What does Home mean to you? I'm Jimmy Famire, writer, broadcaster and restaurant critic,

and I've been speaking to well-known names about what Home means to them.

And it was in the East End, it was in Burmese.

When Burmese was rough.

I remember thinking, none of the boys are going to fancy me.

Gourd-Borotti and a chicken curry, you are full, you are connected to your culture,

and you may get a heart attack.

That's Where's Home Really, with me Jimmy Famera.

Find it wherever you're listening to this. Welcome to Wednesday one, the series where we share an extra story with you to help you get through your week.

This time around we have a story from a listener named Neebs.

This was over a decade ago, but my family and I used to live in a country somewhere

in West Asia. I'd rather not disclose exactly where for privacy. Growing up my parents and I often visited this small local

mall during the weekends. This particular night my mom and I were browsing in a

shop that sold watches.

Being a nine-year-old kid, I was minding my own business,

looking around the store, while my mom was chatting with the clerk.

There were two store clerks at this time. Not long

after the first clerk passed my mom over to another clerk so that she could look at

other selections. As my mom and the second clerk walked to the other side of the store, the

original clerk approached me and tried to make conversation with me. I can't really remember what this guy was saying, but I sure remember

him getting far too close for comfort. In my little kid mind, I knew that this was a red flag, but I simply did not know what to do since I was backed up into a corner.

He began to touch my shoulder at first, then my hair. I tried evading him by running to my mother's

...