Home seems like a concept easy enough to pinpoint – it’s where your family and friends are, where you smell the pungent aroma of fried onions coming home, where you celebrate birthday milestones, where the culture and people there shape you as you grow. That’s what I had defined home as, ever since I was a young girl, until in the fourth grade I learned I was moving. To China.
Now given that I’m American Born Chinese, it’s not that big of a surprise. But the effects of changes that would occur over the next few years as I moved on to middle school, and now halfway through high school, would be perennial. Looking back, who would’ve known?
I stayed in an apartment with my parents and my little sister in Shanghai for a summer, then as I was starting school soon my mom, sister, and I moved to Beijing. My dad stayed in Shanghai for work. After four years I moved to Shanghai for high school, and here I am. Long story short, over the course of nearly 7 years, I moved houses four times, spent countless winter breaks travelling between the two cities to see family, and most of my weekends at home, alone, because my dad was too busy working.
Over this time I thought a lot about what home was to me. Was it in the US, a familiar place of my childhood? Was it in Beijing, where my mother and sister lived? Or was it here in Shanghai, where my father, school, and new friends were? I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will.
Many other third culture kids or expat children understand this situation. It feels like you’re always moving, never in standstill. It’s a constant go, go, go. I had an expat friend who I’d interviewed a year ago. He was born in Egypt, grew up in Germany, moved to China and at the time was moving to Dubai a week later. I asked him, “You’ve lived in so many places. Which one is home to you?”
And he responded, “I think after a while of moving so much and being on the go, it’s hard to settle down and call a place home. Calling someplace home gives it significance, like naming a pet. You get attached, but you know you’ll only be leaving sooner or later. So that sucks.”
I nodded, agreeing.
He continued:
“Home is more of a state of being for me now. It’s where I feel happy, where I feel nourished and safe. If that’s playing football in Germany, or riding bikes around Shanghai, or wherever, it can still be home. If the people I love are there, and if the people there love me, then it is home.”
So take it from an ABC – if you’re moving, because of your education, or job, or family, know that while you may feel misplaced and homesick for a while, there is a sense of home in every place you are. You bring a piece of your loved ones with you, and you grow to love those around you too.
Regardless of culture, tradition, or country, remember you are not alone, for there is one trait that remains the same for all, and it is that everyone else is trying to make a home for themselves, too.
