The TCK Who Spread Her Wings, and Passed Them to her Daughter.

 

This morning, I took my youngest daughter, Melanie (Mel, Mel-Mel, Mel Bell) age 20, to the airport.  She is flying to Hawaii to start a new life.  She has a house with three roommates, and will work as a dental assistant until January.  At that point she will start classes at a community college, and eventually transfer to the University of Hawaii.  I’m so excited for her, but a little bit sad (perturbed?  annoyed?) because, believe me, there have been plenty of naysayers.  Are you going to let her do that?  Aren’t you worried about her?  It’s so dangerous!  It's so far away!  That’s not right!  That’s outrageous!  What a terrible mom you are!  (Okay, no one actually said that last one, but that is the vibe I’m getting).  What the heck?  It’s not Timbuktu for pete’s sake, (which is really a place!) and it’s actually (news flash) a part of the United States.  People do live there.  A lot of them. (Okay, snarky rant is over).

 

It must be that TCK thing – once again I am the outlier, hitting my head against the social norms of my birth country, experiencing cultural homelessness, and having that pesky three-dimensional view of the world.  Is it so bad that I want my kid to experience another culture?  At least she has the added benefit of looking like a native Hawaiian (having been born in Kazakhstan).  She visited last summer with her boyfriend, and many people thought she was kanaka.  It surprised her at first, but then became a comfort.  It totally makes sense for her to long for inclusiveness, to not be the odd one out.  Maybe she inherited some of my TCK DNA. 

 When I was 18 and graduated from high school in Singapore, my mom put me on a plane, headed to London, to go to summer school and nanny for a family there.  As we waited at the gate (the old days before TSA) mom noticed that there was a group of athletic looking guys milling around.  She found out somehow that they were the Dutch National Soccer team (I was flying KLM) heading home to Holland after a tournament (Hup Hup!) She was on full mom alert, thinking about how those handsome sporty fellows were going to be interested in me and all that. Turns out none of them spoke English, and there was no romantic escapade where I ran off to live the WAG* life with a dreamy Dutch footballer.  <sigh>

After mom left me, there came an announcement that the flight would be delayed until the next morning, and we would all be given hotel rooms for the night.  I could have called mom, but, hey, why not have a night at the fancy Hyatt Regency?  When I got settled for the night, I tried to call mom to tell her my whereabouts, but there was no answer.  Again and again for a couple of hours, I called, with no response. 

I finally decided to call a family friend (actually the husband of the woman I was going to be staying with in London) to go over and see if mom was all right.  We lived in a 5-story townhouse, and, after no response to the doorbell, he proceeded to throw pebbles at the window.  Mom was in the den with the TV turned up, and was sort of surprised to see him there.  Phone calls were made to London, and all was well.  I was back at the airport via bus early the next day.  Off we (finally) went.

The long-haul flight took us to Bangkok, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and finally to Amsterdam. I remember peering out my plane window marveling at all these exotic places, and wishing I could hop off to explore, but I stayed put.  (They wouldn’t let us get off anyway).

We arrived in Amsterdam at 1 in the morning.  No flights until the next day.  I decided to follow the crowd from the flight, asking questions of my fellow travelers, and found that we were to be taken to a hotel for the rest of the night. Again, I had a (not so fancy this time) hotel room where I half-slept and half kept one eye on the clock, afraid I would miss the wake up call.

Back to the airport we went, and I, weary and travel-worn, finally arrived in London. All this was waaay before cell phones and the internet were even a twinkle in someone's eye.  We had to make <gasp> long-distance calls, or maybe send a telex (google it, kids!) I may as well have been in a covered wagon; a very fast, air conditioned one. 

Stone Age Telex Machines

After a couple of jet-lagged days, I decided to figure out the route to my school (Richmond College).  My friend Judith drove me to the underground/bus station, said “Bye!” and drove off.  No hand holding was done.  I just marched in, bought a bus pass, and studied the map.  After a fairly long and involved bus/tube ride, I had to walk a ways up a steep hill to the campus.  It was a Harry Potter-ish building, ornate and stately, and I marched in, registered for my class, and checked out the lay of the land.  I was in ENGLAND!  I couldn’t believe it. There was even a PUB across the street.  

Richmond College

My motto ever since then has been “Worrying about The Thing is far worse than the Actual Thing”.  I had worried about the trip and the adjustment for weeks beforehand.  As the journey, with all its warts, was under way, I realized that this was easy!  I had made it.  What was the worst thing that could have happened?  Other than being bumped to a hotel, twice.  The eye candy in the form of European soccer players didn’t hurt either. 

Before long I was a pro at riding the double decker bus through London, past Kew Gardens, to Richmond.  The ticket-seller and I became friends. I took a Sociology class from an American professor, with two other classmates, one being a member of the Bahraini royal family.  One day when I was only one to show up, the professor told me that it was common for assassins to throw bombs into the classroom of a target, sometimes royalty.  Thanks; I'm  never coming back (but I did).  

The prince kept to himself, driving past me in the rain, in his tricked-out I-Roc Camaro, which was not at all out of place on the streets of London. (Sarcasm).  I stood at the lowly bus stop as he hit a puddle and water sprayed all over me. He never said a word, or even looked in my direction.  Interesting guy.   

In the afternoons, I would fetch the two children, Rupert and Clare, at their schools, walk them home and make lunch.  We went to the neighborhood park, where I taught them to make daisy chains.  They were sweet kids, and I really enjoyed taking care of them.  The whole summer, before college, was an eye-opening, exhilarating and insightful experience.  I may or may not have met a dishy British guy named Patrick who swept me off my feet. Turned out the only good thing about him was his accent, so lesson learned!

I suppose when Melanie broached the idea of moving to Hawaii I was, at first a little skeptical.  But as we spoke, I remembered my 18-year-old self, having had the opportunity to travel literally half-way across the globe, alone, and learn to be an adult and do The Thing. Most non-TCK people would be skeptical or shocked that I would send my kid off across an ocean.  But to me, it was something that Mel needed to do.  She needed to experience The Thing herself, perhaps run into roadblocks and one-way streets, and learn how to navigate. Will it be hard?  Will we get teary phone calls?  Sure.  But allowing her to spread those wings is the most important gift that I can give her, just like the gift my parents gave me.  Those wings I had were more valuable than gold.  I think they will look just perfect on my daughter.

Aloha, Melanie!

 

*Wives and Girlfriends

The TCK and the Loss of a Friend

 

I received the very sad news that a dear old friend from high school died this morning.  I knew he was very ill for a while; nevertheless, the news of his passing was a shock.  I reached out to other friends to express my sadness, but I still need a way to express how special he was to me.  Not in a romantic way, but in a way that I will always remember as a close friendship with a kind, funny, friendly guy who always radiated happiness and positivity. He had a million friends in high school, so I don't claim to be anyone special, but he was special to me.  

It was a long, long time go that I first met Mike.  The chronology is a little fuzzy, but I believe it was sophomore year.  He was a year behind me, but we ended up in a Science Fiction class together, Miss Ambrosio was our teacher (the tiny details your brain hangs onto!)  Somehow we paired up to do a project.  The subject I can't remember, but it involved a slide show and a tape recorder; a "science-y" story or script of a radio play.  There was an image of sun-dappled water in a swimming pool.  Mike used to come to my house, or we'd sometimes meet at his, where we would brainstorm ideas until we had a pretty good result, we thought.  

My house was in Forbes, his in Urdaneta, (for those who remember) and he used to walk me home from his house, or at least accompany me to the main road catch a cab (some things I don't remember).  One time he invited me to a youth group get-together, sponsored by Union Church.  My family belonged to a different church, but I looked forward to the meeting.  His lovely mom welcomed me into the house, and was so cheery and sweet, welcoming me warmly to the group.  I can remember her face so clearly. We played a game, where we held a piece of newspaper behind our backs and tried to tear out the shape of a muscial note.  I must be pretty dexterous, because I "won" the game.  

Later on, maybe my junior year, I tried out for the spring musical, "Hello Dolly".  I met this really cute guy during tryouts, and we dated for a while.  He was one of the leads, and I was in the chorus.  It was a heady time for me, as he was pretty popular, and teen-idol cute.  Right before the play's production, he broke up with me; terrible timing.  Mike was part of the stage crew and he knew what was going on.  I was clearly sad and mopey, sitting alone in the dark auditorium during breaks in the rehearsals.  He would come sit by me and offer a shoulder.  

One evening after play practice at the theater, we walked to the highway together (EDSA, for those who were there) to catch cabs to go home.  As we waited, a car with one headlight approached, and Mike said "PERDIDDLE!" and gave me a peck on the cheek.  I had never heard of this little game .. how fun!

My family was moving out of the country after Christmas.  I went to the Winter Formal with Mike's best friend.  In the meantime, Mike had fallen hard for the beautiful girl who eventually became his wife.  I was trying to get Mike's attention to say good bye, but he was completely focused on his new girlfriend.  It was a sad evening for me, to be leaving all my friends and the school I had come to love, but I tried to be a good sport for my date.  I hope I wasn't bad company.

Many, many years later, I ran into Mike at a reunion in San Jose.  I was so happy to see him so happy with his high school sweetheart (and with 6 children!)  He still remembered my blue eyes (full disclosure, they were blue contacts all along!)  He was still the funny, friends-with-everyone guy of my memories.

I can't put into words the grief and the sense of loss we have for classmates from our TCK lives who have left this world. For some reason the bonds we share with these friends are stronger and more intense than most.  Probably because of the unusual circumstances in which we lived, and our having been immersed in the vibrant and exotic cultural antithesis of the all-American teenager.  The In Memoriam list from IS Manila has grown far, far too long, and even though I know these losses will happen more and more as time marches on, it helps to know that we can share our sorrow with our barkada*.  We once again gather together (albeit digitally) to mourn and reflect, and remember. We will never forget.  

Fair winds and following seas, Mike ... Thanks for the special memories that I will always cherish.  You were unique in so many ways, and completely unforgettable.  My heart breaks for the ones you left behind; I wish for them peace, and that they will find some comfort in their memories of you, a great man.  

We kinda had the same weird sense of humor.  

*group of friends

An Oldie But a Goodie

Just moseying through my blog, and found this one from 2011 that I never published.  Enjoy!

Let's see, when we last met our intrepid heroine, (am I a heroine?) she was sitting in an empty apartment, movers poised to scoop up her stuff and send her off to points west.  (Go west young woman!)  After a very long several days of driving, she arrived at her destination in the land of tumbleweeds, cowboy boots and armadillos, as did her household goods (after a few hiccups).  Presently she headed even further west for her pre-honeymoon in Hawaii, after which she and her beloved headed to Wyoming where they tied the ceremonial knot and are now betrothed for all time.  And here she sits.

I am a frequent reader of several message boards for Third Culture Kids, and I'm always on the lookout for a blog topic.  Yesterday was the move-in day for freshman at Trinity University, where I matriculated all those years ago.  It made me think about my feelings on that day in 1978, when my parents loaded up my two suitcases and the thousand pounds of Sears Roebuck purchases (bed sheets, clip-on reading lamp, etc.) into a borrowed Suburban and dropped me off.  I tried not to think about mom and dad returning very soon to Singapore, which may as well have been on another planet.  In one way I was excited about shedding the parental rules and regulations that had been such a big part of my life up until then, but on the other hand I was still a little girl inside, needing my parents to just "be there" for me, even though I didn't want them to "be there" too much.  One day after cavorting all over campus attending one orientation function or another, I returned to my dorm room to find that mom and dad had been by to see me, and had left a note.  I knelt down on the floor next to my bed and sobbed my heart out that I had missed them.  I knew the days were short that they were in my immediate vicinity and I was bereft.  It was a one time thing, though ... soon enough I was immersed in social activities.  My suitemate, Sarah, and I went walking around one evening, looking for a card game.  We met a couple of guys from the dorm across the way, and ended up playing blackjack in their room.  They had all the latest music playing, Foreigner, Boston, Aerosmith.  They laughed at me when I said I had never heard of these groups.  And laughed again when I told them I had no drivers' license.  "What kind of rube are you?" they were thinking, I'm sure! 

One of the guys was from Staten Island.  He was as much a fish out of water in Texas as I was.  He was a nice Jewish boy, going to a Presbyterian college far away from home.  For some reason, we both felt (I found out later) that we had met before.  It was an instant friendship, and quickly became an instant romance.  We were joined at the hip, going on a tubing trip down the Comal River, and eating lunch and dinner in the refectory.  When he feigned ignorance about doing laundry ("how much water do you put in the machine?") I offered to help, but I was just as helpless as he was.  I managed to turn all his underwear pink.  (Well jeez, I always had a "lavanderia" do all my laundry!)

We went to a football game one night, we we sat an discussed our future plans.  He told me he was pre-med, and I took his hands and told him they were surgeon's hands. (Cheesy much?)  He tried to teach me how to drive in his enormous green Cadillac, but gave up pretty quickly.  He took me to concerts (Boston and Aerosmith) and tried to educate me on all that I had missed living overseas.  He made me play "Double Vision" over and over and taught me to love Foreigner and Joe Jackson.  ("He's so ugly!")  We ate at McDonald's and Wendy's and my indoctrination into the life of an American teenager was complete.  

Every Sunday my roommate got a call from her parents in Illinois. My phone calls were once a month, if that.  I had to learn to do things on my own, like make a doctor's appointment, make plane reservations to go home at Christmas, shop for groceries.  I had to budget the $50.00 per month that was my allowance.  It was complete immersion, and boy did I learn a lot.  

I will tell you the end of the story: that boy from Staten Island, who held my hand as I swam through the early months of "re-entry" to the states, and held me when I cried with homesickness (where was home really?) is now my husband ... a small miracle for this Third Culture Kid.  How did we get here?  How did this happen?  You can't make up this stuff!

So to all you new freshman, TCK or not, good luck on your new journey.  College is an easing-in stage of life.  You will learn not only academics, but the ways of the world.  Sometimes the world hurts you, a lot, but sometimes you will want to embrace it and jump for joy!  You are so lucky that you can now Skype with mom or dad or whomever, even if they are on the other side of the world.  At any rate, enjoy! and take life by the tail!