and adulthood without my parents beside me!

Looking back, I think that experience taught me something that has stayed with me ever since: I could figure things out.

So I did.

I stayed in the UK through my 20s, studied, worked and built a life. I followed the path that, at the time, seemed to make sense.

And then, at 32, I did something that probably made much less sense to everyone else.

I moved to Melbourne, Australia.

Alone.

I didn’t have a husband waiting for me. I didn’t have children. I wasn’t following someone else’s career. I wasn’t moving because it was the next logical step.

I just wanted to see what life might look like somewhere else.

And Australia became another chapter.

Melbourne first. Then Perth. Then Sydney.

Fourteen years of building a life on the other side of the world.

There were adventures and friendships and new beginnings. There were also lonely moments, uncertainty, mistakes and all the ordinary messiness that comes with creating a life from scratch.

At 37, I met the man who would become my husband.

At 42, we got married.

And we had a little girl.

Suddenly, my story wasn’t just about me anymore.

And now I’m 46.

We’ve just moved back to the UK.

Another move. Another country. Another beginning.

Except this time feels different.

Because I’m not 16, leaving home alone.

I’m not 32, arriving in Melbourne with the freedom to build whatever life I wanted.

I’m a wife. I’m a mother. I’m 46.

And we’re figuring it out.

What do we want this next chapter to look like?

Where do we want to live?

What does home mean now?

What kind of life do we want to create for our daughter?

And, perhaps the question I’ve been circling around for a while:

What do I want?

Not what should I want.

Not what makes sense on paper.

Not what other people expect from a woman my age.

What do I want?

Maybe that’s what turning 40 teaches you.

That the rules you thought were permanent were often just expectations.

As South Asian women, many of us grow up with a blueprint:

Study.

Work hard.

Make your family proud.

Get married.

Have children.

Build a home.

Be successful.

Be a good daughter.

Be a good wife.

Be a good mother.

Look after everyone.

Don’t disappoint anyone.

And somewhere in amongst all of that, we’re often expected to somehow remain effortlessly happy, healthy, attractive, successful and grateful.

But what happens when you reach your 30s, your 40s and beyond and realise that the life you’re living doesn’t quite match the life you imagined?

Or perhaps it does—but you’ve realised there are parts of yourself you’ve put on hold along the way.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot.

Because I’ve made some pretty unconventional choices in my life.

I’ve left countries.

I’ve started again.

I’ve travelled alone.

I’ve built new lives.

I’ve taken risks.

And yet I still find myself asking permission sometimes.

Permission to want more.

Permission to change my mind.

Permission to put myself first.

Permission to not have the next ten years completely figured out.

Maybe that’s the contradiction.

We can be incredibly independent women and still carry the expectations we grew up with.

We can cross continents alone and still worry about disappointing our parents.

We can build successful careers and still feel guilty for putting ourselves first.

We can become mothers and realise that somewhere along the way we’ve disappeared a little bit inside the role.

And perhaps choosing yourself isn’t one grand, dramatic act.

Maybe it’s a series of small choices.

Saying no.

Taking the trip.

Going for the walk.

Changing careers.

Making the appointment.

Leaving the relationship.

Starting the business.

Having the difficult conversation.

Spending money on yourself without guilt.

Resting.

Trying something new.

Or simply admitting: I’m not sure what I want yet, but I’m willing to find out.

Welcome to Chai & Choices

This is why I’m starting Chai & Choices.

It’s a space for conversations about life as a woman in your 30s, 40s and beyond.

About culture and the expectations we inherit.

About wellness—not as another thing we’re supposed to be perfect at, but as learning to actually care for ourselves.

About travel and the freedom that comes from seeing the world, sometimes alone and sometimes with the people we love.

About relationships, motherhood, friendship, careers, identity and starting again.

About getting older.

About changing your mind.

About becoming someone you didn’t expect to become.

And most importantly, about choosing yourself.

I don’t have all the answers.

I’m not writing from the other side of some perfectly curated life.

I’m writing from the middle of it.

At 46, I’ve lived in different countries, built different versions of myself, fallen in love, become a mother and moved back to the country where my story began.

And now I’m figuring out what comes next.

Maybe you’re figuring it out too.

Maybe you’re 31 and wondering whether you’ve left it too late.

Maybe you’re 38 and questioning a life that looks perfect from the outside.

Maybe you’re 43 and wondering who you are now that the children are growing up.

Maybe you’re 50 and realising that there’s still so much you want to do.

Or maybe you simply woke up one morning and thought: Is this really the life I want?

If you have, you’re in the right place.

So, pour yourself a cup of chai.

Let’s talk.

And let’s make some choices.