Cultural Mutt: What It’s Like Living Between Countries

 

Most of my life has been shaped by the cultures I come from. To this day, within a few minutes of talking to me people will hear about the places I call home. It’s a source of pride for me, in a way. Yes, I come from a foreign place. Yes, I’m well-traveled. Yes, I’m different.

London born, I moved to the United States age five because of my father’s job. Young me adapted quite quickly to the dialect and accent, an ability that stays with me to this day. My mother often remarks about the time she walked past my kindergarten classroom and heard an American voice. Looking in the window, she saw the voice was mine. It both frightens and exhilarates me to know that I can switch accents just like that. On one hand, I can blend into almost any situation I find myself in. On the other hand, who’s the authentic me? Are any of them the real TJ or am I just an insincere shape shifter?

My heritage makes it even more complex- my father is Glaswegian and my mother South African. Growing up I was privileged enough to be able to visit both where my mother and my father grew up. Thus, I grew up experiencing American, British, and South African culture.

My parents did the best they could when it came to raising their kids in multiple cultures. It’s always important to learn who you are and where you come from, but sometimes I wonder how much different my life would be if I didn’t stay connected to my heritage, if summer vacations had been spent in the stifling Texas heat rather than in locales across the world. I can say for certain I’d be less well rounded, but the knowledge I’ve gained as a third culture kid has its drawbacks. People say home is what you make it, but my home will always be split across three countries. I fear that no matter where I may be, there will always be a piece of me somewhere else, locked away in the hearts of the people I love who live away from me.

And it’s not just the people themselves- it’s the countries too.

My sister and I used to amuse ourselves when we were younger by building fantasy lands- wouldn’t it be nice if we could put all our homes together in one place? Take the people we love and stick them all together on an island in the middle of nowhere. Add in our favorite foods, our favorite experiences and we’d have everything we cared about in one place. No more feeling fractured. No more feeling stuck between cultures, between countries. Wouldn’t it be nice?

We’ve of course grown older now, matured enough to realize that fantasy will never happen. However, I still find myself imagining it sometimes, especially when I feel homesick. Homesickness is its own special type of hell for me, because should I ever really be allowed to feel it? Wherever I live will be some sort of home, I’m just not sure it’ll be enough. I’m mostly happy wherever I am, but the longing creeps in when I’m alone. I read about what my friends and family do in my absence, and I’m struck with the overwhelming urge to return to them. I know I’ll always feel this way no matter where I am, because I make connections everywhere I go. If I go back to America, I’ll miss my friends and family here in Scotland, just as I miss my friends and family there while I’m here. There will always be a hole in my heart. It’s inevitable.

I lament about the feeling of being stuck all the time, but it’s not all bad. If I get caught in a sticky situation, I pull what I call the foreigner card, whip out a different accent, and play dumb. It’s saved my skin more than I care to admit. British people take pity on a clueless American. Americans are charmed by a British accent. It’s the slightest bit manipulative, but if I’m stuck in the middle I might as well have some fun with it.

Coming from a mixture of cultures is never going to change, so there isn’t much point in trying to fight it. I’ll always have the uncertainty of what nationality to refer to myself as first. Am I American? I lived there for thirteen years and eventually became a citizen. Am I English? I was born there, but my father is Scottish, and I live in Scotland now. Do I even dare call myself South African?

I’ll never fit in with one culture no matter how hard I try. I have too many different experiences and values to conform to only one. All of them are a part of who I am, whether I like it or not. I’ll always be different, and I’ll always be a cultural mutt.