Saturday, June 8, 2013
Here is a prose piece I wrote for a writing challenge about a month ago:
You could say I’m a third culture kid, but who knows at what points my different cultures articulate. Without the borders of a mono-cultural upbringing narrowing my mind, I find myself standing at the frontiers of global processes in every opinion that marches out of my brain. I am the member of a strange and beautiful community, a diverse diaspora of people who call the whole world their home, and easily feel alone. Yet we are a species who are comfortable with our loneliness; we even yearn for it. We are the people who reject the familiar and chase the most foreign because our inborn culture shock requires continuous clashes of cultures to bring out the best in us.
Not only do we find the familiar in unknown places, but in unknown individuals too. We find comfort and understanding in the person who has never touched the earth we’ve grown up on, or tasted our native tongue on their lips, but who suffered from the same internal dichotomy that emblazoned this modern malaise into our own multicultural hearts. Our differences are in essence our shared features: we were born with a world without windows or doors, raw products of globalization ready to take over the world, open to whatever idea or identity that fate will throw our way.
For us, home is not a base to which we return, but an emotion that we continually evoke and revoke as we travel through moments that challenge the limits that hold most people in a room where they wait for an identity to be handed to them in a small book. We scour outer landscapes to find the commonalities between the constantly diverging and merging traditions of our world – a world in which the foreign is familiar and the foreigner is our closest friend.