The new year of 2013 was a happy one when I was discharged from hospital in early January finally to live with my family again.
The Pakistan High Commission had rented two serviced apartments for us in a building in a modern square in the centre of Birmingham.
The apartments were on the tenth floor, which was higher than any of us had ever been before.
I teased my mother, as after the earthquake when we were in a three-storey building she said she would never again live in an apartment block.
My father told me that when they arrived she had been so scared that she had said, 'I will die in this lift!'
We were so happy to be a family again.
My brother Khushal was as annoying as always.
The boys were bored cooped up waiting for me to recover, away from school and their friends, though Atal was excited by everything new.
I quickly realised I could treat them how I liked and I wouldn't get told off.
It was a cold winter, and as I watched the snow falling outside through the big glass windows I wished I could run around and chase the snowflakes like we used to back home.
Sometimes we went for walks to build up my strength though I tired easily.
In the square was a fountain and a Costa coffee bar with glass walls through which you could see men and women chatting and mixing in a way that would be unthinkable in Swat.
The apartment was just off Broad Street, a famous road of shops, night clubs and stripbars.
We went to the shops though I still did not like shopping.