I wrote the following article for online zine New Slang, published on Sunday, 11 April 2010.
I can still remember that one night back in college, at my part-time job calling alumni for donations, when the woman on the phone asked me the question I dreaded the most: “So, Erin, where are you from?”
I drew my breath, “I’m from the Philippines,”
“Oh, really? Where in the Philippines?”
“My family lives in Quezon City. It’s a part of the Greater Manila area, which is the capital.”
” . . . I see. Hold on while I get my husband.”
Thinking she had the phone muffled, she called for her husband, whom I was supposed to talked to.
“She says she’s calling from Grinnell College. And she says she’s from the Philippines, but she doesn’t have an accent. I don’t think she’s really from the Philippines.”
Answering a simple question like, “Where are you from?” means unloading all the baggage that comes with it. Many people may believe that there is a logical connection between where one is “from” and what he/she is supposed to sound like, but it is much more complicated than that. With the woman on the phone, I could almost see images of nurses, lumpia, and Imelda Marcos’s shoes flashing before her eyes as I carefully evaluated my choice of words, knowing that my answer would immediately shape her impression of me – what I looked like, what I liked to eat, what I believed in, and ultimately whether I could be trusted with her family’s hard-earned money.
While the conversation above took place in the United States, many people all over the world fall prey to the assumption that “where you are from” determines who you are. In the Philippine experience, I find it frustrating that the our cultural landscape places so much emphasis on standardizing the expression of Filipino identity. With these expectations in place, it remains a fruitless exercise in monitoring one’s level of Filipino-ness and thus a challenge to advocate for diversity in Filipino cultural identities.
My story may represent a tiny fraction of our population; however, it is significant given the global nature of the Filipino community. As Filipinos continue to live and grow in different parts of the world, our cultural identity will evolve.
I think I’ve always known I was a TCK. I have always had some degree of awareness of how unique (not superior) my background is, and I have been lucky to be surrounded by supportive family and friends who accept me for who I am. It is the best thing any person can ask for.
Unfortunately, not everyone is so lucky. Many TCKs get by without understanding their own emotions and experiences and with very little or no support from family and peers. Unfortunately, many Adult TCKs (ATCKs) have told stories about discovering a name for their identity much later in life, after years of experiencing depression and isolation. Many younger TCKs do not receive the support needed to weather the complex layers of change they encounter during their formative years. Many TCKs feel lost and feel they do not belong anywhere. More than anything, they need people who understand them and a support system that can address their needs and can help them find acceptance.
Since the use online social networks became more ubiquitous, more avenues for connecting people of similar interests and backgrounds have cropped up. Among these were groups dedicated to third culture kids, connecting global nomads to one another regardless of physical distance. As conversations unfolded, so did the rumblings of something larger: a shared dedication to realizing a world where there is an acceptance of a diversity that runs deeper than race, nationality, ethnicity, linguistic background, religious beliefs, or sexual orientation, and encompasses an infinite spectrum of experiences and identities.
From here, individuals in the TCK community began a more organized approach to fulfill this vision. One of the organizations at the forefront of this movement is TCKID, a non-profit community organization founded by Brice Royer and dedicated to connecting TCKs to each other and to resources that address TCKs’ unique needs. Some of the projects that have been implemented include weekly chats with TCK volunteers, organizing local TCKID groups in numerous cities across North America, Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and Africa, and a TCK research arm. Future projects are in the works.
As these plans are underway, TCKID faces many of the same challenges growing organizations face. Fundamentally, TCKID needs the support of its community members and allies to continue building on its vision and providing the support system that is so important to TCKs.
We are asking anyone who identifies as a TCK, who grew up feeling torn between cultures, who had to say goodbye too many times to loved ones who kept coming and going, who has friends no matter where they go, or anyone with a loved one who identifies this way, to pledge their support. In doing so, TCKs everywhere will always have a resource to turn to and can be a step closer to building a diverse and understanding community.
I signed the pledge, because I believe that supporting third culture kids is a form of social justice and is tantamount to supporting all individuals with postmodern identities, beyond traditional definitions of identity. I want to work to build a community where all cultural identities and expressions are accepted. I also want to continue supporting others like myself. After living extensively in four countries through my formative and adult years, I understand how it feels to feel connected to different cultural contexts and still feel isolated. I want to provide an open mind and a listening ear and provide a sense of understanding. I am also very excited to see what the TCK community can accomplish together.
TCKs are a diverse and vibrant community, and I am proud to identify as one. I will continue advocating for TCKs and the vision they represent.
Let’s not lie. Everybody has a secret list of things that annoy the hell out of them, many of which are related to the things they are passionate about. Some of my book-worm friends hate it when people fold the corners of the pages. Other friends hate it when fellow movie-goers feel the need to give running commentary while the film is playing. I personally do not enjoy getting CDs that don’t have the clear strip on the side. They’re petty and illogical, but they’re there. They don’t necessarily make us bad people, but they make up the character and idiosyncrasies of every individual.
Naturally, I have pet peeves that are related to my experiences as a TCK. Because all of them are deeply connected to the experience of travel and living in multiple places, I realize that they come in danger of sounding snobby and elitist, especially to those who have not had as much experience with traveling. However, I’m not here to make some ground-breaking insight or social analysis. I may even be guilty of committing some of these myself. I just write to talk about my perspective for others to learn about. If it makes you re-examine some of your previous beliefs and knowledge, then more power to you. If not, here’s hoping you get a good laugh out of it.
And without further ado, here are my Top 10 TCK-Related Pet Peeves.
- Mispronunciation. I find it absolutely jarring when I hear someone mispronounce a word that I know. This applies to both native-speakers and non-native speakers who try to inject foreign words in their vocabulary. I can’t emphasize enough the number of times I felt like driving a pencil through my eye every time I heard President George W. Bush or my high school Theory of Knowledge teacher say “nuke-you-ler” in public. Where did that extra syllable come from? Similarly, I get a sudden fit of rashes when I hear people here in the Philippines mispronounce commonly used English words like “category” (kah-TEH-go-REE) or when my principal in first grade tried to tell us that you can also say it “Wed-NES-day”. My inner Anthro major tries to remind me that pronunciation is culturally relative, just like how I used to say “CON-tribute” and “DIS-tribute” before I moved to the U.S. and changed it to “con-TRI-bute” and “dis-TRI-bute”. I will try to remember that the next time I feel like cutting a bitch when I hear someone say “EYE-raq”.
- Does not apply to: People genuinely trying to learn another language.
- When entire continents are one big country. I have lost count of the number of people I met who would nonchalantly describe their overseas adventures “in Africa”, “in Central America”, or “in Europe”. As if that really tells me anything. In case no one got the memo, each of those places have many countries, with their diverse set of languages, traditions, and histories. Lumping them all together by referring to their continents or regions gives others the impression that all of its countries are exactly the same and indiscernible. Anyone who really made the most of their experience abroad and didn’t spend all of it with the expat community or getting drunk the entire time will probably have an easier time telling India and Thailand apart.
- Stupid stereotypes. I’m not just talking about racism, although that is a big one, too. I’m talking about the preconceived notions people project about a place based on inflated representations from the media — things like believing that everyone in the Caribbean is a pot-smoking, reggae-listening, Jah-worshipping, dreadlock-sporting rasta, or that everyone in the Middle East is an Islamic extremist who hates the U.S. The worst part is when people sincerely ask me how I could live in or have friends from such places. “Gosh, Erin,” they would say, “are your Black friends gangsters?” Or, “Wow, the Caribbean!” they would exclaim, “Did you leave by the beach? Were you friends with those rasta dudes? Yah, mon, I love Bob Marley!” And so on. I would say something about how people are just people and do not serve as caricatures of the cultures you think they represent. But that would be too much work.
- “Why do you speak English so well?” This is an idiotic question, usually asked by native English speakers in places where English is the national language. People who think about posing this question might as well ask, “Why do you use your brain?” Basically, you lay bare your assumption that anyone who appears to be a foreigner can’t be a native English speaker or appear competent when in foreign situations. Asking me this question is an insult to my intelligence and is an annoyance considering I’ve spoken English my entire life. Don’t ever think about asking this question to anyone, or I will hunt you down and hurt you.
- Does not apply to: Admission officers who want to know why you want to waiver your TOEFL requirement. Because the TOEFL is an expensive waste of time.
- “Do you know my friend?” It’s amazing how, despite the rapidly rising global population, people still think that you know his or her friend Jack just because you come from or live in the same country. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a big fan of the idea that everyone in the world is somehow connected and have found some ridiculous connections between all the people I have ever known growing up. But I encourage everyone to drop the idea that the rest of the world lives in these large, communal villages where everybody knows each other.
- Does not apply to: Small towns. Or if you are really powerful and important and knows a lot of people.
(to be continued)
Here in the Philippines, All Saints Day and All Souls Day have been declared working holidays. Many Filipinos are taking the time to visit cemeteries all over the country, where they can reunite with loved ones, honor the dearly departed, and find another excuse to eat good food together. I am sure it can be fun, but I never grew up with it, mostly because we were abroad.
At work, many of my colleagues had been preparing for the holiday for weeks, anticipating the time when they get to go home and see their families again. Some had asked me where I was going for the holiday, and, among these conversations, the question “What province are you from?” popped up.
For readers who aren’t familiar with the question, colloquially, the “province” basically refers to any region in the Philippines that isn’t Metro Manila. Technically, Metro Manila, or the National Capital Region, is also its own province. However, I have found that many do not consider this when using the term “province”. According to Wikipedia, the same meaning is also applied to the term “province” in France, Peru, and Romania.
Much like the question “Where are you from?”, the question “What province are you from?” seeks to gauge who you are culturally, amidst the vast diversity that exists throughout the 7,107 islands. What province you are from apparently tells others what language you speak, what kind of food you like to eat, what religion you follow, and so on.
Like the question “Where are you from?”, I generally do not have any personal problem with other people asking, “What province are you from?” I know that, generally, there is a genuine social need to answer this question. However, my problem does lie in how to answer it.
First, even without the third culture kid aspect of my life, I have a problem answering the question, simply because I never lived anywhere in the country outside of Metro Manila. When I say this to people like my co-workers, many are genuinely surprised, as they themselves grew up outside of the city and only came here for school and work. The province is still considered “home”. To assuage their surprise and curiosity (and possibly any thoughts of my being a “city brat”), I just tell them I grew up abroad, and somehow that makes it more understandable.
Second, I often find myself answering the question by telling other people where my parents are from. However, I still don’t think this says anything about me. I have visited my dad’s hometown in Bicol and my mom’s family in Quezon many times. The most time I had ever spent outside of the metro and its connected suburbs (where my high school is located) was about three weeks or a month in Bicol. However, I don’t really feel like any of these places have influenced or define me. I don’t speak Bikolano, and even my mom’s Tagalog is different when she is with her family. I am also not knowledgeable about the way of life in both places. So, I feel like I’m just telling a half-truth when I answer the question “What province are you from?” in this manner.
Nonetheless, it still appears to be very useful when I tell other people what provinces my parents are from. Last week, I took a cab home with a particularly chatty driver. He told me he was from Bicol, and I ended up telling him that my dad was, too. Even though I told him that I didn’t speak any Bikolano, he was still very excited and proceeded to tell me about all the other Bikolano people he met here in the city. He told me that the cab he drove was operated by a fellow Bikolano, who basically gave him a lot of flexibility with the cab, even telling him that he could own a cab of his own one day. He told me about another passenger he once had, whose father was also from Bicol, and she said that, even though she also didn’t speak any Bikolano, she knew she was a true Bikolana because she really liked spicy food. We then had a good laugh and started a conversation about spicy food, including the famous Bicol Express. Provincial affinity is clearly still very important to many people here.
While I cannot relate to it, I have always wondered what it would have been like to grow up in the province. My mom likes to tell me outrageous stories from her hometown that somehow always involve faeries, duendes, or creepy neighbors standing outside of your window waiting for you to die. Many of the old folks from that area still believe in many of these stories, and will talk about them matter-of-factly at family gatherings. My dad’s side of the family also had a family reunion a few years ago, and I didn’t know most people and lost track of how I was related to everyone. Despite my own very culturally rich upbringing throughout the world, in a way, I feel like I have missed out on something just as valuable and, in a way, that is a part of who I am.
I will never be comfortable with telling people about what province I am “from”. However, I may consider looking for some ghosts or stopping by the cemetery in my dad’s hometown someday to light a few candles and perhaps enjoy some barbecue.
This past weekend, I found my old personal diary from the 5th and 6th grade. 1994 was the year I moved back to the Philippines from Grenada, and I wrote my thoughts about it throughout the year. I will also write about other moves in future installments.
Check out the mid-90s pop culture references!
This morning my dad said we are going back to the Philippines . . . I don’t want to. Everything I love is in Grenada. I told [my friend] and she said maybe I could stay with her. I’m trying not to cry right now. I don’t want to leave . . . I hope my dad is telling a lie. Grenada is my country and no one can change that. Period.
September 29, 1994
. . . Well, [my friend] came again today. I told him we were going back to the Philippines for good. I don’t know how he feels, but I don’t LIKE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. Oh well, my life is already ruined anyway.
October 5, 1994
My dad got reservations today. We’re leaving 7:30 A.M on BWIA next week. I think my life is ruined. I really try to look in the bright side. In the Philippines, I get to go to SM and go shopping. I’ll get new clothes. But they don’t sell cool stuff like what they wear here in Grenada. Oh well. Gotta tell everyone now.
October 8, 1994
I feel so sad about leaving soon. I love Grenada. We have to donate our children’s puppet show to the school. But my dad promised me we will get another one. I will get new clothes in the Philippines. I don’t want to wear a uniform [to school]. I look gross.
October 12, 1994
Well, I feel much better now about my trip. We went by [our family friends’] and they want me to go to Megamall and all sorts of places. I ♥ Megamall. Oh yeah, they also have German, French, Chinese, and Japanese schools.
October 13, 1994
Oh I’m going to cry! Today was definitely the best day of my life. [Our family friend] made my cake for class. It was beautiful and delicious. The secondary class ♥ it . . . My whole class gave me a card. It was so wonderful. I don’t wanna leave. I could just cry just now.
October 14, 1994
I’m in Miami now. In the Everglades Hotel. I miss Grenada already.
October 16, 1994
I’m in the Philippines and I’m crying. I wanna go back to Grenada . . . “Always” [by Erasure] is No. 1 in the Philippines, [my brother] said. The little Tagalog speaker.
October 17, 1994
Today I had my exam [at my new school]. It was pretty easy. I slept a lot during the afternoon. I finished Super Street Fighter 2 and Clay Fighter. It was pretty fun. I wanna go back to Grenada still. But I’m starting to get used to this place. I really like 94.7 radio station. It has a lot of the stuff I know. Well, nothing else to write.
October 20, 1994
Today was my first day at [my new school]. I made a lot of friends.
October 25, 1994
Today we had computer class again. I think typing is so hard. Anyway, nobody sat with me for lunch today. I think those girls hate me.
November 2, 1994
Today was OK. Dad and I went to Megamall and went around. I wanted to buy an Ace of Base video but they didn’t have it. Well, Goonies is on TV and I was sent to bed. I don’t want to. Well, I’m starting to think less about Grenada. (Oh my god.) Gotta go.
January 10, 1995
Today was another bad day too. I get a C+ for my health. I never felt so retarded in my life. If those people from Grenada heard that, they would call me retarded and all kinda thing. I learned some Chinese characters today and they make me see how unartistic I am. My life is breaking up again.
January 11, 1995
Today is the last day of school of the week. We are stuck with a whole bunch of homework for the weekend. I’m not really that excited about the science fair. I don’t feel like going to school anymore. It doesn’t seem worth it anymore. I don’t care if I end up retarded. What I really need is a break from myself and my life. I want to have a vacation. A long one. I don’t want to come back.
February 13, 1995
Today I got a letter from Grenada! It is from my class! They have not changed . . . [They say] nothing has been going on in Grenada. Oh I ♥ those letters so much.
February 22, 1995
Today was just like a normal school day. But they gave me a new name and call me Granada Bomb because I told them about Grenada. That is really silly.
March 1, 1995
. . . Today [these girls] were fighting about me. “Oh Erin, sit with me!” I sat with [my friend] instead. It’s good that I did. I’m in a new club called Friends 4 Ever . . . I ♥ this week.
I love being the foreigner. There is something very exciting about being outside of your comfort zone and being forced into a position where all you can do is learn and adapt. There is also something very reassuring and even liberating about knowing that you can be exempt from the rules, that your social faux pas or bumbling awkwardness in new situations are excused, because you are the foreigner. Anyone who has ever been a tourist or visitor may understand how this feels.
Having lived in different places, TCKs are used to being the foreigner. Living in a new town or country means having to learn and adopt an entirely new set of social and cultural norms, often much deeper and more nuanced than the more immediate and superficial needs of tourists and visitors. More mobile TCKs undergo this process more frequently, many times developing high adaptability skills, while other times developing a resistance to adapting. Either way, a constant state of foreign-ness contributes to the TCK’s cultural identity. Some of my friends and I have talked about how our love for travel and move to other countries is in part related to our desire to, once again, be the foreigner.
However, in this particular area, I think that the biggest challenge for TCKs is figuring out when they are the “foreigner” and when they are the “native”. How does one gauge whether he/she has learned enough of the local culture or lived long enough in one place to say that he/she feels like an insider? Is it even OK for a “foreigner” to say they are “native” to a place, even if they were not born or grew up there, or possess the corresponding passport? This all goes back to the root question, “Where are you from?” Because there are so many assumptions that come with one’s ethnic or national background, it becomes hard for a TCK to answer how one feels about any place he or she has lived in.
The tension between being the foreigner and being the native is just as pronounced whether someone is in “at home” or “away”. As a repatriated TCK, I can safely say that I sometimes struggle with figuring out how I feel in my passport country. I have lived here a total of 11 years (and then some), albeit non-consecutively. Most of my family is here, some of my friends are still here, I speak Tagalog well enough to get by, and I care about what happens here. I don’t have any problem with saying I feel at home here.
I recognize that my experience growing up here is not a “typical” experience shared by the majority of Filipinos. I attended an international school for seven years. My teachers were expats, and my friends included Tagalog-speaking Australians and non Tagalog-speaking Filipinos. We spoke a different form of English that was somewhere between American and Filipino, with a smattering of swear words from every language imaginable. Instead of reading Florante at Laura and Noli Me Tangere, I read The House of the Spirits and One Hundred Years of Solitude. Instead of taking Filipino, I took French. Instead of going to college at the age of 16 or 17, I graduated high school at 18, after taking two years of IB. While the school was in the Philippines, it existed within its own, very atypical bubble. Even my friends who had grown up attending only that skill and never left the Philippines felt very different from their university classmates. How different is their experience from a TCK who grew up someplace where they were foreigners by citizenship? Since the school was in the Philippines, could we still be natives?
There have been quite a few people who tried to question whether I am truly Filipino or not. I have had Americans ask me why I don’t speak English with my “real accent”, and I have had Filipinos tell me that I must not really be Filipino because of my opinions. One of my most memorable incidents happened in college, after about three years of living in the U.S. One of my jobs was to call alumni to update our campus records and ask for donations. The wife of one of my assigned contacts picked up the phone and struck up a brief conversation with me before handing the phone to her husband (the actual alum).
“So, Erin, where are you from?” she asked.
“Oh, I am from the Philippines,” was my brief answer.
“Oh, really? Where in the Philippines?”
“Oh, my family lives in [city name]. It’s a part of the Greater Manila area, which is the capital.”
” . . . I see. Hold on while I get my husband.”
Thinking she had the phone muffled, she went ahead and called for her husband.
“She says she’s calling from [college name]. And she says she’s from the Philippines, but she doesn’t have an accent. I don’t think she’s really from the Philippines.”
I was very irritated to hear her say that, though I can kind of understand her doubt. As I have said before, the question “Where are you from?” raises expectations and assumptions about your behavior. Since I told her that I was an international student, a foreigner, living in the United States, she expected me to sound foreign, with “an accent”. When the sound of my voice shattered her expectations, thereby making myself unfit for any of the categories in her head, she instead resorted to doubt. Apparently, people seem to think you can only be completely foreign or completely native, leaving no room for fitting anywhere in between.
David Pollock and Ruth van Reken, who wrote the book Third Culture Kids, created this chart to illustrate different ways to relate to one’s host culture (credit to Mr. Atkins for the chart). Each framework is characterized by the individual’s mental and physical similarity to the host culture. As we can see, increasing adjustment difficulty increases as there becomes more dissonance between the two characteristics and that of the host culture, particularly with thinking. Perhaps this may explain why my American accent juxtaposed with my Filipino heritage appears to confuse the American on the phone, or why my inability to get outraged about a couple of TV shows brings Filipinos to question the degree with which I belong to my heritage.
In one of my Anthropology seminars in college, we read an article called, When Anthropology is Home: The Different Contexts of a Single Discipline, by Mariza Peirano. In her article, Peirano discusses the recontextualizing of how we look at people by blurring the lines between traditional dichotomies, such as home vs. abroad, insider vs. outsider, and native vs. foreigner. By doing so, we avoid using a framework of Other-ness, or seeing people as fitting neatly into either native or foreigner categories. Furthermore, she argues that each person must assume multiple roles or identities — both insider and outsider, both native and foreigner — to garner as close a representation of a place as possible, for “‘others’ are both ourselves and those relatively different from us, whom we see as part of the same collectivity.” Basically, to have a better understanding of a place, you must study it from all perspectives.
I completely agree. I have been around and heard from too many people who have preconceived notions or stereotypes about a place they have never been to or only experienced briefly. I have also had enough of people who have hyper-inflated opinions about where they live and do not have experience with seeing it from an outsider’s point of view. It is because of people like this that there continue to be rigid notions of who is a native and who is a foreigner (“either you are with us or against us”). Because TCKs have lived in different places, often away from and moving between “hometowns” or passport countries, they have experienced being the foreigner and the native. As a result, while there is tension and personal difficulties with adjustment and fitting in, there is also the potential for a unique and expanded worldview that may offer unconventional insights into many different issues.
I hope this will encourage TCKs to speak out and be involved in activities or organizations that can make a difference. Your experience and personal insight may be what is needed to help create change.
(to be continued)
A third culture kid (TCK) has been defined as:
“A person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture. The TCK builds relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership of any. Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the TCK’s life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of a similar background.” (Pollock)
What does this mean? It means that my years growing up and living in South Korea, the Philippines, Grenada, and then the United States affected me, my cultural identity, and worldview in ways that make me different from a person who has lived in the same town, city, or country. Not better or superior; just different.
TCKs inhabit a cross-cultural and highly mobile environment. As a result, they are described as culturally sensitive, multilingual, possess high adaptability, and have truly multi-cultural perspectives and thought processes. Many writers and scholars have said that TCKs are the model citizens of the future global society, as they are products of a postmodern world where political borders and cultural differences cease to matter. As a TCK, I believe that being able to understand diverse perspectives can certainly benefit the world and can change how people view things like race, culture, nationalism, heritage, and the general idea of difference. I think that being a TCK is what interested me in majoring in Anthropology. While it all sounds very romantic, TCKs also face some key issues that tend to further confuse their own sense of identity.
One of the biggest (if not the most important) issues TCKs face personally is grappling with the idea of where “home” is. This is especially pronounced when faced with the question, “Where are you from?” I feel that TCKs are particularly sensitive to the implications of the question “Where are you from?”, which exacerbates the anguish of finding an appropriate answer. The question “Where are you from?” is loaded with expectations that wherever you lay your head at the end of the day dictates who you are, what your family is like, what religion you practice, what food you like to eat, and even what color your skin should be. This leads to the deeper assumption that where one lives or where one is a citizen must automatically be one’s “culture”, leading to a lot of stereotyping. Because TCKs grow up with diverse experiences and tend to be highly mobile, where one lays his/her head at the end of the day tends to change and can often be at odds with what kind of person you are. As a result, TCKs will argue that one’s parents’ cultures and one’s host culture are no indication of their cultural identity. Of course, they may be influenced by both, as they will undoubtedly be raised by parents who may identify with their own cultures and will have contact with the locals of the host culture. Nonetheless, because they do not have full ownership of either as a foreigner, TCKs inhabit an in-between space where they are products of both yet do not claim full identification with either. This in-between space is termed the “third culture”, hence the name “third culture kid.”
To illustrate, I don’t have “a hometown” in the conventional sense. The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines hometown as “the city or town where one was born or grew up; also : the place of one’s principal residence.” First, since I grew up in many places, by definition, I have more than one hometown. As a result, I feel uncomfortable with the idea that home is just one place. One can have homes all over the world. Second, the idea of a “principal residence” seems to me like a relative term, especially when one is mobile. Up until July, my “principal residence” was my apartment in Des Moines. Obviously, I don’t live there anymore, but does that then stop Des Moines from being my hometown? I feel that the idea of a hometown is another one of those ways to gauge where one “is from.” The conventional idea behind a hometown lead others to believe that, because I was born in Korea, I must speak Korean, or that, since I lived in Grenada, I must have some Afro-Caribbean ancestry and inserted the word “mon” at the end of every sentence. I don’t or didn’t do any of these things, but I did live and go to school in both countries, I ate local cuisine, I was friends with my neighbors, and my family shopped at all the same places that everyone else did. If that doesn’t make a place a home, then I don’t know what does.
The other important issue for TCKs is a sense of unresolved grief. High mobility allows TCKs to experience many different cultures, either through moving or by having friends come and go. While this lends itself to a more cross-cultural lifestyle, it also sets the TCK up for feelings of loss and culture shock that may or may not be addressed fully, due to pressure to adapt to the new environment. Homesickness also pervades as a form of grief, where TCKs often miss their old homes and must deal with the question of whether they will be able to return.
During my teenage years, I remember constantly badgering my dad about when we could go visit Grenada again. To this day, I still have not gone back for a visit. I still think about it a lot. However, I was able to visit Korea when I was 19, right before I started college. It is really funny how a physical place can elicit such a visceral reaction in a person. Little things like a storefront or a street corner brought back so many memories I didn’t even know I had, of afternoon strolls or morning walks to school. I revisited old haunts and was able to go to the hospital where I was born and meet the woman who helped me come into the world. Despite not having lived there in 14 years, in a way, being there made me feel complete and like I had found my way home again. Even just two months ago, when I had a stopover in Seoul, I felt at ease looking out the window and knowing that I was nearer to all the spaces I had once inhabited. I hope to someday go and visit again. I also hope that one day soon, I can feel the same way upon setting foot in Grenada and the U.S. again.
I’m not worried, though. To a TCK, the world is so small that distance is never an issue. When the next trip comes is only a matter of when.
(to be continued)