Identity Crises and Life as a Third Culture Kid
Hi. My name is Praise and I am a third culture kid.
The term “third culture” refers to the mixed identity that a child assumes, influenced both by their parents’ culture and the culture in which they were raised. These children are more likely to speak multiple languages, have a broader world view and are more innately culturally aware. The coinage of this term is credited to American sociologist Ruth Hill Useem, who used it in her studies on expatriates living in India. Typically, third culture kids develop an identity rooted in people and personal convictions as opposed to places. For me, that means I no longer believe that the country I’m living in has to be my definition of home. Zimbabwe is my home country because of the relational connections I have that tie me there. I cherish this culture not because I don’t know anything else but instead because I see value and beauty in it and I want to be intentional about staying true to it. The same goes for Australia. It’s home because of the family I’ve created here and because of the emotional connection I have to Australian culture.
My favourite thing about existing everywhere and nowhere culturally is that I get to ‘trail mix’ my cultural beliefs. Having experienced a western culture and non-western culture in-depth, I can look at both sides, pick and choose the parts I like best and gracefully ‘reject’ the ideals that don’t serve me. This is admittedly sometimes difficult for my parents because their desires for me to remain true to the values they hold so dear mean that sometimes the rejection or questioning of a concept, no matter how unhelpful it may be, can be perceived as a rejection of our culture as a whole. They did the best they could to raise their children in the same culture they were raised in but from the other side of the world. Understanding this however doesn’t make it easier to explain how I can culturally exist on two planes whilst they only see themselves in one.
Growing up not completely relating to my parents’ culture whilst knowing that I didn’t belong in the culture surrounding me left me drifting between two wolrds and fitting in in neither. I have been able to identify some positives to this, starting with that I can serve as a relational bridge to people on either side of this mess however, my formative years have been, currently are and definitely will be both confusing and frustrating for that very reason.
My family moved here when I was 8. Before I was old enough to have an email address or even tackle the notion of race, I was trying to deal with being the only one ‘of my kind’ in my class. Well, also my grade. And one of maybe 3 in the whole school. The life I had known a few months earlier, being surrounded by people who looked like me, talked like me and understood my culture was no longer a reality. Here, I was the new girl with the short hair from the place no kid around me had ever heard of. I was adorable of course but I stuck out. My desire to assimilate led me to straightening my hair (once it grew of course), adopting the lingo and practising my English. Soon enough, my accent changed - in both Shona and English. Sitting here now, I can’t know for sure if that detail was on purpose or just a side effect of changing my dominant speaking language but either way it happened. Hassan Minhaj likes to talk about how immigrant parents focus on surviving in their new environments, but their children want more than that – we want to thrive. My first few years were all about survival, and I think I’ve only just entered the seasons of thriving. More on that in a later post maybe.
I have officially spent more than half of my life on this side of the world yet I feel such a connection to and longing for Zimbabwe. Even though it is now foreign to me. My understanding of the ‘motherland’ is built on the memories of a child, distinct scents, a love for food, and what I’ve been told by the people around me. Not all those experiences are mine and not all of those things will still be true today. It’s like having a battered photograph of the house you grew up in; after you move out, it’s new inhabitants will make changes to it. Eventually, the house you took a picture of won’t be the same house standing there now. All this is to somehow convey that I understand that my picture of Zimbabwe may not be reality. That my ideals, the way I dress, my tastes and my behaviours are not those of the ‘typical’ Zimbabwean 20 year old (whoever she is). I do want to say though that those factors don’t negate my status as a Zimbabwean. It’s still who I am. It doesn’t feel as much a part of me as it used to though. I’ve accepted that. I’m getting more comfortable with the idea that I’m not as African as I once may have been. Which can I just say is a stupid thing to even feel. What system are we measuring this on? Why has our language been adapted to make people feel inadequate regarding every facet of their being? Speaking my first language with ‘the wrong’ accent and understanding that there are some ideals from my culture I’d rather not perpetuate is not something I’ll ever fully accustom to but it shouldn’t change my identity.
My adolescence wasn’t typical and neither are my viewpoints on anything. I like that about myself. Going forward, I have dreams of travelling more, becoming a polyglot because why not and further expanding my cultural beliefs. Learning to understand where more people are coming from can only be a good thing right?
this piece was inspired by:
