When my dad visited me in London recently, I took him for a classic English afternoon tea at The Ritz Hotel. The thought of showing him a piece of authentic British life excited me for weeks, so when we finally sat down in the Ritz's elegant tearoom, beneath its tall and decorated ceilings, with the sound of a pianist in the background, I was thrilled.

I looked at the polished silver tea stand topped with finely cut sandwiches, freshly baked scones, and mouthwatering pastries and teacakes. I was ready to dig in.

Then I looked at Dad and a trace of nervousness flashed across his face. He carefully copied what I ate and how to use the knife and fork, and from time to time anxiously looked up at the stern waiter in his bow tie who was serving our table, as if seeking reassurance for his behavior.

When we got to the scones, Dad took a big bite and remarked how delicious it was. In China, we don't have scones, but Dad had long heard about them from European stories, so eating scones for real made his day.

He asked me to explain how the British eat scones, so I duly supplied him with details about the custom of breaking scones into small pieces, spreading clotted cream and strawberry jam on top, before consuming each piece in one mouthful.

"Oh, why did you not tell me earlier?" Dad's face turned red in embarrassment, suddenly realizing his mistake. For the rest of the scones session, he busied himself with neatly spreading the cream and jam like an obedient child.

Suddenly, I felt a complex mixture of happiness, sadness and loneliness. Growing up, Dad was my hero, my mountain. I still remember flying into his arms after school at the kindergarten gate in Chengdu, capital of Sichuan province. With guiding hands, Dad led me through the busy roads between school and home. Through the sound of his voice, I learned to feel and understand the world.

After moving to London alone, I have learned to achieve academic grades, found a job, and started a new life all by myself. But I did not fully realize how much I had grown up, until I saw how dependent Dad was on me in London. Although he is still a mountain in my heart, I realized I have in the meantime built a strong mountain of my own.

My British friends often share fond memories of their gap year in China with me, and although they don't appear to have accomplished anything groundbreaking there, often I am surprised by how much they had matured upon return.

For me, eight years of living in London was perhaps a longer version of this same gap year experience. London's multicultural and inclusive culture also created for me a supportive environment to develop independent thinking and try new experiences. And by being away from Dad's protective wings I have come to understand more of myself and to find my own place in the world.

Contact the writer at cecily.liu@mail.chinadailyuk.com