Denizen for third culture kids

So, here are our words of advice, the things we would’ve told our freshman year selves, if we could. It’s not dressed up, it’s not loaded with research. Honest thoughts, in our own words, from real Third Culture Kids.

I’m not pretending to be an expert, but for international students moving to the United States, there are many factors to consider that may be obvious to American students but not as clear to those coming from abroad.

It may seem obvious, but taking the time to say proper goodbyes is critical. People often subconsciously withdraw from relationships as they’re about to leave. So, instead of clocking out from your relationships early, make a point of letting friends and family know just how much you care.

You may not know how to drive, but odds are your new American friends will be more than willing to drag you on a crazy cross-country bender courtesy of the nation’s interstate highway system. Adventures and hilarity will surely ensue in the land of Route 66.

In Jakarta, Indonesia, there is an obscure-looking bar and art gallery that is quietly inviting. I passed it while on my ojek (Indonesian slang for motorbikes), and after it caught my eye, I turned around and went to check out the place. It’s called the Tree House.

I have been wonderfully spoiled by all the places I have lived. There are little facets in each of the different countries that I wholly adore, and I always wonder if I can find a single place in the world that has all of these benefits.

Why did I feel disconnected from the collective American experience? Why wasn’t I forging stronger ties with my American peers? It wasn’t until I watched “Neither Here Nor There” that I was able to make better sense of this strange quarter-life cultural crisis.

Hosni Mubarak won with 99% of the vote. In my innocence, I wondered why Egypt’s president was so well liked, compared with the contempt with which we held American politicians.

When I was finally 18 and at home from my first semester of college I told my parents I wanted to try alcohol. It wasn’t planned, it just came out – it was time. All my friends were fairly deep into their drinking careers having started much earlier, 14 to 16 being about the norm for most Third Culture Kids.

I’ve landed, but where am I? In German, to arrive, “ankommen,” is understood to be a longer process, one that could take days or weeks.

I was 23 years old and scared. Scared that I was turning into a corporate robot… scared that I was letting the best years of my life slip by as I sat in a cube and fiddled with Excel.

When I’m in Hong Kong, I feel like a Filipino and an American. When I’m in the U.S., I feel Filipino and Chinese. And when I’m in the Philippines, I feel like an American. My self-perception constantly shifts, even if I remain ethnically Filipino regardless of where I am.

The incident made me realize that my ability to live the life I want is entirely contingent on the whims of the American government. But perversely, this has only intensified my desire to stay in New York.

“This is a picture of grandpa,” I said as I looked at the unfamiliar landscape behind him. “Where is he in this photo?” My cousin peered over. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think this might have been Nigeria.”

It has always been clear to me that my children should feel proud of the cultures they were born into. In Sophie’s case, it’s living in Norway with a French-Salvadorian mother and a Norwegian father.

“We are a different breed,” TCK Lauren Abernethy said. “We understand moving all the time and accepting different cultures.”

When I travel, there is a tension between my mobility – where I go – and my identity – who I am. In Asia, I look Asian, but somehow I’m not. In Western countries, I’m Western, but somehow I’m not.

Now, some people would tell me to get a grip. I was going through the typical “Quarter-Life Crisis,” where a 20-something starts feeling anxious about their future. But as adult TCKs, we also face the unusual crossroads of wondering whether to stay put, or to remain a global nomad.

Growing up abroad with a limited flow of information meant that our pop culture DNA may be non-existent or slightly flawed. Nothing brings this truth more to light than a night playing trivia in Chicago.