First, I remember leaving behind my best friend. Throughout my childhood, my immigrant Korean-American family moved a lot. That story of serial displacement is shared by the offspring of diplomats, military brats, and preachers’ kids, and so we inevitably ended up gravitating to each other as adults in increasingly far-flung but predictable settings. Boston. New York. London. Paris. Rome. On the face of things, my new friends and I had little in common, sharing neither playlists nor favourite films, let alone mother tongues or religious beliefs, and our financial situations were often wildly divergent, ranging from penury to obscene wealth. Beneath our chameleon skins, however, our insecurities were painfully similar. Deft speakers and excellent deflectors, we were champions at making new friends and giving them up, at living small and blending in with locals as a form of camouflage. Adapting, always adapting. Out of habit. Sometimes to survive.