I was about four years old – at my grandmother’s place in Toulouse, France, where I was living at the time.

I’d lived there since I was 9 months old, when, after being born in Indonesia to my expatriate French parents, I came down with dysentery and nearly died.

I had already lived in different worlds. But less than a year from when this photo was taken, I would be taken to yet another – Australia.

What I see in this photo is a cherished little girl, the centre of a universe of three women – my grandmother and two aunts; and one man – my dashing but slightly alarming grandfather.

What I distinctly remember is the softness of the cushions, the smell of the cooking coming from the kitchen, the crunch and fragrance of a sugared violet under my tongue, and the slippery feeling of the polished floor under my soft slippers.