Third Culture Kids

There's a term for people who were raised outside their own "birth culture" and then brought back in later. They're called "Third Culture Kids". There's even a support group for them... although most of the members are younger than me and tend to be diplomat's kids.

One of the things most of us have in common is an adjustment problem. My sister and I discussed this once, that she and I both are in a perpetual state of culture shock. Some days it's worse than others.

I'm sure most folks have no idea what I mean.
Have you ever gone into a new area of the world you've never been to before. It's exciting isn't it? Seeing new things, different things. Eat new food, maybe even learn a new language?
Well, imagine you had to move there. Things you might take for granted as a tourist become very important. You need to find a way to fit in, adapt to the environment of the location, the customs, the dress codes, the slang, etc. A part of you never will quite fit into your new social circle, chances are many of them have never traveled far or had these experiences. In the same instance, you have not shared many of the same experiences they did growing up. At some point in your relationships and interactions with these people, you'll have a moment where you realize you're not in on the joke, or that something you said just went completely over their heads.

I feel this way quite frequently. It's part of being a third culture kid. There's really no culture that fits except your family's.

I feel my sister and I are exceptionally close because of this. We may have had different experiences in the locations we lived as children, but we lived there together. Now, after two decades back in the States (on and off), I don't think either one of us has ever really felt at home anywhere. I know I haven't truly.

I had a kid, got married, got a degree, made mistakes, made good friends that I adore...

The location that has put me the closest to feeling completely comfortable has been inside airports.

Is that sick?

I have seen the Southern Cross

My inaugural post of the ramblings about my memories. They are in no particular order or priority, I will just be writing them as I am inspired to do so.

Back in the summer of 1989 I spent a few months with my family in New Caledonia just north of New Zealand off the Great Barrier Reef.

We lived in the main city of Noumea and our colonial era style house was perched on top of a hill overlooking the city. I remember that I could see a little bit of a marina down the hill through the trees. Our house was two levels, with the driveway and a kind of studio on the bottom and the main house on top. The living room had tons of windows which looked out down the hill.
During my family's time there, my sister had planted a small garden at the top and there was a very very short papaya tree on the edge of the yard which produced the most enormous (and completely flavorless) fruit I've ever had.
Our driveway and the lower level of the house were lined with tropical foliage, trees and hibiscus. My dad had a Citroen station wagon that had an hydrolic suspension. I remember the family piling into it before my dad would turn on the key, and the whole vehicle would rise up and bounce slightly like the beginning of some crazy circus ride.
I remember seeing gendarmes patrolling the area on bicycles and marveling at how strong they must be to get up and down the hills. Just about everyone under the age of 20 drove a moped and you could see them tooling around with groceries bulging out from their backpacks in the afternoons as they headed home from school or work or whatever it was they were doing during the day.
I stayed in the studio downstairs. My own room and bathroom where I wallowed in self pity that I was stuck 10,000 miles away from my boyfriend, my friends, my life back in Tucson.
Of course, it wasn't all the time... only when I was feeling lonely.
I spent quite a bit of time at the Noumea Aquarium at Anse Vata. It was across the street from the beach and had a pool inside where I could sit and pet turtles and nurse sharks all day if I wanted.
Sometimes dad and I would get hamburgers at this little stand on the Anse Vata beach across from his work.
Also, next to the compound where he and mom worked (they worked for an NGO similar to the UN but smaller), there was an entire field, empty of development, but completely covered with sleeping grass. I used to love going out there and touching one tiny leaf on one end of the field and watching the entire field move like dominoes.
Even at 17 I was familiar with Crosby, Stills and Nash's version of "Southern Cross" and the story always kind of struck a chord with me. I remember sitting on the hood of my dad's car one night in Noumea and looking up to really notice the stars for the first time since my arrival. That song stuck in my head.
Today I was thinking about that island and my short stay there. I have fond memories of visiting the aquarium, lunches with dad, the sleeping grass, visiting the lighthouse with a tour of New Zealand boys who invited me along with them, taking a boat out with my family to Ile des Pins (Isle of Pines) with my family. The song came on the radio.

It makes me want to find a boat... and just sail away.






A great song coinciding with a good memory. There are so many more memories that are starting to rush back about that summer. For example, lunch time consisted of cheese, a baguette and soup. Simple and tasty. The city would pretty much roll up the sidewalks for two hours around lunchtime so we would all get together at home and eat and chat and spend time together.
I remember sitting at the family computer playing Tetris. Dad told me that I played like a Laxative... everything builds up until it's all released at once. Even now I can't get that descriptive scrubbed out of my head.
There was a French Canadian show called Guilliam Tell, medievalish/Robin Hoody, I couldn't understand 90% of the conversation, but I loved the show anyway. We didn't miss an episode while I was there.