On a sleepy, hot summer afternoon I posted a note on a friend’s Facebook wall. “Hey, did you know a girl at the International School in Islamabad who had her nose pierced? She was the one who first inspired me to get my nose pierced.”
This short, seemingly meaningless comment led to a series of global connections and memories from long ago. It was remarkable.
The Pakistan and Afghanistan of our youth was resurrected and I was in happy awe.
The same woman recently wrote in an essay: “Our (tck) reunion conversations are all over the boards. Politics and religion, poverty and wealth; we speak of riots and wars as other people speak of climbing trees and playing with dolls.”
The global connections of the third culture kid are a vast network of people, places, and events. The Kevin Bacon six degrees of separation becomes three degrees or less. It’s all intertwined in the third culture kid tapestry.
We create lists “You know you’re a tck when…..” that bind us together in our global identities. We compare passports and war zone stories, we remember minute details that end up making sense to other third culture kids, yet seem silly to others.
We put ‘home’ in quotes and desperately seek out cultural brokers who can help us understand our passport countries.
We talk about our friends who are ambassadors and peace negotiators and NPR reporters that we hear on Morning Edition. We find out that we knew the same people in Cairo, or Islamabad, or Delhi and attended the same interschool activities. We decorate with Persian carpets from Pakistan and Iran, brass from India, pottery from Turkey, and pictures from everywhere.
We know goodbyes in a way we wish we didn’t and struggle to articulate grief and loss – yet in the next breath speak of how we wouldn’t give up the lives we’ve had and the global connections we’ve met for anything.
Yet despite all these global connections and airport journeys, despite having a passport full of stamps from nations around the world, we still struggle when ordering coffee in our passport countries.
