My shoes were 11 years old.

I remember buying them in an outlet mall somewhere in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina. Black strappy heels from Nine West, a little too tight at a US size 9 (my feet are actually a 9.5-10 but you’d be surprised what you’ll do for a cute pair of shoes). I wore those shoes for just a short while in NC before boarding a plane with just enough clothes to get me by. My cute shoes were packed in a packing carton by a team of professionals who came in my house with a clipboard and exited it with a container which would be freighted to me.

I didn’t see those shoes again for 6 months, when they turned up on the doorstep of my flat in Stockholm.

I have worn those shoes off and on for 11 years. 11 years of laughter at a dinner party, of being paired with a flouncy skirt, of dipping in and out of nice occasions. I wore those shoes to Ascot the first time I went. I wore those shoes to Monaco at a posh dinner.

I wore those shoes today. Paired with a white cotton skirt with black polka dots and a black sleeveless top, to celebrate the emergence of the sun. The last time I wore that outfit I had a giant hat on as I was taken to the races at Goodwood. I am all of those people of the past and, frankly, none of them.

I wore those shoes today as I sat with 13 other people from all over – Burundi, Gambia, Thailand, The Philippines, Japan, Zimbabwe, Canada, Libya – and I took an oath.

Today I sang a song that I’ve always known as “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” in a slightly different way.

Today I attended a citizenship ceremony as presided over a Registrar that was – ironically – American.

Almost 11 years after leaving the US, today I became a dual citizen. Today I am officially both American and British.

Much like the rest of my family.

My shoes, they need to make their own case for citizenship. For now, on to the bubbly.

-S.