Third Culture Kid Identity: From Everywhere and Nowhere

I’ve spent a long time feeling out of place. An in-between. Not quite from Here, but not quite from There. When I think about my childhood, it is disjointed and disconnected, and I crave so deeply to be integrated; to feel whole.

I was born in Singapore on a hot June night, thousands of miles from where my parents called Home (New Jersey). While on paper I was American, it would be eighteen years before I found myself within its borders. I was born into mobility, unaware that my childhood would be a kaleidoscope of blessings and curses trailing from sweltering Dubai to freezing Toronto, warm Guam beaches and tall Manila skyscrapers. This set me up for a lifetime of questioning: Where am I from?

Sometimes writing about this feels like trudging through mud. I can feel my brain straining to think of ways to braid the threads that feel so tangled, so disconnected from each other. How do I tell this story?

This year marks ten years since I moved to the United States—the longest I’ve lived in one country. While I’ve moved apartments and cities, a lot has stayed the same. I could drive by my college apartment or visit the coffee shop where my husband and I had our first date. I’ve lived somewhere long enough to be able to revisit these spaces that hold physical memories—versions of me that I’ve outgrown. What does it mean to have that, but also the elusive memories of me at eight years old staring out to the horizon on Tumon Beach in Guam? Or of the girl sitting at the bus stop in South Korea after experiencing a night of her mom’s heavy drinking? What about the high schooler, filled with fear and frustration at the cards she’d been dealt, sitting on a helicopter pad in Manila? How can I hold space for both?

I am torn between worlds. I am a paradox, a juxtaposition. I am from everywhere and nowhere. I am a third culture kid.

I’m terrified, but I need to start unpacking. My suitcase has been sitting in the corners of my mind for too many years, collecting cobwebs and holding memories begging to be released. I want to be cohesive, for my past to integrate into the present. Perhaps I am not torn between worlds, but encompassing worlds.

The zipper is slowly being undone.