iam-from-blog

[iam-from-blog]

Say Love.

As I aged, hold on, let me rephrase that - as I have become wiser, the word ‘Love’ has morphed into a thousand different shapes and forms. 

Love has gotten a lot more complicated, and often times, I choke and suffocate at the idea of it. Although, it wasn’t always like that.

When I was 5, Love was getting the yellow, double-sided, faux fur/cashmere coat my parents had gotten me because my little sister always got the pink one. Love was a beautiful princess in distress - she had long, blonde hair - being saved by a handsome prince charming, and they lived happily ever after. 

When I was 8, Love meant shadowing my birthday behind All Soul’s Day because respecting the dead was more important than celebrating life. We always do that, don’t we? Love also sat next to me at English class, he had jet black hair and fair skin, and he lent me his pencils and told me I was pretty. Love was nice, Love was easy, Love was simple. 

When I was 12, Love meant leaving the life you have established at an early age to begin a new one. Love hurt, Love was painful, until I looked to my left amidst our flight to another land we would call home; Love showed me my blessings, Love was tricky. 

When I was 13, Love was having the innocence and an ever accepting heart of a 10-year old; Love was receiving love letters from boys that knew nothing about me but they liked my hair, so that counts... Right? One of them wrote that the sun shone through my eyes, even though he’s never looked straight at them. Another said I deemed his speechless, but does being deemed speechless mean having to never present yourself with a simple ‘hello’? Love was flattering but it confused me, I accepted it anyway. 

When I was 18,  Love held my hand and heart at the comfort of his grasp; he held it loosely but I didn’t mind. We celebrated birthdays, holidays and went on dates and I was happy. We were happy. I thought that this was it, this is Love. Until Life came along. Life and Love were conflicted, and Love has options now; he grew while I was restricted from my own growth; slowly, birthdays became obligations that had to be addressed, and dates ended up in arguments. Were we still happy? Eventually, realization swept in in the form of a puddle of tears, sleepless nights and unbearable heartache, this is not Love. 

When I was 19, Love was me; I have always believed in my persona as a bold and independent individual, but growth and Life itself imposes a certain level of doubt on you as a person. And sometimes, pausing the clock and taking the time to truly learn, know and accept who you are is half the battle won.  

Love is often portrayed in the form of another human being to fill the void in your life, a temporary accompaniment that serves as a distraction; to prevent loneliness from devouring your vulnerable soul into self destruction. We forget that Love comes from within. Love value-adds: it inspires you to grow and improve on yourself to become a better person. Love is maturity: it understands that everybody has flaws, and does not criticize them. Instead, it appreciates every curve, crack and scar in your being - physical or non-physical - and embraces them entirely. Love is encouraging: it encourages you to step out of your comfort zone to do greater things in life. Love is selfless and brave: it is wearing your heart on your sleeve and opening it to to new experiences or even another person for them to reach the greater depths of your existence. It is choosing to entrust them with faith and confidence, despite knowing the you will experience pain in the process of doing so.

Love will continuously evolve into different forms, but realize that knowing who you are and what you want in life; your dreams and ambitions is a stepping stone to giving the right kind of Love; your own definition of Love. Know your worth and project the energy you want to attract. And until you encounter another soul has the same beliefs, perception, and approach to life as you do, I beg you: Please do not settle. 

[iam-from-blog]

I am from --

To kick things off, let’s talk about what inspired me to write this post...

I recently had to go for an event where making friends was err... Essential. If you knew me, you would know that I’m a fairly social person - I love interacting with strangers of different personalities and background, and I like to think that I get along quite well in a culturally-diverse pool of people.

So back to this event - I found myself anxious not because I had to make friends, but because the realization of the fact I'll get asked the usual questions like "Where are you from?" dawned upon me. Now, here’s where the struggle of being a Third Culture Kid (TCK) comes in.

“Where are you from?”

When you’re a TCK, a simple question like “Where are you from?” comes with inexplicable complexity. A 10-second war is declared mentally; an internal argument considering our physical belonging, psychological belonging and emotional belonging commences before blurting out an extremely summarized answer. Sometimes, I ask "Do you wanna guess?" to make things a little bit more fun. After which, a shot of worry shows across their face, and I get my cue to say "Don't worry, I've heard all sorts of answers. I won't get offended". And much to my surprise, I hear a new nationality every single time I ask. Truth be told; sometimes, I wish that I had a poster of my life story that comes together with an FAQ section.

Despite already-having a short and long template answer, we can’t help but struggle at the question. And I find myself struggling even harder the older we get. And like what they often say: Home is a feeling, not a place. And until the time I find a place that feels like home, I will continue to share my story and play guessing games with everybody.

But that is what makes being a TCK so exciting; you figure your own story out as you go along, and how you put it out there is never the same.It is constantly evolving, and you will never run out of stories and knowledge to impart onto your peers.

“Why is your accent like that?”

When you spend your developing years in an international school, the ‘international school’ accent will tend to stay with you throughout your life, no matter which country you go to. Often recognized as American, more often than not, you will hear a tinge of at least 3 different accents here and there because we catch how our friends and teachers speak. When I was younger, I never had to order my own food because food was provided in school and you just had to queue up for it (and yes, you can go for a second round if you wanted to). Even if I did, my orders were fine and I got my cold milo and Hello Panda as asked.

Life got trickier when we moved to Singapore. Don’t get me wrong, growing up in Malaysia, I am no stranger to malay slangs like lah, wor, and even walao eh. But the real struggle came in when I had to order things as simple as a bottle of water in a kopitiam. Not having to experience such an arduous situation before, I realized that I had to adapt and I had to adapt quick.

Being a TCK, you grow up to become flexible, versatile and easy-going because you know that simple solutions like a slight change in how you pronounce a word can turn things around for you. You simplify precarious situations, break them down and streamline your options to reach a feasible solution.

You start to feel like you belong to nowhere in particular

Growing accustomed to being surrounded by people who are in the same boat as you - children of expats, ‘international school kids’ of different nationalities, background, and culture - you start to get used to being different. Only because being different was the norm (Oh, the sweet taste of irony). But once you are torn out of that ‘it’s-normal-to-be-different’ culture, and are forced into the complete opposite scenario, you start to feel lost. Despite English being the common language, I could not help but feel misplaced. I looked different, I spoke different, my thought process was different, my body language was different (Hell, even my sense of humor was different!) - I was different. It was an obstacle I had to combat and learn from alone because I knew my siblings were also going through the same struggle.

Overtime, you start to embrace being different because that is what makes you who you are. You are a collection of every single person you have met and every single city or country you have visited; taking with you only the best fragments to become the person that you are today. The best part is, you are not even done yet.

You become desensitized to goodbyes

Studying/growing up in international school meant your classmates/friends will eventually need to go back to their home country, or move elsewhere with their parents. Having to give my first wave of goodbyes to my primary 3 classmates back in my hometown, and then constantly having to bid farewell to my classmates/friends in Malaysia, I knew at an early age that people come and go and concluded that goodbyes were normal.

The crushing dolefulness people would typically feel when a friend leaves is an alien emotion to us. Instead, we get excited about their departure because we know that a new environment means new experiences and new adventures for them.

Settling down is no longer a problem, because you know that you are never going to settle down. Instead, you and exotic lands are tightly intertwined like lovers in a sandy beach; inquisitive yet receptive to whatever comes your way. And whatever that may be, it is another chapter added to your book.

It’s not always a bad thing..

With all that said, I must admit: being a Third Culture Kid  has its perks. The friends you make are friends-for-keeps, no matter the distance. You see the world in a different light from others - You appreciate many things, big or small, a lot might not. You recognize your blessings because you very well know that it could be much worst. Most importantly, you know the importance of basking in the now, because you know that it could all be gone/different by tomorrow.