We eat much the same here as we did back home – rice and meat for lunch and dinner, while breakfast is fried eggs, chapatis and sometimes also honey,
a tradition started by my little brother Atal, though his favourite Birmingham discovery is Nutella sandwiches.
But there are always leftovers. My mother is sad about the waste of food.
I know she is remembering all the children we fed in our house, so they would not go to school on empty stomachs, and wondering how they are faring now.
When I came home from school in Mingora I never found my house without people in it;
now I can't believe that I used to plead for a day of peace and some privacy to do my school work.
Here the only sound is of the birds and Khushal's Xbox.
I sit alone in my room doing a jigsaw puzzle and long for guests.
We didn't have much money and my parents knew what it was like to be hungry.
My mother never turned anyone away.
Once a poor woman came, hot, hungry and thirsty, to our door.
My mother let her in and gave her food and the woman was so happy.
'I touched every door in the mohalla and this was the only one open,' she said.
'May God always keep your door open, wherever you are.'