Where We Come From: Homesick

The year was 2007, and it must have been either June or July. Holly, Keren and I had, on this random night, decided we were going to "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's for ice-cream, as college students spontaneously do. I don't remember what else was on the playlist that night, except for two of Keren's favourites at the time. The windows were down, and we were singing at the top of our lungs, "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend!" and "Oh, **** it, I'm gonna have a party!"

I don't know what it was like for the Holly and Keren. But six years have passed, and I look back at that "roadtrip" now and think of it as a coming of age marker for me. Only a couple months ago, I had walked across the platform in Kardatzke Wellness Center as a celebration of the culmination of three ridiculous years' work towards a bachelor's degree. Anderson University had by then become a place where I had struggled long and hard with my self-identity, and just like that, those three years were over. Keren and I had by then had several long discussions about our dreams about the future, and she was just beginning to find her place while I was still looking for mine.

You see, Keren was a Third-Culture kid. Born in El Salvador, she eventually moved to Romania when her parents took a missionary assignment with a church there. She, and my other TCK friends, talked often about how they could never simply check one box when it came down to filling out forms about where they came from. She was at a conference for international students once, and when it came time for breakout sessions, attendees were asked to split into groups based on the region she came from. Was she to go to the one for Latin America or the one for Europe? There was never one single box to check.

I remembered one of our conversations being about the things we were passionate about. She said she was slightly jealous of friends who had found their niche in their passion for social justice, or art, or something of the sort, because she hadn't found her own. I remembered thinking the same thing. I loved music, but having studied it at the college level with an over-emphasis on performance (which I hated) killed it.

Then one day, she had just gotten back from a weekend in Chicago where she had been a part of a conference called, "Displace Me". It was a movement about creating awareness of displaced people. After all the time spent trying to figure out which box to check, she finally found it. Her passion. Working with displaced people because she herself was displaced.

That had all just fallen into place weeks before that summer. Then before that summer was over, her life was taken.

It was years before I started really processing everything that happened that summer. You see, I had forgotten about the phonecall I received that night on the "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's. In our laughter and singing, we missed the ramp for the motorway twice, and ended up halfway to Columbus, Ohio. We had gotten so frustrated that we eventually decided to simply head home, but ended up missing the off-ramp for the Anderson exit as well. Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Dad had rung up to chat and was asking about how things were progressing with my job search. By the time I hung up, I was even more frustrated from trying to explain to Dad the cultural differences in the job search process.

Holly and Keren calmly listened to my ranting for a while before Keren finally said, "You know, our parents haven't lived here themselves. They may have some ideals about what life is like here, but they are not the reality that we live in. And it isn't anybody's fault, we just have to learn to adapt to this new reality that we live in different worlds now."

It wasn't until years later when I began processing that I realised I had become displaced too. I had spent significant amount of time with my Missionary Kid/Third-Culture Kids friends while in college to know the traits of a TCK, and to begin to understand the way they think. But I had never saw myself as a TCK until then.

For a few years after that, I struggled to navigate the waters of this new revelation that a new chapter had begun in the pages of my self-identity. It was hardest around November because I would be celebrating American Thanksgiving with Danielle's family, thinking about the right time to call or e-mail Dad on his birthday. Then right after that, the countdown towards the time I left wintry Anderson for sunny Singapore would begin and I would get particularly homesick thinking of time with the cousins, the BFFs, the church family and all the yummy food. The night before I boarded the plane would usually be the worst. I always love going, but I hate leaving. It's in that in-between time that I feel most displaced.

Nine years later, this displacement hasn't gone away. I've moved yet again, and the understanding of homesickness has re-shaped itself as well. It doesn't help that even with all the diversity in Auckland, folks here still take one look at me, hear me speak and automatically ask the dreaded, "Where are you from?" Yes, I know I'm yellow on the outside, sound like white America, and have the black, red and gold of Germany hanging in the Snuggery where I live, but the truth is, I have too many other colours on the inside. I would happily don the black, red and green of my Kenyan sister, Emily, the vibrant flowers of my Island whanau, while wearing the intricately beaded headpieces of the Lakotas, a people near and dear to my heart.

And the in-between times... Gosh, the in-between times are the worst. Nina who has become one of my Auckland church mums came up to me at church yesterday, gave me a big hug and said, "You've been a bit homesick, haven't you?" The tears came really close, but I wasn't sure if it was because someone noticed, or if it was because I hadn't even noticed it myself until she pointed it out. There's so much here that I love and wouldn't be ready to leave, even if just for a month. But there's a part of me that's already in Portland having bubble tea with Arthur and a massive pow-wow with Cassie. Another part of me has already tasted the corn and cherry tomatoes from Heidi's garden, and solved all the problems of the world with the semiNerdian friends. And still another part of me has already snuggled with Hannah and thrown fries at Amanda.

And maybe that's why I love airports so much. Because I feel less alone in the in-between-ness, even if no one else in the waiting lounge is as crazy/displaced enough to be processing these thoughts.

I was scrolling through old photos on Facebook earlier and found this one, taken in front Brandenburger Tor in Berlin. It was one of the first days we were there and there were various exhibits that we could take photos with. Some were historical; others political; still others, simply funny. This little guy here though, reminded me too much of myself. By the time I got to Germany, I had come to the realisation that no matter what part of the world I move to or how many times I move, wherever I sleep that night would be home, but I would also still be homesick for at least one of the other homes.

That is the new normal now. And it will be ok.

Emily sent me this photo via Whatsapp today. I hadn't expected it because it wasn't a significant date. But it was the reminder I needed that I wasn't alone in this warped in-between place. A few months after Keren died, they planted a tree on campus in remembrance of her. When I still lived in Anderson, I would visit on her birth and death anniversary with the yellow flowers she wanted on her last birthday. It became a place of solitude in the summer months as well. Months before I moved, I told Emily that I wasn't sure what I would do anymore on her birth and death anniversary. She offered to simply bring flowers to visit whenever she was able. Emi, thank you.

This. This is where we come from.